BC is my new BFF

For someone who never intended on having kids, I am truly blessed to have spawned three beautiful boys. There are many reasons why I have decided to stop reproducing, but today *reason #421* probably takes the cake.
As a mommy of boys *AKA demon spawn*, I am somewhat accustomed to *adapted to existing condition; being in the habit or custom* being assaulted pretty much on a daily basis *hourly*. Today's assault sent me over the edge of "maybe I'll have one more" to "F@ck No! I'm never having kids again"!
Let me elaborate... Driving home from picking up W1 and his carpool buddy from school *against my better judgment* I decided that the nice thing to do as a carpool mom would be to swing through the Mickey D's drive-thru and treat the boys to lunch.
I should have known better than to hand food over to four boys in a moving vehicle, but I wanted W1's carpool buddy to be able to eat his 59 cent cheeseburger before we got home.
As I pull up to the drive-thru, I ask each boy what he would like, a hamburger or cheeseburger. They all agreed on cheeseburgers, so cheeseburgers it was.
After picking up the order, I hand cheeseburgers to each boy. W1 and his buddy are content and eat their cheeseburgers in a polite and clean way. W2 and W3 are not as content, but still unwrap their burgers and start to nibble away.
I am halfway home thinking that I just may make it home in peace when it happens... I hear an ear piercing shriek come from W2 along with a sobbing, "I don't want a cheeseburger, I want a haaaaambuuuurger!" Of course I respond with the "You chose a cheeseburger, it's cheeseburger or nothing." At this point, W3 *the baby*decides that he doesn't like pickles and *SPLAT* a pickle get tossed to the front of the vehicle. Ummmm....NO! Throwing is NOT okay! "Don't throw!" I tell the baby. He responds with a giggle and some food spitting. *gag* At this moment I decide that ignoring the behavior is the best way not to encourage anymore food throwing or spitting from the baby. *Oh man, I was wrong* I'm racking the improv parenting manual in my brain for how to deal with the cheeseburger/hamburger issue with W2. I decide on good ol' reverse psychology which *surprisingly* works with W2. *sucker* "No, you can't have that cheeseburger." I fib. "But I want it!" responds W2. Yes! It worked. Again. *I wonder how long I can play this game* I think I have won this battle.
Victoriously I whip the truck into the driveway, when *SMACK!* I get hit in the face with a cheeseburger! What! Oh F@ck no! That brat child did not just throw his cheeseburger at my head! I am pissed. *Stay calm. Stay calm.* I turn to address the inappropriate behavior when *SMACK!* I get hit in the face by yet another cheeseburger! Apparently the baby thought that it would be funny to throw his too. "That is not OK!" I yell with ketchup and minced onions dripping off my face. I am so pissed at this moment that I do not know whether to laugh or cry. I evacuate the vehicle of all children and proceed to send my hubby this text message:

"I'M F'N PISSED! I JUST GOT HIT IN THE FACE BY 2 CHEESEBURGERS. WHAT A WASTE. I AM NEVER BUYING THESE LITTLE ASSHOLES MCDONALDS AGAIN!"


As if getting hit in the face with cheeseburgers wasn't bad enough, the added insult to injury is that I have to clean up melted cheese, mustard, ketchup and minced onions from all over the inside of my vehicle. *UGH*

Here are a few more reasons *just today* that Birth Control is my new BFF:
* Boys do not come with a snooze button.
* Locking your bathroom door does not ensure that the door will not be opened.
* Realizing that I need a plunger in all the bathrooms so I don't have to search for one during potty emergencies.
* Fruit Loops ALL OVER the floor.
* My three-year old biting my five-year old on the butt *blog post to follow*
* Broken changing table.
* A bottle of water being poured into the top of a floor lamp = nearly electrocuted children
* Nap-time negotiations
* Realizing that all this happened and the day is only half-over *FML*

My kids are the reason I wake up each morning, the reason I breathe, and the reason my hair is graying, my house is a mess, and that I'm crazy.


© 2010 CJH