It's a Whole 'Nother Stupid

Just a few years ago, my husband and I really got a kick out of comedian Bill Engvall's skit "Here's your sign." In case you need a refresher, it was about stupid people needing to wear a sign that alerts the general public that they are, in fact, stupid...thus preventing the non-stupid majority from depending on them for anything of true importance. (Example...a guy stopped on the road with a flat tire, get's asked "What, did your tire go flat?" "Uh, nope. I was driving along and the other three just swelled right up on me." Stupid person's reply: "Well, the heat will do that.") So you can appreciate this, even if you are not one of the stupids, because you have probably been asked the "Here's your sign" kinda question from time to time.

Because we have ourselves been sign-worthy at times, and because we concede that we are raising a generation of 7 "stupid" people, we can to this day laugh at the same old skit. Our days and weeks are often filled with new material for the old stupid skit. Well, this weekend was no exception, and I am hoping it is the end all, be all of stupidity and that we will never top this one.

Nope not even the time dear daughter #2 wrote her name on the bedroom wall in sharpie, and then tried to blame it on her non-writing sister.

Not even the time that the same daughter wrote the sharpie word "pantry" on the pantry door. (Thanks honey, we would have never figured that one out.)

Not even the time that the baby (who is a weenie grabber) reached down and took his diaper completely off for full access, fell asleep, and then woke himself up by peeing on his face. (Can something be sad and hilarious all at the same time?) Nope...nothing has been met with such full-on stupidocrity. (I know, but it sounded good.)

Saturday we attended a birthday party at a friends house. They decided to have a party for all of their kids at once (great for the host, not so great to be the guest needing to bring 4 gifts) and it was a great party. Truly, my friend is a great hostess. She made sure she had shade, tables, chairs, lots of bottled water, iced tea, popsicles, the works. As we all hung out in her front yard (Front yard/garage cul-de-sac parties seem to be sweeping the nation, this was our second in a matter of weeks, and because of the popularity, we can almost forget about not being welcomed to come inside, or even allowed in the back yard) we watched the kids slide down the enormous water slide, and they were having a great time.

Personally, some of my favorite moments were getting "lei'd" (Yep, it was a luau theme), getting repeatedly squirted by the squirt gun wielding boys, and sweating.

This is where our fun weekend of stupid begins. Squirt guns. First of all, a big thank you and shout out to our host and hostess friends for giving the boys the weapons in the first place, but secondly for the brilliant advice given to the boys.

"Do not squirt the adults."

Yep, it was kind of like telling the kid at the state fair to only use his blow gun on the styrofoam target. (Again, courtesy of Bill Engvoll...you've gotta listen to that one!)

So, after 2 hours of getting caught in the crossfire of squirt guns (a little here, a lot there), I again hear the hostess say: "If you shoot the grown ups, you will lose that squirt gun." (Here's your sign, my dear...what do you mean "if?")

At this point, her point was moot, I am already dripping with arm pit sweat and the squirt gun is the only thing keeping me cool.

So after being told when to play, when to eat, when to watch present opening, and when to play again...we decided that we had had about all the fun we could stand. Hot and tired, wet and sweaty, we headed home. Hearing on our way out, "Don't forget your squirt guns!" Dang it.

Our first order of business was the "don't squirt that in the car" lecture, and my kids seemed to be obeying pretty well. We also followed with the you can play with that when you get home speech. Do you see where I am going with this?

It gets better, my friends.

Some friends of ours cancelled a date with us, not naming any names (April), and as luck would have it other friends called for a last minute "we don't have kids" get together. We were on it. It had been a long day of family togetherness, and we were ready for our night out with the potty trained. We ate, visited, and decided that it would be oodles more fun to rent a movie and go home. (Stupid is as stupid does, where do you think the kids get it?)

In fact, instead of the theater, we decided we would rent a flick, pull up a comfy piece of couch, and watch at home. These were comfortable friends, heck they have even slept over before, so the chill out option really seemed great.

Until we got home.

