Get busy living, or get busy dying.
From the moment they were born, the muppets made their intentions known â€“ definitively declaring their decision to get busy living, regardless of the obstacles placed in front of them (like breathing).
The day began with a simple request, misunderstood.
Destroy: Can I have a coke? (Mimicking his teacherâ€™s cola preference; the boys donâ€™t even like Coke â€“ not that I give my kids soda.)
Destroy: I need coffee. (Ok, this one’s on me, but in their extreme youth caffeine was totally medically necessary.)
Search: <heavy sigh> Guess it’s time for wine. (Iâ€™ve got nothing for this.)
That afternoon, Search further raised questions regarding my potential parental ineptitude by announcing he gets put in timeout at home. He wasnâ€™t in trouble at school; he simply felt the need to share. (Yes, he gets put in timeout at home. Usually for biting his brother.)
Gymnastics resulted in an eye swollen shut. (Ooph. Thatâ€™s totally gonna leave a mark.) Destroy ate it on the ladder crawl. (It did not prevent him from hurling himself about on the trampoline.)
Dinner was equally successful. Jon was in the living room changing a stinky Search when suddenly the fire alarm went off. The chicken was burning (not my fault); the dogs were frantically freaking the eff out, ballisticly barking for their food.
We had a riot on our hands. What else was there to do but wave the stinky diaper to calm the alarm? Ultimately, the mess hall grub wasnâ€™t dubbed up to snuff. Bread and water for the culinary demanding.
Instead, Destroy ate the cap of his magic marker after decorating his face with a tough looking hipster mustache/beard. (We only discovered what was occurring with the cap when Search ratted him out.)
From here, I inadvertently unleashed the Kraken by suggesting we abandon the dinner attempt in favor of bathtime. After wrestling 55 pounds of squirming muppets hell bent on avoiding the touch of soap, on the slip-n-slide that was once my tiled bathroom floor, I plopped two soggy boys on the living room floor.
Destroy was diapered and scampered off toward the kitchen. I suspiciously followed suit after repeating the procedure with Search.
A Buzz Lightyear Big Wheel ATV crossed my path. Captained by a stark naked Destroy.
â€œWhere is your diaper?!â€ I exclaimed.
â€œItâ€™s right here in my hand, mommy,â€ he replied with a wiggle atop his vehicle and waving the aforementioned diaper around his head like a little lasso.
TouchÃ© tiny person. I have just been defeated by toddler logic.
The re-dressing went poorly. Banshee screams, feet stomping, fists pumping, hurling self to the ground and performing a rather impressive pelvic thrusting against the floor in time out.
For anyone who knew me as a young tot, we were now in the full throws of a toddler-Tricia-tantrum-style meltdown.
So it was no surprise when no one wanted to go to school the next day.
Sure enough the following afternoon, they made a prison break preschool escape.
An unsuspecting mom opened the gate to pick up her own little one, but got distracted talking to someone (a likely story â€“ as though it wasnâ€™t planned at all). The Muppets snuck through.
The sweet taste of freedom!
Search was RAWRing. Because he could.
Unfortunately, the boys (and a third little girl) had headed toward the playground â€“ very much still on school grounds and under the supervision of the guards teachers.
Destroy stood atop the Big Kid Slide, legs astride and arms raised in a victory V above his head.
â€œI. Am. SuperGoof! I am not a stinker!â€ he bellowed with the Braveheart like determination with which he originally entered this world.
And he swung forward, shooting himself down the slide.
When I picture him heading south in his own [Little Tykes coup] car with the top down, it always makes me laugh. [Search and Destroy]… who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side. [Search and Destroy]… headed for the Pacific.
(Itâ€™s what Iâ€™d do.)