You can check out, but you can NEVER leave...

It's been a while since I've taken the time to blog.  I'm going to start doing it more often, though.  I'm back home after spending a week with my mother (without the hubby and 4 kids) and have fallen, once again, into the utter madness that is my life.  My brother made an astute observation when I told him he needed to have another child to really experience what it was like to be a parent.  He said he could always come visit me at my house, get his fill of the 4-kid chaos, and then make a hasty retreat back home.  It's like Hotel Crazy.  He said, you (meaning I) can check out, but you can never leave.  Ugh, don't I know.

So, first day home, I woke up to deal with the hungry goblins.  I guess Jame decided he deserved to sleep in.  Whatever.  Jillian was sitting half-way down the staircase singing to her kitten (quite loudly, I might add) and as I stepped out of my room, it hit me.  Yes.  You know what's coming.  I could hear the noise on the other side of the boys' door, but since a safety knob was installed on the inside while I was gone (to keep THE troll in his cave), I couldn't see what was happening.  I opened the door to find Ronan still sleeping, and Ripley standing by the bed with nothing on but a shirt and a smile.

Upon closer inspection, he did have something else on him.  It was brown.  It looked like he had been playing in chocolate - finger painting and rain dancing (since it covered his feet).  I didn't even have to guess what it was since the Easter bunny hasn't come yet and I don't normally leave stashes of chocolate lying around the boys' room.  Off to the shower with him.

Once back in their room, I got Ripley dressed, woke Ronan up, and proceeded to try to locate the soiled diaper that has so recently become the bane of my existence.  I found it.  On the floor.  Next to a large Dora book covered with a Ripley-sized butt print in shit.  It was like he was one of those avant garde painters they talk about on "The Smoking Gun's World's Dumbest..."  They've showcased a guy who paints with his penis, a woman who paints with her boobs, and now we've got Ripley painting with his butt.  Awesome.  Jame told me to just clean the book off and give it to the women's shelter.  Huh?

"They would love to have a book like that," he said.  Um, not if they knew it had toddler shit on it beforehand.  Needless to say, another Dora-themed toy (first the Dora van and now the large book with puzzle pieces and obnoxious sounds) found its way to the trash.  I don't know what Ripley has against Dora.

So, that was my first morning back.  Since then, I've been dealing with a nearly 4-year old who is terrified of the Phantom of Retroland (thank you Jimmy Neutron), Jillian desperately needing a judge for her Barbie spring fashion show, Isabelle needing an injection of some serious "act right" into her attitude, and Ripley basically cranking up the level of trolldom on a daily basis.

I've had to reassure Ronan mutliple times throughout the day (normally as I'm trying to walk about 20 feet away from him) that the Phantom of Retroland only haunts theme parks and that we don't LIVE in a theme park.  He only lives in Retroville.  Which is on tv.  On a cartoon.  It's perfectly safe for him to try to drop a deuce in the bathroom without any threat of a black-robed phantom with a white face and a salami leg coming to get him.  It's just not going to happen.

Jillian's fashion show went off without a hitch.  I chose the one she thought I'd choose - probably why she dressed and coifed the Barbie the way she did.  She was very excited that I went for the one with the "natural" look about her.  Of course.  Now the poor girl won't give me a break about making her a chore chart.  Really?  Okay.  She asked for it.

Ripley?  Well, business as usual.  Sunday night, Ripley dashed out of his room, Ronan tight on his heels. Ronan was screaming and crying, and with a huge grin on his face, Ripley ran to the banister and tossed Ronan's cherished Transformer's book over the railing.  Might also explain why I found the back cover torn in two last night - demon child.

Yesterday afternoon, Ripley and I walked into the boys' room where Ronan was hard at work building a robot out of his Fisher Price Trio building set.  Ripley ran over to him, snatched one of his smaller pieces, and the wrestling match began.  Honestly, the whole tussle lasted all of 3 or 4 seconds, but there was wailing and gnashing of teeth (by Ronan), mixed in with devilish laughter (by Ripley).  Ripley stood up from the brawl (and I honestly saw the thought process on his face - no joke), turned, HEADBUTTED Ronan, and thrust the toy in the air with a triumphant, "Ha! Ha!"

I was so shocked by the brutality, but amazed by the brilliance, that I had to turn around to stifle my laughter.  I'm such a horrible mother.  I made Ripley give the toy back and told him no more headbutting.  Like that's going to make any difference.

And yet, that was all through yesterday.  I haven't even gotten into today's antics yet.  Maybe later.  Each day is a further affirmation, that yes, Jason, you can check out, but you can NEVER leave.