Yelling Prevents Botox, Didn't Ya Know?

I have a crazy house. Or was that rhetorical? Or can a statement be rhetorical? I have now wikipedia-ed it, and can't tell. Stuff for you to ponder to get smarter. I don't have time to get smarter.

We have henceforth made eggs (and colored and stamped and stickered, and put on hats and bases) and packed them back up to live in the fridge till tomorrow. We've washed and cut and stacked our fresh fruit in a glass trifle dish. We have cut, rolled, and baked our sugar cookies, and they are awaiting various colors of frosting and a myriad of sprinkle shapes and colors. And then we've had spoons of peanut butter and learned that it's a wonderful *moisturizer* for my wood table. You know, since I was looking for a new conditioner for the wood and all. And then I learned that it is not-so-conditioning in clothes! Ethan (minus the paci) is quite the talker now! He came running to me and said, "Pea-n-butter, wet!" on his sleeve. I guess he'd wiped his mouth (FACE!) on his sleeve, 'cause it was up and down his entire left arm. That was the first shirt change. (The second was after he'd had a bath with Mary Claire, was diapered and dressed, and ran into Clay's room, and soaked his shirt/pants in water trying to get in the bath with Clay while Clay fought him off.) This was definitely NOT in the mothering manuals.

Oh, and did I mention I have absolutely no voice? In all the chaos? I have to clap a couple times to get attention, or click my tongue, then get them to come to me, have them turn their ear to me, and listen as I whisper in their ears, then tell them to Do It! while I can muster no real intensity except with my facial expressions (I am so going to need Botox when my voice comes back, and I can call out. On the phone). Try answering the phone. Or notifying everyone that lunch is ready. Or requesting dirty clothes. Or to tell one child to give the other the toy that is causing much screaming (that I'm jealous of), or telling the smallest kid to get down off the play kitchen (as he's hanging half over the rail since he's higher now), because he's about to hurtle down a good 15 feet. (Mom, no freaking out. Clay took the kitchen to Ethan's room, so it's no longer on the landing. And I can't defend their actions on the phone, so we'll debrief when I can show verbal exasperation.) I'm doing all I can. With no verbal weapons.

Did I mention that Ethan slammed my ceramic Easter basket on the floor and broke it? Or that now we have plastic eggs all over our house? That are hidden? And that I'll be finding them in July? and December?

And then there's the Easter Bunny. Clay asked me this morning if I dress up and bring baskets (why would I need to dress up? In case he wakes up and sees me?) at Easter. Umm..I said I don't ever dress up. When should I tell him? What should I tell him? Then, of course he'll tell Sissy. And she' s only 6 and three quarters. It'd save me a lot of stress (and sleep!) if I told them today, gave them their baskets, because then they'd SLeeP IN in the morning! Well, a little more than they will if they think they are waking up to prizes! So, we let the question hang one more year? And then will they associate it with Santa? Is that a bad thing? Then they'd sleep "in" on Christmas. NOT a bad deal. When is the right time? See, I can get a real rhetorical conversation going. When I get going. It just takes me some time to warm up.