Today, G-Dog almost burned down our house. I blame it all on CPod. He was, after all, the only person older than 4 years old on the same floor as G-Dog when our little angel decided to pop his own bag of microwave popcorn. I was in the basement, herding our other two munchkins up from the garage after a morning outing, and CPod was so thoroughly engrossed in a very engaging phone conversation with his brother that he didn't notice when the popcorn smell went from warm and buttery to scorched and OMIGOSH! CPOD WHY IS THERE SMOKE COMING OUT OF THE MICROWAVE!!!!!!!!!!
Men. Multitasking. Not compatible.
Our house was so infused by burnt popcorn stench that I packed up the boys with some reliable sources of entertainment and headed over to my mom's house for the rest of the day. We opened all the windows and turned on all the ceiling fans and turned off the air conditioner, so when we came back home for bed tonight, we were happy to find a significantly less stinky house. Of course, it was 80 degrees, and terribly humid. But at least I don't have to wash every article of clothing in our closets.
In other news, I have begun experiencing more fully the joys of pregnancy. And by joys, I mean little annoyances. And by little annoyances, I mean a whole bunch of small things that add up to PURE HELL.
When I was pregnant with the twins, and again with MayDay, I endured about one bad symptom per trimester. Not so bad, right? First trimester, nausea. Second trimester, acne. Third trimester, heartburn.
This time around, I have had the distinct pleasure of experiencing all three symptoms since day one. Throw in a little restless leg and extreme exhaustion and you begin to understand why, when I told my husband that this pregnancy seemed to be flying by, he said, "Um, not so much."
I have the skin of a 15 year old boy. I never (I'm serious!) had zits when I was in high school, but I am more than making up for that now. I get heartburn from folding laundry. I could sleep 14 hours every day (although that's better than it was at the beginning). From about 8PM on I have comically uncontrollable restless leg.
Poor CPod. I guess I'll have to let the housefire go.
We've also been thinking a lot about names for the baby, now that we know what we're having. I tend to go for more old fashioned names, but what do you think about Satan? I know, not exactly a very feminine name for our one and only little girl, but it's the one suggestion that my boys keep coming back to.
See, we had a spontaneous lesson about the plan of salvation a few weeks ago. G-Dog is obsessed with why Satan doesn't have a body. He bombards me constantly with questions along the lines of, "Does Satan have a brain? How about bones? Does he have bones? Does he have a skull to protect his brain? Will he ever get a body? Will he get to live with his family? Will he get to live with Heavenly Father? I feel bad for him, Mommy, because he doesn't get to do all the things we do with our bodies."
While I appreciate G-Dog's concern for, oh, you know, the author of all evil, and I am amazed at both his and ConMan's grasp of the concept of agency, their choice of names for our baby is just a little disturbing. Beezlebub? Or Voldemort? Sauron, or Lex Luthor, or Freddy Kruger? How about Swiper? After all, this sneaky baby will always try to steal their stuff.
Either way, I'm strangely comforted that my children have no real frame of reference for the existence of evil in the world. Satan doesn't sound so bad to them because they've never really seen anything terrible. The villains they see on Scooby-Doo are just misguided humans dressed up in scary costumes; on Dora, the bad guy is a lonely fox (Swiper, for the NickJr novices) who just wants to make friends. Eventually, they'll be faced with honest-to-goodness temptations with the power to affect their lives profoundly. Until then, I'm just fine using their innocent fascination as a tool to teach them a little about reality.