Problem: Toddlers logrolling on the waiting room floor.

Solution: Install carseats with 5-point harnesses instead of chairs. All children not capable of sitting still must be strapped in.

Problem: Other people’s obnoxious children screaming, whining and throwing a fit.

Solution: Instead of a well child and sick child waiting areas at the doctors office I propose a different solution– Well Behaved Kids Waiting Room and Kids That Need an Exorcist Waiting Room. I will be the first to admit that occasionally my own children need to go to the latter room. I’d willingly take the walk of shame to take them there to save everyone else from having to deal with them.

My children have finally graduated from the rolling in the floor stage and thanks, in no small part to Steve Jobs and my iPhone, we are now capable of waiting for hours on end without me losing my mind.

But at this point I’ve discovered something even more annoying than listening to my kids screaming. That’d be listening to somebody else’s kid screaming. The screams of a known toddler are maddening. The screams of unknown toddler are enough to make you beat your head against the waiting room wall until you blissfully lose consciousness making your wait much shorter.

Last week I learned two very effective methods to stop the screaming. The first is simple, but possibly illegal— but desperate times, desperate measures. To stop the screams of an unknown toddler, simply flip the fire alarm, because apparently the antidote to high-pitched screaming and crying is more high pitched squealing. Win, win. Right? The fire alarm went off and suddenly the obnoxious kid who had been screaming for hours was silent.

The second way to stop kids from screaming at the doctor’s office is to threaten to punish them by counting. It’s a little known fact that children are terrified of numbers. Specifically the numbers, “One, two, and three.” Nothing is more terrifying to a toddler than hearing their parent say while never looking up from their cell phone, “Junior if you don’t sit down and stop screaming you are going to be in big trouble! Do you hear me! Stop. One…two…three…”

Cue hysterical laughter from unknown toddler.

Installing a few of these in the waiting room couldn’t hurt anything. 

After baths tonight, Aubrey, my seven-year-old, thought it would be a good idea to shake her head back and forth a la wet dog. She got down on all fours… in her skivvies to increase the effect.

Her three-year-old sister found this hysterically funny and while Sadie laughed Aubrey stopped to giggle with her. She stayed frozen for a moment then said to Sadie, “Hey! Push my on button!”

I have no idea what previously conceived notions Sadie had about an “On Button,” but without skipping a beat, she reached up, put her hand on Aubrey’s backside and, rather rudely, accosted her. Aubrey and I cackled with laughter.

Me: WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING?!

SADIE: I jest gived hur a good game!

For the love.

Later when I was tucking Aubrey into bed, I whispered, “I can’t believe you are going to be in second grade next year.”

Aubrey said, totally serious, ” I know. I’m blossoming.”

My people are random. RANDOM, I tell you. What’s the most random thing that’s been said at your house lately?

Update: I gave Emma (5yo) my iPhone to listen to a lullaby playlist while she went to sleep. I just went to check on her and saw the glow of the iphone illuminating her face as she studied the screen.

Me: Honey, you can’t play with it just listen–

Emma: I didn’t bite it.

Me: Huh?

Emma: I didn’t bite it. I didn’t bite your phone.

Me: Um. Okay?

I laughed because obviously, she just bit my phone. Which raises two important points:

1) I’m not sure she’s mine because I am and have always been, an excellent liar.

2) This is why I have an iPhone case that was practically made by Rubbermaid.

Obviously I snickered.

Emma laughed too, then said, “I’m just thinking about boys underwear. That’s why I’m laughing.”

What the HAIL, ya’ll?

As I packed my suitcase for the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop in Dayton, OH, I told my mother, “You know the TSA agents are going to think I’m trying to smuggle uncut cocaine.” She laughed, but it was true, the fifteen copies of my book that I layered on the bottom of my suitcase were sure to draw attention when x-rayed. I’m no drug smuggler, but I’ve seen enough episodes of “Locked Up: Abroad” to know what they are looking for in airport security. Even though I knew I had nothing illegal in my bag, I felt suspicious just knowing that somewhere in the airport some dude was digging through my underwear and disappointed. Not just because my underwear is so boring, but because his “big bust” just turned out to be a bunch of books.

“What? Tomatoes are fruit… ketchup isn’t a vegetable. What an idiot!” I could see him saying as he grudgingly threw my belongings back in my bag.

I had a lot of time to think about flying and the way airlines handle the loading and unloading of passengers and I was confizzled.

Why are First Class passengers loaded first? On the surface this seems like a no-brainer— if you’re a kindergartner whose sole ambition in life is to be the Line Leader and first to do everything— but is the goal to be the person who is on the plane the longest? I simply don’t understand why first class passengers would want to sit on the plane for longer, but I guess the free booze helps take the edge off.

I personally wait until they make the announcement for the final boarding call before I get on the plane because I want to minimize the amount of time I spend spooning with a perfect stranger. In addition, because these geniuses insist on loading from the front of the plane to the back, you have to stand in line while every single person in front of you, stows their bag then crawls into their seat. If the plane was loaded from the back to the front, you wouldn’t have to wait for ten years for people to put their stuff away so you could sit down.

Even though these grown folks know that they will have to stand in the aisle awkwardly with their butt in someone’s face, and their cleavage in another’s, they still rush to get in line to board the plane and hover over each other, as if at any second the plane will pull away from the gate and leave them behind. I’m pretty sure if there are 200 people still standing in the terminal and you are seated in row 87 of a 30 row airplane that it’d be safe for you to sit down for a few minutes.

