Why I Want to be a Grandma . . .

I can't wait for Benjamin to have kids. I hope he has boys. I hope he has a lot of them. And I hope he will call me when they are 3 and incredibly naughty. I can't wait for that sweet revenge! And I know that I will laugh my fool head off - if I'm not already doing so in some sanitarium across town.
Here is the most recent picture of Benjamin and the stain from the mildew remover spray bottle (bleach) that he dumped all over the carpet. Our neighbor suggested that we use the carpet from our closet to patch it, as there are no scraps of this nasty carpet left in this house (of course there isn't - it is 150 yr old carpet). We can't use the stuff in Benjamin's closet, because it still has the orange stain from the time he snuck an unused macarooni/cheese packet and made a paste on the carpet in there.

As I started mentally tallying all the mischievous things that he's done, I realized that any one of them would be enough to push a regular mom off their mental cliff, but to have them compounded in the space of two weeks for a 9 month pregnant mom is just insane!

Is there enough space to put up the pictures of the Comet cleanser he shook out all over the carpet and bathroom? The toilet paper wads - not the ones previously posted - the new ones he flung up on his own bedroom door? The BBQ sauce he drop-kicked across the kitchen floor, and the water he spit out all over the kitchen table just to watch a little friend laugh? Or how 'bout the toothbrush down the bathroom sink that caused a leak under the cabinet so that all the spare toilet paper could marinate for a few days? AHHHHGGGG! And those are just the things in my SHORT term memory. It begs the question, how can this little THING keep coming up with new destructive ways to drive me crazy!!
Today, in an attempt to get all his energy out in a safe, monitored, environment, we went to a mall playground. Into the morning AZ sun, we heard complaints about the hot plastic,- but luckily there is a little water park area. Aw, let 'em run around in a diaper and get nice and wet and tired. I stripped him down to his diaper, and let him run off with his little friend while I gathered up the clothes, purse, left over nuggets etc. By the time I'd picked up all of our stuff, I waddled over to the water section only to catch a good glimpse of a naked, white kid running pell mell through the water spigots while a murmur of, "Where's his mom?" circulated amongst the appalled crowd.
I got to talk to the security guard about my naked child. "He can't do that here you know," as if to say, "I don't know where you come from, but out here public exposure is considered bad!"
He continues,"You can walk a 1/2 mile to [some place] and buy a water diaper - which we recommend- for children playing in the water area."

Oh shut up. I can barely get up and down, all my spare cash is going to re-carpet my hallway, and he thinks I'm gonna hike around to get him a water diaper???!!!! Many Italian gestures come to mind.

My friend Stacy is very sympathetic to my plight. She holds down the "stuff" fort while I go chase down my boy in order to re-diaper his pasty butt. The same kid, who was SUPPOSED to be getting rid of excess energy, while our neighbor installs closet carpet over the hallway bleach stain, which was all supposed to be fixed before this baby comes. My brilliant plan has failed. I am so tired, I am so defeated, I have but two words left in me: "Deliver Me."