Ohh...bada bing!

Moon had a pizza party with his baseball team this afternoon at The Town Pub. Since the team was in the party room, I took peanut out into the main part of the restaurant to have some dinner. Halfway through the meal, a couple of guys sitting at the bar got into a heated debate about the fucking Yankees. I'd give you some dialogue snippets, but I know jack about the Yankees, and all I could really understand was a lot of "fuck" and "bullshit," (which both sound far more vulgar and impressive when shouted in an authentic drunken Jersey accent) Some bizarre motherly instinct took over, and I had to stop myself from telling them to watch their language. What kept me from speaking up was that:

A: I realized we were at a bar. A sports bar. In New Jersey. The clientele consisted mainly of plumbers, bikers, and a dude wearing a Roger Waters "Dark Side of the Moon" T-shirt.

B: My kids hear me say "fuck" every time I get really angry. Which has been three times already in the 2.5 hours they've been on summer vacation.

C: On the way to the bar, while pondering what the mascot might be for his new school, Peanut suggested they were likely called the "Forest Elementary F-Words."

So, I guess I'll leave the chastising of beligerent drunks to a mother who doesn't have a toilet mouth.

For the record, as the two guys became more heated (i.e., louder, more vulgar, and even less coherent), it was obvious that the plumbers and the biker were deeply offended. And the guy in the Roger Waters shirt got up and left in disgust. But the kids from Moon's baseball team thought it was awesome and kept trying to sneak out of the party room to listen. And I was pretty hungry, so I sat there and finished my pizza.

When in Jersey....bada bing!

Someone's been shitting in my bed....and it's still there!

Here's a funny story. It's just like Goldilocks, if Goldilocks were a five year old boy who refused to wear pants.

I'm feeling a little tired today. 38 weeks pregnant, enormous, mean, etc. It's the last day of schoool, both boys were home by 12:30, I figured they could entertain each other if I laid down for a few minutes.

Crawled into bed on my husband's side, turned on the tv (which still doesn't work....screw you Comcast), and carefully arranged all of the pillows to support the massive mounds of flesh that now comprise my body. After making a few adjustments, more pillows under my stomach, one less under my ass, I was feeling reasonably comfortable. Ready for a quick nap. And then I looked to my left.

And there was...something, funky. Something, not right. Something, crusty. There on our fresh, white cotton sheet, was a skidmark. A crusty, nasty, dirty brown skidmark.

My bladder control may suck, but I know for sure that I did not shit in my bed. And I know D. didn't do it, either. In fact, I can say with absolute certainty that the culprit has to be the only member of our family who insists on running around with no pants.

Peanut, why did you wipe your ass on my bed?

Oh, and here's the part I forgot to mention. Peanut has had pants on all day. He was sitting naked on my bed last night. Right up by the headboard. In between our pillows.

D., we slept with shit last night.

Feel free to go wash your face right now. I know I'm washing mine.

Rayman, Raving Rabbids

According to my children, Rayman, Raving Rabbids, is a very funny game.

Moon: You should dress your rabbit in that.
Peanut: No.
Moon: What about that?
Peanut: No.
Moon: You should at least put some pants on him.
Peanut: NO! My rabbit wants to be naked in public.


Fifteen minutes later.....

Peanut: Mom, you have to watch this.
Moon: Watch, Mom.
Peanut: Mom, watch this.
Me: Mmhmm.
Peanut: No, Mom, you have to watch this.
Me: Okay, I'm watching (I'm not really watching).
Peanut: Mom, watch! You have to watch this.
Me: Okay, I'm watching (only so they'll leave me alone).
Peanut: It's really funny.
Moon, laughing: It's really funny.
Peanut: It's really funny. You have to hit the rabbit right in the anus.


I'm so glad I watched this.

Love is....

It's Father's Day. I didn't buy D. a card. I didn't make a special meal. I didn't give him an extravagant gift.

I did go outside at 37+ weeks pregnant, in muggy, 82 degree heat, and clean up all the dog shit.

That's love.

E.T.

D. and I, laying quietly together in bed, listening to the boys' conversation in the next room:

Moono: Don't punch my nuts.
Peanut: I didn't punch your balls.
Moono: They're not balls, they're nuts.
Peanut: Ha. I punched your balls.
D, hollering: No punching in the testicles, boys!
Moono: Nuts.
Peanut: Balls.
Me, hollering: Testicles! They're called testicles!
Peanut, laughing: Testicles.
Moon, laughing: Testicles.
Peanut, laughing: Testicles.
Moon, laughing: E.T., the Extra Testicle.
Peanut, laughing harder: E.T., the Extra Testicle.
Moon, now hysterical: E.T., the Extra Testicle.
Peanut, also hysterical: E.T., the Extra Ball.