I am sitting here trying to write a thought out blog diving into my lack of design in my living room, and you would think the fucking house was caving in.The baby is in the floor for tummy time screaming. Doodle is poking him and yelling in his face"BABY! STOP CRYING." Princess is in my face "When can I spit out the cough drop? It burns! It's so hot and spicy."
"Princess. We are going out to dinner go get dressed."
She goes up and comes down in lime green sweat pants and her "pretty in pink.tough in uniform" soccer shirt.
"Princess, I said get dressed."
" I AM!"
"In the clothes on your desk."
"WHAAA HAHA! Why?"
"BECAUSE I SAID SO!" I know , wrong but I was desperate. Don't judge me.
I am helping Picky with his homework at the same time, and the moment my fingers hit the keyboard he jumps up screaming " I CANT DO THIS! FINE I AM RUNNING AWAY!" I call for him to come back and finish his homework or else he won't join us in the report card celebration dinner. " ARRRGGGG!!! BUT I NEEED HELP SPELLING "SWIRLING"!
"I can't help you until you are sitting down and stop whining."
"Doodle, go get dressed."
"But I already am."
Shit not this AGAIN! "Go get some pants and a shirt on, or you are going in your sleeper."
"OKAY! ALRIGHT ALREADY." Where does he get this shit?
Oh... right...Moving right along.
"Princess, go get Daddy. See if he is ready.Please and Thank You."
David comes up the stairs, "Is there anything I can do to help?" God, I love this man.
"Yes, brush Princess' hair please."
Moments later I hear her wailing in her room. There is a reason I chose to give this chore to him.(insert evil grin here)
I am getting "WAAHHH, WAAAHHHH" from all fronts. All I am thinking is good GOD! Are you 18 yet?
Now its time to feed Baby before he bursts a vein.