It's Got to be Austria

Here's your chance to get away from your jerk-face kids (why doesn't anyone ever give me the chance to get away from my jerk-face kids? These Austria people won't let me win just because I'm working on the campaign.):

You could win a free trip for two to Austria. The contest is called the "It's Got To Be Austria Facebook Sweepstakes," and in order to enter, one need only become a fan of "Austria. Official Travel Info" on Facebook. The winner and a guest will receive a seven day themed vacation package of their choice valued at $4,500. The sweepstakes invites fans to explore all that Austria has to offer by choosing from vacations oriented toward "Food and Wine," "Art, Architecture and Design," "Nature, Outdoors and the Alps," or "Classical Music and History." Facebook fans can receive an additional sweepstakes entry by Tweeting about Austria using the hashtag, #itsgottobeaustria. The contest runs now through January 15.

More information and official rules can be found at http://www.itsgottobeaustria.com, or by becoming a fan on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/austriatravelinfo.

Contest is open to residents of the U.S., 18 and over.

Go! Enter! Send me a postcard to stare at while I cry in my vodka.


Hey, the kid just calls 'em like he sees 'em

Me: I need to get a job.
Peanut: You already have a job.
Me: I have several "jobs," but they all suck and none of them pay very well.
Peanut: You get enough money to pay for our house.
Me: Um, no. I definitely don't make enough money to pay for our house. Dad's work pays for our house.
Peanut: Dad doesn't work. He just sits on the couch all day and doesn't do anything.


You what ?!?!

Ever brush your teeth in the shower? I do. Sometimes. Multi-tasking. That's what I did last night, and then I left my toothbrush on the window ledge in the shower, which is at least two and a half foot off the ground and out of the baby's reach. This morning, when I needed to brush my teeth:

Peanut: Oh, Mom! You know that toothbrush that's in the shower?
Me: Yes?
Peanut: Well, Erek was using the toilet and I had to pee, so I had to pee in the shower and I accidentally peed on that toothbrush.
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: I had to go. It was an accident.
Me: You accidentally peed up that high?
Peanut, smiling: Yes. It was an accident.
Me: You accidentally peed on my toothbrush which is all the way up there on the window ledge?
Peanut: Oh. Well, you can just wash it.
Me: I'm not brushing my teeth with something you peed on.
Peanut: It was an accident.

On the bright side, at least he told me about it before I brushed.


Nice try

Me: You know you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: You know why you're in trouble, right?
Moon: Ye-e-es.
Me: Why are you in trouble?
Moon: Well...because...wait! First tell me what Peanut told you.


Run, furry little creatures! Run and hide!

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Did you know you can give your guinea pigs a haircut?
Me: No you can't.
Peanut: Yes you can. You know. Their hair gets long. Then you can just cut it. People cut their guinea pigs' hair.
Me: Okay, maybe they do. But you can't give your guinea pigs a haircut.
Peanut: I know. But, I could.
Me: No. You can't.
Peanut: I know. I'm not. But, I could just take some scissors and trim it a little bit.
Me: No.
Peanut: Or, use a razor and shave it. That would be funny. A shaved guinea pig.
Me: No.
Peanut: Oh, or I could give it a mohawk...

This is why I don't even ask questions anymore

Peanut, standing naked in front of the toilet: Hey, Mom, I know how to do "squishies."
Me: I don't know what that is.
Peanut: Oh, it's from Captain Underpants. It's where you take two packets of ketchup and put them under the toilet seat. Then when somebody sits down....
Me, lightbulb clicking on: Ah! So that explains why there was a packet of hot sauce in the toilet this morning.
Peanut, eyes wide: Wah? Huh? No there wasn't. How did that get there?
Me, giving him the eye: Peanut.
Peanut, eyes wider, shaking his head in disbelief: No-o.
Me, staring and silent.
Peanut, looking down and pulling on his penis: Heh, heh, penis.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Moon did it.
Me, staring.
Peanut: Ok, I do not know how that got there. I mean, I put a packet of hot sauce under the toilet seat, but I took it out and put it in the trash.
Me, shouting into the next room: Moon, how did a packet of hot sauce get under the toilet seat?
Moon, shouting back: Exactly how you think it did.
Me: So, you're saying you knew about it?
Moon: Oh.


Someone should put me in charge of an advice column...for six year olds

At soccer practice...

Peanut: MOM! You see that kid over there?
Me: Which one?
Peanut: The one with the stupid hair. Right there.
Me: Okay, yeah.
Peanut: He just called me a sore loser!
Me: Are you a sore loser?
Peanut: No.
Me: Then tell him to bite you.


Tell me about it

Peanut: Oh my God.
Me: Don't say "Oh my god."
Peanut: I can say it if I want to.
Me: No you can't.
Peanut: Yes I can.
Me: I said you can't, and I'm the Mom of you.
Peanut: No you're not.
Me: Oh yes I am. I gave birth to you.
Peanut: Ew. Nasty.


First grade NEVER used to be this awesome

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Do you know what happens when people get bullied?
Me: What?
Peanut: They just take a drug. They take a drug so they don't ever have to go to school and see that bully again.
Me: They do?
Peanut: Yeah. That's what happens when people get bullied. They take drugs and don't go to school anymore.
Me: Huh.
Peanut: At least, that's what they used to do. Back in the olden days.

