Cake Wrecks of a Different Sort

This week marks a milestone for us as a family. We officially made it to the youngest child’s 3rd birthday without another child in the hatcher. Considering how slow we were to get started, there is quite a tale to tell here. However, that’s for some other day. For today, I have cakes on my mind. If you’ve been following this blog from the beginning, you’ve endured 2 DAYS of cake piping references. And furthermore,  you are aware that those references have nothing to do with me. Because I don’t do cakes. I don’t even buy and transport cakes without consternation and disproportionate destruction. The following entry takes place over the course of 3 days last May. Because the bedlam was consistent and unending, I wrote it all down as it occurred.
It was bad.

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I don’t watch the Simpsons, but I’ve seen a few episodes. One of the ones I remember boiled down to Homer just having nothing more to say. So he walked away saying, “Snuh.” So for years, when one of us in the house is just done with a topic, we shut the entire thing down with a firm ‘snuh.’

It was a day in which Beloved (she’s 4. Her father calls her this to alienate the other children. Just kidding.) fell, caught limbs in furniture, or hit her head at least 56 times. Honestly, I was surprised she was still forming sentences by the end of the day. Mama’sBoy got hives from too much crazed white boy-dancing to an endless loop of Justin Bieber that I foolishly downloaded onto my nano. I have blamed a neighbor boy for my own kids’ Beaver Fever (you try to tell them it’s not Justin Beaver. I gave up.). But my first shout out, Elaine the Informinator, has informed me with little to no compassion that I am completely at fault here. Whatever.

OK, Let’s see. Back to this day. I asked for some help cleaning up. I was met with blank stares. No, I mean that. Blank stares. Like I wasn’t even talking. I actually crossed my arms to see if each arm still existed and asked them if they could see my mouth moving. It was a weird existentialist moment. If you don’t know what existentialism is, you might want to stop reading my blog and choose more intellectual material. Try Emerson or Thoreau. Ultimately, you’ll probably get bored enough to return and I’ll look forward to having you back. So, I met their blank stares with a cardboard box and took EVERYTHING from the floors of 4 different rooms. Much of it will be in the garage sale in 2 weeks. Booyah. Also, they are grounded. Until I no longer feel like saying Snuh. And then, to put the pink piping on the cake, my will-remain-unnamed child looks upon the plate of sweet smelling food that I placed in front of her and says, “Now that’s just the worst chicken I have ever seen.” Really? Let me see if I can find you something slightly worse than this for tomorrow’s dinner and we’ll see if we can amend your statement.
Also, go to bed.
And still also, snuh.

P.S. The chicken rocked. I ate mine and hers too. So there.