Yesterday afternoon, I arrived home to the smiles of two precious little boys. Soon, however, their preciousness was replaced with pure pandemonium as they transformed into what I like to call “really, really annoying.” Why? The Witching Hour. You know it. Somewhere between 4 and 6 p.m. when your sweet offspring lose their minds and make you want to hide in your closet and cry. That lovely time of the day.
So, this happens every day approximately 57 seconds after I walk through the door. It’s all “Mommy!” “Wuv you!” “Hold this!” “Yay!! Mommy!” for a nanosecond, then it’s suddenly “AHHHHHHH, pop tarts!! I NEED POP TART!!!” “KNOX!!! MY TRUCK!” and my personal favorite “I POOP! HAHAHA!” Y’all. Kill me now. My brain is mush, and it’s really hard not to just run screaming from the house at that point. It’s even better on days when Trevor is on-shift, like yesterday, and I’m all alone: surrounded and outnumbered. I couldn’t stomach the sound of the TV blaring in the background any longer, so I cut everything off and decided to make a cake. Because introducing flour and eggs into an already chaotic circumstance is ALWAYS a good idea. Only this time, it was okay. My mini-foodie, Brody, stood next to me and identified every object I touched or even glanced toward (it’s his job to make sure I know what things are… I’d be lost without him). So, while he told me where my mixer aka “Mommy’s Cake” was, Knox, ran around doing other Knox-things. After I stuck the cake in the oven, I made them some grilled cheese sandwiches. Grilled cheese sandwiches are one of like six things Knox will actually eat, so we have them all. the. time. Anyway, sandwiches were made, and I went to grab some grapes.
Only, they weren’t there. There was a big ceramic bowl FILLED with grapes in the refrigerator this morning. Mysterious.
I called my mom, since she watched the boys that day while I was at work and asked if she knew what happened to them. She swore she put them back, though she had me check the pantry and the freezer just in case the boys had her too distracted to remember where she put them. They weren’t there. In the mean time, I checked every single cabinet in the kitchen and the fridge four more times.
In an epiphany, I immediately knew exactly what happened to them: Knox. That child is as loud as a jet engine until he does something he’s not supposed to, then his volume level becomes impossibly low. I asked him where they were (setting myself up for failure from the start) and he repeated back to me “Grapes? Where grapes?” We went through that a few times before I took him out of his booster seat where he sat not eating his dinner, and asked him to show me the grapes. He frolicked off the other direction. By this time, I am going through every possible place Knox can reach- under the couch, in the dresser, in the toilet- no
Seriously. Where are the flipping grapes?! I know they were there. I checked the fridge again, scanning every inch of the shelves. Nothing. Freezer- nothing. Playroom- nothing. Bathroom cabinets- nothing. No really, where are these grapes?!!
I am beginning to get irate at my eldest grape-thieving- mess of a child. “Knox, seriously, where are the GRAPES???!” He smirkingly mocks me with “Where are grapes?!” and bursts out laughing at me, obviously thinking “you’re an insane person, Mommy. Leave me alone, while I sit here and not eat my dinner. Maybe you should call your husband who always seems to be able to find me grapes when he’s home.”
WHERE ARE THE GRAPES?!! The word “grape” is starting to sound so weird, after saying it 211 times in the last five minutes. Who the heck named it that? What a weird word. I love that Brody is now trailing me saying “Grapes, wh’ are you?” Bless his heart. (<– Brody now says “Bless Him Heart!” and I DIE every time he says it).
I hate grapes. Stupidest fruit EVER.
A final sign that I’ve totally lost it, as my head starts to spin, I look in the refrigerator AGAIN.