A few minutes later....

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Tomorrow is the end of red ribbon week.
Me: So, that's the end of your don't do drugs program?
Peanut: Yes.
Me: Are you doing anything special?
Peanut: I'm not sure. But I think if we be good at the end of the day we get to make our own drugs.


I couldn't make this shit up

Google searches that have led people to my blog in the last month:

1. Covered head to toe in poop
2. Mom and son boobs
3. vaganus
4. big big boobs and weiners
5. Mom son peeing together
6. pooping baby photos
7. mommy yells at me
8. toilet paper lint
9. big mom with son
10. very big moms

And, as a bonus, my seriously fucking favorite google search of all time:
11. milk my udder i am a cow

I can't figure out if I'm more disturbed that people are searching for these things, that there's a shitload of porn with these themes, or that, amidst all that porn, in the first page of Google results, people are finding my blog.


Could I be more socially retarded?

At grocery store, have a fever, haven't eaten, feeling woozy...

Cashier: That's a real cute handbag!
Me: Oh, thanks.
Cashier: What kind of bags you like?
Me: Uhh, shiny ones?
Cashier: Shiny ones?
Me: Well, I guess I like a nice shoulder bag.
Cashier: I meant paper or plastic.
Me: Oh. Duh. Sorry. I'm kind of a retard.
Cashier: Huh.

And then I look around at all of the people bagging the groceries, and realize that in addition to being kind of a retard, I'm also a complete asshole.


Run down and fetch me some salt pork from the root cellar

Peanut: Hey, Mom, you were born first in this family.
Me: No. Dad was.
Peanut: Oh yeah. Wait, when was Dad born?
Me: 1973.
Peanut: 1973!? That's back when they didn't even have refrigerators!


I don't even have to tell you which kid this is

Telling me facts he has learned from his new friend Keith: Oh, Mom, and also, there's this band, called the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and they have this song, it's the first song, and it has THIRTY SEVEN swear words in it.

Yelling at the car in front of us at the stop light: Dude! The light is green. Go already. Come on! What a joke!

Pointing to a car parked in the handicap spot: Mom, that guy is in a wheel chair. He shouldn't be driving if he's in a wheel chair. Dooooo-fus!


Just kill me now - Another Laugh, Mom Contest

That's right, I'm giving away another (as yet undetermined) prize, to the first person who can guess what happened in this series of photos. Hint: The Baby did it. And Peanut knew he was doing it. And it's completely fucking disgusting.

So, you tell me the story, in comments.


Oooh....Sorry, neighbor boy....you're going to have to go home now

Moon: Do you want to play Wii?
Neighbor boy who's sleeping over: Let's play Madden.
Moon: Ok, I'll get it set up.
Me: Just so you know, at nine o'clock, the TV is mine.
Moon: Why?
Me: Because I want to watch a show.
Neighbor boy: Is it the Old Reilly Factor?
Me: The what?
Neighbor boy: The Old Reilly Factor?
Me: Oh! Ah, no. It is not the O'Reilly Factor.
Neighbor boy: Oh, my mom always watches that.
Me: Huh.

They say you never know what goes on behind closed doors, but I had no idea that degree of depravity existed just two doors down. Scary.


Am. Mortified.

Peanut, at playground: Mom! These kids who were just speaking Chinese said something bad about me because I know Chinese and I know what they said!
Me: Really? You know Chinese?
Peanut: Yes. And I know what they said. They just called me stupid!
Me: How do you know they called you stupid if they were speaking Chinese?
Peanut: Because! The were just speaking, like, Chinese, or French, and they called me stoo-pee-dee.
Me: Chinese or French, huh? Well, if they're not being nice maybe you should find someone else to play with.
Peanut, storming across playground toward kids who were speaking Chinese, or French, and pointing his finger: You think I'm stupid? Maybe you should take some classes and learn to speak English!
Me, momentarily frozen with shame and horror, then running toward Peanut in a flustered frenzy: No! No! You apologize right now! That is not appropriate or nice. Unacceptable. Apologize. Now!
Peanut, kicking the ground and mumbling: Sorry.
Me: Peanut, these kids know how to speak two languages. How many do you know?
Peanut: One.
Kid 1: We speak Italian and English.
Kid 2, under breath: Stupidi.
Me: See, they speak Italian. Maybe if you were playing nice together you could ask them to teach you some words in Italian.
Kid 1, nodding: We could. We speak Italian all the time.
Peanut: I don't need to. I know "stupid" in any language.


Thanks, that was really helpful

Me: Did you remember everything?
The Babysitting Goddess: Yep. All packed up. But, is it ok to have a blowdryer in my carry-on?
Me: Yes, blowdryer is fine. You just can't have any liquids over three ounces in your carry-on.
Peanut: Or dynamite.


He's going to hate me for this in a few years

Peanut, standing naked in front of The Babysitting Goddess...

Me: So, I see you're not worried about The Babysitting Goddess seeing your penis anymore.
Peanut: No. She already saw it.
Me: Did she think it was any big deal?
Peanut: No. She was just surprised.
Me: Surprised?
Peanut: About how small it was.


