Thursday, January 13, 2005

Witness Protection Program at the Effin' Ranch

Amazing Dodge Factoid... *updated*

I can make time slow down, like those horrible clips in soap operas where one lady grabs her gun and another lady jumps in front of a hunky man, screaming, "Nooo..." in that uber-cheesy Velveeta pseudo-masculine voice.

Deep breath.

Thing 1 and 2 leaned on my pissy buttons today. I asked them to sort clothes, then put theirs away. They chose to toss panties and socks at each other. Of course, this escalated to wrestling, which made me whip out my mother's voice: "If you two don't settle down, I'll give you something to... err, settle you down."

Instead, I went downstairs and told Big Daddy his children were from hell.

Two seconds later, a crash. Silence. I keep pawing through the box of fun. Then the screams begin.

As a parent, you know how to separate the faker screams from the real ones. There is a different pitch, a lack of breathing. These were the real things.

Big Daddy sprints up the stairs, three at a time. I, however, am crabby, still hoping that these are fake screams, but mainly just tired and fed up and not wanting to know why both of the Things are screaming.

Thing 1: "There's blood! There's blood EVERYWHERE!"

Let's do the time warp again.

I don't know how long it took to get Thing 1 settled down. I know I thought he looked insane, and I may have smirked at this thought because he screamed, "I'm serious!" (Reason #1 why my parenthood license should be revoked.)

Meanwhile, Big Daddy comforts Thing 2, who has blood streaming down his head. We look at each other, the same question in our eyes. "No sex tonight." Oh, all right, we both were wondering whether he needed stitches.

I really didn't want to take him. (Reason #2 why my parenthood license should be revoked.) Not because I'm squeamish or afraid of hospitals, but because I was sick of all of it. I told them not to wrestle. I wanted to go eat Hershey's caramel kisses and play Sims.

But instead I pampered. I joked that he did indeed look like a rock star with red streaked hair. I told him when things were going to hurt instead of lying, but I also said that he could cry if he needed to. I pressed the cloth rag against his head and hoped that the bleeding would stop.


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