It goes without saying...

Except that if you're a parent, it doesn't ever go without saying, does it? In fact, you pretty much MUST say whatever it is, usually at least four times. Three if you're having an exceptional day.

Please put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes. Please put on your shoes. YOUR SHOES. PUT THEM ON.

You also find yourself saying the most ridiculous, most absurd, most idiotic things that make little to no sense. And as an outsider, you might wonder why in the holy hell someone would need to specify such lunacy. They're kids, you might think. Just make them listen. How hard can it really be to make your kid sit at the restaurant table like a normal human and not roll around on the dirty carpet underneath the booth? Mark and I used to be those outsiders. Which makes it all the more fitting that we now reside in this crazy dimension where we must say, out loud, in public, that it is NOT acceptable to lick the display window in the store. We now know the truth about parenting: Unless we, the adults, state an objection - clearly and concisely - the children will forge ahead with their bad ideas. And really, regardless of whether we have said no two or twelve times, they will most likely forge ahead anyway.

So I say this to myself of ten years ago, the outsider who would sit and judge the parents of the window-licking, restaurant-floor-rolling kids: Just wait. You just wait. Because this is what you're going to be saying in 2014:

1. Stop putting that baby carrot up your nose.

I blame this one on Frozen. I think Mason wants to be a snowman. Which means that we'll probably be number 14 in the line of kids at the ER who are all vying to be Olaf. All of us will be singing together, our sweet melody echoing off the hospital tile walls: 
Do you want to be a snowmaaaaan? And stick a carrot up your noooooooooose...

(that will only have made sense to you if you're familiar with the soundtrack...)

2. Do not ever (EVER) pick your brother up by the neck.

One of these days the baby will be big. And he will attempt to return the favor. I can't say that I blame him. But Mason, I'll cut you a deal. I'll only let him do it once. You'll still come out ahead by a fair margin.

3. {__________________}  toilet.

    a) Flush the

    b) Aim for the

    c) Close the

    d) Get your hands out of the

    e) Why is there a boot in the

All of the above.

Seriously.

4. Get off of the couch if you're not wearing underpants.

Ewwww. Just, ewwww.

5. Do not put your toys in your underpants.

Again, seriously? I find that there is a lot of undergarment commentary necessary throughout the day. This moment of awesomeness was from when our four year old tried to smuggle toys to preschool. I caught him at 11:57. School starts at noon.

6. Do not throw anything at me when I'm driving the car. (Or ever, but we're setting the bar very low here to start.)

I have little doubt that one day in the not-so-distant future, my car will be in a ditch off the side of the road due to the fact that I was beaned in the head by a Captain America shield or rogue footwear.

7. Could we please not sing about diarrhea at the dinner table?

I do have to accept the fact that poop is just plain funny to boys. But I am hoping that we can come to an agreement regarding acceptable poop joking hours. An attempt to formulate a ban on poop discussions during dining hours shall be made.

8. Do not spit into the water. Of the penguin exhibit. At the aquarium.

There are no words (that I can remember). There was, however, a mommy-has-lost-her-mind screaming session and a hasty exit through the nearest door.

So, this one is bad. Like, bad bad. And this is the point where I feel the need to specify something in very clear terms with a pinkie swear for added authenticity: We parent. We're on them. We try to keep a close eye, we try to control the goings-on, and most of all, we try to get ahead of the craziness. But here's the problem with this. Regardless of what you think you can prevent and control, they get ideas. Crazy, dumb, why-would-you-ever? ideas that they put into motion faster than you can even imagine. The other day, I was that parent. The one who looks like she has never attempted to control her child in her life. The one who looks like she has never created a rule for him to follow, not a guideline to be had. But I promise you, as I stood not two feet from my seven year old (the one who most certainly knows better!), he put this plan into motion, and I was powerless to stop it. He jumped, and he spit. Right into the water of the damn penguin exhibit. I am sure there were alarms that went off somewhere. I am sure that this caused a genetic mutation in the little feathered guys and that they now crave Fritos based on residual saliva. I am sure that all of this happened, but I can't say that I saw it firsthand. Because I grabbed those kids and got the hell out of there. As fast as a stroller, three kids and a screaming mother could move through the chaos that is the aquarium on a cold January Sunday. So, yes. That happened. Of the seven years, four months and 16 days that I have been a parent, this is the actual moment where it almost killed me.

Now, back to the list. (Unless you have stopped reading by this point out of protest for the penguins? I fully support that decision.)

9. Get the cat toy out of your mouth.

OK, so I don't expect the boys to fully grasp adult-level common sense, but I do feel like even a four year old should understand this:

kid toys = for kids, cat toys = for cats

It has become clear that I am expecting too much.

10. Stop eating those French fries. They are still frozen.

Last night, I was given two replies to this:

Mason: But it's delicious! (Again, we're talking about still-frozen fries that he's consuming...)

-and-

Andrew: Remember, Mom. We each might like different things, and that's OK.

Um, OK. But you both refuse to eat more than a few normal things presented to you at the expected temperature. How are icy potatoes both accepted and defended? This I do not understand.

I will say that after having lived this, and now after having typed this, I. Am. Tired. And on most days (today being no exception), I question what on Earth it is I'm doing wrong that results in my kids refusing to wear pants or keep their bodily fluids to themselves. But l guess if Andrew can stick up for his little brother and, at the same time, remind a grown-up to tolerate diversity (even if it is only through food preference), Mark and I are at least doing something right.

I do, however, think the aquarium staff might beg to differ.