Growing up is hard to do, unless you've got the vocabulary

It's been a long, traumatic and interesting week.  TT2 is now registered for kindergarten, and currently gung-ho for homework.  He's working on his chores to earn attitude stipes for his karate belt.  He's asking me for homework and was overjoyed when I brought home the writing without tears workbook from kindy registration.  I've actually had to dream up crap to keep him busy whilst cajoling TT1 to actually sit on his mangy butt and DO the homework he's been assigned. 
TT2 is crazy excited about kindy, other than not being able to wear his favorite color - camo anything.  I have been informed that this rule is stupid and not faiwuh.  I'd have to agree, because that means his jacket, hats, socks, pants, t-shirts, shorts and possibly half of his underwear, will all have to be replaced before school, which is a shame, because, well, that stuff costs money honey!  And he's not growing all that fast, so I really don't think he will have outgrown half of that stuff by the time school starts.  *Sigh*

TT1 has been going through some tough times, friend-wise.  He expressed his upset about being intentionally excluded by his bestie by shoving said bestie and the two other excluders down during P.E. and then kicking them.  Not his finest 10 minutes I'm afraid.  I was informed by said kicker that friends suck hot sauce and hurt his feelings by calling him stooopid. (picture drawly voice and serious head-shaking here).
On a more positive note, he's earned his honorary black belt and is working towards his first attitude stripes this week, which has him all puffed up and proud.  AND today he got his first ever elementary award!  He received the Power Paw award for excellence in writing!  I couldn't be more proud of him.

Not so proud?  Me of TT3, who this morning decided to flex his vocabulary muscles and tell TT2 to shut the hewl up.  In that squeaky cute little 2-year old voice.  I cringed outside and laughed inside.  He sounded EXACTLY like his dad.  I had to pull over.  Mean mommy-face said 'EXCUSE ME?!  You don't talk like that MISTER!'  Of course, he just smiled at me, said sawwy and offered me half a smooshed and drooly powder donette. 

So, your vocabulary words for the weekend are:

Faiwuh - things that may or may not be just or right, depending on the moment.
Stooopid - dumb things.  Really dumb things.
Hewl - place most moms feel like they are when children loudly exclaim totally inappropriate things that we swear up and down they did not learn at home.

You're welcome.

Weekends are never long enough.
We spend all week looking forward to the weekEND, but somehow, the weekend is always busier and more packed with unexpected crap than the entire preceeding week. I’ve made a chart to demonstrate.

It’s typical that Monday mornings are usually fairly dramatic. Everyone is missing something. Everyone is grouchy. Everyone blames everything on everyone else, yet nobody is to blame. Tuesdays are worse than Mondays, because we all know what’s coming, and it ain’t nuthin good. Things start looking up on Wednesday, and by Thursday, it’s all pretty much roses. Of course, Thursdays my mom has the kids, so of course they are up, dressed and have fed themselves before I’ve even made it downstairs to find my shoes. Friday, well, everyone is done with a capital D. Friday is test day, so tempers are high, fuses are short and detonation inevitable. Nobody wants to get out of bed, so threats and bribes are common. It’s a miracle we get out the door on time and in one piece, in clothing relatively clean and free of gaping holes.
But by Saturday, the drama has disappeared, only to be replaced by all the things we forgot about during the week. Those pesky parties for kids we don’t know, who we forgot to buy a gift for and end up sprinting thru Target with 3 whiny kids on the way to a place that can only be described as parental purgatory. AKA (insert name of any kid-centric party venue here). Also in this category are all of those things your other half scheduled for himself without even telling you and simply walks/drives/is forcibly kicked off to, whistling merrily while you struggle to shoe a slippery 2-year old who just decided to pee on the carpet. I swear puppies are easier.

By contrast, Sunday, the day of rest, (HA!) evens out a bit. Of course, getting 5 people dressed, sort of fed and out the door in time for church while maintaining the attitude and demeanor of a good Christian woman is a Herculean effort, and Oscar-worthy performance. Did I mention that nobody remembered to do any laundry since Wednesday, so all the kids have to wear are the clothes that ‘mysteriously’ grew gaping holes in the knees during the week?
Have you noticed that I’ve completely neglected to mention evenings? That’s a whole ‘nother chart, lemme tell ya sumthin!

Happy Monday y’all!