I spend my days hunting for women who are considering adoption and do my damnest to talk them out of it. Usually. Sometimes, I just don’t feel like I can click with them..and I say just a bit and bow out rather then leave them thinking I am some insane fanatic. OK, I am a bit of in insane fanatic, but not militantly insane. But really, either they are going to be open to hearing what I have to say, or they are not. And if they aren’t..well I tried. I am not masocistic and don’t like to have perma bruise on my head from beating against brick walls.

But, yeah..I tell folks all the time that they will not regret keeping their babies. And I really, really do beleive that.

Children are wonderful. Children are a joy. Children are the greatest teachers.

They are also loud. Very loud. And uber messy. And very demanding.

And mine, in particular, are not fond of Mommy spending hours in the attic,..”doing work”..and they have multitudes of plots to drag me back doen the stairs into their world. Sometimes, I admit, I run away and hide from my own children to come up here and tell another to allow this insane force of nature into their lives…Muhhhahah!

“Maaaaaaaaoooooooommmmmmmm!”
oh fraking hell, now what…”Whattttt??””
“ma, mom, MOMMMMMMMMM!” said with such intensity that one is bound to think that blood is somehow involved.
“WHATTTTTT??””
“I’m hungry!”

You would think that I do not feed my children.

I personally would not be surprised if I found out Scarlett, indeed, does have a tapeworm.

I have never seen a child eat all day as she does and still be nothing, but legs and hair and a mouth. A large, loud, ever so hungry mouth.

Last time we were at the pediatrician, he commented on how I should not be worried as kids this age are picky eaters and seem to live on nothing. I just about fell off my chair. She eats all day.

Tristan follows in her footsteps…to the pantry.

All day long, I hear the criesof torture and pain:

“I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry”
“What can I have to eat? Can I have a snack? Is it time for dinner yet?” Yeah, at 3:30, sure I’ll make dinner. NOT!
“Scarlett, how can you be hungry? You just had soup and a sandwich? You had oatmeal and endless Poptarts this morning? You had snack at school. You had a dessert after lunch. It is almost time for me to start making dinner. It’s Ok if you are hungry. That means your body will be ready for dinner”
“No, I can’t stand it. Mommy, I am sooooo hungry. Can’t I eat something?”
“Fine, have a healthy snack. Have an apple, have a banana, have a yogurt.”
” I don’t want that”
“Then you are not too hungry. That’s what you can have”
“WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

And really, I want to shoot myself. I have the same conversation about 8 times a day with her. Now granted she never sits still either. A swirling dervish comes to mind when describing her..constantly singing, dancing, acting, flying about..all drama, klutzy and cute, non stop activity. I guess she just burns it up. Man, she eats a lot.

Tristan, on the other hand, just wants cheese.

I know I have mentioned his need for cheese before.

Seriously, I have never met a child who ate more cheese. All kids of cheese. All day long. Chedder, American, Feta, Parm, Swiss, Provolone, cottage..as long as it is cheese.

I fiqure it’s Ok since he won’t drink milk.

For a while he drank nothing but Orange juice..and I figured it was the OJ that kept his..umm bowels..flowing..since all that cheese tend to be binding. But he is “off” OJ now. Suddenly, the half gallon of OJ is there for more than two days.

OMG, it’s there a week later. But he is still, ah, going.

He will only drink watered down apple juice and water now. OK, whatever.

He is also a big fan of Poptarts, and eggs, and fruit snacks.

He really likes his fruit snacks. I have to hide them from him. He will eat the whole box. He found my latest hiding place and will, drag the chair to the counter, climb up on the counter, stand on the counter, get the fruit snacks, climb down, open them with the scissors and eat them.

All of them.

Then he poops green. Ah, so nice.

They are out to get me. Scarlett and Tristan and the dog, Lilly.

They write on the walls. They paint each other…they call it tattoos. Which is rather cute since both Rye and I sport a few. Scarlett changes her clothes 15 times a day making oodles of endless laundry for me. They can trash their rooms in 20 seconds flat. Lilly likes to rip up rolls of toilet paper and somehow manages to get my wooden spoons and chew them to bits. The kitchen table is permanently the art area. They cut up piles of paper and stick stickers of forbidden zones. Things end up in the fish tank, the toilet. Water is in weird places. Tristan has a thing for bathrooms. They both pour out stuff and conduct experiments with shampoo. I can spend my whole day just picking up after them, but I refuse. I try to make them clean up themselves, but suddenly…they are soooo tired.

Awwww..poor babies.

I find myself saying the oddest of things:

• Don’t put cheese on the cat.
• Please get your sister’s underwear off you head.
• Don’t out the cheese on your head. It is not a hat.
• Were you playing with my bras again? Yes, I mean my boobie thing.
• It is not a toy. It is cheese. Eat it.
• No, I will not make you a peanut butter and fart sandwich.
• Just eat the cheese!
• No, it is not naked time. What did you do with your clothes?
• Why are daddy’s gloves in the sink soaking wet?
• What is this sticky stuff that I am stepping on?
• Why are there crumbs all over my bed?
• You must stop playing in the bathroom.
• Who was squirting perfume again? It smells like old man.
• If you wear your sisters dress? No, daddy will probably not like it.

They also have a thing for band-aids. They can go though a box of band-aids like nobodies business. Tristan has a habit of insisting that they must go on every small bump he receives in his body. And god forbid he bonk his face. He has no issue with going about in public with one, two, three huge, multicolored band-aids on his face.

But he won’t let you take them off.

The last one he sported for three days before Rye had enough and pinned him down and peeled it off with much crying and drama. The adhesive had done something..so now a week after a non exisitant boo boo, the child has huge red welts on his face from the band-aid. Oh, so handsome..no wait. He insists that he is not handsome, he must be called beautiful. Don’t even get me started on that.

My greatest wish is that my children had volume buttons. I would greatly appreciate a mute. They are loud and often they are louder. Scarlett has inherited my innate ability to pretend to sing opera..badly. Loudly and badly. She goes about the house singing all the day long.

Today, they spent a good portion of the afternoon barking. Yes, I did say barking..like loud dogs. I don’t know why. It had to do with some game. Rye and I just looked at each other and tried to push the blame on each other.

“See, they take after you”

And no, neither one of us is in the habit of barking.

And then..we can add in Garin who thinks he is a grown up, but he is not. So he will both rev them up and cause more chaos and screaming though acts of brotherly torture..and then demand obedience when he has had enough. And if they do not concede, he oversteps his authorta and sends then to their rooms causing even more sorrow and wailing. So I feel the need to kill them all.

Do they not know that I am conducting important works of good up here on my laptop? Do they not care about my need for saving the universe? No, alas, all they need is food and a constant supply of juice.

All I can say..thank god for bedtime. And my job….sometimes I just have to get out of here. Funny, though..at work..I just feed people, but they don’t call me mom..and they don’t leave their three day old juice cups under their bed.

But they are rather cute. And they do cause me to smile and shake my head in wonder. Ah….and no, I never do regret any of this. Even if my head hurts from endless singing and screaming..even when I wash the crud out of the nasty juice cups.

Especially at bed time….the kisses make it all worth it. Such love in their eyes.