I Need a Nap, a Xanax and a Margarita

Tiny Terrorist will be 3 on Sunday.
Boy Terrorist is 4 and Big Red will be 13 in just over a month.

Yes...that's her everyday sass

My babies are growing up.

I don't know whether to cry, throw a party or move out of the house.

I knew my experiences with the terrorists would be somewhat different because of their gender (one boy, one girl), but it didn't even occur to me the giant sea of difference I would experience between them and big red.

I feel like I'm living in the mind of bi-polar person.....on drugs 

This morning I got the full spectrum from cleaning up pee to making make-up pit stops.
Here's the summary of my morning (6:00AM - 8:00AM)

• Tiny terrorist peed her pants - while standing next to the toilet....because she wanted me to lift her on to it and hold her toilet paper for her until she was ready to wipe. (she's fully capable of getting up there on her own - she does it 90% of the time.  She also has no problem pulling, holding and stuffing an entire roll of TP in the toilet on any other day) 

• I had to explain for the 5,678th time to Boy Terrorist that no, he could not bring his nerf shot gun to school, then I had to explain that he also couldn't bring his nerf pistol.....no, not even if you hide it in your underpants.

• Find shoes for both terrorists after an exhaustive 42 second search party was completed by the terrorists (the shoes were in the shoe box....where they are every morning for the last 2 years) 

• Carry both terrorists to the car because they cannot walk they are just too exhausted and "If you love us you'll carry us" (courtesy of Boy terrorist)

• Return to house after pulling out of driveway so big red cold retrieve her headband.....because no ponytail is complete without a big ass band of elastic strapped to your forehead.  (The door was locked...which just ruined it all...making a trip back to the car for keys and then back to the house was out of the question - commence pouting)

• Big red notices that my make up isn't in the car and she has no make-up. (and OHMYGAWD...she has to have mascara and eyeliner because her "eyes are different sized"....no shit that's what she said)  So googly-eyes announces that this is "THE WORST MORNING EVER" 

• I concede to stop by her fathers house so she can get make up to un-googly-eye herself.  We get make up and googly announces that all she has is bronzer and her face will be all brown and uneven and this really is "THE WORST MORNING EVER"   (Um, why does she even have bronzer...I don't even know what to do with bronzer)  Tears flow....

• We show up at daycare and Tiny Terrorist informs me she is not going today....she wants to go to gymnastics.  Commence flopping out of car seat, flinging self on ground and generally being an asshole.  I explain to her that gymnastics is after daycare when the sun is getting ready to go to sleep.  Mercifully, she enters daycare with Boy terrorist with no other argument.

No actual "Googly-Eyes" - Shes absolutely beautiful

• Back to googly eyes....shes in full blown teenager meltdown mode slamming my visor mirror, crying and mumbling about uneven eyes, splotchy skin and worst mornings ever.  I gave up...I drove across town to my office so she could use my make up then drove back across town to bring the now beautified un-googley-eyed big red to school. (I fought the urge to tell her her eyes still looked the same as they did at 6AM, just with more junk on them...)  

Crisis averted, all kids are safely in the care of somebody-fucking-else for the day.  I feel like I need a nap, a Xanax and a margarita. I really didn't think this whole future thing through.....

16 Ways to Ruin your Toddlers Morning

My husband decided to read my blog (finally) hence the update:  
Soooooo....so now I have to give credit where it rightfully belongs.  
He handles the Boy terrorist in the morning and does most of the AM routine with him.  I get up with the Tiny terrorist and do most of the shit that she requires.  So in actuality list items #1-7 happened to him (I just eavesdropped on those) and I only directly received #'s 7-16.
 
I write this shit on my lunch break and I didn't have time for all the intricacies, but he noticed so to my darling husband...here you go, here's your credit.  (And I love you)

This was NOT taken at 6AM

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but the terrorists are in their first "real" daycare ever.  Up until this point they've either gone to a family friend for daycare or had an in home nanny.

Holy shit it's a lot more work this way!  You've Derek's got to get them him up, dress them him and get food in them all before 6AM.

(That's like trying to teach drunk college students advanced chemistry.  Or at least what I would imagine it's equivalent to.) 

 I know, I know.. you really want to hear my Derek's sob story about how hard it is to not have a nanny and have to dress my kids.  (I'll say it for you....Oh fuck off Ashley!)

You're in luck.....that's not the point of this one.
In fact I really like the new daycare.  I enjoy my kids NOT trashing my house all day or eating all of the food.   

Back to the point.  We have a routine, but some days the natives go fucking insane and I'm reminded why some species eat their young.  This morning was one of those days for the boy terrorist.  I we managed to find no less than 16 ways to ruin his morning all before 6 AM (prob more but these are the ones I remember).

And here they are:

1. Make BT take off his onesie jammies
2. Make BT go potty before putting on his pants
3. Make him hold his penis while he pees
4. Call it a pee pee not a penis
5. Make him brush his teeth with toothpaste
6. Not let BT wear his jammies to daycare (Cameron does....)
7. Give BT Milk to drink instead of orange juice
8. Dump out OJ and replace with milk 
9. Give him white milk not chocolate milk
10. Put too much chocolate in the chocolate milk
11. Do not allow BT to bring pillow with him (Cameron does....)
12. Utter the phrase "I don't know Cameron and really I don't care what he does.You are not taking your pillow to school"
13. Put Shrek on instead of Scooby Do in the car (1st world problems right)
14. Have the radio set to a decibel level not pleasing to the little terrorists ears
15. Have the screen set to a 89° angle not a perfect 90° angle for optimal viewing
16. ....And I didn't 2nd squeeze him like I really meant it. 

That's really what he told me when I hugged him for the 2nd time "You didn't squeeze me like you meant it"  Little did he know that had I squeezed him like I meant it his poor little terrorist head would have popped right off.  (I did drop him off so this one is all mine)

See the type of shit I have to deal with from this one.... <3

(Not really, that was the highlight of my day...he made me laugh and reminded me that he needs and loves me....awe)