Raw Cookie Dough Stress Eating to the Rescue

Thankfully I've cooled off about 100 degrees since my last posting/rage ridden rant, when I desperately daydreamed about shipping Kade off to boarding (pre)school (do they even have boarding preschools?) for hocking loogies in my face and purposely knocking over and trashing six shelves brimming with small, annoying-to-pick up manipulative blocks, train tracks and Legos. I'm too drained to mention the other various pain-in-the-ass naughty behaviors that polluted his toddler rap sheet today.

To counter all my bitching about troubles with Kade because, yes, I do feel guilty about cutting on his behavior like this while gaining some relief from venting about it, I feel the need to share some awesome, more positive Kade behaviors of today:
- He unscrewed two door handles then chucked the screwdriver at my head (Why did I allow him to be the "mister fixer guy" he wanted to be today? Wait, this is a list about good behavior, right? Lemme' try again.
- He washed his summer sun bronzed two-year-old sized body (he's well over three now and can still pull off size 2T) in the "big boy" shower with Mom's Bath and Body Works Pecan Pie scented three-in-one shampoo/bubble bath/body wash without any help or his typical bath time whining. I hope he didn't forget to scrub behind his ears and between his cheeks. I could live with overlooked ears, but the cheeks, that's just gross.
- He proudly poured his very own bowl of mozzarella cheese for lunch. What's he doing eating an adult-sized bowl teeming with shredded mozzarella cheese you ask? Look, I'm just trying to get the kid to eat some dairy protein, so if he wants to eat a bowl of shredded cheese with a spoon as if its Cheerios, than I'm all for it. Did I mention he dumped a snack pack of Sponge Bob Squarepants shaped Cheez-Its on top of his mountain of shredded cheese for that extra cheese-ification flavor factor and called it "Kade cheese soup"? Is Kade the next Chef Gordon Ramsay (of Hell's Kitchen fame), I wonder? At least in the spitfire angry epithet spewing department, yes, Kade could qualify.
- He rolled around with me on the front lawn while we spastically tickled and "steamrolled" each other ... until the love ended abruptly when I accidentally elbowed him full throttle in the face. Nice going, mom.
- He voluntarily opted out of a way overpriced Horizon organic chocolate milk box at Starbucks and saved me a couple of much-needed bucks. I'm skeptical about this one being on the list because I'm not sure Kade knew he was doing me a favor because he refused my offer for milk with an added 25 grams of refined sugar while he was fully enveloped in his third in-carseat tantrum-twister of the morning. Surprise, surprise. A kid says no to chocolate milk in favor of plain old (also overpriced) bottled water. Should I be drinking non-fat, sugar-free vanilla lattes at Starbucks if I can't even afford a stinking box of milk?
- He meticulously set up his big brother's fantasy baseball guys set (from kaskeykids.com)and invited me to play in his Anaheim Angels vs. Pigeons game. What city do the MLB Pigeons play in and how drunk and steroid jacked do players actually have to be to round the bases in reverse order like Kade said we should?
- He sweetly kissed me on the lips at "lights out" and told me he loves me (then promptly told me to "Go away now, Mommy").

Chilled raw cookie dough came to my rescue at about 5 p.m., when I just couldn't fight off the urge to stress eat any longer. At least it beats a glass of cabernet sauvignon during the day. Tempting but not so kosher while taking care of the chitlins. Just my luck ... the kids spied me scarfing down square chunks of mushy Tollhouse dough, the kind that comes pre-cut and ready to break off and bake (or not bake, in my case). Of course, they convinced me to let them wolf some down too because it's such a stellar idea to allow children to eat glob after glob of raw cookie dough at dinnertime, just two hours before bed. Solid parenting choice. We ended up comparing and contrasting (yeah, because my two-year-old even knows what the word "contrast" means) each other's melty chocolate moustaches and licking our gloppy fingers clean. Yet another valuable lesson in proper table etiquette from Mom.

The boys screwed around a bit at bedtime and I found myself barking at them to be quiet from the other side of their bedroom wall in Solenne's room (where I read her favorite but so darn repetitive Miss Mary Mack bedtime story). I put all three of them to bed on Mondays and Tuesdays because my husband takes an astronomy class with hot young co-eds and freshman science dorks on those nights. While fighting sleep on the top bunk, Kade hid a small jade turtle my friend brought back from India for him in his mouth. No my friend didn't bring the trinket turtle back in his mouth. It's Kade who placed the turtle in his mouth to get a little attention. Major wet pillowcase drool tipped me off to his sneaky stone bedtime snack. I merely threatened to take it away if he shoved the choking hazard between his lips again. Ever the disciplinarian, I am. He nearly swallowed the turtle in the moments following my half-hearted, ineffective warning. He willingly dropped the turtle into my cupped outstretched palm with a pathetic, guilty look on his tired, cute little face.

In other news, our new school-year schedule is kicking Aiden's normally live wire ass. I know he's exhausted because he no longer emerges from his bedroom every five minutes in the wee hours to tell us that bugs (namely cockroaches but don't ask me why ... um, right) are caught between his sheets and trying to eat him alive and a million other colorful made-up excuses not to sleep. His traumatic night terrors have magically vanished too. 'Hope the trend sticks. I don't miss reminding him that his name is Aiden and that he is five while he convulses and panicks half-asleep while mistaking the hallway floor for the kids' bathroom toilet.

My husband is gleefully clinking a spoon against the sides of a veritable trough of vanilla bean ice cream, his favorite flavor and my least. I just called him a loud chewer and he ignored me, something he is quite skilled at after living with my naggy self some 10 years now. It's hard not to join his one-man ice cream social but I'm trying to be perfect, slim and healthy like every other woman on the planet (but maybe moreso in Southern California). Screw it. Where's the ice cream scooper and microwavable hot fudge? Sign me up for sundaes!

Oh, before I go, in case you need a few reasons to feel like a bad-ass housewife who keeps her domain spit-spot clean, here's my first ever Domestic Slackstress Chore scoresheet:
0 loads of week-old extremely wrinkled laundry rescued from the dryer
1 load of hard water spotted dishes emptied from dishwasher
1 wooden kitchen floor sprinkled with shredded mozzarella and petrified Rice Chex cheese swept clean
4 beds (two of them bunk) sloppily made
No other harried housewife offerings because ... Hey, why bother making excuses? I just didn't get there and don't plan to tomorrow. I have to get all three kids out the door looking halfway decent by 7:45 a.m. for the trip to Aiden's kindergarten and then off to a play date with his siblings at the park. That alone is a chore in and of itself and enough hustling activity for a whole week. Looks like I'm losing the tidyness battle on the homefront but at least I'm getting the kids where they need to go.