So, a few days ago, Central California had an earthquake. It was only 5.3, and it was miles and miles and miles away from where we live, but, it was felt. Not by me of course. I was turning over in bed to keep the other half from seeing my phone screen light. But, Stanky felt it. So much that he was yelling in his sleep. At me.
"Mama!!!! Stop shaking my bed! I'm tryin da sweep hewe! It's still nightime!"
Think my kids are used to me messing with them?
And two nights ago, my filthy little meth-monkey wandered downstairs at 10 pm while I was making tea. He stood and stared at me, holding his breath. Then I realized, he came down to see me so I could watch him crap his pull-up. Niiiice.
We headed upstairs to clean him up. Because of course, poo in the pull-up likes to superglue itself to the butt-cheeks. Once I finally got him cleaned up, we turned the corner into his room, only to find Dramasaur standing next to MM's bed, poised to take a piss.
"NOOOOOOOOOO! You CAN'T PEE HERE!"
Slowly, the junk was put away, and sleepy, confused eyes were swiveled in my direction.
"Um, because you can't pee in your brother's bed, that's why. Here, lets go to the bathroom."
Once I'd quick-stepped him into the bathroom, he blinked blearily at the toilet, confusion etched on his face.
"What's that? Where am I?"
"That, my son, is a toilet. You pee in it. You are in the bathroom, because that's where we go to pee. Finish up."
Suffice to say, I had to intervene. Little penises are apparently a lot like unattended firehoses when the owners are sleepwalking, and I really didn't want to have to sterilize the entire bathroom at 10 pm. As it is, I'm NEVER using that toilet. EVER. Because once pee gets into that seat hinge, it's never. getting. out.