The Morning's Highlights

1. A WWF challenge occurred on my lap regarding who got to sit there and who got the crummy seat of sitting next to me. I got up and moved twice. The wrestling team followed me. Fortunately there are no folding chairs in near site.
2. The kids have learned to make fart noises by sticking out their tongues and ppppppllllllllttttttt, therefore flinging spit all over one another.
3. G is on underwear #4 for the morning and has been threatened that if he pee-pee’s somewhere other than the potty one more time he will have to wear a diaper. Not to be made the fool, he has informed Kinsley that SHE is wearing a BABY diaper, leading to the argument “I am NOT a baby.” “Yes you are.” “No I not.” “Yes you are.” Mooom. We are on round #7.
4. Due to item #3, I have stepped in something warm twice.
5. Trying to provide incentive, I am dancing around singing "pee pee in the potty." Should I include this in my resume? I will put it right under my MBA. "Proficient in singing about urinary and bowel movements to facilitate an encouraging atmosphere."
6. The washing machine is out of order until the part Bo ordered comes in so the pee-pee, barf, food soiled clothing is piling up in giving another reason for me to ask “What’s that smell?” and search it out like a drug dog on Michigan Ave. But seriously, what is that smell?
7. Due to item #4 I have been smelling clothes to determine the level of offensiveness. Greyson is now going around sniffing everyone. This could prove to be difficult to explain in public. Sorry my kid is smelling your butt, he just wants to know if you produced a load terrible enough to leave scent on your clothing. No offense.
8. Arlo barfed on me—bad day to wear a v-neck—and then laughed. When you are #3 you learn at a much younger age that it is funny to spew fluids onto someone. We’ve further added to the funky smelling pile of laundry.
9. Also being #3 Arlo has learned that in order to get my attention you have to be the loudest of the loud kids, in true sibling style, Kinsley and Greyson have turned their volume up several notches. It now sounds like we are in the middle of Chucky Cheese where 40 kids are infected by the kiddy crack I am convinced they pump into the air.
10. In case I had any intention of ignoring the quite challenged munchkins, they are reporting each other’s every move to me in a very Snookey-esque tone. MOM! ARLO. IS. YELLLLLING. MOOOOM! I CAN’T. HEAR. DORA. ARLO. IS YELLLLLLING.