Today I realized this little blogging endeavor of mine has been going on over four years. My sonsâ€™ lives have quite literally been blogged since birth. In no way has my story ever arced the way I expected â€“ I guess thatâ€™s partially what keeps me writing.
Thank you for being part of my journey, and for reading the highlights behind the headaches and hilarity that Search and Destroy bestow upon their ever expanding world.
In honor of Stream of the Consciousâ€™ fourth blogiversary, I give you a few of the more memorable comments Iâ€™ve actually heard myself saying.
To friends and family:
We have to leave the party now. Destroy is completely and utterly terrified of the princesses.
Kid finally pooped. His observation was, â€œI think the caterpillar turned into a butterfly.â€ Seriously.
Heâ€™s chainsawing his new pink dollhouse. Getting it ready for Cinderella. Of course heâ€™s wearing his safety goggles.
How many times do I need to tell autocorrect that I really donâ€™t mean â€œniceâ€ when I type â€œNICU.â€
Bedtime was a success tonight. 7:30 ni-ni time tentatively accomplished at 9:47 p.m. Gonna call that a win.
Next time someone asks me if Search and Destroy are â€œnaturalâ€ or ask me about IVF point blank Iâ€™m totally using Handpicked Miracleâ€™s retort, â€œAnd how about your kids? Candlelit dinner or make up sex?â€
Weâ€™re watching the Elephants on Parade sequence in Dumbo. And now we know what a hallucinogenic drug trip is like. â€ª
I have finally realized “preschool bath time” is just a euphemism for “parental dunk tank.”
The couch cushion just yelled at me, â€œ”Get ready for the ride of your life!” If itâ€™s not one of the muppets toy jets, weâ€™re abandoning the house.
â€œTurding.â€ Itâ€™s a new verb for kids who refuse to poop in the potty.
To my sons:
No, youâ€™re not a grownup. Grownups donâ€™t poop in their pants.
Fine. I will buy the song if it prevents another Arctic Monkey tantrum.
Put Zurg away so we can leave!
Stop sucking and brush already.
We don’t dance while we pee.
Turtles are not hockey pucks.
That is not flying. That is falling with style. And we don’t fall with style down the stairs either.
Tuck and roll! TUCK AND ROLL!
No, you may not have the fire starter in your room.
Do not lick the driftwood.
Listen Ishmael â€“ I promise you will not get eaten by a whale at the dog beach.
No, weâ€™re not going to feed the crabs dinner at the school crab feed. The crabs ARE dinner.
I donâ€™t care if we miss the launch of Noahâ€™s Ark II. We are going to the park this morning.
Youâ€™re 3. What do you mean you drank all of my coffee?
I love you, too.