Things That Go BUMP in the Night

Every mother LOVES to be woken up at midnight by the soothing sound of a loud crash and a few bumps over and over and over...right?

Sure.  No worries.

I had just fallen asleep when I really heard a super loud BANG! coming from Child #2's bedroom.  It happened again and again.  So, I did what any loving mother would do.

Me: [pushing husband off the bed]  Hon. Go check on that.
Husband:  What?
Me:  Seriously!  You didn't hear that?
Husband:  What?

[another CRASH!  followed by Husband leaping out of bed followed by a few muffled words followed by very sleepy yet somehow audible words]

Child #2:  Let me out.
[crash]
Child #2:  Let me out.
[crash]
Husband:  Son, what happened?
Child #2:  Let me out.

[muffled words followed by calming fatherly words followed by the sound of Child #2 getting back into bed followed by husband getting back into bed]

Me:  What happened?
Husband:  He was trying to get out.
Me:  What?
Husband:  He was trying to get out through the bookshelf. 
Me:  Over and over again!?!
Husband:  Uh huh.  Pretty much bumped everything off the shelves and now he's back in bed and there's a huge mess on the floor.
Me: Oh.  'kay.
Husband:  G'night.
Me: 'night.

What's For Dinner? Armpits!?!

Our dinner discussion tonight.

Child #2:  Our Sunday School teacher today told us that it is impossible to lick your armpits.
Child #1:  No it's not.
[raising his arm in an attempt]
Child #2:  Yes it is.
Husband:  Actually, it's not.  See?
[actually putting down his fork in an effort to convince this S.S. Teacher wrong]
Child #3:  I want to try.
[joining his father]
Me:  Let's not really try.
Grandma:  Try it!
Me:  You're not helping, mom.
Child #1:  I can almost do it.
Child #2:  You can not.  Nobody can.
Me:  Seriously, guys.  We're eating dinner.
[glancing around to see all four men trying to lick their armpits]

I'm not quite sure how it all ended, but I'm pretty certain I remember slowly and ever-so-dramatically burying my head into my arms as they rest upon the table.

The Way To A Girl's Heart...

Hanging with my nieces/nephews is pretty close to being a mom on my "list-of-awesome-things-I-get-to-do".  They're all sorta the bomb.  See why in this  conversation I had with my ever-so-spunky 4 year old niece.

Me:  I love you.
Niece:  I love you, too.
Me:  That's not what you told me yesterday!
Niece:  What!?!
Me:  You said you didn't like me yesterday.
Niece:  Oh.  I DO like you.
Me:  (perfectly flat-toned) Is it because I just gave you some chocolate?
Niece:  (not even flinching) Uh-huh.
Me:  Well, you should like me ALL the time.
Niece:  Well, YOU should give me CHOCOLATE all the time.

Me: {sigh}

Haiti...Hades...

Child #1 and I were holding a discussion about good choices and why we should always make them (a topic we discuss often and quite openly).  He knows that if he makes good choices, he'll more than likely go to heaven...

Child #1:  I guess it's easier to make good choices, huh, mom?
Me:  Yup.  Bad choices lead to bad consequences.  Good choices, good consequences.
[He's heard that once or twice before, for SURE!]
Child #1:  I guess it's better than going to Haiti.
Me:  [utterly confused!]  What!?!
Child #1:  Well, that's where all the bad people are, isn't it?
Me:  Um....no.  There are LOTS of good people in Haiti.  Lots of them.
Child #1:  That's not what I heard!
Me:  [more utterly confused]  What are you talking about?
Child #1:  In Greek mythology they talk about Haiti being the underworld and all the bad people get sent there.
Me:  Um...no.  That's Hades.
Child #1:  Oh.  Oh, yeah.  Then what's Haiti?
Me:  A country.
Child #1:  Oh.

Juvenile Delinquent

After dropping of our son to a Young Men's activity, I received the following text.

"Goin 2 jail.  see ya in the long run. lol"

My answer:

"Just so you know, Im not bailing you out...EVER!  Have fun!"

Squirrels...Again?

It happened again...

(for the original sleep-talking story,  CLICK HERE)

Child #1 was nearly sound, sound asleep (as were WE for that matter) when he began hallucinating and hearing things.  This time, it sounded like this:

Child #1:  MOM!  DAD!  It's happening again!
Dad:  What, son?
Child #1:  I can hear it.  It's singing this time!
Dad:  What's singing?
Child #1:  I hear music.  It won't stop.  I can hear music downstairs and footsteps.
Me:  Does it sound British?
Child #1:  Mom, really.  Stop with the squirrel thing.  This is real.
[Brief moment as we try to hear music as we listen to the complete and utter silence in the house.]
Me:  Dear, I don't hear music.
Child #1:  That's because it's coming from DOWNSTAIRS!
Me:  'kay, dear.  I'm coming.

[Reluctantly pull myself out of bed and walk, or rather fumble, lethargically down the stairs as I'm secretly having visions of "Alvin and the Squirrels" (or whatever they are) singing inside my son's walls with a British accent.]

Child #1:  Can you hear it now?
Me:  Uh...no.
Child #1:  I'm certain it's the All American Rejects.  They're singing their songs.  I can hear them.
Me:  Good for you, dear. 
Child #1:  Are you mocking me?
Me:  Never.

What Else Can Ya Say???

Child #3:  Mom.
Me:  Yup?
Child #3:  The next time I meet a Tyrannosaurus wearing roller skates and a jet pack,  I'm going to name him Megatron!
Me:  You do that, son.
Child #3: 'kay.