At the beginning of a spontaneous road trip to a super fun indoor water park:

Me: Who's the best Mom in the whole world?
Moon: I dunno.
Peanut: Not you.
Me: What in the heck are you talking about? I'm taking you to a super fun indoor water park for no reason at all. Who's the best Mom in the world?
Peanut: Not you.
Me: Who's a better Mom than me? Name one person!
Peanut: Grandma Mouse.
Me: Ha! Hardly. Do you know what Grandma Mouse used to give me for dinner?
Peanut: What?
Me: Shit on a stick. Try again. Who's a better Mom than me?
Peanut: Well, I know it's not Dad's Mom, because she tried to hit him with a frying pan when he was a kid.
Moon: Dad says that story's not true.
Me: Oh, no. Totally true. Grandma is definitely not a better Mom than me, either. Try again.
Peanut: Bobby's* Mom is better than you. She hardly ever yells.
Me: What?! Bobby's Mom is batshit crazy! I mean, truly, certifiably, insane. She's not a better Mom than me. Try again.
Peanut: I don't know who the best Mom in the world is. The only thing I do know is that it's not you!



Sitting in the ER with Peanut because Moon got angry and kicked Peanut in the hand. It looks like Peanut's finger may be broken. People in front of us include a man who cut his hand with a power tool, a man who got hit by an opening car door while riding his bike, and two women in labor:

Peanut: Mom, why aren't they calling us back yet?
Me: We have to wait our turn.
Peanut: But why are all these people in front of us?
Me: Because they're all injured.
Peanut: But Mom, I need to go in front of them. My injury hurts!

Sitting in a room in the ER, waiting for X-Ray results:
Me: I spy, with my little eye, something wiggly and small.
Peanut: My penis?

Upon learning that his finger is actually broken:
Peanut: Ooh, Moon is DEAD! Mom, what are you going to do to him?

Getting his finger splinted:
Me: Why are you crying? It's not that bad.
Peanut: This is terrible!
Me: What?
Peanut: Now I can't thumb wrestle!

Waiting for discharge papers, admiring his splint:
Peanut: Mom, when my finger is all healed, do I have to give this splint back?
Me: No, you get to keep it.
Peanut: Mom, I don't know this for sure, but when someone gets out of jail, I think they get to keep the handcuffs.
Me: No they don't.
Peanut: Have you ever been to jail?
Me: No.
Peanut: Then you don't know that for a fact.

Later, at dinner, for some reason discussing porcupine penises:
Me: Who has a bigger penis, Peanut, you or a porcupine?
Peanut: Moon!

In the car on the way home from dinner:
Peanut: When I grow up, I'm probably going to be a retard.
Me: Why do you say that?
Peanut: Well, because when I was, like, six and five and four, I was retarded. So, I'll probably be a retard when I grow up, too.


What? Puerto Ricans can't just buy them at the pharmacy like the rest of us?

Sign outside of store in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico:

Peanut: Mom, what's Condom World?
Me: A store.
Peanut: What do they sell?
Me: Stuff you don't need to know about.
Peanut: Like what?
Me: Just stuff.
Peanut: Tell me, Mom. What is it? What do they sell?
Me: Umm....underwear.
Peanut: No they don't. What do they sell at Condom World.
D: Condoms. They sell condoms. You know, like ketchup, mustard, mayo.....
Moon: No, that's condiments.
Peanut: Mom. Tell me! What do they sell?
Me: Dad's right. They sell stuff to put on your hotdog.


Betcha can't guess where we're going

Peanut: Hey, Mom. In Puerto Rico, they have lots of Coquis. That means frog.
Me: They do?
Peanut: Mmhmm. And they also have these fancy masks that they use to go Trick or Treating every night.
Me: Um, really?
Peanut: Yep.
Me: How do you know so much about Puerto Rico?
Peanut: Spanish class.
Me: Huh. You learned all that in Spanish class?
Peanut: Yep.
Moon: You did not. You're just making that up. You don't really know about Puerto Rico.
Me: Moon, you don't know that. He has Spanish class. You don't know what he's learned.
Moon: Mom, he's just making that stuff up.
Me: Stop it. You don't know that. If he says he learned about Puerto Rico, I believe him.
Peanut: Hey, Mom. Can we go bowling or something?
Me: You want to go bowling in Puerto Rico?
Peanut: Mmhmm. Because in Puerto Rico they bowl with coconuts.


So, when do they start liking girls? Because I don't know how much longer I can take the B.O.

Me: What is that smell? Something smells like poop in here.
Moon: I dunno. I don't really smell anything.
Me: Come here. Let me smell you. When is the last time you showered?
Moon: Last night.
Me: You did not.
Moon: I mean the night before that.
Me: No you didn't. We got home late and you went to bed.
Moon: Well, it was definitely the day before that.
Me: That's gross. You need to start bathing or you're going to be the stinky kid.
Moon: Meh.
Me: Do you think you're going to like girls someday?
Moon: Mo-o-om...I don't know.
Me: Well, girls don't like boys with bad hygiene. Start bathing. Stinky.
Moon: Mom, when I start liking girls I'll worry about showering. But that day is not today.


Well, I guess that's a relief

Just attended Peanut's end of year sing-along. Teachers did a lovely job of with all the songs and dances. They even put together a little "Meet the Cast" keepsake program with mini-interviews filled out by each of the children.

Here's an excerpt from Peanut's:

For once, I am speechless.


