I love the smell of piss in the morning.

*Disclaimer: I'm cranky. Real cranky. Read at your own risk.

So I've been sick all weekend. Just a little head cold, nothing to get your underwear in a bunch over. But of course due to my refusal inability to follow everyone around, wiping their asses cleaning up after them and generally waiting on them hand and foot, the house is a shit hole in a general state of disarray. The last time I dared to venture into the main living space of my home, there were dirty kid underwear on the kitchen floor, random half eaten waffles left lying on the carpet, and a sink full of dishes overflowing onto the surrounding counter space. And don't even get me started about what my son did to the toilet last night. Let me just say that the hubs almost had to make an emergency trip to Walmart for Drano, after my plunging prowess failed to rectify the situation (the hubs saved the day with his own mad plunging skilz. It's true though, I'm hella good at plunging. Sorry boys, I'm taken. XOXO).

What's more, this morning I was awakened at the butt crack of dawn by the ever-delightful sound of children bickering (ahhh, music to my ears), at which point I discovered that Maggs, who always occasionally sleeps with me, had also wet the bed. Good times. You know me - I love the smell of piss in the morning.

I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

Maggie just approached me, begging with much excitement and enthusiasm, for something she just saw on TV called "Bumpits." She continued to inform me that "they're only $9.99 plus process and handling, and if you buy one, you get one free!"

























C seemed to be concerned by her request for Bumpits, as if he were assuming that naturally I would rush to take advantage of the twofer. However I would never purchase Bumpits for my daughter for these reasons alone:

At best she might look like this





And at worst she might look like this




Yeah, I think we'll have to pass on the Bumpits.

Maggs goes vintage.

Maggs is rocking a vintage Nintendo t-shirt (circa 1987) , courtesy of a keepsake box rediscovered in my garage last weekend. She's accessorized her latest find with a wooden bead necklace and matching bracelet (not shown), which she made herself. Eat your hearts out.

Say hello to my little friend...

Everyone knows that I'm a bad-ass. And a mom. That said, I would like you to say hello to my little friend, Nintendo DS. Yes, Nintendo DS is what I like to refer to as "Mommy's Little Helper." Perhaps at this point you are thinking, " Pshaw! Video games rot the brain! Good parenting? I think not!" To which I would respond that you are a fool - a fool I say!, and attempt to persuade you to listen to what Nintendo DS might have to offer your family.

1) Video games may or may not rot the brain - that remains to be seen in the EW household. But I will tell you this: Nintendo DS makes my son do his homework. Mostly because I say this, "If you don't do your homework now, I will take away your Nintendo DS." Works like a charm every time. *Note: Feel free to apply this formula to bedtime, teeth brushing, you name it. Get creative! Nintendo DS will not fail you.
2) Nintendo DS also functions as a magic wand of sorts. When I wave Nintendo DS suggestively at my son before school, he understands this to mean that if he gets in the car ASAP without whining, crying, or refusing to go to school that day, he will be allowed to play a quick round of Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Winter Games en route to school. Voila! Peaceful mornings abound!
3) Nintendo DS allows one to at least entertain the thought of embarking on a family vacation (not for the weak of heart, mind you). Five hour plane ride back East? No problemo. Nintendo DS is the solution to your problems. *Note: Okay, I'm not gonna lie. A situation such as this may require the assistance of yet another of Mommy's Little Helpers, and no I don't mean alcohol (this time). I'm referring to the ever-trusty portable DVD player.

Until recently, Nintendo DS had been used exclusively as a parenting tactic for my son. But to both our surprise and delight, Carl and I realized just weeks before Christmas that Maggs had recently developed an interest in the Nintendo DS as well. Lo and behold, Santa surprised Maggie with her very own pink "in-tendo DS" (as she calls it) on Christmas morning!

Like mother, like daughter.

Which brings me to my favorite reason of all for being a proponent of the Nintendo DS.

4. While these handheld devices may serve as "little friends" that help my day run smoother by functioning as a means of occasional bribery (let's just call it what it is), they make my kids act like friends to each other, which is perhaps the greatest gift of all.