My flight back from Dayton was like being a crew member on the Titanic— minus the riverdancing and ya know, the whole death by glacier part. I had a window seat in the very last row of the airplane but there was no window, just a blank wall. The man seated next to me, who I’m sure is a kind and generous person, took up all of his seat and half of mine. I couldn’t see out of a window and was being pressed against the wall. Because I was seated behind the bulkhead I couldn’t see through the cabin of the plane. My chest started getting tight and I began to panic. I’m not normally claustrophobic but I felt like I’d been put in full body Spanx. (That’s what the kids are calling girdles these days.)

I closed my eyes and concentrated on breathing through my nose and quickly fell asleep. I woke up because I dreamed I was playing crack the egg on the trampoline with my kids and opened my eyes to see other passengers bouncing in their seats like paddle balls. Nobody was happier than me when the plane and my heart skidded to a stop on the runway. My heart will go on, but… not if I have to get on a plane again anytime soon.

Me: I don’t know. How?

Aubrey: Tomato paste!

I cracked up and asked where she had heard it but she insisted she made it up on her own.

Later that evening Aubrey and I were sitting outside playing with her kitten, (after much consideration she has renamed Fluffy, Sophie.) So we were sitting outside playing with Sophie and I said, “I liked Fluffy. It sounded like more of a kitten name.”

Aubrey: What do you mean?

Me: I just thought Fluffy was more of a cat name. Don’t you think so?

Aubrey: I guess. Do you think I should change her name to something else?

Me: It’s up to you…

Aubrey: Like… pu$$y?

I. Died. I fell over in the carport and lay on the concrete in the fetal position sobbing with laughter. She has no idea there is another connotation for that word, but we do watch a lot of Looney Tunes. She giggled at my reaction.

Aubrey: Is that funny?!

Me: YES!!! Oh my lord!!!

I gasped for air.

Aubrey: DON’T PUT THAT IN THE NEWSPAPER!

Me: Don’t worry! I couldn’t if I wanted to!

Today I picked Aubrey up from school by herself. My mother is in town and was at the house with the two younger girls so I took the opportunity to spend a little time with my big girl one on one. We skipped her dance class and went to Sonic instead. As we shared an ice cream she talked and talked.

Aubrey: Momma. I’ve got to tell you something and it’s going to totally blow your mind.

Me: What?

Aubrey: <Insert name of girl who has been a jerk to Aubrey repeatedly> looked at me in class today and said, “You’re NOT funny.”

Aubrey cackled with laughter, “Isn’t that the funniest thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Almost,” I said with a grin and dipped my spoon back into our shared treat.

Because of the glorious weather we have been having lately, I have moved the girls’ kid sized table and chairs into our carport. They can sit beside their kittens and do homework and I can hear and see them from the kitchen and laundry room while I get dinner ready. (Or play Solitaire on my iPad. Ya know. Whichever. Ahem.)

Anywho, I hate putting up laundry. Actually, I hate putting up anything. Is there any feeling worse than walking into the kitchen to a sink full of dirty dishes, THINKING that you can open your empty dishwasher and throw all that crap in there, thus, giving you for all intents and purposes, a clean-ish kitchen– but instead– you open the dishwasher to find– GASP– Clean Dishes?? No, there is not.

SIGH! UGH. Blerg! (I just said those last two words OUT LOUD. Because, GAWD. It’s just so annoying.) So THEN you have to put up the dishes before you can get all your mess out of the sink. (Am I crazy? I hope I’m not the only one. I hate it so freaking much.)

At any rate, I was feeling That Way about my laundry room this afternoon. Because there is chit everywhere and it needed to be Put Up before I could move on and I was all NOOOOOOOOO!

My kids put up their own laundry. The oldest two do anyway, Sadie is too short to really be of any use as far as the laundry sitch goes and ironically, she is the only one willing to help. (Help– in Sadie Speak= putting panties on her head. So, yeah. Thanks, Boo.)

Emma (5yo) willingly put up her own laundry then I begged her to do Sadie’s.

Me: I’ll pay you. Cash. Please.

Emma: How much?

Me: How much do you want?

(I wish I could arch JUST ONE eyebrow because I would have done it right here.)

Emma: I don’t want to. I don’t think you have that much money anyway.

Me: Wth?

Emma went outside to visit with Aubrey who has been doing her homework for 18 hours. For. The. Love.

Whilst deciding that we would have breakfast for dinner, I overheard the girls outside.

Emma: Pretend I homeschool and I did all your work.

(I snorted.)

Aubrey: I’m the Momma.

Sadie: Momma! Momma! Momma! Momma! Momma!

Aubrey: What?

Sadie: Um… I love you Momma. I’m going to school now

Aubrey: OK.

Emma: Pretend I knew ALL THE ANSWERS to your homework.

Aubrey: Ok.

Sadie: Momma! MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA!

Aubrey: WHAT?!

Sadie: Um… I’m back from school.

Aubrey: Fine. Ok honey, put your stuff up.

(I have no idea what Sadie actually did.)

Aubrey: I SAID! PUT YOUR FREAKING STUFF UP!

(Errrr. Sounds familiar.)

Sadie: Momma! MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA! MOMMA!~

Aubrey: I don’t want to be the momma anymore.

A-to-the-men Sistah Child.

How’s your Monday?