What goes around Comes Around

Colby: "Mom, you need to pull up your pants. Underwear is private."

OK then. That's fair. I say it to him 16,000 times a day.

Sentimentality... lack thereof

For their very first Christmas, I wrote each boy a special book. Quinn's is about him as a Prince, and his valiant fight against a dragon. Colby's stars himself as a superhero. Wrote the story, drew the pictures, and then hand-bound each in leather. Love in every fiber of these books, start to finish. Tonight at bed time, I found them both on the floor of the boys' room.

Mom: "Boys, what are your books doing on the ground? They're your special books! You have to take care of them!"
Quinn: "Mom, they're not special, they're OLD. We've had them since we were babies!"
Mom: "But I made them for you. They're very special. I don't want them to get ruined."
Quinn: "Well, what would happen if they got ruined?"
Mom: "I'd probably cry."
Quinn: "You'd cry, and..... what would happen to us?"
Mom: "I'd just cry."
Quinn: "That's it?"

Why do I get the impression he's weighing whether destroying an old book is worth it or not? Heck, if there's not a spanking involved, then might as well stomp on Mom's heart... I mean his special book. These boys are OBVIOUSLY not as sentimental as their mother.

Where Food Comes From

Against my better judgement, I let the boys watch a PBS special on slaughterhouses in America. Serious breech of sanity. Both boys were FULL of questions. "But WHY are they killing all the chickens?" "To make your chicken nuggets." Brutal honesty really isn't in my best interest, given the frequency with which we have chicken nuggets for dinner. Quinn insisted that he wanted his own chicken to keep as a pet, one that wouldn't be killed or taken to a factory. At dinner tonight (chicken nuggets, of course) they both said "but Mom, they don't LOOK like those chickens. Where do they put the chicken lips?" And Quinn wanted to know how a cow went from being cow-shaped to being shaped like a circle when in a hamburger. Trust me, you just don't want to know. Don't think about it, and eat eat eat, boys. Doesn't it taste good???

Tornados

I have the filthiest children on the planet. Honestly. Whirling dervishes of dirt, leaving trails of grime, noise, and chaos wherever they go. I love them desperately, and miss them the second (ok, not THE second... but some short time afterwards) I'm away from them. And then, when we're back to being in the same room, I feel my nerves start to twang, my voice involuntarily rise, and I suddenly morph into Drill Sargeant Mom, who counts to three a whole lot. "I said SIT DOWN AND EAT YOUR DINNER. QUIETLY! YOU'RE SISTER IS TRYING TO SLEEP! ONE. TWO. THREE....." Oh boy.

Yesterday, I spent, literally, THREE HOURS cleaning the kitchen. Scrubbing down stools and cupboards full of dripped-on gunk and smeared handprints. I washed the floor on my hands and knees, did a sink and a half full of dishes, and polished every last appliance til it shown. Not 24 hours later, the kitchen is a PIT yet again. How did ketchup get on the ceiling? I have had the boys wash their hands (a struggle in and of itself) five times today, because they were fully BLACK with unimaginable things. I had a piece of paper that I was writing on, Colby lightly touched it, and I had to throw it away because of the filth. I am not an anal person. I am in no sense of the word a neat-nick, nor a germ-freak. But COME ON. They touch EVERY DISGUSTING THING with those hands. And a person would have absolutely no idea of their natural skin color if looking only at hands and face. Filthy filthy filthy filthy gross gross gross. Nightly showers only help keep them clean during sleeping hours. The second they arise, they are back at it.

THIS is why I have a blog. To vent. I have been told that some day I will yearn for smudgy little handprints on my windows. I'm having a really hard time believing that at the moment.

Quinn Town

We had grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. This invariably brings up the fact that Colby has a cheese ostensibly named after him, which happens to be made in a Wisconsin town of the same name. We've seen it. It's there.

Quinn: "There's a town named Quinn, too."
Colby: "No there's not. You're lying."
Mom: "Let's google that after dinner."
Quinn: "They make Colby cheese in Colby town. What do they make in Quinn town?"
Mom: "I don't know. We'll look that up, too."
Quinn: "I think they make Queens. And Quilts. And other 'Q' stuff there."
Mom: "Maybe you're right!"
Quinn: "I bet it's near Juneau."
Mom: "Alaska?"
Quinn: "Yes. I'd like to live there."
Colby: "Not me. They're poor in Alaska."
Mom: "Who told you that?"
Colby: "You did, Mom." I have no recollection of that whatsoever. I imagine I DID discourage any thoughts of moving to Alaska. That's something Dad has always wanted, which I have always nixed. We're cold enough here, thank you very much.

I haven't had any luck finding Quinn Town. Colby asked me to check China. Nope. Quinn suggested the South Pole. Maybe the North Pole. Nah. JACKPOT! There it is. Quinn, South Dakota... Population 45. That's 18 males, 27 females. Divorce rate 0% (that's encouraging!), although one of those 45 people is apparently a registered sex offender. Hmmmm. Other known facts about Quinn, SD:
#16 on the list of "Top 101 counties with the highest percentage of residents that keep firearms around their homes"
#32 on the list of "Top 101 counties with the highest percentage of residents that smoked 100+ cigarettes in their lives" and...
#41 on the list of "Top 101 counties with the highest percentage of residents that had a sunburn in the past 12 months"

All good to know. Not sure how much Queen or Quilt making they do there, though.

Distinction

Colby: "Mom, some people call me Quinn because they can't tell I'm Colby."
Mom: "Yup."
Colby: "But my chin is longer than Quinn's."
Mom: "Who told you that?"
Colby: "I told myself! I looked in a mirror!"
Mom: "Ahhhh. I guess you're right."
Quinn: "Well, I'm darker."
Mom: "No, you guys have the same coloring."
Quinn: "No, my voice is darker and Colby's is lighter."
Mom: "Oh, you mean DEEPER?"
Quinn: "Yeah."
Mom: "Can you tell Dallace and Dallan apart in your class at school?"
Quinn and Colby: "No. They look exactly the same."

I find it interesting that they still can't consistently tell themselves apart in pictures unless they actually remember the picture taking experience. It seems so obvious to me.

Dinner Conversation

Tortellini tonight for dinner. Neither boy was thrilled with that.

Mom: "It's just noodles, cheese, chicken, musrhooms, and tomatos. You'll like it."
Quinn: "Are these the plain mushrooms I like?"
Mom: "Yes." Quinn took a bite.
Quinn: "NO THEY'RE NOT! They're all warm and sweaty!"

Minutes later.....
Quinn: "Mom, I'll have carrots for dessert. I LOVE carrots dipped in ranch. Carrots are a 'go food' (preschool talk for health food)."
Mom: "Yeah, but ranch dressing is a slow food. It has fat."
Quinn: "Funny. I don't taste the slow part. I don't taste the fat. I know. When you eat them together, the 'go' part takes over the 'slow' part."

I wish it worked like taht.