Things to Deal With ...

First, it's Patriot Day. Have I sat down and explained to my little hellions DEAR children why we can't take our own bottled water on airplanes have this "holiday?"

No, I haven't. And because of this, the terrorists are winning. 

I do remember where I was when I learned about the attack on the World Trade Center. (Just came into the classroom that I was volunteering in ... Leigh, the teacher, was visibly upset. She asked me, "Did you hear what happened?!?" ... No, I hadn't. I immediately prepared myself for one of the first-graders having been in a car accident or something. When she told me, I just couldn't fathom it. To me, Ney York is practically Shangri-La. You hear about it, but it's not anyplace that you GO. [Yes, I am horribly ill-traveled.])

But, what HAVE I been up to? Let's recap:

• I'm SPEEDING through Breaking Dawn, since I need to get it back to Jenny so another of her friends can borrow it. (on page 561 of 754 -- Started yesterday afternoon. Boo yah, y'all!)
• Took the kidlets to storytime. Managed not to eat them as they kept TALKING to me and not listening to the stories.
• Took the kidlets to Target to buy cat food and stuff to GET RID OF THE @#*%&%! FLEA INFESTATION here. ... Which bring us up to the next story to share:

SO, as I'm paying for our purchases at Target, I look over at Bruise. He's squatting in front of the candy display. Totally normal. 

I run my card through the reader, blah, blah , and look over again.

He's got a giant Push-Pop (think, like a lollipop, but in a little spring-loaded holder. Yeah.) unwrapped and IS SUCKING ON IT! GAAAAAAAH!!!!1!

I manage to NOT smack him or YELL at him about how STEALING is a slippery slop that ends in hard time in the big house, little man!!, or anything much like that. I pay for the #$%#@# Push-pop and throw the dratted thing in the bag. (Which I later ate. By myself. I paid for the stupid thing, now didn't I?)

But, Bruise ... having his treat taken away from him (so it could be rung up and bagged). Just too much. For him ... and therefore for me, too. He's in my arms, SCREAMING as Bucket is giving me her commentary:

"Bruise CRY, Mommy. Why Bruise Cry? Oh!! TEARS! Why Bruise sad? Why Bruise trouble? Why take candy? Mommy, Bruise cry."

(As if I somehow could MISS that SUBTLE fact of having a SCREAMING toddler in my arms as I'm loading up the frakkin' cart.)

So, I tossed them into naptime as soon as we got in the door and I had unloaded the car.

Then I called Michael, who tried not to snicker at my retelling of the woeful shopping trip, to tell me that I'm not raising a hard-core criminal and that it's fine that the kidlets scream themselves to sleep (which it took them, oh, three minutes to do), and that I should take it easy for a while before I really go all postal.

... Well, I need to finish the dishes sometime. And I should fold all our laundry. And vacuum and spray the house with flea-killer. (So gross. I HATE having bugs in the house. First ants [controlled], then fruit flies [in the process of being controlled], now FLEAS?!?!? Gah.) I have no idea where they came from. The cats stay inside. Ugh. Stupid, evil fleas. Just wait. We're going to end up with the plague or something. *sigh*

Well, maybe I can ignore my children help channel my children's energies into something productive so I can finish my book make dinner or something.