Anything you can do, I can do better.

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screech \ˈskrēch\:
1.to utter or make a harsh, shrill cry or sound
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I was online today and reading about Screech Owls. One site had an audio clip of an actual Screech Owl....screeching.

I don't know who decided to name these beautiful creatures but they clearly did not have children.

Luke has made screeching into an art form. It's a relatively new hobby, and one I'm hoping is short-lived as well. You know, one of those hobbies that come up out of nowhere and you spend way too much money getting into. Three weeks later, you have all these supplies and absolutely no more interest in them. So you box them all up and shove them upon an unsuspecting friend or family member who, in turn, sends them along to someone else. Years later, they get donated to a charity and some poor, homeless man on a cold city street is finally able to crochet himself a blanket.

Until then, I'm just trying to find a way to cope.

We were eating Sloppy Joe's for dinner and all Luke wanted was the potato chips. Now, nutritionally speaking, they're probably about equal (.0001% good stuff versus .00001% good stuff). But the masochist in me just loves any chance to battle with my son.

I wanted him to eat some of his sandwich before I would give him more chips.

"Luke, eat the sandwich and you can..."

SCREECH!

"Eat the sandwich and..."

SCREECH!

"Just eat the sandwich..."

SCREEEECH!

I sigh heavily, close my eyes and count to ten.

Go to a happy place. Go to a happy place.

Feeling a little calmer, I open my eyes and look over at the boy.

"Luke..."

SCREEEEEECH!

My happy place just burned to the ground.



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Bath time has gotten out of hand.

Evie drinks from the faucet, which wouldn't be such a problem if it didn't involve a near death experience each time. Luke tries to stand up with a foot on either ledge of the tub, or sit on the very back ledge and slide down into it like he's at some kind of really cheap water park. Both maneuvers end up with some serious bumps and bruises...and enough water outside the tub to give Mommy a bath as well.

Neither one of them will hold still for a micro-second.

Which is odd, really. You'd think with their little bottoms all glistening and exposed, the kids would be more obedient.

Go figure.

The best part about bath time is when it's over....when two little children, all wrapped up in towels, are led into the bedroom by their daddy. Mommy trudges along after them, leaving a small river in her wake.

Once there, we tag-team the kids...getting them all "lubed up" and smelling sweet. Then we read to them, and sing with them, and love on them until it's time for bed.

This all went terribly wrong one night when we were getting the kids dressed in their pajamas. Actually, I was laying on my back recuperating while Chris did all the work.

Luke, who was completely naked at the time, walked up to me.

"I hut."

He had taken a minor tumble, but there weren't any visible wounds.

"Where do you hurt, baby?"

He turns around and carefully lowers a single buttock towards my mouth.

I laugh and kiss the boo-boo....he'd just had a bath, after all.

But, apparently, that wasn't good enough because the next thing I know the child is SITTING on my face. Cheek to cheek, in all the wrong ways.

I screeched so loud, the window cracked.

And Screech Owls everywhere hid their beaks in shame...




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