Drumroll please

Okay, so I know I said I would announce the winner Friday "morning." In my defense, it's still morning everywhere west of here. And, I was busy this morning being "the best Mom in the entire world" (i.e. getting up at 5 a.m. to take the boys to see Green Day's free concert in Central Park). So, I used a random number generator to select the winner from all of the correct entries, and without further ado, the winner of the Clarisonic Skin Care System is SavingDiva! Shoot me an e-mail with your info and I'll get your prize out to you tout de suite!

Now, back to watching the DVR'd concert to see if we were on TV.


Clearly, I love my readers more than I love my children

The proof? My kids don't get Blogiversary presents. You do. Laugh, Mom was born one year ago today (great, now even my blog is going to get saggy boobs), and to celebrate, I have a prize for you (with a retail value of almost $200.00)! One lucky reader will receive the much coveted Clarisonic Skin Care System.

From the inventors of the Sonicare toothbrush, the Clarisonic is employing sonic technology to change the way people cleanse their skin. The Clarisonic's gentle sonic micro-massage action loosens sebum and dirt, unclogging pores without stripping the skin for healthier, softer skin, diminished acne, smaller pores, and after eight weeks of use, a reduction in the appearance fine lines and wrinkles.

My blog and I may be bitter old hags, but we're going to keep one of you looking young. To win, just answer the following questions (the answers are all in the blog) in comments. The winner will be chosen at random from all commentors who answer correctly. Comments close at 11 p.m. on Thursday, May 21 and the winner will be announced on Friday morning. Calling my mom to ask her for the answers will result in disqualification (oh, and you know she'll tell me you called, even if you tell her not to).

Answer questions. Win stuff. Look hot. Happy Blogiversary!

1. Name one thing that Stephen stuck in his anus.
2. Why won't Stacie marry Peanut?
3. Name one place where Peanut has wiped boogers, poop or wiener lint.
4. Which magical creature left $1 for Moon?
5. What is the "F" word?
6. According to Peanut, what do I do for a living?
7. What hurts more, vasectomy or childbirth? (Anyone who answers this incorrectly
will be hunted down and kicked repeatedly in the crotch while "Damn it Feels Good to be a Gangsta" plays in the background).

One Million Dollars (you have to say that in the voice of Dr. Evil)

Here's how I know The Baby is an evil genius. At ten months of age, he is able to:
1. Say Mama, Dada and Ball
2. Walk
3. Respond to questions by clapping his hands (yes) or shaking his head (no)
4. Take a break from nursing to give my boob juice a round of applause (seriously, that stuff's delicious)
5. Formulate a plan

Specifically, he figured out how to make his favorite tasty snack (dog food) easier for a toothless baby to eat. He loves, loves doggy kibble, but is constantly having it swept out of his mouth while I yell "No! Caca! Nasty!" and freak out about him potentially choking. But today I discovered I don't need to worry anymore. He moved all of the dog food into the water dish, waited an hour, and then went back for a delicious, soggy treat. No more choking hazard. Now I just have to figure out how to get rid of the dog breath.


Yeah, I'll probably tell her bad shit about you, too

I had my first counseling appointment today. Not because I wanted to, but because it was suggested by my midwife (i.e. she threatened to cut off my drugs unless I agreed to talk to a counselor....some crap about how post-partum depression can't be treated with medication alone...blah, blah, blah). Since I have another 17 years before my sons are grown, and Zoloft is cheaper than vodka, I went to the damn counselor.

When my mom found out about my appointment, she asked:
1: How'd it go?
2: What did you talk about?

What she really meant was:
1: You didn't talk about me, right?
2: What kind of crap did you tell her about me?

In fact, I believe my entire family is leary of me talking to a counselor for that very same reason. Nobody wants to eventually find out it's their fault that I'm bat-shit crazy. Or worse, find out that I'm perfectly sane and they're actually bat-shit crazy.

The reality is, I have a pretty good handle on what my "issues" are, and I'm only going to counseling because I want the drugs. Unfortunately, I have to come up with something to talk about while I'm there, which means everyone in my life is fair game. I have a few things in mind to discuss. Feel free to check for your name in the list below:

The Baby: Nipple biting, um, ow! And what's up with wanting your diapers changed all the time? It's like you don't know how to use the toilet or something.
Peanut: Booger wall. Poopy towels. Anus, anus, anus. You're a counseling goldmine.
Moon: Meh. You're cool ever since you quit humping the floor.
D: Oh, you know exactly what you did....
Mom: Three words...Make Your Ownie

I'm a little worried that my list isn't going to last very long, and I'll have to start making things up in order to avoid being "cured." If you have any stories of fucked up psychological issues that you wouldn't mind having co-opted for the sake of maintaining my drug habit, feel free to leave them in Comments.


If covering yourself from head to toe in feces could provide protection from Swine Flu, I wouldn't need to take any further precautionary measures

Me, naked in the bathroom, holding the towel I just used to dry my entire body, including my hair and face: PEANUT!
Peanut: What?
Me: Get up here, right now!
Peanut: What?
Me: Now!
Peanut: What?
Me: Why is there poop on this towel!?
Peanut: I didn't do that.
Me: Peanut....why is there poop?
Peanut: Mom! I didn't do it.
Me: Let me see your butt.
Peanut: It's not poopy.
D: Did you wipe your butt on the towel?
Peanut: I didn't. I only went poop once today and I used a wet wipe.
Me: It's poop. I can smell it. Let me see your butt.
Peanut, pulling down his pants: It's not poopy.
D: Wait, you took a shower last night, right? Which towel did you use?
Peanut: Oh.
Me: I'm going to go ahead and get back in the shower now.
D: Would you like a fresh towel?
Me: Yes, please.

