What's in a label?

Bug will be going for preschool testing next month.
I still haven't figured out what they are testing him for.
I don't think he'll be peeing in a cup or giving blood to check for disease. I doubt they'll care about his prowess as a spitter of far flung phlegm. I don't think they will be impressed by his amazing ability to repeat one word over and over at increasing decibels until even the cats scurry for cover, grabbing their kitty helmets as they flee.
I doubt they will test his bootay shaking ability, which, despite his tender years, is bordering on legendary, or his ability to deflect the blame for any mishap upon his younger brother. They probably will not test for his astounding appetite or ability to sing "House on Pooh Corner" 800 times in a row and never sing the same song twice.
I fear they will not test for a heart that is two sizes too big and full of joy and love for everyone, even a tree, a car, a stuffed animal, and occasionally his brother and sister.
I doubt they will test for a winning smile or ready hug, although the administrator make just get knocked on her rump by one of my boy's beefy bear hugs.
I'm sure they will check for such unimportant things as comprehension, problem solving, and such--things no four year old really needs. Hell, things his 33 year old mother rarely needs!
So I'm forced to wonder . . .what are they testing him for? And does it really matter? In the end, will these scores affect my child on the road to becoming a good, productive member of society, or are they just another tool to label something which cannot be labeled?
Okay, if the educational system must have their label, I'll give them one for my oldest boy.
"Boy.
Age: However old he wants to be
Name: None of your damned business
Identifying traits: His father's ears and mothers nose and a curved pinky toe that came from the mailman--I think!
Characteristics: Talking too much and occasionally with mouth full. Running at breakneck speed, falling over his feet, and attempting to break said neck. Having fantastic legs for wearing mom's high heels. Known for walking by, farting, and running. Will curl up in a lap and fall asleep without warning, suddenly weighing 400 pounds instead of 40. Will bring you a blanket because he's cold, then stand by and wait for the invitation to share. When asleep, mutters and talks and makes a sweet baby face that will melt the hardest of hearts. Does not take no for an answer."
I think that will at least scratch the surface of my boy.

Out of the mouths of babes

After The Man walked into the heathens room and found that every toy in the big toy box was out in the bedroom.

The Man: I told you not to get all these toys out.

Bug: Why don't you just go back to the living room and watch a little TV. Nothing to see here! (And begins trying to push The Man out of the room) Move it along, Daddy!

During a trip to the bathroom for #2. Bug is grunting and turning red and trying for all its worth.

Bug: Guess I better pull my shirt up for this one, huh, daddy?

Go ahead! Slap me around!

Evidently I like it.
Why, you ask?
Because I am going on a day trip that involves six hours in the car. And I'm going with The Man, whose recovering from his third hand job-okay, surgery--and the three heathens.
Yup. I'm into pain and suffering and torture.
I will be driving all six hours due the Man's current relationship with pain meds. So, if you happen to be in my neck of the woods and drive by a woman steering a mini van with one butt cheek while holding a sippie cup for a baby and threatening her two sons in the back of the van, all the while, a man sleeps in the passenger seat, a prolific amount of drool running down his chin, you'll know that's me.
Just honk, yell, "Nice Ass!" and move away
Before I turn on you.

Sweet baby girl

My baby turns one today.
Last year at this time, I was recovering from my c-section and suffering a spinal headache which made it impossible for me to open my eyes and see my newborn daughter.
I had brief glimpes of her--red faced and angry, tiny at 7lb 8 ounces. But soon enough the nausea took over and I had to return to the darkness.
One year later, I have an active, happy little girl, who, while still tiny, is a spitfire and a clown. Unlike one year ago, my daughter demands my attention and doesn't settle for eyes closed in respite.
My daughter has claimed me as her own more effectively than her brotehrs ever did. Punk will not take no for an answer, and leaves myself, her father, and her brothers standing in her wake watching a 20 pound baby drawl all over us.
She is a joy and a pain, a bully and a snuggler, a brat and an angel. She is perfect in her own way.
So today, she turns one year old, a momentous occassion in every person's life. it is thE beginning of yearly celebrations and aging, of milestones and growth.

