To Touché or Not to Touché, that is the question, Hamlet.

6:08am

(phone ringing)
Mom: Hello?
Me: Yes. Good morning! How are you today?
Mom: It's 6am.
Me: Yes! Isn't it wonderful?
Mom: No, I said SIX A-M. Not NOON.
Me: Yes. Well, it makes up for all the years of wake-up calls you gave me when you'd been up since 4.
Mom: (giggling).  Oh yeah.
Me: So, whatcha doing?
Mom: Sleeping?
Me: Wanna come over?
Mom: No.
Me: Really? Cuz I've got a bit of a problem.  Kiddo #1 has a temp of 102 and Husband can't take today off, and I can't either.
Mom: Of course. Isn't how that always ends up? Everyone gets sick when it's the least convenient.
Me: Lately, yes.
Mom: Ok. It'll take a bit for me to hitch up  the horse.
Me: Are you coming from the 1500's? Cuz that WILL take a long time.
Mom: No, I'm not coming from the 1500's. But if I'm supposed to ride in on my horse and save the day, it will require a wagon.

Everyone's a comedian.

So, an hour and a half later, my mother showed up at our house to take care of our eldest baby, Kiddo #1.  To be fair, I suppose we should've predicted it: she wore her coat all weekend long and had a temp that we could maintain or lower with Advil (dye-free, blardy blar version) but we kinda hoped that she'd break the fever overnight and be able to go to school on Monday. 2 days of rest and all that.
However, at 6am when she arrived in our room burning up and looking really sickly, I recognized the white flag being raised above my head.

With my mother safely on the way to our house, I tooted to school feeling less like a negligent momma and more like a bringing-home-the-organic-tofu momma.

Then, later, I got a text from my mom saying Kiddo #1's temp went up to 103.2.  Of course it did.  I texted Husband to call the Dr and try for an appointment. Later still, I got this text:

Husband: Can Kiddo #1 have Amoxil? I can't remember.
Me: NO! Huge rash on face and body and GAH NO!
Husband: Woah. Ok. Biaxin it is.
Me: Problem?
Husband: Strep.

Nooooooooo! Ain't nobody got time for THAT!

Then, after I got that news while innocently eating my luncheon mango and wishing I'd remembered the crackers for my freakin'  hummos houmus homous chickpea spread, I got another text from my mom saying she'd take Kiddo #1 to her house for the next 48 hours (she's still contagious for 48 hours after her first dose of drugs) so we wouldn't have to deal with all of that.  Hallelujah!

I called after I got done work and could tell on my earpiece that she was also driving. (Hands-free, btw-- who has an extra set of hands to hold the phone when you've got both sets on the reins of the horse and wagon you're driving from the 1500's to save the day?!?)

Mom: How was your day?
Me: Horrific. It was like the kids ate nothing but preservatives and nitrates for lunch and chased it with a double shot of red dye all while dancing some full-moon dance of nutters.  GAH! One kid actually looked at me and said, "Don't you wish you could bring back the strap?"
Mom: Yikes.
Me: I don't know if I was more horrified that a kid suggested that or because I'd had a fleeting moment where I could picture some of them hooked up to a broken down plough, prepping my garden for me as penance for their behaviours today.
Mom: Double yikes.
Me: Yes. I'm going to go home and hug my not-sick kid and pretend he's perfect.
Mom: Well, uh, don't do any laundry.
Me: Yeah, that wasn't going to be on my list of pick-me-ups. So, where you coming from with that?
Mom: Uh, well, uh, I hate to tell you this.
Me: Oh lord.
Mom: Well, I was sitting there waiting for all the meds to kick in so I could get Kiddo #1 to the car, and I thought "Well, I've saved the day today, I might as well do a load of laundry, too. You know, really knock your socks off"
Me: I don't wear socks, but I'd put them on to help illustrate that point.
Mom: So anyway, I put a load of towels and stuff in and started it and as the machine was filling, all I could hear was water running in the basement.
Me: Our washer isn't in the basement.
Mom: Exactly. So I ran downstairs and water was pouring down the walls.
Me: (Groan. Then swears. Then groaning again.)
Mom: Uh, well, so I ran back upstairs and turned off the machine.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I ran back downstairs to clean up the mess. It was harder to do since all the towels were in the washer, already wet.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I scooped all the water from the washer into the sink because I was afraid to turn it on again.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I ran the disher instead.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: But then I ran down and up the stairs to the basement 100 times because I was scared that it was going to pour water, too.
Me: Of course. Thanks.
Mom: I didn't go for my walk today.
Me: No. You climbed a 14'er instead.
Mom: I don't know what that means, but I feel like I climbed that big mountain in Colorado Springs.
Me: Yes. Pikes Peak. It's a 14'er.
Mom: So, uh, please don't use me to plough your garden.
Me: Wait. I get it now.
Mom: What?
Me: Did you break my washer because I called you at 6am?
Mom: No, I broke your washer because I love you. I know you hate laundry.
Me: Thought so. Love you, too. I'll call you tomorrow at 6am. Just to check in.
Mom: Not unless you want me to touch your serger afterwards.
Me: Touché.  Ha, or don't Touché, as it were.

Don't Touché, indeed.

