A Case of the Mondays and the Martians

I know it’s Thursday.

Whatever.

But Monday happened, and I feel compelled to share this with you. It’s necessary for my psyche, for my sanity, and maybe so that when I end up on an episode of Snapped, you will all understand. You’ll say, “Oh, well she’s the girl who woke up to shit prints that morning when she was peacefully dreaming about sexing with Adrian Grenier.” And maybe you’ll riot outside of the courtroom with signs that say, “Set Mandi Free For Adrian” or not. Again, whatever. I’m not planning on murdering anybody. (There you go detective. It wasn’t premeditated.) I digress.

Monday I spent a lot of the day working on The SisterWives blog. You should read it if you aren’t already.

It’s summer. You may have noticed that I’m not around much. That’s because…children. They are home and hungry and bored and hungry and bored and…children, so needless to say, on Monday I pretty much ignored them. I know. Here’s my Mother of the Year award.

It was a good run.

While I was getting everything ready for this week for the other blog, my daughter was quietly playing in the play room. She does this a lot. She has a vivid imagination and plays really well by herself (and not just because I ignore her a lot occasionally.)  See. I’m a good parent. Shut up.

I’m at my desk when she walks up to me. I immediately notice that she has blue and red markings all over her legs. Her arms. Her face. I look at my desk and quickly inventory that my red and blue sharpie markers are missing.

Shit.

“What’s that on your legs, babe?” I asked my little demon child angel.

“Mom, I drew you a picture.” The duh was inferred.

“On your legs?”

“No, on paper.”

“On paper where?”

“On the couch.”

I take three cleansing breaths and follow her into the playroom where she shows me the picture she drew. There are two dots on it. One red. One blue. I look at the couch where the two dotted white piece of paper sits. I pick it up. Sure enough, sharpie marks on my nice leather couch, the one that’s way too nice for a playroom, that’s way too good for the abuse the children throw at it.

Thank God for Google. I mostly get the marks cleaned up. I turn on Doc McStuffins and go back to my computer, silently thanking Doc for taking care of my kid while I continue my very important task of the day.

I realize at one point that my dog is out of food and that I have forgotten to buy the salmon I’m planning to cook for dinner, so I load both kids in the car, and we hit the store, purchase the salmon, the dog food, some dog shampoo, and a bundle of asparagus. My grocery list seems unimportant. Stay tuned.

I’m in the kitchen getting the marinade ready for the salmon when my daughter comes in and asks, “Mom, can we give Lucy (the dog) a bath?”

“Not right now, baby. We’ll bathe her tomorrow.”

She disappears. I marinate.

Twenty or so minutes later, she comes back into the kitchen. I notice she’s holding the dog shampoo that I stupidly left out on the kitchen counter. I also notice it is no longer full. In fact, it’s pretty much empty.

“Darling, what did you do?”

I reach over and take the shampoo from her hand. It’s wet and sticky and clearly used.

“I gave Lucy a bath.” Like it’s no big deal. Like she isn’t three years old. Like she just always gives the dog a bath without my supervision.

I register that for a minute. I wonder silently how she managed to get my 60+ pound redbone coonhound into the upstairs bathtub by herself because I know Lucy didn’t willingly jump into the bath tub. Then my rational brain checks in and says, “Where did you give her a bath….darling?” I grind my teeth and clinch my jaw and hold in the fire that is about to flair from my nostrils.

“Under bubba’s bed.” Oh dear Jeezus, and everything that is holy.

I check the burners, tell my daughter to stay away from the stove and wearily walk up the stairs to my son’s room.

Le’ Sigh.

I can smell the shampoo before I even make it to the top of the stairs. I inspect the damage. There’s an open bottle of detangler on the ground next to my dog, and the floor is saturated. Completely soaking with suds. Lots and lots of suds. It seems, in fact, that everything but the dog is wet. I add two plus two and realize that she has used the detangler bottle as her vehicle for water.

Lucy's evil eye says, "keep that kid away from me."

Lucy’s evil eye says, “keep that kid away from me.”

Lucy just looks at me like, “Really?”

We share a moment. I grab a towel and begin to soak in some of the suds. It’s a futile attempt. I throw a beach towel over the mess and head down to the kitchen to finish dinner.  Turns out Google isn’t so helpful with dog shampoo and carpet solutions.

I’m running on fumes at this point. Exhausted, annoyed, and extremely hungry. We eat, which is immediately followed by bath time. For the kid. The dog is apparently all clean now.