Happy Holidays

I never really understood the holidays BH. (Before heathens)
Before, you got presents, you bought presents, and you ate and slept.
A pretty good system. Nice and simple.
Now, as a parent, I have entered Holiday Hell.
You know what I'm talking about.
Think parents biting and clawing at each other for the last Tickle Me Stupid Elmo in a fifty mile radius.
Think obsessive baking of cookies.
Think matching Christmas clothes that the heathens will never wear again.
I seriously thought I might cold cock an old lady looking at the last remote controlled dinosaur in the store.
Caught myself before it actually connected.
Scared her into letting go of the dinosaur.
(Damn that old lady could run fast.)
Seriously, I'm sick.
The Man is no better. He had to buy the oldest heathen a bicycle. Bug is four and falls over everything. Lint on the floor? You can bet he'll fall over it. The child wears size eleven shoes--he's all legs and feet. And the feet never go the same direction.
So I look at the bike and picture the injuries and trips to the emergency room.
The Man makes it worse with a few choice words, "We can pass it down to Boo!"
So not only will my oldest baby be bloody and battered, but now he's tossing my blue eyed baby boy under the wheels of a blood thirsty Huffy bent on world domination and child scarifice.
The Man is half crocked and all crazy.
I have held baby dolls and checked for cuddle factor.
I have scoured the shelves for remote control cars that were suitable for young boys.
I have weighed the pros and cons of different icings and whether glitter or glaze is better. Sprinkles or sugar crystals?
I have entered a Martha Stewart Christmas variety of hell.
All so my heathens have one of those holidays.
The ones they remember with fondness. The ones that make it look effortless and magical. the ones that, when I am ashes and dust, they will have to look back on and know their mama loved them as she killed herself trying for that perfect gift.
Love hurts.
Love kills around the holidays.
My heathens better appreciate this! They better put me in a nice home when I'm old and senile. One where a handsome young man wipes my chin and my butt with warmed, soft wipes.
I'll have earned it after all of this.
Happy holidays!

Angel

My husband saw a little girl become and angel today.
Icy roads, a truck, and no car seat are all the explanation anyone needs.
She was the same age as our boys.
The Man stopped to help. And was both blessed and cursed to forever be a part of that child's angel day.
As a person, the death of a child is horrifying.
As a parent, it is devastating. Not only because it could have been your own child, but also because you know that, but for the grace of the Divine, you might be in their shoes.
Our children are gifts.
Hold your wee ones close today.
And think about that poor mother whose arms will forever reach for that lost child.

Time flies

Time flies by on gilded wings of a thousand doves.
That promptly shit on me, my car, and the damned dog.
The silver lining? Silver plated.
The cup half full? Of congealed Pepsi that won't let go to slip to the bottom of the cup.
The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Got there too late.
I'm feeling a bit surly for multiple reasons.

1. Three sick kids.
2. One teething baby.
3. A four year old who refuses to put on his shoes before walking outside.
4. The Man's work comp thing dragging on again.
5. Holidays.
6. My baby girl walked without me there today.

I won't go into great detail because, well, it would turn into a gritch fest of monumental proportions and not make me feel one bit better. And it won't fix anything.
My kids will have to get better on their own. if not,the Giant pain in my ass Schnauzer has dug a couple of good sized holes that I can use. (I'm joking! Harvey would have to dig the holes a bit deeper to suit my needs)
The baby girl's teeth will come in on their own or we'll invest in baby dentures.
The four year old will learn his lesson walking barefoot in the snow while I trudge along, waiting for a neighbor to call DHS on me for child abuse.
I didn't expect the WC case to speed along. I wasn't born yesterday, and my wrinkles and gray hairs (growing from my chin) attest to that. But still, it's been six months and we're still plodding along and getting nowhere fast.
The holidays are just a pain in my ass. Three kids. Limited funds. Blah.
And my baby walked today and I wasn't there to see it. She saved that milestone for her daddy, not me, and I missed the entire freaking deal.
So I'm little grumpy, testy, bitchy, and volatile. And did I mention hostile?
I'm looking for that damned leprechaun. He'll give me the sticking gold once I'm done with him.