I Have The Monopoly on Crazy. And Winning. Eat it, Charlie Sheen.

It's March Break here in the land of Canadia.  We've already had the "one-day-in March" where it's beautiful, Spring-like and all Canadians rush out into the streets while pulling off layer after layer until we're mostly buck-nekked, and then we've all got The Pneumonia until Actual Spring sometime after May 2-4 weekend.

We spent the weekend gutting the basement instead of being outside mostly-naked. I've managed to destroy my sinuses so Mother Nature counts that as a win regardless. I'm not being glib in using the phrase 'gutting the basement,' either. What looked like a fire-sale at the local toy shop now looks more like the neighbourhood home daycare.  I may have gone a little overboard when Kiddo #1 was born. How does one say no to the amazing deals on American Craigslist, though? It's probably best we moved away lest we become the next episode of Hoarders: Wooden Toys Edition.

And, of course, through it all, the children were endlessly amused by the "new" toys they kept finding after I sorted them, dusted off the cobwebs and put them in the right place again. In fact, when Kiddo #1's BFF came over and they headed toward the basement to play, I muffled my screams of terror and let them go down.  It only took upwards of 4 hours and 3 garbage bags to SEE the floor of the toy room, but sure, the kids could play down there.

KERN GERS WID BERNERNERS NOD WERDERMERLERN! ERMAGHERD!

Within minutes, there were 7 dress-up costumes on the floor, 3 pairs of wings, 2 tutus and 1 fireman hose. Wait, that grey squiggly tube isn't a fireman hose. It's my frickin' BRAIN that has exploded at the instant catastrophe that is basement!

Kiddo's BFF:  What's that sound? Are you gargling?
Kiddo #1: Nope. That's my mom. She's having apoplexy over the toy room.
Kiddo's BFF: Oh. ... A what?
Kiddo #1: It's kinda like a brain aneurysm only cuz she's super mad.

Wow.
They cover a lot of cool shit on Dora The Explorer.
Way to go, Treehouse Network!

But when the bitches didn't properly colour sort the damn fake fruit and veggies into their appropriate bins, I swallowed the rage, smiled, put everything back in its place (in a huff, with swears spoken under my breath) and vowed they would be taught a lesson.

Out came Monopoly Jr.
Oh yes, Monopoly Jr.
Ain't nobody gonna forget to sort the damn fruit EVER again.

Those are some white teeth, smiley psychopath. 

Smiling, like Clay Morrow just before he kills his friends, I said, "Girls! Let's play a new game you've never played before!"  Excited to do something new, they laughed and giggled and stomped their way over to the kitchen table.  30 minutes before dinner is ready? Damn right.

We got each girl set-up with their car token (Monopoly knows everyone loves the car best so the Junior version has ONLY cars) and began sorting the cash.  Husband felt the sonic boom as I laid the coloured money out, came upstairs, whimpered and retreated with the boy to watch Thomas The Train movies and nervously sweat.  Husband's only played me twice, and never since we got married. Like so many other things, Monopoly was only played in the 'courting' stage of our relationship; once married, that game went the way of the blowjob.  Er, dodo bird. I mean dodo bird.

Monopoly Jr breakdown: Players get "allowance" with which they can purchase "ticket windows" to set up in front of various amusement park attractions.  When friends land on the purchased square, they owe the ticket window the preset amount so they can "play" that game/ride whatever.  It's a cute concept, weak on ruthlessness, but a good intro to business, nonetheless.

We counted, we bought ticket booths turned over Chance cards and had a wonderful time. And at 29 minutes in, Kiddo #1's BFF looked bored.  Sensing I could break her, I leaned in for the kill.

Me: What's wrong, Priscilla?
Kiddo's BFF: (long, drawn out sigh)  Nothing. I'm just kinda... bored.
Me: No, that's impossible.  There's no way you're bored unless you're LOSING.
Kiddo #1: Well, Mom, it kinda looks like we're done. All the games have ticket windows.
Kiddo's BFF: Yeah. There's nothing left to buy.
Me: (shooting a death glance at my kid) Seriously, Kiddo #1, that MUST be your FATHER coming out in you. As for you, Pussy (shooting death glance at other kid) all I see is that it DOES look like your money pile is pretty short.
Kiddo's BFF: Uh, it's Prissy.
Me: Oops. Sorry.
Kiddo #1: Well, Mom, maybe we could play something else?
Me: What? Are you losing TOO?  Too bad you two can't just have FUN playing the FUNNEST game on EARTH! WIENERS!

Luckily, the two girls passed out before I completely lost control of myself. I just am so amazing at Monopoly: Annihilation that I forget sometimes that they don't need to have their egos stomped into  itty bitty crumbs to remind them how amazing I am.  Frankly, the subliminal recordings I put on their iPods while they sleep off the Roofies (only half each-- they're little girls after all) will teach them on a whole new level. Plus, I had to distract them from my sticky fingers as the Whore Banker.

In the meantime, I got to finish the game, WIN, get the play food re-sorted and have time to write up my amazing parenting tips for you, gentle reader. I know, I know-- I am pretty awesome; you think so and you don't even have my voice on your iPod telling you to say that, so I know it's true!

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hott like me?