Gone to the Chinese Restaurant

For anyone who actually reads this stuff, you might be thinking I fell off the face of the planet or more likely that I decided to quit the blog. Or hey, if you picked up on the fact that I live in northern Kentucky, maybe you thought I got tossed by a tornado. Thankfully we did not sustain any damage from the latter event even though a large area just five miles from our home was demolished. Volunteering with a 15-month old boy in tow would prove difficult, but I was at least able to gather some clothing and toys to donate here locally. Cleanup efforts continue, so maybe I can help out more in the coming days. It’s heartbreaking to see the devastation and hear accounts of families who were spared or lost everything and are trying to rebuild.

Needless to say, I failed to complete February’s edition of NaBloPoMo. I would be disappointed in my efforts, but I’ve moved on. My house has been a barrel of fun these past few days. And by fun I mean whining, barking, crying, growling, pouting, non-eating, attacking the vacuum, food-throwing, banging heads repeatedly into walls, up too early, moaning, groaning pure awesomeness.

In response to all that fun, I’ve been threatening both kids (fur and human) that I would send them to the Chinese restaurant. Let me back up. About seven years ago, I moved in with the woman I would live with until I married Mr. Clark Griswold. (Sidenote: National Lampoon’s Vacation is totally on right now! “Because getting there is half the fun!”) She had a lovely dog, but anytime Sammy did something bad we jokingly threatened to send her to the Chinese restaurant. Ever since then I’ve threatened our spastic schnauzer with the same fate in response to bad behavior.

Now we have another can-be obnoxious little being. I love the Pumpkin dearly of course, but I find myself threatening him with the same trip. Only after trying to explain this to one of my bestest girls (also a mom to a 2-year old boy) while she’s busting up laughing on the phone does it occur to me that it wouldn’t work out the same. The dog? Gets cooked and served up with fried rice of course. But the kid? What do they do with the kid? My thought is they’ll put him to work. Hard labor. Yup. Stereotypes at their finest.

One other option offered by another mom friend was to “sell him to the gypsies.” I thought I’d keep it on file for future use, but then I immediately thought, “What kid wouldn’t think it sounds like total fun to go roaming around with gypsies doing whatever they please?” So ixnay on the ypsiesgay. I’m sticking with the Chinese restaurant… even though it’s completely ineffective given the fact that neither child could possibly understand their impending doom. All they know is mommy is talking in that “low, threatening, about-to-lose-my-cool-and-strangle-someone” tone of voice. Does it work? Eh, I’d say the odds are about 50/50.

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