Saturday, May 30, 2009

I are three, okay?

Davey can count to three. Isn't that great? When he turns eleven, I can only hope that he'll be wearing open toe sandals. Happy Birthday, by the way.

I only vaguely recollect my college years, but I do remember that it is not a party until someone streaks, you piss off the neighbors, or someone gets beheaded. Not one to disappoint when it comes to partying, I organized the package deal.

Today was only the party - David actually turned three on Tuesday. Since then, he has both pleased us with his newfound toilet capabilities and frustrated us with his insistent and rather annoying quirk to flush down a whole roll of toilet paper every time he has any nature-urge that might actually require toilet paper. I now live in constant fear that the kitchen sink will explode or the neighbors will find bits of Charmin floating in their next bath. This, of course, would surely make David laugh, kind of like how he laughs each time I scream 'DAMN IT, DAVID - STOP FLUSHING THE ENTIRE FREAKIN' ROLL OF TOILET PAPER DOWN THE TOILET!'

I tried to look on the bright side of pooping and laugh the whole thing off. It didn't work, but at least David got quite a chuckle out of the whole ordeal. Eventually, I chose the low road, also known as 'ignore the problem - it will go away on its own'.

Instead, I began filling water balloons for the BIG BIRTHDAY WATER BALLOON WAR! At one point, I mistakenly asked Angie for a tub for all of the filled water balloons. Davey often hears what he wants to and this time, his tiny little brain heard tub and water and immediately instructed him to get naked and run around the apartment like a madboy.

He finally understood that I said TUB and not BATHTUB, but this did little to get the three year old streaker clothed again. Whatever, it's his birthday - he might as well wear the suit.

Speaking of suits, did I ever tell you the hilarious story about how Clarice wanted to hold Tom? No? Well, there we were, sitting around a table witnessing kids lose their mind at a boggling rate. Tommy was the only sane and quiet one, if you can believe that. Even if you can't, shut up. It's my story.

So, Tommy was being all 'look at me, I'm cute, won't you please pick me up? I promise not to dump luke-warm coffee all over you.' Somehow, Clarice fell for the trap. At least her pants were white. Right on, Tommy!

Clarice was not the only one getting soaked. My brilliant idea of having water balloons was backfiring on me. Big time. At some point, Angie managed to convert my idea of the kids throwing balloons at each other in the garden into 'let's make Steve go down to the garden and we can try and peg his head from the balcony'. Oh, ok - thanks honey-thighs.

Missed me, missed me, know you have to...uh, why are the neighbors crying?

I can absolutely confirm that they were not tears of happiness. I guess our water bombs did not catapult as far as I had previously estimated. In short, the water bombs landed in gravel, which kicked up stones, mud, and emotions all over the nicely laid out blanket that was awaiting the visitors of the family below us. At one point, their little girl came running out shouting 'you're getting everything wet'. My sole, yet witty, response was 'yeah, they're WATER balloons'.

After mending a few broken fences and some MAJOR apologizing, we were ready to continue birthday-partying! Angie stayed behind to clean-up, but I saw this as already part of our 'arrangement'. I cook, she cleans. I destroy the neighbor's family picnic, she cleans. Thanks, sugar-lips.

I wasn't the only one pissing off others. We moved to the playground, where Elmo must have seriously angered Peter. In response, Peter did everything BUT tickle Elmo.

I am just damn lucky that our neighbors didn't have a pinata stick handy after the water balloon incident. As it was, I am sure they wanted to rip my head off. Hey, join the club.

Mark and I let the tiny ones fight over the loot as we did victory laps around the playground chanting 'ding-dong, the Muppet's dead' until some of the kids started crying. Pinatas are so freakin' awesome, man!

We decided to take the kids upstairs to cool off a bit. The birthday boy must have thought Chiara was cool enough to share his primo spot in the cooler.

I'm not upset that David did not invite me. Not at all. I am secure enough in my super-mega-coolness to overlook this social face-slap. I didn't care, not even a little. Whatever. Jerk. Bedtime!

David firmly stated that 'I are three, okay' and assumed that this weak argument would somehow convince me to let him stay up later. His statement was not grammatically incorrect, by the way. I am pretty sure that he was referring to his multiple personalities and trust me - there are more than three and none of them stayed up past bedtime. Hmm...maybe you should've been cooler to me? Happy Birthday, by the way.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we did pinata.
David: When Dalia come here to my birthday.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Chiara shoot at me with a water pistol, but there was very, very, very, very hot water.
David: When Chiara and Alessio not stay here.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play with Mommy hide-n-seek and you and Davey.
David: When Peter play with me pirates.

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