Three Hours

I give up.

I do.

Okay, so Demon Baby "sensed" I had a deadline today. I begged him to behave, but he got my vibe. I was tense and tired and working 14 hours. It's a blessing to work from home as a writer. But it has its downside occasionally.

So Demon decided today was a naked day. Even in front of the mailman and the neighbor.

OK. I can deal with that.

Today was also a day to find Baby Girl's stash of markers and color his body from head to toe.

I've reached a point where, you know, you want your penis colored purple, go ahead.

But today was the day I got a new vacuum. I LOVE my new vacuum.

And today, he dumped an ENTIRE, industrial size, have it for Superbowl TUB of CHEETOS on Oldest Son's carpet (Oldest Son had brought it up to eat some). I am talking a BARREL of it. BARREL! Costco barrel.

And then Demon Baby danced on them. Pulverized them into the carpet.

And then added a tube of toothpaste.

This while Baby Girl was in the bathroom and doing homework. And Oldest Son was . . . well, I guess watching TV.

And Oldest Son, knowing I was on deadline, decided he would be the man of the house and vacuum it up with the new vacuum cleaner. Only he didn't think to first PICK UP all the balls of Cheetos. Instead, he was going to vacuum them up. A BARREL of them. A whole barrel.

Eureka vacuums aren't intended to do this.

It's destroyed.

I cried.

Demon was chastised.

Three hours.

The new vacuum cleaner didn't last THREE hours against him.

Apocalypse Now

That sound you just heard?

The gallop of four horsemen?

The apocalypse is upon us.

I tried to be in denial about it.

I thought if I don't acknowledge what Demon Baby is saying, he will eventually give up this notion.

After a week, he still kept on with it.

This will go away. Just don't acknowledge it. Denial.

Now . . . it's incessant. Firm. Belligerent. Loud. Insistent. Vocal beyond belief. It DEMANDS to be acknowledged.

Demon Baby has an imaginary friend.

Let's call him Demon Baby 2.0.

Demon Baby's imaginary friend has, in Demon's own words, "Magical powers, and he's really, really naughty. And SUPER HUMONGOUSLY POWERFUL!"

Demon Baby 2.0 has, when no one was looking, shredded an entire roll of toilet paper. Opened an entire box of Band-Aids and stuck every last one to the carpet. Drawn on Oldest Brother's wall. Discovered Oldest Sister's secret stash of gum, chewed pieces, and left them stuck to various pieces of furniture.

I could go on.

But now it's TWO of them.

And one of me.

There's no hope. Run for the hills.

Cooking for a Demon

Foods Demon Baby considers breakfast:

• noodles with butter
• peanut butter sandwich with crusts cut off
• pizza

Foods Demon Baby considers lunch:

• peanut butter sandwich with crusts cut off
• Mexican take-out
• fried ice cream (see item directly above)
• maraschino cherries in bulk

Foods Demon Baby considers dinner:

• popcorn
• maple oatmeal
• rasberry sherbert
• noodles with butter and salt
• corn on the cob

Foods Demon Baby considers snack foods:

• salt--given access to a salt shaker (I have to hide it), he will lie naked on the couch, pour it into his belly button and eat it from there
• ice pops
• maple oatmeal
• maraschino cherries in bulk
• Life cereal

Foods Demon Baby considers Ninja Mama's attempts to posion him:

• ANYTHING with black pepper on it or a hint of spice
• ANYTHING green
• ANY foods TOUCHING in ANY WAY ANY OTHER food; he believes in strict food segregation
• ANYTHING too hot or too cold
• Cheese
• Apples with SKIN on them
• Any dairy products except Yoplait yogurt (clearly, they have some Demonic Pact with the Devil)
• ANYTHING in an incorrect colored plastic cup (blue only, please)

Anything not directly accounted for here is part of a Marxist plot to dethrone him as king of the demons. He has professional taste testers (siblings) to verify he is not being poisoned.

Demon Likes Snow

Even more than snow, he likes throwing snowballs. He also would like a bear, a real-live bear, to play in the snow with him and then come home with us.

I nixed plans for a new pet.

Ta-Da

This is Demon Baby's idol.

Each day, while I work, he runs in and out of my office after seeing his hero. In Demon Baby's mind, Billy Mays is almost better than a Ninja.

And every single product, according to Demon Baby is "ta-da."

"Mom . . . you gotta see this. You pour ketchup on your shirt, then you pour on this magic stuff, and ta-da, stains gone. I'm SERIOUS."

"Mom . . . you gotta see this. You pour this stuff on your floors that Billy says is great and they get shiny. Ta-da, scratches gone. I'm SERIOUS."

"Mom . . . you gotta see this. First, you get a garden, then you get this thing that digs holes in your garden. Then, ta-da, planting is easy. I'm SERIOUS."

Billy is now hawking something to make "sliders" (mini-burgers). Sure. This is just what I need. A raw meat press.

