Losing my mind one child at a time.

First, I want to say that I stole the title of this post from another blog.  A very very funny blog.  But the title is just too fitting.  That's justifiable, right?

If you have known me any length of time you are already aware of my being a wee bit absent minded.  But with each kid I have mentally gone down hill.  I used to think it was just old age.  But after you read this post it will be confirmed for everyone that it is all the children's fault.

It was Monday.  I had worked all weekend planning new, creative, fun things to do for school.  But the kids didn't buy it.  They were distracting and distracted.   

So I decided to take a break and let the yahoos play.  But they started arguing and WOULD. NOT. STOP.  I sent everyone outside (including Baby Yahoo).  My first mistake was assuming that the older 3 would keep an eye on the 2 year old.

Fail.

As I walked around the house to check on them I looked down toward the road and saw Baby Yahoo walking back up the driveway!!!  He had gone to the mailbox, gotten the mail and was bringing it back up to me.

Isn't he helpful?

And for those that have never been to my house, you must know that the journey to the mailbox is not for the faint of heart.  My heart stopped for a few minutes after that.  So needless to say I am now somewhat hysterical upset.  I begin to go after the other yahoos, more mad at myself than them, when Little Middle Yahoo begins screaming.  He's at the barn.

I don't run.  Running is for new moms.  I am old enough now to discern that this cry is of the 'I have been wronged' kind, which requires no running at all (except maybe in the opposite direction).

I come to find that Sweet Yahoo has hit him in the face.  That's it.  I have had ENOUGH!  I banish them all to their rooms indefinitely.

I carry Baby Yahoo in.  Throw some pizzas in the oven, mumbling incoherent ramblings under my breath (something about their father and me being underpaid).  I serve the children their lunches in their room.  A small twinge of pity swells up in me as I watch Ninja Yahoo eat alone.  I swallow that down real fast.  After Baby Yahoo eats I put him down for his nap.  Thirty minutes later he opens the door and announces to me that he has pooped.  But no worries, because when I get upstairs I find that he has attempted to change himself ! His dirty diaper AND pants are in the trash, used wipes are everywhere. And apparantly during the cleanup he accidentally stepped in his diaper and now I have brown footprints all over my carpeted floor.


Here is an artist's rendition of me at this moment:

 I like how he gave me a trimmer figure;)

The next hour after that is a bit blurry (probably from the lack of oxygen from burying my head in my pillow for too long) but I apparantly did collect myself enough to call for everyone to come downstairs.  We managed to finish our day working together to clean a little house, go to some ballgames, sit around the dinner table as a family of 6, give goodnight hugs and kisses and sleep in some heavenly peace.



All in all I would call it a pretty normal day.

And for this I am truly blessed.