Trying to write with kids in the house is like trying to solve anti gravity with the intelligence of a cotton ball. Children are the assassins of the train of thought, creativity, and all things holy and good. The anti-sobriety, if you will. It's impossible to think, spell thngis correctly, or not repeat yourself because there's no way to concentrate. It's impossible to think, spell thngis correctly, or not repeat yourself because there's no way to concentrate.
Inevitably, I give in to the riveting question on their minds with a frustrated "WHAT?!" to which I'm asked, "Are rabbit poops round-round or long-round? Because Ely keeps saying they're long-round but that's stupid." The level to which I'm unimpressed by this question is unmatched by any question in the history of the world.
Now, I can usually withstand a lot of nonsense thrown my way, but today was like the Holocaust of the little creative beings that live in my head. I got zero done of any importance, but what I was able to do was keep a log of the conversations that hindered me from being a productive member of society. Please enjoy, and don't forget to send lots of Valium my way. Keep in mind, all the following questions were asked after incessant poking and beckoning "Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom. Hey. Mom."
Child: Can can, man man, can-can-can-can, man man! <this is why people kill people>
Child: I forgot.
Child: You just don't look very happy today.
Me: That's because mommy's soul died three hours ago.
Child: The dog won't look at me. <he learned to avoid eye contact as well>
Child: Look! <makes funny face that was totally unfunny>
Child: I don't like peas. <there have been no peas in my house since ever>
Child: Um...um...uh. <looking up thinking> I...I..well...sometimes...I just want to say hi to you and ask if I can have a soda.
Child: Why did they just do that?
Me: Why did WHO do WHAT?!
Child: What they did on TV.
Me: Was it kill a child? Because otherwise I don't know.
Child: Never mind.
Child: What are you doing?
Me: Trying to work.
Child: That doesn't seem likely. Your screen's blank.
Child: You can't spell pig with a Q.
Me: You can't spell at all if you're dead.
Child: That doesn't even make sense. <famous last words>
Child: Why do things have to die?
Me: Honestly? I blame the children.
Me: WHAT about corn?
Child: I just like to say that word. Corn. Corn. If you say it a lot you don't even know what it means anymore. Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. Corn. <what's the best way to dispose of a body, theoretically speaking of course?>
*This is a true story: I had this whole post written when one of the kids hit the keyboard with a ball, which closed the window down without it saving and I had to rewrite the whole effing thing. This is not a quality product, as when my soul died I was unable to recreate what I had previously written.
You may be thinking,...she doesn't sound like that good of a parent. You know what I have to say to that?! Well DUH.