I think I can now say definitively that this was not chocolate.


Add it to the list

Me, nursing the baby: Ow! Ouch! No! That's not nice!
Peanut: What did he do?
Me: He bit me.
Peanut, giggling: Where?
Me: My boob.
Peanut, still giggling: He did?
Me: Yes. You did the same thing when you were a baby.
Peanut: I did?
Me: Yes. And do you know what I did to you?
Peanut: What?
Me: I smacked you. Right on top of the head.
Peanut: You did?
Me: Yes.
Peanut, glaring: Ow. I hate you.


Reverse psychology? Really?

Peanut: Mom, can I have another piece of Easter Candy?
Me: No.
Peanut, squealing and stomping: Why-y-y-y?
Me: You didn't eat your dinner, and you already had a piece.
Peanut: Moon had two pieces!
Me: Moon ate his dinner.
Peanut: Mom! Please, can I just have one more piece?
Me: I said no.
Peanut, whining even more: I want one more piece of candy. Please. It's not fair. I want another piece.
Me, at the end of my rope: Fine. You know what? Eat whatever you want. Eat all of your candy. Go ahead.
Peanut, stomping off to his room, without candy: Hmmph!

An hour later....
Peanut: Mom, can I have a cookie?
Me: I told you, eat whatever you want.
Peanut, exasperated: Fine! I'll just eat a carrot, then!


The real question is, "Why is he peeing in the pool?"

Peanut: Mom will probably just tell us she's having another baby for her April Fool's joke.
Me: That's not even funny. Besides, we can't have any more babies.
Moon: Yeah. Remember? Dad had that ball surgery.
Me: What does a ball surgery have to do with having babies?
Moon: Remember, he just had a part taken out from his balls so now he can't have any more babies.
Me: Right. But do you know what balls have to do with having babies?
Moon: No idea.
Me: Do you want me to tell you about it?
Moon: I dunno.
Peanut: Yes, mom! How do you get babies?
Me: Moon, you really have no idea where babies come from?
Moon: No idea.
Peanut: Tell us, Mom!
Me: Have you ever heard of sex?
Peanut: No. What is it?
Moon, sheepish: Well, sort of.
Me: So, what do you think sex is?
Moon: I don't want to tell you.
Me: It's perfectly fine. We're having a conversation about it, there's nothing wrong with it, let's just talk.
Peanut: Mom, what is it?
Me: Moon, what do you think sex is?
Moon: Well, it's when a mom and a dad get naked and lay down in a bed together.
Me: And then?
Moon: I don't know.
Me: They're naked together and then the man puts his penis in the woman's vagina.
Peanut: I am NOT getting married!
Moon: Ew! Ew!
Me: It's not ew, and it's not only married people who have sex. Some people believe you shouldn't have sex until you're married, but I think it's okay when you are mature enough to handle it. Like when you go away to college and you're, I dunno, like 18, 19, 20 ish. In my opinion that's a good age to start having sex if you have a girlfriend and she is someone you love.
Moon: You still didn't explain about the balls.
Me: Oh, yeah. So, anyway, the woman has these little eggs inside her body, and once every 28 days she releases an egg and it's ready to be fertilized. So, in order to fertilize it, the man puts his penis in her vagina and this stuff called semen comes out of the hole in the tip of his penis.
Peanut: Really? The peehole?
Me: Yes. Same hole, different tube.
Peanut: Can I see a picture of semen?
Me, instantly terrified by the thought of Googling "semen" : No. It looks like snot, ok?
Boys in unison: Ew!
Me: So, this snotty stuff called semen is full of these tiny little things that look like tadpoles. They have long tails and they swim up the woman's reproductive tract looking for an egg to fertilize. If there's no egg, then no baby is made. But if there is an egg and a sperm swims into it, then a baby starts growing inside the mom's body.
Moon: That's disgusting.
Me: Yeah, well, guess what, buddy! There's more. When you get to be a little bit older, you might start having something called "nocturnal emissions," or "wet dreams." If you have too much semen in your testicles, it will need to come out, so sometimes it will come out while you're sleeping. That's why they call it a "wet dream." It doesn't mean you peed the bed. So, if this happens to you, you can just take the sheets off your bed and tell me they need to be washed. I won't ask you any questions, ok?
Moon: Ok. Hey mom, I had a wet dream once.
Me: What?
Moon, laughing: This one time, I had a dream that I was in a pool and I peed, and then I woke up and I had wet the bed.
Me: Not a wet dream. If there's no semen, you just peed the bed.
Peanut: Can we stop talking about this?
Me: Sure. Do you have any questions about anything else?
Peanut: Where does chocolate come from?


The "ee-er, ee-er"

Me, shoving a magazine article about teenage hormones toward D.: When you have a minute you really should read this. We need to be talking.
D, panicked by hearing the words "We need to talk": About us?
Me, pointing to the title of the article: No. With Moon. It says we should have already talked to him about....
D: Oh...(making a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, then moving it up and down over the pointer finger of his right hand)...about the ee-er, ee-er?
Me: And about the..."special" dreams.
D: Ahh.

