Sunday, April 12, 2009

Remote control eggheads

I woke up this morning and for a brief moment puzzled over the trail of empty candy wrappers littering the hallway. I am no Sherlock Holmes, but even I did not need the obvious clues. I only needed to follow the smell of candy and sounds of chaos erupting in the living room to grasp that the Easter dealer had delivered its stash to the crazed junkies. By the time I grabbed the camera, Peter's hair was already starting to stand up. Thanks, Mr. Bunny. Remind me to eat you in a stew sometime.

After a breakfast fit for Oompa-Loompas, I took my two chocolate-loving knee-highs down to the garden for some good ole' fashion American football. Ready, set, CRACK!

After breaking a few of the eggs, I began to appreciate why tradition calls for hard-boiled eggs and not the real deal.

Another tradition in our family calls for our children to be complete psychotic color-freaks when it comes to, well...just about anything with color. Normally, though, it centers around the plates they eat on and the cups they drink from. They need to match or they don't eat. At least it's good to know that if they ever become big chunky monkeys, I only need to start serving meals on red plates with blue cups.

Today, the OCD skizzos were focusing their quirky little color-matching quirks on the miniature footballs.

It was Easter and I was feeling a slight bond with the boys, so I refrained from pointing out the fact that King David's shirt was blue, not red. I hunt eggs, hear me roar!

Not that it really mattered. David's tiny little mind was so freakin' wired, I could have served him strawberry Kool-Aid in a yellow cup with a pink straw and he wouldn't have minded. Even if he did mind, this would have only crossed a few wires and resulted in minimal smoke and maximum laughter from yours falsely. In my eyes, this was a win-win situation. Angie apparently needs a visit to the eye doctor.

After the hunters were done slaying innocent embryos, we packed up the Zoo crew and headed to Grams and Opa's. Thanks to Papa's self-restraint and Mama's patented 'look', we made the entire trip without David screaming his head off about pink straws, yellow cups and blue shirts.

Ten seconds after arriving, the boys went hunting again. This time, they brought witnesses.

I was really shocked to see how badly Grams and Opa kept their jungle. They had eggs littered all over the place. Despite their affection for slimy bugs and their amazing ability to generate mass quantities of trash and their relation to grandparents with messy gardens, our boys are not litterbugs. They quickly and not so silently scooped up the shelled chickens and decided to give each other earth-friendly hugs.

Peter was the hugger. David was the tree just trying to breathe. Shortly after, David returned the favor with a power neck rub and suddenly Peter was the one fighting for air. Ok, some of the animals might have had a little too much of the sweet stuff.

Speaking of sweet, this picture was so cute that Peter had to shield his eyes.

I don't know why I like this picture so much. Perhaps it is that Angie is the one in the background bridging the generation gap and what's not to like about bridges?

After the Opa-Tom face-off, the Schumacher brothers had a show-down of their own.

Peter won, which earned him the right to remote control David's life.

David didn't seem to mind, which is odd, because David is most certainly the controlling type. I think he gets that from Mama, but I am not quite sure, since she does not allow me to google.

It made me wonder, though - if I, with my obvious capacity to learn, cannot Google, who should be allowed?

Despite the clever foreshadowing, Tom is not allowed to Google, either, but he is allowed to gaggle and giggle. From what I can gather, Mama also allows him to shove big-ass spoons down his throat with no other apparent purpose other than to make gagging noises that make our other two gagglers giggle.

After Willy and Wonka were done with their hilarious sugar purge, I told them each to pick out a book to read. Now, I have said it before - I am no Sherlock Holmes, but even I did not need the drool and sounds of snoring to tell me that the crazed junkies had finally crashed. I tip-toed out the door of snores and went straight for the computer, where Angie's Face was in a Book. I asked her to bring me the casserole dish we use for stewing rabbits and suddenly we were reenacting 'Stealing Harvard'.


'MMMMM, I love remote controls.'

'I said asshole.'

'I thought you said remote control.'

'Well I said asshole.'

'Yeah, but I HEARD remote control.'

In the end, Angie lost her remote as well as her control and the rabbit stew turned into Argentinian steaks on the grill. After feasting on the non-bunny meat, I checked on Peter and David. Peter's hair was still sticking up and David was doing the candy dance in his sleep. All in all, a very sweet Easter.
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When we did an egg hunt by Grams and Opa and by our house and we find choco eggs.
David: When the Easter Bunny were here.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When David's belly hurt and he said I want to sleep.
David: When we played not Hucka-Pack-a-Peter

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To play Hucka-Pack-a-Peter.
David: When we play Hippo Flip.

1 comment:

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