My oldest (15) had been in charge of his siblings, and while I am always thrilled to come home to find the house is not burned down and the kids are conscious, nothing could have prepared us for the level of stupid that awaited us. It was a whole 'nother stupid...as Forrest Gump would say.

We walked in with our sweet friends and were in the kitchen putting away the Haagen Daz we just picked up for movie night, and realized that the floor was a little wet, oh, and maybe even slightly sticky. Not a strange occurance in a house with 7 kids. So, I kept putting away the other groceries.

I walked over to the TV to set the movies next to the DVD player, and again, thought intently about the sticky floor. I mean, we wanted a movie theater experience at home, that is why we have the home theater system, but the sticky floors I could do without.

Upon closer inspection, we saw the shimmery splatters of stickiness everywhere. Floors, cabinets, countertops, refrigerator, walls, and as I began to figure this one out, my angry mom brain started to leak smoke.

"Son, what happened here?"
"I dunno."
"Really, you were in charge, how could you miss this?"
"I dunno. Maybe it happened when I was giving the baby a bath."
"There was nothing odd to you about sticking to the floor everywhere you walked?"
"I didn't see it."
"Son, you didn't have to see it...you can feel it, you have to peel your feet off the floor just to take a step."
"Maybe it was Son #2...I saw him drinking Pepsi."
"Son, there is no way that these splatters could come of drinking Pepsi, unless the child was riddled with bullet holes and the Pepsi was spraying out of him."
"I DUNNO! I DIDN"T DO IT!" (Yes, this child has mastered teenage attitude and eye rolling.)

Since the witnesses were all asleep, the mystery would have to wait a while. Needless to say my hubby and I had to resort to mopping the floor, just to be able to sit with friends to watch a rental. (Oh yes, we all deserved signs tonight...us for electing to Blockbuster it, and the kids for going crazy with the carbonated sugar.)

As we watched our movie, and zombies began to emerge from their beds for that all important drink of water, we were able to engage in a little detective work. Our CSI experience went like this:

"Daughter, what happened tonight that the floors got all sticky?"
"Oh, Son #1 and Son #2 filled squirt guns with Pepsi and had a squirt gun fight."
"Daughter, please take off your sign, I need to borrow it."

As I summoned Son #1 (because #2 was fast asleep and there is no waking him), I had to ask:

"Son, your sweet sister tells me that you filled the squirt gun with Pepsi and that you and Son #2 had wars in my kitchen?"

**Here is where he practically says "Hold my sign, I don't want to lose it!"

"No, I filled it with Pepsi, but I dumped it right out."
"Son, I may be holding this sign, but I am, in fact, simply a carrier. Please tell me the truth."
"Honest. I just dumped it out."

Yeah, kinda like you just googled that word the other day merely to find out what it meant.

As other witnesses emerged and we got a majority rule on the matter, it was deduced that Son#1 (Helloooo....you are almost 16) did in fact fill the squirt gun with Pepsi, numerous times, and unleashed the carbonated trigger all over my maple cabinets and granite counters. Tonight, as I was cleaning for company tomorrow night (Cinco De Mayo, baby), I found the lovely carbonated carmel colored concoction all over my stove, backsplash, refrigerator, pantry door, dishwasher, baseboards, and most probably, but undetectably the carpet.

(In fact, as I have given this more thought...the only reason that son #1 probably bathed the baby was because he was caught in the crossfire of Operation Pepsi and would have been a dead giveaway.)

I have a good sense of humor, and I have even been known to instigate a raw egg fight in my sweet little kitchen. One so awesome that showers were immediately needed. I get why they might have done this and why it might have been fun, but here is what I don't get.

Dude, the parents are coming, the parents are coming.

Wouldn't you have at least tried to clean it up? Why would you bathe the baby, but leave the evidence everywhere else? Wouldn't you have thought to yourself, "get the mop real quick and wipe off the counters...and she will never notice the walls, the fridge and the baseboards!" Even a half baked cleanup job would have been admirable.

Needless to say, tonight, I am awarding Son#1 the "Here's your sign" award.

And I actually might sleep a little more soundly as I contemplate their futures. With this kind of stupidity in the house, they won't likely be getting away with much!

Here's your sign.