I hear Billy Mays's voice in my dreams. Only this little hoarse Demon Baby voice comes out (Demon Baby's voice has to be heard--very hoarse sounding and cute) and says "Ta-da!"

Birds and the Bees

I've had four children, and my approach to S-E-X has been to be very upfront. There are no fancy names for body parts in my house. From age two on, a penis is a penis, and so on.

So today, I had a baby shower for a friend of mine's daughter. I told Demon Baby that I was having a baby shower because my friend was going to be a grandma, and we were going to give her daughter presents so that when the baby came, she would have nice, new things for her little girl.

Demon Baby lurked on the staircase, occasionally sneaking a peek at the big belly on the Mom-to-Be. She got lovely gifts, we cleaned up, everyone went home.


He apparently decided he'd worn enough clothes for the day, because he came in to my office stark naked and said, "So what happened?"


"What do you mean what happened? You were here all day."


"No. What happened? That lady with the HUMONGASAUROUS belly--I thought she was going to have her baby here today."


"Um . . . no. The baby has to grow a little more and then she will have it in the hospital." Of course, I was quite grateful that in addition to serving cake and punch, I didn't have to deliver a baby today.


"Well, that stinks. I wanted to see her pop it out. THAT would be totally cool."



"Sorry. I'll keep that in mind next time I decide to throw a baby shower."


He walked away, shoulders hunched, quite disappointed. "Well, crap. THAT was no fun."

Blue Hair Dreams

Demon Baby is very fascinated by my process for coloring my own hair.

I used to go to a salon to color my hair--P.D.B. (pre-Demon Baby). Now, I am lucky if I can sneak in there for a half-hour for a cut. Hence coloring my own hair. I usually color it very dark brown/black with occasional forays into violet streaks. However, until yesterday, Demon Baby had not been privy to my hair coloring magic.

"What the holy crap is that?" he pointed at the hair coloring box and the plastic gloves I was putting on.

"Hair color."

"What the holy crap is hair color?"

"SEE THESE?" I lifted up the front of my hair to show him I am ALL WHITE up from (having gone prematurely gray at 22).

"HOLY CRAP! It's WHITE!"

"Yeah. And you gave me every one of those white hairs. So now I'm trying to get rid of them."

"With what?"

"Hair dye."

"HAIR DYE! Holy crap! What's hair dye?" (And I wish I could say I was embellishing this conversation, but I am not.)

"It makes the white go away."

"Like magic?"

"Yeah. I'm a Ninja Mama Warrior, so I am magic."

"Swee-ee-eet." (Sweet, pronounced as a three-syllable word.)

"Thanks, Demon Baby. I don't want to look like the wretched hag I feel like some days. I have to maintain my Ninja appearance."

"So what color?"

"Black."

"Go for blue. I'm telling you. Blue would look swee-ee-eet."

"Black."

"Blue."

"How about rainbow?"

"Black."

"Purple?"

"Black."

"Blue. My final offer."

"Demon Baby, I am going to run away to a Ninja temple unless you leave me in peace to color my hair."

"Jesus! No need to be so crabby about it."

"Watch your mouth."

"How can I? I can't see my own mouth."

"Please. I am begging you. My hair is growing grayer by the minute."

"I'm telling you, blue would be a LOT cooler."

So if I end up one of these days with blue hair, you'll know why.

Have a craptastic day.

He Doesn't Get the Danger Thing

Okay, so Demon Baby, after being told Ninjas take ritualistic cleansing baths in January as a matter of greeting the New Year (and really, these Ninja myths I am making up are quite complex), agreed to a bath as long as he could squirt a tube of toothpaste in the water AND as long as no hairwashing was involved. We negotiated these finer points, and so a bath was drawn. He takes an ice cold bath, no hot water, again . . . must be a Ninja thing.

So I was doing laundry, bathroom door open, within earshot, and he screamed for me.

"MAMA!"

"Yes, Demon Baby."

"Can I drown in the bathtub?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Well, technically, you could, but you're now 3 1/2 and the water isn't that high and you're fine. I'm right outside the door."

"OK."

He set about "experimenting" with his bath chemistry. This means he takes shaving cream, soap, shampoo, bubbles and toothpaste and makes "potions."

"Can I have another tube of blue toothpaste?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because toothpaste is expensive and most people really don't BATHE with their toothpaste. You can use a little, but not whole tubes."

"OK."

I returned to my Mt. Everest of laundry and then heard him shrieking, "MAMA!!!!"

I ran into the bathroom to find he had climbed, NAKED AND SLIPPERY on top of the MARBLE VANITY (can I add SLIPPERY?) where he was clinging to the mirror in an attempt to reach said toothpaste.

After rescuing him, scolding, tears, towels, and my slight heart attack . . . I was reminded for the thousandth time why I have not slept more than in fits and starts since he could start walking.