Monday, June 9, 2014

That Time My Kids Put Holes in My Moms Sheetrock.

I thought about showing you the pictures of the aquarium, which are still floating, in unedited glory, on my hard drive.

But I felt like I would be remiss if I didn't tell you a little story. A story of two little boys who are more curious than George, and tend to get into exorbitant amounts of trouble anytime we're somewhere new.

It was 10:30pm and we were all about ready to hit the hay. I had successfully completed a twelve hour trip with all three boys by myself, and no one imploded or pooped on themselves during the entire twelve hours, so if I am honest, then I would tell you that I was feeling a little bit proud of my achievements for that day.

Of course, as most prideful moments do, it all ended with a bang. Or a thud. I'm not really sure how to describe it, but it definitely was a loud noise, followed by some crying of Tyler. Which could only mean one thing at 10:30 at night: my two older boys were most definitely not asleep and had managed to also wake up little brother. And judging by the pitch of the cry, little brother wasn't all that happy about what was happening.

I rushed up the stairs and rounded the corner to the room that all four of us (me and the boys) were sharing for the week. A light was on. I creeped in and I'm certain horror was written all over my face. Both of the bigs were marked with an unknown marker, Tyler had an exorbitant amount of crap thrown in, around and on top of him in his little pack-n-play. Crap like lamps, old art projects, a pair of my sisters old cowboy boots... just to name a few. I stepped in something sticky on the carpet, and turned around to find a glue stick that had had unmentionable things done to it. Some of the mentionable things that were done to it included chunks being put on the carpet, and most of it being thoroughly smashed, swiped and smothered onto my brothers old desk. Which used to be my Dad's old desk. Which means IT'S AN ANTIQUE.


At this point the fruits of the Spirit were far from my mind. I yelled some things. And shooed everyone out as I got down on my hands and knees to pick glue stick clumps out of carpet. (I guess I should interject and tell you that I've really been trying to work on my reactions with the kids. As Brayden gets older I am realizing that he often reacts in anger. And angry faces. Which is only fair to assume that he has had his fair share of lessons from his momma. {Sigh}.).

After I finished picking up clumps of glue, I went out to handle the big boys. I said things about respecting property and listening and obeying the rules of the house, and other things I don't really remember because it was nearing 11pm. And if there is anything that is true of me on an almost consistent basis, it's that my mind shuts down at 10pm and does not make coherent thoughts past that time. So I am sure that my little speech did a world of good. Connor kept interjecting about the fact that he was so so sticky (this was said in a whiny, three year old voice. Hand motions were involved, and due to the whole inactive brain thing as well as my still high anger levels, this alone about pushed me over the edge). After I finally realized that the claims to stickiness were in fact, a real thing, the anger only escalated. Apparently in his quest for big brother glory, and in addition to drawing on himself and his two brothers, he decided that Connor needed a good layer of glue on his neck and back. And when I say 'good layer' I really mean it. So there I was, 11pm and all, ridding my second son's back of sticky (and thankfully, washable) glue. We all got to bed shortly after I consoled Connor that he wouldn't be sticky forever, and lived till the morning. Only, this wouldn't be the last time that this would happen...

Two nights later, similar incidents occurred. This time, it was only 9pm when we heard a shrill cry from Tyler. All of the lights were on, yet, impressively, Brayden was completely sacked out. The same basket of crap that was dumped on him only a few nights prior was again dumped on Tyler. And any flesh that was not covered by Ty's pjs sported orange streaks thanks to a loose orange highlighter Connor had found. Connor was also graced with the same orange streaks, so it was almost like I had matching highlighter tigers. I picked up all of the basket crap, went through the whole "respect other people's property and your brothers" talk with Connor and then started getting things ready for the two youngest to go back to bed. And then I found it. There on the floor was a small, open pocket knife. I about freaked at this point, as my sister made sure that no one was cut... thankfully no one was cut, so we all went to bed shortly after, because TRAUMA to us all.

The next morning, just when I thought the worst of the trauma was over, I went upstairs to clean things up so that I would have an easier time packing later that evening. And that's when I saw it. Beautiful masterpieces drawn on the walls with the orange highlighter and a crayon they had apparently found but that was lost to me. Horror. Then I looked near the wall by the closet and I noticed small holes. Upon further inspection, these were recent holes. Holes that were drilled. BY A SMALL POCKET KNIFE.

RAGE (and TERROR... because... POCKET KNIFE! What if they had reenacted their Peter Pan skits or decided to be Ninjas??? Bless. Being a boy mom is NOT for the faint of heart, this I assure you).

During a brief interrogation process of both boys, the truth came out that they wanted to use the knife to twist holes in the walls. Both of them participated. One on the closet walls and one on the bedroom walls. Their new Batman coin banks were emptied of all change and monies to pay their Gigi for the damage that was done. It was a sad day for everyone.

I wish I could tell you that I had had the presence of mind to photograph all of these incidents. I have not even one. And I am forever grateful that my mom was able to say "well, at least it wasn't a brother who was cut with the knife." Grace is a good thing in these instances.

As for some questions I am sure I will get: the knife was in my brothers old desk, which had not normally been in that bedroom when we had stayed there before. There was no way of me knowing that it was in there unless I had emptied all of the drawers in the room before we went to bed. Both times I had checked on the boys and they had both seemed like they were asleep... or at least very close to being there. If you're a mom, you'll know this when I say that I can generally tell when my boys have settled down for the nights sleep or if they are going to get up and be ornery. Neither of the times did I feel like the ornery would come out. Unfortunately, I was mistaken.

Ultimately I'm glad that no one was injured, and that we are all able to laugh about it just a week after it happening. Life with boys is never dull, that is for sure.

I'll be back in a few with pictures of our time at the aquarium. Of which I am happy to report did not include sheet rock destruction or self-marking with markers. You win some, you lose some, right? ;)

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