Apparently, I Suck.

Tate has recently decided that I'm a big loser. Eric, apparently, is the coolest guy on the planet. I'm going to need to have a serious talk with that kid...in what world is Eric cooler than me??

But all kidding aside, it kinda sucks. I have to bribe him, threaten him, lay on him, drug him up with Benedryl, whatever, just to get him to let me have the supreme honor of changing his diaper. Apparently it can only be Daddy who gets the joy of wiping poo off of a wiggly little butt. And no, I don't drug him with Benedryl. The other things I mentioned, yes. I'm actually more tempted to take a nice gulp or eight of the B-dryl myself. I imagine the screams would be a lot more muffled that way, and kicks to me shin would be nothing but a glancing blow. Barely noticable. Ah, to be floating around in a lovely fog of blissful ignorance.

Today after Eric went to work, we had a tantrum that will be spoken of for years to come. This was DefCon 5, people. I imagine people down the block were diving for cover upon hearing what they thought was an air raid siren come wailing through their windows. No, sorry guys...just my kid sreaming, because Daddy wasn't home to put his train track back together. Apparently if Mommy touches the train tracks they will burst into flames. So this was a typical exchange:

Tate, through a stream of tears and snot. Phlegm, too: "Fix it! Fix the tracks! AAAAAHHH"
Me: "Ok, Tate, give it to me and I'll put it back together"
Tate, trying to clock me on the head with a track portion: "NOOOOOOO! JUST DADDY! ONLY DADDY DO IT!"
Me: "Well, it's me or nothin' kid" as I get up to walk away
Tate: "Mommy, fix my track, please?" I start to walk back and reach for the track. "NOOOOOOOOOO!! WANT DADDY! WHERE'S DADDY??"

Wherever he is, it ain't here. Lucky bastard. This went on for way too long and just as my head was about to explode and grant me some sweet relief from the caterwauling of a deranged two year old, he climbed into my lap and passed out hardcore. It was pretty funny, but not as funny as yesterday when he fell asleep, tipped over and went right off the couch onto the floor. Didn't even flinch.

And on the subject of these damn trains, each time you buy a new little train dude they come with a little card that has their pictures and likes, dislikes, astrological signs, ideal first date, favorite alcoholic beverage, whatever. I don't actually read the things, I just spend all day looking for a 2''x3'' card in my pit of a house. Try that if you're bored sometime. It's extremely relaxing and non-frustrating, especially when you're being trailed by a little boy yowling for the Oliver Card. It's been in my laundry hamper, my dishwasher, a shoe in the front closet, the dog's food bowl, and my underwear drawer. These dudes like to get around. If they're smart they'll start hanging out in the liquor cabinet. I'm already dreading bedtime tonight though, because he's been wanting to sleep with the Salty card and I'll be buggered if I know where the heck that thing is. It's not going to be pretty.

Oh well. He's not all craziness. He's had his usual moments of humor peppered in with the insanity lately. Like yesterday when he was playing with Nora and looked at me very seriously saying "We have to respect our friends, Mommy. They need respect." Now, if he would just learn what the word respect actually means, we'd be golden. We also bought him a stuffed monkey at the mall last week and when I asked him what the monkey's name was, he said "Ummm...Snowy." There ya go. Snowy the Monkey. I find that just very random. But wouldn't expect anything less from the little guy.

Eric's working all weekend so by Sunday night I'm sure I'll be reduced to a babbling pile of goo. Although tomorrow night is dinner and pedicures with the girls. Ahh...a shining beacon of light in my world of poop, runny noses, and general clutter, disarray and pandemonium.