Binkeys Rule, Parents Drool

All hail the binkey

Reliever of woes
Grantor of serenity
Deliverer of peace
Giver of precious minutes to facebook-stalk old highschool friends and lady-scape the privates.

I don't know what kind of messed-up baby crack they put on those binkeys, but whatever it is, I need to buy stock in it.

Binkeys are amazing. They can turn your screaming, tomato-faced infant into a limp bag of happy baby in approximately 3.4 seconds. I could probably submerge the kids in a tub full of ice water and dead puppies, and as long as I shoved binkeys in their mouths, they wouldn't cry.

Personally, I don't quite see the appeal.
But there you have it - babies are weird. They're soothed by the oddest things, like being thwacked on the back repeatedly hard enough to dislodge a lung, or flying through the air in various swinging contraptions.
What's tantamount to an old-school beating or a roller coaster ride to us puts babies to sleep faster than a Nyquil cocktail with a Lunesta chaser.

Go Figure.

In other news, I almost microwaved a fork yesterday.
Not even with a plate of food or anything - just a lone fork.

I think I might have been preparing soup, but things were so hazy after getting scant amounts of sleep, I very well could have been readying a bowel of Windex. Not that the babies are up all night, but they're up often enough where REM sleep is a thing of the past. And without REM sleep, people do funny things.
Like remove a dirty diaper from a child and dress them without putting a new, clean diaper on, resulting in an impromptu pee party mid-feeding.
True story.

So I'm mildly concerned about my ability to effectively parent, but I figure if I endanger the kids, they really have nobody to blame but themselves. If they want better parenting, they should learn to sleep through the night.
Simple as that.

So that's the status in our household; very little sleep, and a general atmosphere of poor decision-making.
It's a lot like college, except now I'm the one cleaning up the vomit instead of producing it (which is - admittedly - a lot less fun, and gives me a new appreciation for the Rutgers janitorial staff). But, also like college, everybody is relatively unscathed at the end of the day, so I guess I'm doing an okay job.

The babies, however, seem a bit...underwhelmed...with my caretaker abilities. The looks they give me when I accidentally drop a poopy diaper on their heads or poke them in the eye with the bottle nipple suggest that they are 100% aware of what is required of a mother and I'm not making the cut.

They're like, Mom, can you please get your shit together?!?
And I'm like, I know, I know. Sorry about that.
And they're all, Didn't you learn how to do this before you took the test
And I'm all, Uhhh, well this is awkward. They actually don't make you take a test first
And they're all, Are you fucking kidding me?!?
And I'm all, 'Fraid not
And they're all, So any jerk-off can have kids?
And I'm all, Yep.

And then they roll their eyes and mutter something about how that explains everything.
Which is pretty rude, but what can I say? My kids can be assholes sometimes.

So in summary, it would appear that binkeys are better at parenting than I am, and my children have already learned how to curse through facial expressions.

And I think I speak for us all when I say this is not surprising in the least.