Cray Cray

My boys are not always little angels, but they are a pretty calm couple.  Sure, they scream and run, but when things get "wild" in our house, it is usually melt downs and tantrums.  I watch with equal parts curious envy and terror as some of my friends parent kids whose "wild" is a more physical (and fun) type.  Considering my 2.5 year old cries when he stands on a step stool because he refuses to step down by himself, I'm not well equipped as a mother to deal with the more physical type of toddler fun.

So imagine my shock when about 30 minutes after letting my boys have some chocolate covered mini doughnuts for afternoon snack they started going Nuts.  Bananas.  Cray cray.  Out of their minds.

I am being literal when I say that I was basically cowering in the corner of a bed as they jumped and screamed, threw things off the side of the bed or at each other or the wall and wildly flailed every appendage they could at every other appendage their brother was flailing.  Then they moved from the bed to the floor where they continued to throw themselves on the floor, roll and slide around like animals (this is actually a game we always play, just not so wildly), and dance with flailing appendages. 

At one point Little Bro managed to turn on Little Bug's radio, tune the radio, and started blaring Journey while dancing like he was on the drugs I imagine most of the members of Journey were on while writing said song.

Then they started ripped bedding of the beds, throwing open drawers and throwing clothing out with furious speed, and literally dumping books of the shelf like they were ransacking the place.  Of course, they then turned around and started throwing all the stuff around the room.  All the while Little Bug was screaming with banshee joy and Little Bro was belting out Korean kids songs with the passion of a patriot going to war.

Why didn't I stop it?

I was a little bit in shock, a little bit amused, and a little bit scared.  Clearly they were operating on some intense sugar high and I was worried taking them away from their activities would swing them into some epic melt downs.  And frankly, I would rather crack open a bottle of wine and clean up the sheets than deal with two angry little boys.

It was only when Little Bro picked up a book and tried to rip a page out that I snapped out of it and laid down the law.  You can abuse my sheets or haphazardly folded clothes and you can throw Pororo and Toki and Brendan and the-Moose-no-one-wants-to-be-chingoos-with against the wall, but you cannot rip a page out of a book, even if it is a Chuggington book that is WAY too long anyway.

I admit, in retrospect, I see the smiles and hear the laughs and love the moments, but I'm so glad that I'm on my second glass of wine and they are on their second hour of REM cycle sleep.

Sweet dreams, my little angel babies.