From April 2nd to March 31st, my sweet firstborn son looks like this:
But from 12:00 midnight on April 1st until 11:59 p.m., he turns into this:
This morning, while the rest of the house was sleeping, he began his reign of terror. His first task was pouring lemon juice over all our toothbrushes.
He then moved to the freezer and attacked the frozen waffles (Chase's breakfast of champions) by dumping salt over EVERY. SINGLE. WAFFLE. Seriously. Like a whole freezer's worth of waffles? Completely inedible. Gone.
And, should Chase have been foolish enough to actually pour syrup over one of those salty breakfast treats, he watered down the syrup with about a gallon of water.
It took every ounce of my strength not to kill him this morning. Once discovered, he rolled on the floor, laughing hysterically. He cannot get enough of himself and wonders why the rest of us feel like punching him. The child is a troll and must be stopped.
Seriously, do you remember what he did last year? It's a miracle the child lived to see another birthday.
I thank heavens for you good people though, because I am using SEVERAL of your ideas today.
For example, I will be pulling the other two out of school early. And when McKay walks in the door and finds them already home? He won't be happy.
That unhappiness will turn to rage when he sees that they are sitting at the table gleefully eating cream-filled donuts. Which, for a while, won't be shared with him. We will make him sweat it out and worry. He will be bugged that we get treats and he does not.
Then finally, when we give in and let him have one? Oh, the surprise he'll find in the middle. Not sweet custard. Not cream. BUT MAYONNAISE.
Oh, yes. I am going there (thanks a million, Matthew M., BEST. IDEA. EVER).
And his beloved I-pod? Mysteriously erased and filled only with Broadway musicals and princess songs. Hmmm...how did that happen?
Also? The dinner I'm planning for tonight? One I know he absolutely hates, but the rest of us love.
And after an exhausting evening of mayonnaise donuts, bad dinner, and no music? He'll climb into bed, dejected and tired, only to find that hidden under his sheets are a full set of jacks.
And THAT, my friends, is why you should never, ever mess with your mama.