Ingredients
1 part mother
2 parts male children
1 part husband working all day Sunday
1 mini van plus 30 minute ride
2 spilled adult drinks
1 broken recliner
1 den of carpet ruined
Place mother in minivan alone with 2 screaming, fighting male children for 30 minutes and let stew until boiling.
Boil mother until thoroughly pissed and she yells, “That is IT! I am done with this crap!”
Remove from minivan and place in messy house with 2 fighting male children.
Mix one pomegranate martini. Allow Mother one sip. Watch RED martini spill on carpet as mother breaks up the 657th fight of the day.
Place 1 part child in his room and set timer for 60 minutes.
Scrub carpet for 30 minutes.
Mix one whiskey sour for stronger effect. Do not allow Mother to take one sip. Watch as 2 part child spills entire whiskey sour on the carpet.
Add a dash of “SHIT!” to taste and call upon God to damn it. Place 2 part child in his room.
(Puff of cigarette optional, but not used in test kitchen)
Mix irrational, crazed phone call to husband with more Divine damnation.
Simmer for an hour.
Fold laundry in bedroom while mother continues to stew and ignores roughhousing in the den.
Hear crash in den.
Combine 1 recliner laying on the floor with broken ball bearings and 2 parts children standing RIGHT BESIDE RECLINER.
See large quantities of black graphite-like powder on the beige carpet underneath broken recliner.
See black, which represents the Black Plague, which means DEATH TO ALL!
Eat 2 parts children.
I wish I could say I made this story up for the joy of your entertainment, but dear reader, that would be a lie.
To say I was pissed is the understatement of the decade. I was so pissed I didn’t trust myself to march the boys to their rooms. If I touched them, I would cross a line. And I think they knew it because I told them to go to their rooms and those little assholes scrammed without a single peep of protest.
Once I calmed down enough to put together words, I went to their rooms and chewed them out. I let them know they’d probably ruined the carpet (because I didn’t think it would come out at the time) and now we had to spend money on furniture too.
“WHAT YOU HAVE DONE WILL PROBABLY COST US $1000!”
I went to bed still seething.
I woke up the next morning still full of resentment.
My carpet, while looking better after 2 hours of scrubbing, still looks like a gray elephant left a giant gray skid mark on my floor. Plus, we’re out of a recliner, leaving only our couch for seating.
But I suppose that’s ok for a while BECAUSE THE BOYS WILL BE 25 BEFORE THEY ARE ALLOWED TO SIT THEIR ASSES ON MY FURNITURE AGAIN!
Parker came into my room to tell me good morning and he could tell all is not forgiven. No happy smiles or big hugs from mom. He apologized for what he did and said he felt really bad.
I don’t tell him it’s ok because it’s not ok.
A few minutes later, he comes back with the saddest Robert Redford blue eyes ever and his piggy bank in his arms.
“Mommy, here’s my money. You can have it to help pay for the furniture.”
That right there? Is the only reason I haven’t eaten them yet.
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I resort to these same thoughts on a daily basis.
They have destroyed my house and wrecked my body.
Devil’s spawns…that’s what they are!!! LOL!
I usually like to try new recipes, but this one doesn’t sound very good…except for an unspilled pomegranate martini.
Oh my god, I am so sorry for taking such delight in your misery. This post is awesome. Awesomesauce, even. I’ve been waiting for an occasion to use that stolen word, and now I have it. Awesomesauce.
I have no children, and therefore no advice. Except that child toes taste better with peanut butter.
Lord, this makes me think I really should veer into the grocery store on Friday nights and stock up on some liquor for the weekends. Especially since Tool Man has had to work most Saturdays and I’ve been shuttling kids back and forth and going insane.
It’s the constant repeating – of routines and lessons and orders (because it ALWAYS goes to orders!) – that makes me want to either stew them or run away. I figure I should run away, really. I’d be gone the rest of the weekend before they realized.
I was already giggling at the title…but this post? Classic.
Add 2 stinky dogs to the mix and this could be me on any given day.
Congrats for not eating them. I’m not sure that I would have made it passed the spilt martini.
Repeating myself makes me lose my shit. I am fine the first five times, after that I have to put myself in time out.
What drives me nuts is when I tell the kids to stop doing something, and they don’t, then something bad happens and they say sorry and want me to accept their apology — and I won’t.
While I know that sounds horrible, my thought is if it’s an accident or unintentional then you can be sorry. If I tell you 10 times to take your shoes off when you come in the house and then you “accidently” track dirt on the white carpet, then I DON’T accept your apology and you’re grounded.
I swear sometimes we live in the same house. But mine is a 19 yo boy and a 9 yo daughter. I have had that recipe more times than I care to remember. Good luck to you.
More pom martinis. Lots more. Keep a bottle mixed in the fridge, then use sippy cups so they can’t spill.
When I am that mad I could never eat my kids. Sell them for the first offer, yes, eat them, no.
I would so take him up on that money offer. And make him work it off doing whatever is your bidding.
Jesus, I am so hot from just reading that. I think I need to go lay down.
The only thing that keeps me from eating my oldest son is the small spark of sweetness he has. That tends to be the only thing that keeps him alive lately. He has spent more time in his room the last month or so than I did through my early tweens.
Wine is constantly stocked here to keep mommy chilled.
My four year old daughter recently started using the f-word. I suppose it’s my fault…sometimes I just can’t help it. But I’M the adult and SHE’S the child and if I say she’s not allowed to curse, then SHE’S NOT ALLOWED TO CURSE! So when she continued randomnly yelling “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!” with her arms raised while running circles around our coffee table, I came at her with every intention to smack her on the mouth. But she saw this in time and stopped running, and extended her raised arms to give me a hug while pursing her lips and throwing kisses at me. She does this EVERY TIME.