One of the main reasons Carl and I thought that Maggs would enjoy a Nintendo DS of her own is that the kids can sync their machines so that they can play games together, which they think is the bee's knees. And I'll admit, nothing gives me greater pleasure (other than jarred cheese sauce, Tivo, and 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep) than hearing my kids laughing and having fun together. It's just the best sound in the world. So if you haven't already, I highly recommend that you do yourself a favor and hightail it to your nearest Best Buy or Toys R US or wherever, and purchase a Nintendo DS of your own today. Trust me, you won't regret it.

Just another day here at the Cleaver house...

I present you with two scenarios, typical of daily life here in the very Cleaver-esque EW household (would you expect anything less?):

First scenario: The kids have been non-stop bickering all day. This bickering escalates considerably when I demand gently suggest with kisses and hugs and promises of cookies and pony rides that the children clean up their playroom. I mistakenly tell them to do this together. When they initially refuse, I threaten to sell them to a band of gypsies remind them that Ward will give them a talking to if he sees that their playroom is a shit hole in disarray. Eventually they comply because they don't want to lose their videogames hate to disappoint us. (*Note: I suppose June would happily tidy the toy room herself, all while keeping her coif neatly in place and her dress maintaining the appearance of being freshly pressed. Fuck you, June. I am sick to death of bending over 10,000 times a day to clean up legos that, when they're not painfully embedded in the heel of my foot, are so small they're nearly impossible to detect with the naked eye).

But if only it were that easy. Eventually, exasperated and sick of hearing exchanges such as "You're just a poo poo diaper baby." "No YOU'RE the poo poo diaper baby." "Mom! Maggie called me a poo poo diaper baby!" I repress the urge to scream "You're BOTH poo poo diaper babies!" and instead inform them both that they're no longer allowed to speak to each other ANYMORE. For the rest of their lives. To which Wally and the Beav respond with enthusiastic cheers of, "YAY!" while doing a sort of jig around the playroom. I should have seen that one coming.

Second scenario: The weekend. It's bedtime and the kids are having a camp-out style sleep-over in my room. As usual, they have refused to eat dinner, therefore their bedtime snack is restricted to fruit and dry cereal such as Cheerios. Maggie approaches me to ask for popcorn and cookies, a request which needless to say I deny. She informs me that her brother told her to demand that I provide them with popcorn and cookies and that if I refuse, to hit me. She relays this information to me with a look that clearly says that she understands that this is not advisable. At that point it becomes clear to me that Bear is pulling an "Eddie Haskell" by setting his sister up for his own amusement, and I imagine him in my bedroom suppressing snorts and giggles with his ear to my door in an attempt to eavesdrop on our exchange. I mean, who would want to miss out on that shit storm? "Dance, puppet, dance!" I imagine him thinking as Maggie set out on her mission. For him I guess it's a win-win situation. Either she comes back with cookies and popcorn, or he gets to see what happens when his baby sister tries to put the screws to their mother. Good times all around. Of course, Ward and I did give him a talking to.

I'll actually take these Stepford Children because they seem to be eating whatever it is that's on their plates without whining, crying, gagging, or lying prostrate on the floor.

I think I've created a monster...

Please note both the scarf (Maggie's favorite, as it's very purple-y) and mini-Starbucks (which contains hot chocolate not coffee. I'm overindulgent, not insane).

Dare to be different.

As I've mentioned before, Maggie has very specific ideas about art and fashion, and I've always highly encouraged her individuality. Lately, however, she's taken to wearing her hair in strange ways, and I'm not gonna lie, this kind of bothers me. I constantly want to reach over, yank her headband off and comb that mangy mess she calls her hair (which is usually somehow inexplicably sticky - possibly from one of those glue sticks she's forever toting around in one of the 10,000 miniature pink purses she owns. Because you just never know when you're going to need to glue something. Seriously.)

But as much as I find this new phase slightly frustrating, I do appreciate the fact that my daughter likes to do things her own way. This is also why I allow her to leave the house in outfits that consist of what some might consider less than favorable combinations such as leopard print pants with a pink and purple striped t-shirt and patent leather boots. Because she likes it. And believe me, I do gets looks, as well as the sporadic comment from other parents. They either get it or they don't. But given the choice, I'd rather allow my daughter to explore who she is through fashion, than repress her individuality and insist that she look like a model for Baby Gap. Maggs, even though it drives me nuts sometimes, I like the fact that you have your own ideas about things. We will need to wash the glue out of your hair occasionally, but you can wear it however you like.