Dun May Me Get to Fwee!

D-man has had an incredible amount of energy lately and it seems we are constantly yelling, “STOP RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” at him every fifteen minutes. This morning, amidst the dogs pooping and peeing on the floor (I just let them in from outside; the bastards!), my not feeling well, laundry everywhere, D-man was, once again running only, this time, before we could yell, we heard, “BOOM!”

Both of us went running into the livingroom where we found him on the floor, next to the wall and an incredible CSI-like-blood-splatter on the carpet. He kept saying, over and over, “Much too much bwood! Much too much bwood! Much too much bwood!”

And there was much too much blood gushing everywhere from two big ol’ splits in his bottom lip. Angela cupped his face and took him into the kitchen. She ran cold water over his mouth while he cried, complained, stared in amazement, and kept saying, “Bwood! Bwood!” He hit his nose and has a weird looking bruise on his right nostril. I cleaned the splatter, put him in the shower, and then retired to the couch. It was all very gross.

Despite all of this, he continued to run in the house and chatter like a freakin’ magpie all day. Here’s just a snippet:

D: “Tan I pway DS, pwease?”

Me: “No.”

D: “Pwease? Pwease? Pwease? I diyah chowes. I cweaned room.”

Me: “You did not. Gabriel did. No. You didn’t do any of the chores I asked of you.”

D: “Uh-uh. I cweaned someping. DS… pweeeeease!”

Me: “No. And you did not ‘cwean someping’ today.”

D: “Yes I diyah, pwease? Oh, I din’t care.”

Me: “What? Tsk… Stop. No.”

D: “Otay, I count. Tomowow Monday an I can’d pway Monday I can pway Sunday and today is Sunday. Pweeeease! Pwease pway DS? I dun know… I cwean yesterday. Pwease Mommy. Pwease pway DS.”

Me: “Nope.”

D: “Pwwwweeease… DeMommy. PWEASE!”

Me: “No.”

D: “Okay then…. One………. Two……. dun may me get to fwee….”

(At this point Angela and I are IM’ing back and forth and just cracking up. He’s counting at me! He’s actually being very cute when he’s doing this and charming us both…. to death.)

Me: “Tsk… Okay. You can play the Gameboy but not the DS.”

D: “Gameboy? You sure?”

Me: “Hahahaha… Get out of here you bugger!”

Just a pile of laughs. I’ve been under the weather all day today and a bit crabby but he just cracked me up. Gabriel, on the other hand, began that crying/yelling thing when I asked him to clean his room. He. Would. Not. Shut. Up. Finally, I turned on the timer and told him he had two minutes to get his act together or he would be spending the rest of the day on his bed. Worked like a charm. Wish I’d said “one minute” though.

Angela and I played Mob Wars on Facebook, killing, attacking, and doing fake muggings and drug deals for hours. We both felt better after beating anonymous internet people to death. God. What has become of my world?

Angela has been obsessed with the idea of moving to India. Yeah, THAT India; Kerala to be exact. She’s been reading all about it since yesterday and trying to persuade me to think about it. That is, until she read that you should always turn on the light in the bathroom before you go in to do your business because many, many people have been hit in the bum by pipe-lurking cobras.

Later in the day, we went to Walmart (because we are out of milk and gluttons for punishment) and, I kid you not, stood in line for an HOUR to check out. The place was swarming with (ghetto-ass) people. As we were sauntering through the parking lot, weary of sounds and children (especially the grape-throwing baby in front of us and his Crown Royal-smelling anorexic mother) and people who’ve never uttered the words, “Excuse me.” in their lives, Angela says to me, “I don’t know what I was thinking in wanting to move to India. I can’t even deal with Walmart for an hour!”

Yeah, well, today I (and I’m sure Angela, too) feel exactly like that about all ya’ll. Walmart was simply the icing on the cake. There were two former NFL players signing autographs at a table in front of the ladies department (bad placement, if you ask me) in Walmart. The boys went up and shook their hands even though they were on teams we can’t stand; the Raiders and the Cowboys. These guys were very nice to the boys but we had to wonder; what must it be like to be Superbowl champions and have to do autograph signings in a Walmart in Albuquerque, New Mexico?

As we were standing in line, I looked at D-man and noticed he had blood and puss dripping off his lip so I grabbed the inside of his shirt and dabbed it carefully. I realized that, considering the environment we were in, no one even noticed. Well, I noticed it and I’m pretty sure I’d notice a pipe-lurking cobra about to bite me in the bum.

Unless I was distracted by magpies which, considering, is wholly possible.

By the time we got home we said the heck with it all and let the kids eat cereal for dinner. Not so sure that would even be a choice if we lived in India. I don’t know what Angela was thinking: she hates rice, hates coconut milk, hates bugs and snakes, and hates lots of people.

Me… I opt for just another day in paradise where I just this very moment yelled,

“STOP RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!”

…and a giggling, pussy-lipped child just ran away into the night…