And it works like a charm. She’s gonna be the death of me.
SoMo: Oh, they are gonna help pay. We’ve decided to have a yard sale this weekend and they are required to sell off a bunch of their stuff – power wheels, some video games, teeter totter, just to name a few.
Holy shit! That is some funny/terrifying crap. I cannot wait to make everyone I know read this
Uh, have you read my blog? Cuz I find a reason to eat my children every damn day.
Yeah, thats what a parents love does to you. Kinda sucks at times in a way. But its all good.
Now the pomegranate martini sounds good. Go make yourself one NOW. I’ll wait….
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done?
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Back? Good. I’m just having a scotch on the rocks. Now put your feet up. Take a sip….. that’s it.
Thats a Good Mommy!
LMAO…. sounds like a typical day at my house. I always say its a good thing they are so cute or they would be dead for sure.
First – I must say I’m just glad I’m not the only one who’s ever called her child an asshole.
Second – in my kids’ case? Its their dark brown eyes. The only reason they aren’t thrown out a window some days is because God made them cute. Dammit!
I’m taking notes. Love the yard sale idea. Make the little turds PAY! And make you drinks for the rest of their lives.
i found it irritating — uh, i mean amusing — that my children nailed me repeatedly over the years for “yelling” at them.
that’s because when i said it normally the first 400 times, they didn’t listen. grrrrrrrrrrrrr.
Oh, the piggy bank?? He’s a real pro, that one.
I would have cried at that point.
“Add a dash of “SHIT!” to taste and call upon God to damn it.”
i’m still laughing my ass off at that line…
oh how i love you…and dude…i think you deserve a medal and all the alcohol you can handle for not killing them.
I have just found your blog and LOVE it. It’s so refreshing to hear how things really are with kids.
I’m going to add you to my blog list, hope you don’t mind
“Add a dash of “SHIT!” to taste and call upon God to damn it”
That’s just brilliant right there – hilarious!
You win best post title of the week.
The constant fighting around here has caused me to cut them up and roast them in the oven for dinner more than once.
Last night I actually told the twins “FOR GOD’S SAKE, STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM EACH OTHER IF YOU ARE GOING TO FIGHT 24 HOURS A DAY”. They were shocked at first and then thing two very quietly asked me, “Would you like me to pour you a glass of wine Mom?”
We still ate them for dinner. The peace and quiet was wonderful.
I don’t ever want to eat them. Call a cab to pick them up and take them whereever? Yep. Get in my van and punch the gas straight in to a ditch?? You betcha. I am such a great mother, in a fit of rage this morning, I threw my 3 year old’s shoe and it went behind our huge entertainment center. I had to go buy her new shoes.
Argh. Sorry about all that and, for what it’s worth, been there.
I think the most important lesson here is to marinate them first, preferably overnight. They’re definitely more tender that way.
;^)
Hang in there…
~ Anna
“…calmed down enough to be able to put together words…” Glad I’m not the only one that loses her ability to speak when the unspeakable happens. All I could do was sputter today when I entered my 6 yr old’s bedroom and found that he had magicmarkered all the dragons in on his Garnet Hill Bedpspread. I sputtered something about using his Xmas toy money or returning his UglyDolls, I don’t remember…I just couldn’t put 3 words together….I don’t know what comes over me but all I see is $$$ flying out the window trying to get the house looking nice and then bam…Thanks for the laugh and the all too easy to relate to of it all. You’re a doll..
That is fucking hysterical and perfect. what keeps me from eating my kids is knowing that after I’m convicted they’re going to get some hag to play me in the Lifetime Television for Women movie, instead of Jennie Garth.
I am thinking a slow cooker – about as slow as she is doing her doggarned homework right now…
Wow, what makes me want to eat my children . . . so far, Peanut is too little to make me want to eat her, which leaves us with Munchkin. And I think my big I’m-going-to-eat-you moments come in the little things–dragging ass to go upstairs to do ANYTHING, the constant interrupting conversations, the daily morning meltdowns, her refusal to set the table properly because it guarantees her dad’s attention . . . the list could go on.
And what keeps me from doing it? Some days, I don’t even know. MOST days, I don’t even know, because we’d had exactly TWO of those sweet moments in the last year that Parker gave you over this incident.
Holy crap. Talk about a bad day.
So, did you take the money? I would have taken the money.
Oh my gosh, this made me crack up so hard. Way to turn your mom pain into something funny.
oh man you make me laugh….try submitting that one to allrecipies.com
ha!
Is that what that screaming was? I thought I heard something the other day!
On a day like that I’ve been known to lock myself in the bathroom and cry.
Oh, I hear ya, sister.
When we bought this living room set, it wasn’t even a week old and I walked into the living room to hear jumping, then *crack*, then “uh oh.”
They broke the new recliner. I hadn’t even made the first payment on it.
The living room set looks like shit, but do you think I’m buying a new one before they move out?! HAY-ELL, no.
Dory
OMG do I have that witching hour. Coincidentally, also cocktail hour. When they’re super-horrific I call the husband just so he can hear the mayhem and know why I’ll be giving him the “fuck-you” look when he walks in the door.
I can’t even narrow down the list of things my boys do that send me over the edge…yeah, I could have served them on toast numerous times!
[...] a voice I never use with other kids and usually reserve just for my children when they destroy entire pieces of furniture, I [...]