The Invasion

(obviously written in early December and never posted this is one of my favorite Squib moments)

Perhaps it's no coincidence that on Pearl Harbor Day I'm experiencing a minor invasion of my own. Excuse me, it's Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day (you brainless twit) according to Squib. The parenthetical was implied. Believe me.

We were in the car coming home from school when Squib asked, "Are we dunna be in de owffice?" Don't let that squeeably cute speech delay fool you. He's lethaly intelligent. Some day I'll have to retell our discussion of Genghis Khan. Speaking of Genghis, he asked about the "owffice" at least three more times before he sacked out in the back seat.

I promise you he wears his own self out most of the time. I don't even have to provide any activities for them as you'll soon see. This is true of both boys. Perhaps it's a subtle reaction to the way they started their lives on the wrong side of the odds and shipwrecked in hospital beds. Somewhere in their psyches they both have this mission to see and do EVERYTHING. So they both keep moving until they absolutely have to lay down. Which they do. Right on the spot. Sidewalk, driveway, yard, floor, bathtub, playground. It matters not.

"I need that and that and that pwinted out, pwease." Squib pointed to my Pinterest page as his feet dangled from my chair in the "owffice."

"Ok." I was a little surprised he was even fishing through there. But I do have a board full of things I do with the kids. He had apparently tapped into it.

"Den you need to move." He glanced at me cooly.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"Out. Move out." He swept the entire owffice with one arm. "How am I 'posed to build a mooseum wike dis?"

And then he started collecting every iota of everything that was even remotely touching the conference table and before I could even protest he carried it to my bed and left it.

"Wait, what? Hey!" I did protest. I just want that on the record. Then I wanted to protect my electronics before Dr. Demolition swept them into a pile and tossed them through the bedroom door. After that, the table was mostly vacant. Arguing with him was largely moot.

"Hey!" I meant to set him straight. Really, I did.

"Did you pwint out my ewves?" He looked at me expectantly. Not like overjoyed expectantly. More like the elementarty school mafia give-me-the-elf-if-you-want-to-live-lady kind of expectantly. He added *that smile* that has duped every female in Radiator Springs.

"Just you hold your little horses, there, Genghis Khan." Yes. I called my seven year old Genghis Khan. "Before you go killing all the civilians, get things under control. This is my house too."

"I know." He said. "And you get de bedwoom. Dere's TV in dere! Are my pages on de pwinter in de owffice in de Big Wed House?"

I nodded my head and he took off running which was a great time to roll my eyes. I wouldn't know the first thing to do with this goofy television. I haven't watched TV since 1997. All I really do is watch Netflix on my laptop and on occasion search for movies and DVR them. I don't flip channels or watch regularly scheduled stuff. Neither does he. We're just too busy doing other things.

So here I sit. On my bed with my belongings scattered about--not to mention the detritus of remodeling scattered about the West end of things displacing the rack of hang-up clothes and other items so that everything that's usually spread out is now crowded around the bed. The blank TV is staring at me and when I say I am "plotting my escape," I really only mean the five feet to the bathroom, but it's quite an obstacle course.

Squib 1 Mommy 0
Scat