Based on the quality of that conversation, I'd say our sex/hormones/masturbation/nocturnal emissions talk with Moon should go off without a hitch.


I never knew Jesus was into S & M

By the third time we crossed paths in the Shoprite, I was convinced she was checking me out. She tried a few times to make eye contact and even gave a little smile. She had a son, too, but he was a few years older than mine. Probably home sick from school. In the canned vegetable aisle, she confirmed my suspicions by walking over and introducing herself.
"Hello. My name is Stephanie."
"Hi, Stephanie," I said, shaking her hand, "nice to meet you."

Grocery store dating is nothing new to me. From our earliest days together, when Moon was an infant and D. and I lived in a one bedroom apartment in Novi, I would check out other moms at the supermarket.
"D." I would come home excited, "I saw another mom in the produce section! She was young and she had a little boy that was probably the same age as Moon. I think she wanted to be my best friend." D. would always laugh at me for trying to pick up new chicks while shopping. But being a stay-at-home mom can make finding friends a seriously difficult task. When you're in school, you hang out with your classmates. If you work, you pal around with co-workers. When you're a mom, your adult interactions are primarily with doctors, dentists & teachers. Not exactly BFF material. Though it's been over ten years since D. and I moved in together, I still haven't given up hope that I'll make a friend at the grocery store. So, when Stephanie pulled her cart up next to mine, I was ready to buy whatever she was selling.

"I belong to a Mom's group that happens to be getting together tomorrow," she began her pitch. "It's for moms of pre-schoolers, and if you'd be interested in attending we'd love to have you."

I had intended to join some sort of mom's group since moving to New Jersey, so I pulled out my iPhone, took down the info, and made plans to go. When I told D. about the group, he was concerned that it might be a recruiting effort for the church that hosts the meetings.

"It's a national group," I reassured him. "It's not a churchy thing. They just use the church meeting space. It says right on the website that it's for people of any denomination as well as for people who are not religious at all." I was just excited to meet a nice group of women who were in the same boat as me, and I was promised free brunch.

When I arrived the next morning, the brunch did not disappoint. Oven-baked french toast, brownies, and eggy casseroles crowded a room-length table. Childcare was offered, but not mandatory, and toddlers of various ages criss-crossed the room. I was immediately welcomed by several other women, and conversation was easy. I learned that the topic for this meeting was "discipline" and that there would be a panel offering advice on various parenting methods.

"Awesome," I thought. "I can always use other ideas to help with discipline." The talk began with a prayer. Praying isn't really my bag, but I wanted to be respectful so I popped a chunk of french toast (yum) into my mouth and bowed my head. When the panel was introduced, the two primary speakers turned out to be a couple who handled the youth ministry for the church and were about to have their fifth child.

"Well, I grew up in a house where spanking was the discipline method," the wife began. "So, when it came to disciplining my children, it was just natural for me." This was the part where I expected her to keep going and say, "to find other, more creative ways to teach my children." Instead, she handed the microphone to her husband who added, "Yeah, we start from a really young age with just like, you know, flicking them on the inner thigh when we want them to behave. And then, as they get older, we, well, we believe that spanking is what the Lord created the bottom for."

I looked around the room, truly expecting that the other moms in the room would be as horrified as I was. Instead, I found that most were listening intently and nodding their heads.

The husband continued, "We do not, however, believe in hitting the children with our hands. When I was in seminary, one of my teachers told me that if you hit a child with your hand, they can start to associate you with pain. So he suggested that you always use something else to spank them. We want our children to love and trust us, so we never hit them with our hands."

At several tables, womens' hands shot up in the air with questions. Relief flooded over me. Surely, this was the part where someone would protest that spanking is not ever a legitimate or useful discipline method. Someone would point out that study after study after study has shown that spanking is detrimental to children and should never be used for discipline.

When the first woman was called on, she asked, "What do you do if you're out in public and your children misbehave? You don't spank them in public, do you?"

"No, no," the husband replied. "That is the sort of situation where you have to get creative."

"Like, time-outs, or removal from the situation, or a distraction to diffuse the bad behavior?" I wondered.

"For example," he continued, "when my wife is at the grocery store, and one of the kids starts to act up, she's really good at this," he beamed at his wife, "and I'm sure some of you do this, too. What she does is, she pinches them. And then she continues pinching them while she whispers in their ear. It's very effective."

The moderator called on another woman with a question. "You mentioned that you never use your hands to spank. So, I'm just wondering, I mean, I grew up being paddled with a wooden spoon, so, what do you use to spank them?"

The panelists laughed. "Yes, kitchen utensils." The husband nodded. "We use a spatula."

"So, how did it go?" D. asked when I walked in the door afterwards. "Did they try to recruit you to come to their church?"

"A little bit" I responded. "They also told me I should hit the kids with kitchen utensils."

"What?" He laughed.

Later that afternoon, Peanut and Moon were fighting and behaving horribly. "Both of you, two minutes, nose on the wall," I barked. Peanut immediately put his nose against the wall, wanting his two minutes to be over quickly. Moon, however, continued to argue. "That's it. Get me a spatula."

"What, why?" Moon's eyes grew wide.

"Because I'm going to hit you."