I throw my little sadist angel in the bath and stand there sleeping with my eyes open. About the time I approach day dream status, my husband comes into the bathroom. “Have you seen my flash drive that Jay gave me?” The one that’s in the shape of Marvin the mother effing Martian and looks like a toy to three year old people.

Flash Drive or Toy...be three for a minute

Flash Drive or Toy…be three for a minute

The one that has all of the files my husband needs for the meeting he’s leaving town for in the morning.  I just point to my daughter and start crazy laughing. You know the laugh.

He looks at her and cocks his head to the side, the way he does me when he’s putting on the charm. “Baby, do you know where daddy’s Marvin the Martian is?”

She looks down.

Guilty.

“Baby girl, can you help me find him?” My husband’s patience really gets on my nerves. Not just in this incident, but always…for the record, or maybe off the record.

“Did you take it out of my office?” He continues, all sweet and wrapped around her little finger.

She looks up, her big blue eyes wide and full of…something. “I don’t know,” she says in her I’m your little angel, Daddy voice.

“You’re not in trouble…if you can help me find him, okay?”

“Okay,” she almost whispers. I just watch her play him from afar.

“So where is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you take it out of my office?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know where you put it?”

“I don’t remember.”

I jump in. “Listen, I don’t have time for this. Where is Marvin the Martian?” (The statement alone…shaking my head.)

I fold my arms and look down at her in the bath with my intimidating mommy death stare. You know the look. You’ve either given it or received it. Or both. And then I begin my inquisition. “Did you take it upstairs? Is it in your room? Is it in your playroom? Did you put it in your doll house? Your princess castle?”

“Oh, I know, mommy.” A little imaginary child sized light bulb brightens over her head.  “It’s in my secret hideout.”

I don’t even want to admit this, but I do a little happy dance. I even clap. I know.

“Great,” I say, “And where is your secret hideout?” Nodding my head…not at all like I’m insane.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Are you kidding me with this kid?

I leave my husband with her in the bathroom and decide that it’s best if I get my seven year old son on the case. We turn the house upside down and find no martian. I give up, tell the husband it’s time to get the kids into bed and then proceed to lecture him on the importance of being more organized and not keeping flash drives that look like toys just out willy nilly on his desk.

The kids go to bed. I go into my husband’s office and sit down. We sit there for a minute, shaking our heads at each other. I say something like, “it’s a good thing she’s so fuggin cute,” while he shuffles stuff around on his desk. Then he picks up a drink koozie that his precious little gem made him in preschool. It has her hand print on it, and he keeps it on his desk…probably because he’s too lazy to put it where it goes, but he will tell you it’s because it reminds him of his princess. Pfft. Whatever.

He shakes the koozie.

Guess what’s inside.

Yup.

Marvin the mother effing martian.

Eff you, Monday.

Still.

On Thursday.

Anyone else have a rough Monday? Did you too blame it on the super moon? Or just your kid?

Advertisements

58 thoughts on “A Case of the Mondays and the Martians

  1. Reblogged this on Emamma30's Blog and commented:
    LOVE it, such an entertaining story of motherhood. Just another day right?!! And tell your hubby to get a “real” flashdrive! If it contains important meeting material, it should not look like a toy!

    Like

  2. Omg, yes, my Monday was same, different characters, you have more have more have than me, and yes, I blamed super moon…

    Sent via the Samsung GALAXY S® 5, an AT&T 4G LTE smartphone

    Like

    • What a day, indeed! She’s awfully quiet right now. Who knows what I’ll find when I find her. They are quite cute, and they’re also worth the wait. We waited until we were together for almost a decade before we added any to our equation.

      Like

  3. Oh, the joys! I am so glad school has started here. I am completely with you on the husband patience. What the hell? Mine is the same way and it’s always good cop, bad cop around here. I do hope that your Tuesday, Wednesday, and now Thursday have been better. Momming is a harder than it looks on TV, isn’t it?

    Like

  4. Let’s blame Jay… that seems like the safest, most external solution 🙂 Did Jay send you some vino to go with the troubles lil Marvin would cause you? A gentleman would send compensation for the trauma to your sanity.

    Actually my Monday was pretty good, but my Tuesday sucked ass. I have spent serious almost meditation time trying to delete Tuesday from my head!

