Children Unite

Do you ever wonder if they have secret meetings to plan this sort of behavior?
4 out of the 5 of us have been sick so now I am so far behind it'll take a week of dedicated attention to get back. I am trying to catch up on my schedule and it's a miserable failure so far. Why? Mason has been waking at 2 am and staying up til 4 or 5. So guess who gets to take care of him? Yup, bingo, right in one.
Me. Of course, it's because I don't have to be up at a designated hour and drive to work. I understand it, I agree with it, but it still ticks me off to no end that I always have to get up with him.

Upon waking I get myself cleaned up and toss on my robe. I plan to make toast and start the dishes. In attempting to complete ONE chore, any chore, I am stopped several times for absolutely nothing. I start out nice but by the 5th time in 4 minutes (YES I timed it) I was getting so frustrated I was losing the ability to make words.

Maybe it would be better to switch chores for a bit. Nope.
One of the children has discovered the fun of the clothes dryer. Nothing has been melted yet, so I have to assume it's one of the younger two. What I DO have is an extra large load of clothes that got stopped in order to add three dirty dish clothes. I went to pull out my clean dry laundry and got cold wet mildew in the face.


I send them to their room to read a book. They start fighting over the book. I think to myself 'breathe in, breathe out, calm yourself'. Right then is when the wailing and screeching reaches a pinnacle that could be mistaken for an animal caught in a snare. I go in to make sure I'm not ignoring real pain and find them on either side of the room crying. Why? I ask.

Both talk at once, relating all the horrors committed... he touched the book I was reading... well he sat too close to me... and then he dropped a blanket on my head...
I leave them wisdom 'if you don't want it done to you, don't do it to him!'

Fuming a little, I go BACK to the dishes that I SWEAR I asked a husband to do a day ago. There is short person in the dishwasher. No, really, IN it. I can only see a pair of pants. Since I only have three and the two older~
A) know better
B) outgrew it
C) are in the room being children

I felt safe assuming this is the toddler. I say HEY! in a sharp voice. This startles him into turning around - causing the steak knife that was in his hand to fly across the room in an arc and stick in the linoleum at my feet.
I need coffee and a break.
I start the coffee amidst the heartbroken crying of the baby who was deprived of his dishwasher and the slightly more angry squealings coming from the older boys room.
I pour my cup, head to the computer, where I am suddenly and abruptly converged on my all three. Demands are made regarding computer games and their individual rights as children. The oldest will NOT stop talking long enough to let me answer even though I'm trying, the middle child repeats everything the first says, only louder and the third is alternating between smacking my thighs and pinching the soft skin inside my elbow while yelling like the Stain on that commercial. You know the one.
QUIET! Oldest son, what do you have to say?
Now, I warn you moms never to ask this question of a smart child. There are infinite possibilities to such an open ended query and his brain slowed to a crawl to process all of them.
I... w a n t e d u m ...............d i d w e .... U h .... I f.....
Meanwhile, near my knee the middle son has started screaming NO BABY! in a voice swiftly rising to dog-only status.The baby has turned on the middle child with a heavy soup spoon. I assume it's booty from his earlier dishwasher-diving trip. WHY do they do this? *lightbulb*
Maybe they're like this because they're hungry?
Do you want grilled cheese?
YES! two voices yell in joy. They third says, um.......
OK, then, what do you want?
I want a sandwich on two slices of bread, peanut butter on the left side, a little bit of jelly not too much to squish out on the right piece. I want to watch you make it, then i want to put the right and left together to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With no beans and no broccolli.
OK, grilled cheese it is.
As I grill, they're quiet. I think to myself, what a wonderful world.
I cut the sandwiches - diagonal twice for Oldest, vertical and horizontal for Middle, and into 5 fingers for Baby. I call them to the table, chiding them to remember it may be hot in places. I feel warm and fuzzy.
Walking into the living room, I am praising myself for being such an astute mom. Horror and a dash of anger surge in to replace the fuzzy self-congratulations when I see the yarn spun around the living room like a giant, tangled, expensive web 1 foot off the ground. There is a tub of yogurt that was snuck from the fridge while I cooked (I assume, since I don't generally leave it in the living room) the remote is lost and there is an entire load of clean laundry tossed willy-nilly.
OK, let's take it one step at a time.

Where is the remote?
I dunno.
I HATE watching Spongebob, get me the remote this instant!
I didn't use it.
How .... I .... find it. You used it, you lost it, you find it. Capiche?
But MAAAA-uhm, I just pushed the buttons.
oh, boy, did you ever.

the remote is found. Covered in peanut butter. I never served them peanut butter, I have no idea where it came from, but I'm not going to ask. I know I won't like the answer.
Still wearing a robe. Still haven't done the dishes. While I was busy with the living room caper, the younger two migrate to the bathroom.
I get my lunch break. NOW.
The Dear Husband has taken over while I am on break. I sit here writing it all out and the conversation behind me is priceless.
dad-Are you hungry? Is that why you're acting so nutso? I'll make waffles.
kids-Yes, we're hungry!
dad-How many waffles should I make you?
oldest-U h hh .... um.... how about.....
dad-How many would mom have made you?
oldest-Several.
middle-Lots!
baby-DAH!!!!
OK, how about we start with one each?
No honey, that's your brother's waffle. No, don't, I AM making more!
what? OK, lets try TALKING ... I know it's new, but your internal dialogue doesn't help me.
Oh... Oh, god above, what IS that SMELL!?!

Time has passed. I heard that last sentence from Dear Husband and turned to see the baby on the steps coming to get me... he gets me every time he poops. He could be sitting on his daddy's lap and will still ask to get down, come to me, and ask to be changed because of the poo. This time, he squatted. I ran a bath while Daddy cleaned the floor and steps. Then daddy took off the diaper and tossed it in the toilet to be sprayed off while I turned the shower head on the legs and butt of baby. THEN he got to get in the bath tub.