Cacophony

Why is it that the whole world has to go insane at the same time? All three (yes, three) of my children have lost their minds. LOST THEM. It has to be the snow. I am blaming it on the snow. What snow? The whole whoppin' quarter inch that fell yesterday afternoon, launching a metropolitan shut down and mass panic.

The snow itself fell Thursday afternoon beginning around 3:00 and gracefully ending around midnight. It was Wednesday afternoon when the school district called an early release for Thursday on the off chance that it might snow after school. Why do I care? Because the preschool follows the county's calendar and I had to pick the boys up an hour and a half early. Then, after it had been snowing (we're talking flurries here) for one hour, they went ahead and canceled school for the next day as well. A quarter inch!! I can't convey my outrage.

I can convey that this additional snow day meant that I had to watch my next door neighbors for the better part of today, which I normally only do after school for an hour or two. I can also convey that this weather, the previous week of freezing temperatures, the previous 3 months of rain and subsequent mud have prevented us from playing outside since sometime in September if I remember correctly. THIS, my friends, is what is making my three children nuts.

Want to know how? Do you? Do you? I'll tell you. Let's start with Gus, since he is the eldest. Gus has entered what are supposed to be his geriatric years with surprising gusto. He still runs, chases, barks bellows, and plays. Today he had clearly had enough being stuck in the house. Today, just today, he has (in no particular order) eaten much of the potting soil out of a houseplant, refused to go outside, been thrown outside only to reenter the house defiantly with wet paws placing paw prints all over the leather chair, gotten into my neatly made bed three times, twirled around, and licked his paws on my clean sheets, eaten the better part of a poopy diaper, chased his penis in circles while growling at it, aaaaaaaand I guess that's all. By himself he's a handful lately, but in conjunction with these two others, he's spent a lot of time out in the laundry room lately. Incidently, so has Piglet.

Piglet's main offense this week has been an incurable case of diarrhea of the mouth. And I'm talking TOP VOLUME. He talks every waking moment of the day, nonstop. From the moment he wakes up, he is singing, tattling, explaining, retelling, asking, repeating, teaching, telling, and chanting. All. Day. Long. Alldaylong. At volume eleven. If he can't think of something to say, he starts saying, "Well.....well...well....um....well...." until something new pops into his mind. Or he recites the plot of the most recent episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse he watched. Or tells me what he thought Pigpen sounded like when he was trying to say tennis ball. Or tries to put into words how it felt when he put his finger in Gus's ear. ALL DAY LONG.

And Pigpen. Oh, Pigpen. Oh, the climbing. The incessant, determined, focused climbing. The end tables, the outside of the steps, the shelves, the chairs. He wants to turn the light switches on and off. He wants to see what's behind the fireplace screen. He must know what happens if he pulls on the lamp. I turned around yesterday to find him standing on the kitchen table happily pushing the chandelier around in circles. And when you remove him from one of these many dangerous scenes? OH THE SQUALLING. The wailing. The utter indignity of it all! Full on back arching rebellion ensues. But if I put him down? Wailing to be held. "Mamamamamamama!"

And in the background, the talking, The barking. The swirling chaos.

I haven't even mentioned that all this time, Pigpen is pulling something off of any surface nonstop. He has just gotten tall enough to reach into all the drawers, so though he can't see inside, his little aimless hand can pull out dinner knives, coupons, measuring spoons, tweezers, pencils....you name it. The mess is indescribable. Oh, I forgot to mention that Pigpen is apparently gifted - at throwing. He can throw any object overhand and hit whatever he intends it to. Everything is a ball to him. Ball, is one of the only words you will hear him say all day. And to get it heard over Piglet's incessant drivel, he has to say it loudly and with purpose. It sounds like this: "BAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWL!" And then he hurls something at someone. Or something.

I spend the day just trying to maintain the general order of the house, cleaning is out of the question. Cleaning and errands are planned for those days when they are in school, except the school district cancels for FLURRIES.

The mania has to stop at some point. Pigpen has to get over this impulsive urge to climb and throw. Piglet has to be quiet. I mean, at some point the vocal chords have got to break down. Gus has to get control and return to sleeping 22 hours a day curled in a warm ball on a chair as a proper dog should. Right, RIGHT? Tell me I'm right.