    Like

  5. I know I shouldn’t laugh… But this is one of the funniest mum stories I have ever read! I am have to say that sometimes, just for a moment, instead of being jealous of people with kids, I am kinda glad I can’t have any. Thanks for a great story! 😀

    Like

  6. Oh…wow…sorry. Can I just say how happy I am that my children are 20 and 18? The issues are definitely bigger and often more serious but, ouch. That is what I call a bad day! Here’s to better days! 🙂

    Like

  7. There are days when I would trade my moody teen for your adorable preschooler – lots of days. Monday was not one of those days. I bet today will be though. Hang in there Mandi! It’s almost time for a new episode of Outlander.

    Like

    • What? You don’t want to take this precious little trouble maker? I can’t imagine why. Actually, she’s the sweetest little thing…except for when she’s not. Oh, and I can hardly contain my excitement for Outlander. Can you believe they’ve renewed it for a second season after just one episode? I’m in love, but this isn’t new.

      Like

  8. Laughing and laughing Mandi…so glad this was you and not me!! Oh and blogging and summer time, yeah right. How to keep up and keep the kids happy?? So does this mean that Lucy is good to go regarding the bath?

    Like

    • I’m glad my little monster could offer you a laugh. She keeps me on my toes for sure, and summer….gah! I can’t even begin to keep up. I will have about solid month of catching up when school starts.

      As for Lucy….well, she still needs a bath.

      Like

  9. I don’t care what she did….she’s the cutest thing in the whole wide world. I want to put her in my pocket with Jennie Saia. (but seriously, wow. what a little chaos elf! hahahaa. here’s to weekends and wine)

    Like

    • Like I said, it’s a good thing she’s cute. She’s a little terrorist, but she’s cute. I will bring her right over to put in your pocket. I’m sure she and Jennie will have much to discuss, being that they’re both ridiculously cute and all. Chaos elf…true story.

      Like

  10. LOL! THAT was absolutely freakin’ hysterically funny, Mandi! Of course the picture of Lucy was PERFECT for the story. She probably takes the entire situation in of her family some days and thinks, “There is some bat shit crazy stuff happening here…” Still giggling. Thank you for stopping by and saying hi too. That made mine and Phoenix’s day 🙂

    Like

    • She keeps to herself a lot, Mike. In fact, our joke is that Lucy spends 23 hours a day under my son’s bed. She comes out when there’s food and when we pull out her leash for her walk. Other than that, she avoids us at all cost. Unfortunately for her though, the little monster finds Lucy and smothers her with love. Nobody loves our dog more than that little girl, and if you asked Lucy, I think she’d probably say that she’s not mad about it.

      Like

  11. Keep blogging about your little angel and her antics — you’ll be glad you have the stories when she is older (she may not be so glad when you tell her future boyfriends the stories — but payback is a bitch 😉 I wish I had written down the things my kids said and did when they were younger — I always figured I would remember, but that didn’t work out so well.

    Like

  12. Your daughter has style! I went through a phase of drug seeking at her age, if that helps. I loved the taste of children’s Tylenol (well, the British equivalent but it’s similar) and every time my mum unpacked groceries that included a new bottle, I’d steal it and run away to my room to drink as much as I could before I was busted and taken to the Emergency Room… again. Sometimes I suspect that child proof locks on medicine bottles were invented for me.

    Like

  13. Mandi! A) this was hilarious and B) I love love LOVE that you actually write your stories – as in, you tell them in proper prose, with narrative, and dialogue etc….
    I know it’s a little thing, but I think it sets your writing apart from the rest of the he saids and she saids, and I was likes.
    And you do it well, so that’s a big plus.

    Like

  14. I have to tell you, I have been thinking about you all week. Because this made me crack up. I felt like I was totally there!! Marvin the Martian?! Seriously?!
    And because the day before this happened to you, poop-tastic Pompeii happened to me. And I wrote it up that night but then sat on the post for two weeks. But then I just had to post it. Because… poop. (And I even wrote “because… poop” as a homage to your hysterical post.)
    Just perfect! (I mean, horrible to experience, but perfect to read.)

    Like

    • I am going to have to read this STAT, but alas I have to run off and take my daughter to her very first soccer practice. Soccer mom. What? I’ll be back to Poop-tastic Pompeii…for sure!!! And I’m so sorry that you could in any way relate to that story.

      Like

  15. I had a daughter too! They look so innocent, don’t they? Until they paint your glass coffee table with the bright red nail polish you forgot to put away before you went to bed, then crumbled cookie crumbs into it to make “art.” I just turned around & walked away. I told my hubby to go look after “his” daughter or I might do something I would regret.

    Like

Go ahead ... say something. You know you want to.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s