Of course, telling the story is now anticlimactic to me, and you all probably won't find it as funny as I do, but hey, them's the breaks. I do have an additional funny/rant, so maybe it'll make up for it.
That Man and I engage in competitive brainwashing of our children. Early on, I taught B to say, "Mom rules." That Man, of couse, could not have that, so he decided to get her to say "Dad rules." Being the smart child that she is, she tries to please us both and say we both rule.
Anyway, we were sitting on the couch the other night, and That Man is trying to get the baby, who has an incredibly powerful vocabulary for a two year old, to say, "Dad rules.". (She woke me up the other morning, and in a perfectly clear sentence said, "Mom, please make me pancakes for breakfast.") Well, after several tries, and the baby repeatedly saying no to his request, he gave it one last shot. "Come on, say Dad rules." She gave him a dirty look and said, "No. *I* rule." (Okay, she actually used her name, but trying not to use their names as often) Yep. That there's the reason that anyone who prays for a smart kid is just plain dumb.
Rant about That Man/Kid Funny
Tonight we dined al fresco, primarily because I'm supposed to be paying bills and they're spread out all over the kitchen table and I was too lazy to either get it done before dinner or move it. I forgot to bring out something to drink, and B asks for some milk. I ask her if she can wait, but she got all pouty and said she could do it herself. That Man suggested that she go get the milk, chocolate syrup, and some cups and he'd help her. Okay. Fine. I didn't have to get up off my butt, so I was pleased. She brings out the milk, kiddos get chocolate milk, all is good, right?
I finish eating first, and, as we always do, I cleared my plate and left them with their plates and the food, since they were all still eating. I pick up the kitchen, putter around the house a bit, go into the living room, and see That Man. I figure, he's done what he always does and brought in his stuff. Um, no. Apparently, like with the children, if I'm not on his butt making him pick up after himself, it doesn't get done. Actually, he did bring in his plate (but didn't put it in the dishwasher), so he gets a half a point for that.
I ask where the baby is. He shrugs. I go outside to make sure my kid isn't sprawled out on the grass, dead. She is very much alive. Standing on the picnic table, emptying the half gallon of milk into a glass. Not bad. Except that she doesn't stop when the glass is full. No, she poured it ALL out. And, when I got there, she was mixing it between cups-probably with other mystery fluid and the remains of her dinner. I turned on my heel, walked into the house, and informed That Man he had a situation to deal with.
He thought it was funny. I'm hoping that the glass of mystery beverage that she handed him and he praised her for (and I think drank) had something really gross in it. He was supposed to clean it up. Now that I think about it, I was so disgusted by the mess, I never checked to see if it got done. It might be worthwhile to inspect the damage before packing his lunch tonight, in case I need to get even, but he reads my blog every morning before work so now he'll be looking for gross things like rat guts.
Oh, and on a related note (but also happening today), if you spill strawberry milk on hot cement, make sure you clean it up right away. Otherwise, it will stain the cement and take forever to get clean. I know because I dropped the baby's milk cup on the way to take B to school today, and thought I could get away with cleaning it when I got home. Uh, no. It was not a fun project. But at least it helped me learn that my front door needs new weather stripping. My entryway was full of water from hosing down the front porch.
Birth control, anyone? I should hand out pills as party favors to my guests.