I can't help myself

I know I call my kids monkeys, even outside of Blogland. You probably have called your children that too. It's a cute and fun and a fairly common moniker for children. Part of it is that they climb, as many kids do, everything. The world my living room is their oyster jungle gym. And to give credit where credit is due, a friend actually spurred the idea for this blog title with her calling my children monkeys, upon witnessing them climb scale her porch railing like it was a mountain. (They really do have a knack for it, though.) So there's other people calling them that. (Hey, I have another friend who calls them trolls. "Monkeys" seems a little cuter? Friendlier? Less evil, Dontcha think?)

Of coarse I tried to give our Monkeys monikers in relation to their actual personalities. So, George, he's curious, Koko is verbal, Cheeks has big cheeks, Boots did/does have a thing for shoes, Kong is the alpha male ruler of our household, nevermind his barrel chested handsomeness. And I, well, I'm bananas, clearly. If having five children doesn't qualify, I don't know what does.

But I have a secret.

I'm more monkey than I might readily appear.

Cuz think of what other things monkeys like to do. We've all been to the zoo. People make cracks about it.

Yes. I admit. I like to "pick" on my children. I love to clean ear wax out of those great caverns of dirt so deep you could plant a garden, I can't help myself in grabbing at that big greenie hanging out of one's nose (because really? who wants to look at that? It's distracting.), I've been known to be drawn to squeezing that blackhead on a certain somekong's face, and... now this.

Do you see what I see? Let's see if I can zoom in for a closer look.

See that? Skin. Dead, flaky skin. All I really have to do is brush his hair with that super soft baby-hair brush and viola! Up comes all that scaly, flaky fun. It's like peeling a sunburn. It doesn't hurt him, and once you start, you can't stop til it's all gone.

Admit it. You like to peel sunburn too. I know I'm not alone in this.

It's just like monkeys grooming, or eating bugs off eachother, or whatever it is they're doing. It's all love, baby. All love.



And besides, isn't it my job as a mom?

Yes, you can be officially grossed out.