Hyrum to Maddy "Hey, I'm bored. Want to go take some eggs and smear them all over the floor?" Maddy to Hyrum "Yes, but if mom catches us, both of us will deny it ok?" Hyrum to Maddy "OK, even if you get spanked on the bum, keep yelling 'It wasn't me! It wasn't me!'" Maddy to Hyrum "Wow, you are brilliant! They will never know what hit them. Go get the eggs! I will color on the TV with this blue Crayola crayon while you climb the gate and open the child-proof fridge latch. GO!"
It's totally true. In the past few days, the Christmas lights have been adulterated and broken, pop-tarts have been partially eaten and scattered all over the front room, eighteen eggs pilfered and broken on the carpet, and the TV colored on four times. My children are creative and devious, and the moment they're left alone for more than fifteen minutes, all bets are off as to what they'll do.
Hyrum to Maddy "Wanna make a flame thrower and light dad's motorcycle on fire after covering it with paper-mache form mom's good scrapbook paper?!?" Maddy to Hyrum "Yes, but if mom catches us, both of us will deny it ok?" Hyrum to Maddy "Ok, hurry and poop your pants too ok? Then walk all bowlegged and we'll pretend we couldn't have lit the bike on fire since we can't even walk straight. They'll never know. I'll get the propane, you get the glue and paper."
The only conclusion my anger-fired brain can come up with is that the kids know we are now outnumbered three to two since Miles has been born. They have a sixth sense about when mom is preoccupied in feeding the lil tyke, and they know it is time for mischief. They suit up in Kevlar, pop on the infrared goggles, and jumar up and over the gate, skitter across the kitchen floor, pop the latch of the fridge and dig in. Last week Melissa made a couple dozen sugar cookies and the kids all colored and decorated them. Normal you say for a Christmastime activity? Absolutely. Until Maddy fed eight of them to Stryker, our Boston terrier. The dog is only 18 lbs, but will gladly eat until he pukes. I know, I've cleaned it up before.
Maddy to Hyrum "Wanna stage a sit-in when Dad gets home and pops an aneurysm after he sees the mess we made?" Hyrum to Maddy "YES! I will pretend to be incapacitated and watch Spongebob, you say you're poopy and walk like a cowboy. If we totally ignore the mess on the floor and TV, and just respond with 'No!' to every question Dad asks us, it will be just like Gandhi. The system will grind to a screeching halt, and we won't get taxed on our textiles or salt any more." Maddy to Hyrum "Brilliant! I am pooping now!"
I am sitting here shaking my head. Sound too fantastic to be true? Don't doubt the story. Because my Melissa just messaged me and told me they are at it again. The two of them just ripped up the four page letter I wrote to my Grandma Blair (aka Ma'am), and most likely blamed it on their six week old brother Miles. Oy! To add insult to injury I haven't written her in probably 5 years.
I am already thinking military school, maybe pineapple picking for the both of them. At the very least, an lifetime of indentured service to me to learn the fine art of back and foot rubs. Yeah, that sounds pretty good.