"Hey, Beth. Wanna come out for girls' night next Saturday?" "I'll let you know at 6:30 the night before."
"Hey, Beth. We're going to try to get tickets for a concert next month. Do you want in on it?" "Um....I won't know if I can go until 6:30 the night before."
"We're all going to see a chickflick Friday night. Can you come?" "I'll let you know at 6:30 Thursday night."
You get the picture...Actually, most people who know me just don't even bother to ask anymore, which is a mixed bag. I don't have to say, "I"ll let you know at 6:30 the night before." for the millionth time, but it's also kind of isolating. On the flip side, my boys are seriously bonded with me, because we have so much time together. So, so, so much time...sigh.
But, even with such a psycho schedule, there are ways around it. Like, inviting girlfriends to come over to my place for wine after the kids go to bed. Hubby might show up, he might not. But, as long as it's at my house, I can have some semblance of a social life. (In the summertime, when my porch swing is up, I call this little event, "Swinging Saturdays", because we sit around on the porch swing sipping, laughing, noshing, and basically having a lovely time, while the boys snooze away inside.)
That was a long, long introduction that really has nothing much to do with the topic of this blog. But, I'm sleep-deprived, a teeny bit hungover, and feeling kinda rambly... So, deal with it. Here's the situation. Last night, one of my girlfriends came over for the aforementioned "wine night". (Not only that, she brought the wine and snacks with her. How great is that? Thanks, girl!) Anyway, this particular friend is a stay-at-home mother of two boys, so, as usual, after we talked about husbands, neighbors, my work stuff, politics, the state of the world, blah, blah, blah, the subject turned to our little rays of sunshine. In particular, the fact that my little angels have been arguing nonstop about everything under the sun for the last three days, driving me slowly but surely toward a nervous breakdown, and I'm about ready to give them up for adoption!
"I know, I know," said my friend. And then, she asked the question that prompted this blog:
"What is it with little boys? How come they can't wash their hands in the sink together without fighting, but they will happily pee into the same toilet at the same time?" Bwaaa haaa haaaa... SO TRUE!
This question got me thinking. So, to fill up last night's particular bout of insomnia, I found myself asking a lot of important questions about my boys. I thought I'd jot a few of them down, so I can laugh about them later, when my little darlings are past this stage (they are going to get past this stage, right?).
How come my little boys can wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning and start out their day playing with Legos or their stuffed animals or something, giggling and getting along famously, but the very second I rally myself to get up and truly start the day (Translation: make a huge pot of incredibly strong coffee), they start throwing blocks, fighting over their toys, and saying things like, "MOOOOOMMMMYYYYY...Spence took my toy, and I wasn't done with it!" or "MOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYY....Fos pulled the arm off my robot!!!" or "MOOOMMMMMYYYYYY...Foster said there are no such things as aliens. He's lying!" "No, I'm not!" "Yes, you are!" "No, I'm not!" "Yes, you are!" "NO, I'M NOT!" "MOOOOMMMMYYYYYYYY!!!!" ?
"Oh, we just love having Spencer over to our house. He's SO good about sharing toys!"
"Ummmm, are you sure you're talking about the right kid?" (The one who just threw a major temper tantrum in our living room, because he didn't want to share the monster blocks with his brother?"
"Foster is so sweet and helpful. He is just a joy to have around."
"MY Foster?" (The one who just yelled "NO!" at me, when I asked him to put away his markers?)
The minute I call out, "Dinner's ready. Go wash your hands!", they're nowhere to be found. Then, after all the whining, complaining, begging, etc., I have to holler out "Dinner's ready!" seventeen more times before they come to the table? (By the way, this appears to be something that afflicts adult males as well. But, questions about why adult men do the things they do, is a topic for a whole different blog. Or, maybe an entire book...)
At least until we start another day...