"Yeah, right," Moon went to the drawer and got a spatula just to see what this was all about.

"Now, pull down your pants" I was stern.

"No. You're not really going to hit me with a spatula."

"Yes, I am. That's what they told me to do at church today. Now pull down your pants."

Nose still stuck to the wall, Peanut chimed in, "You don't even go to church!"

"Well, I did today, and they told me I should hit you guys with a spatula."

"Mom, you're not really going to hit me are you?" Moon was more curious and amused than fearful.

"No, I'm not. Now go put your nose on the wall."

At the end of two minutes, Peanut walked over to me, picked up the spatula and placed it in my hand. "Mom, hit me with the spatula."

"I'm not hitting you with a spatula."

"Do it, Mom!" He bent over.

"No. Stop it. I'm not hitting you with a spatula."

"Come on, Mom! Please. Just hit me with a spatula. Hit me!"

It's pretty unlikely that I'll be going back to another meeting of that particular mom's group. And I didn't pick up any handy new discipline tricks. But I do now believe that I know what happened to Jimmy Swaggart, Ted Haggard, Jim Bakker, Earl Paulk and Mark Foley. I'm guessing that their parents weren't using kitchen utensils for flipping flapjacks.


Yeah, but he thinks that about everyone

Me: I'm tired. I had to get up early this morning to drive Grandma to the airport.
Moon: She's home now?
Me: Yes. Are you going to miss her?
Moon: Uh, yeah.
Me: Really?
Moon: Mmhmm.
Me: You're not glad she went home?
Moon: No. Not at all.
Me: You don't think she's mean?
Moon: No. Peanut does.



While trying to do some prep work, I noticed that one of the little vintage nighties that I was getting ready to sell was super cute and looked to be my size. So I took my shirt off and tried it on over my bra.

Peanut: Mom, why are you trying that on with your bras?
Me, wearing jeans and a nightie: Because. I just wanted to see if it would fit me.
Peanut: Why are you wearing pink bras?
Me: I dunno.
Peanut: You hate pink.
Me: No I don't. I like pink just fine. You're the one that has a problem with pink.
Peanut: Why are you wearing that...that...thing?
Me: It's pajamas. A nightgown. I just wanted to see if it would fit me.
Peanut: It does.
Me: I know.
Peanut: It looks...well...it just looks good. You look good in that, Mom.

So, according to Peanut:
Mom in regular clothes = Fat,
Mom in lingerie = Good.

Phrases I uttered before eight o'clock this morning

-Ouch, ouch, ouch, no nipple pinching.
-Nobody "got served."
-Stop saying "retardo."
-Jesus crap! Would you please shut the hell up?
-Nobody's wiener is a little teapot, short and stout.
-No! We're not flashing our wieners. Put it away.
-Seriously. Put it away.
-Are you sure you don't want to walk to school today? You could leave right now.
-Don't you have to leave for school now?


Big, son. Very big.

Peanut: Hey, Mom, in class today we were talking about cow udders.
Me: Why?
Peanut: I dunno. We just were.
Me: Were you learning about cows?
Peanut: No.
Me: Was your teacher talking about cows?
Peanut: No. Everybody was just talking about cow udders.
Me: Ok. Cows have udders. That's where we get milk.
Peanut, giggling: We drink milk from cow wieners.
Me: Udders are not wieners.
Peanut: What are they, then?
Me: Boobs. We get milk from cow boobs.
Peanut: We drink milk from cow boobs.
Me: Furthermore, only girl cows have udders and only boy cows have wieners. Just like people.
Peanut, silent and thoughtful for a minute, then: Mom, how big is a cow wiener?

(That, that) Dad looks like a lady...

Peanut, watching D. leave for work: Mom, why is Dad wearing that shirt?
Me: What do you mean? It's his work shirt.
Peanut: It's pink.
Me: So what? He looks nice.
Peanut: No he doesn't. He's wearing a pink shirt.
Me: Dudes wear pink shirts.
Peanut: No. They don't. Girls do.


The Tooth Fairy doesn't take any crap

It was an eventful day in the Laugh, Mom household. I might even go so far as to say, Peanut's dream day. Why? Well, for one thing, Moon had to shit in Saran Wrap.

Due to some digestive issues, Moon went to see a GI specialist this week. The doctor gave him medication and ordered a series of tests. One of which required a stool sample. Ever since Peanut found out that Moon would, at some point, be crapping in a jar, he'd been like a kid on Christmas Eve. Peanut had been listening for the opening of the cupboard, asking each time I removed a container, "Is that for Moon to poop in?" He'd also been alert to Moon's bathroom behavior, trying to follow him in to the john each time in anticipation of the big event.

While the pooping was his main focus, Peanut's attention was drawn away from Moon's sphincter today by yet another exciting happening. The loss of his first tooth. It'd been hanging by a thread for weeks, but he refused to pull it out at home because he wanted to get the tooth keeper necklace they give to kids who lose their teeth at school. When I picked him up from class this afternoon, he proudly showed me the little tooth container hanging around his neck, and the newly empty space in his mouth.
"Are you going to put it under your pillow for the Tooth Fairy?" I asked him.
"No. I want to keep it," he insisted, adamantly.
"But, don't you want the Tooth Fairy to bring you money?"
"Nah. I'd rather just have my tooth."
"What are you going to do with a tooth?" I asked.
"I dunno. Just hang out with it I guess."

