I think that is the most uttered phrase in our home. So today we ran some errands, then gorged at lunch ( a post in itself). It was really beautiful out there today: not too hot, not too cold. So we return and John sneaks it in there that he wants to take the Harley out for a spin. (Incidentally, do Harleys go for “spins”, or is it more of the badass, gonad-vibrating roar of a ride?) Of course this means I am alone here at the house with the 2 boys. Which is lovely because I really do love my children. Except that I only slept about half the amount a normal person should sleep after a 12-hour shift in the ER. Yes, I’m whining.
So Evan is cake because he’s Evan and can amuse himself. I just have to periodically ensure that he isn’t playing in traffic or abducted by gypsies ar something. Zach requires more work because he’s still about two inches tall and all. So I find my happy medium by playing with Zachy in his room where I can see Evan out the window. Whatevs, you don’t care about that crap.
Something bad has happened. Someone has turned my sweet baby into Satan’s Spawn. He kicked me in the face. He head-butted me in the friggin’ ear to where it is amazing I can even hear the clackety-clack of me typing this shit to you right now. He pulled my hair. Not in a cute “ouchy” kind of way, but in a way that had me showing the involuntary response of eyes watering and screaming, “OWWWWWWWWWFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCK” at the top of my lungs. I’m waiting for the Mommy license to be revoked and CPS to come and take my children right now as we speak. Of course Zach doesn’t know I dropped the F-bomb. For all he knows, I said “cracker”. Or “chainsaw”. Or “Volvo”. But I’ll be damned if the little booger didn’t have friggin’ tufts of my hair clasped in his little fist when the tears cleared enough for me to see through the blur. And I don’t even know how he managed that because my hair was in one of those sloppy buns/ half-ponytail concoctions that is an abomination before every higher power out that may or may not be out there.
We made up, this youngest child and I. I’m legally obligated to forgive him. And he leaned in to give me one of those adorable Zachy kisses, which is just him opening his mouth as wide as he can and touching your face with his opened mouth, leaving a slobbery ring on your face. Except he missed my cheek and got my nose. And as I was giggling at the cute mishap, he clamped down with his whopping two teeth. And I realized it wasn’t a kiss at all. The little fucker bit me. He really bit my nose.
Right at that instant where I realized Little Lucipher had meant to do it, my cell rang and it was John. All I remember is, “Come home NOW. He bit me!!!” In the shrillest of my shrill, I-Mean-Business-or-You-Will-Be-Single voices. And there you have it. It has started.