When bedtime rolled around, Peanut was in the process of weighing his Tooth Fairy options. While he was tantalized by the prospect of money and a visit from a magical creature in the middle of the night, he just really wanted to keep his tooth. Before Peanut could make a final decision and fall asleep, Moon put us all on notice that he had to crap. Having read online about best practices for catching clean stool samples (how's that for an oxymoron?), I ran upstairs with some saran wrap, and loosely draped it across the toilet seat. The process required a good bit of precision. Drape too taut, and Moon would end up with dirt ass. But too loose, and the log might slip into the toilet. Nerve wracking stuff.

Once the toilet was ready, I gave Moon the go-ahead for bombs away. The entire time he was in the bathroom, D. and I had to patrol outside to keep Peanut out. He was intrigued by the saran wrap, the plastic container, and most of all by the notion that we would be putting poop in the refrigerator. Seriously, the best day of Peanut's life.

While we were waiting for the good word from Moon, The Baby decided that he needed to nurse. Which meant that I was unavailable for sample collection and the chore would fall to D., thus making today perhaps the best day of my life, too. Though, I must admit, it was a little difficult for me to hand over control of the situation to D. (hmm...wonder where Moon got his anal retentiveness). Realistically, I know that D. is just as capable a parent as I am. Plus, I don't think you can screw up a stool sample. So, I hauled out my boob and left the crap work to D.

Not wanting to cheat Peanut out of his long anticipated experience, D. let him have a look at Moon's specimen. After getting a good look and uttering the proper degree of wonderous proclamations regarding its size, shape, and stinkiness, Peanut was satisfied with his first stool sample experience and back to worrying about his tooth. Worrying so seriously that he was in tears.
"Mom, I don't want her to take my tooth!"
"Then don't put it under your pillow," I tried to reason.
"But what if she steals it?"
"The tooth fairy isn't a thief."
"Yes she is. She's just going to come here, and she's going to see that my tooth isn't under my pillow, and she'll steal it AND not leave me any money."
"Look," I laid it out for him, "if you don't put it under your pillow, she won't take it."
"Mom, you don't know that!"

At a loss for any other way to explain to him that the Tooth Fairy wouldn't steal his tooth, I suggested we leave a note under his pillow. Peanut dictated, I wrote:
"Dear Tooth Fairy,
Please do NOT take my tooth. I want to keep it. But, if you want to leave me some money anyway, that would be cool. Love, Peanut. P.S. Do NOT take my tooth!"
The note finally calmed his fears and, tooth hidden in drawer, poop stashed in fridge, both boys drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, much to everyone's surprise, both Peanut and Moon found they had been visited by magical beings. Peanut had five one dollar bills tucked beneath his pillow, and his tooth still safely tucked away. And Moon found a dollar wrapped in a note in the bathroom:

We believe in the Poop Fairy.

Don't you?


Now it's starting to hurt my feelings

Moon: I know what happened to the Peanut Butter Cup ice cream.
Peanut: Me, too! Mom ate it all!
Moon: I know!
Peanut: And now she's just so huge!
Me: For the record, I finished the last of the ice cream. I didn't eat all of it. Jerks.


My vaganus is good for something

Looky, Daddy!, is holding his Third Annual Haiku Madness contest, and yours truly is a finalist. Or, my vagina is. Well, technically, my vaganus....

Anyway, I want to win, so, go vote. Unless you think someone else's haiku is better, in which case, you can just go to Hell.


Honesty is overrated

Peanut: Mom, how much do you weigh?
Me: 100 lbs.
Peanut: Really? Wow? That means you're short and plump.
Me: Actually, 100 lbs. is quite skinny.
Peanut: It is?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: Then how much do you really weigh?


Well, now that you mention it

Peanut: I have to pee!
Moon: I'm going poop. Get out!
Peanut: But I have to pee really bad. Get off the toilet.
Moon: I'm pooping!
Me, yelling from bedroom: Just pee in the tub.
Peanut: What cup?
Me: The tub. Just pee in the bathtub.
Peanut: Pee in Dad's cup?
Me, remembering that D. is spending the night at a hotel in the city with no kids to interrupt his sleep: Yes! Dad's cup!


Now I'm Principal Vernon

The second we got home from school today, the boys raced to jump out of the car and run in to the house, in a desperate bid to get to the computer first. They've been fighting since this morning about who would get to use my laptop to play Roblox after school today. I was going to let Moon play, as it was his turn, and I told him so. But as they raced toward the house, Moon decided to whip his backpack into Peanut's stomach in order to slow him down.

Me: Now you're not playing Roblox.
Moon: What? But he deserved it.
Me: No, you blew your chance. There was no reason for that, and now you're not playing.
Moon: Urgh!

With that, he threw his backpack on the ground and kicked it.

Me: What are you doing? Now you're grounded. No computer or video games for 24 hours.

Moon kicked his backpack and screamed.

Me: Two days. Do you want to keep going?

Moon: It's just not fair. He makes me so mad I just wanna do this!

Moon picked his backpack up again, threw it to the ground and then kicked it across the yard.

Me: A week. No video games for a week. Get yourself under control.

Moon: Arghh!!!! I hate him. Everything is his fault.

Me: You did this to yourself because you can't control your temper.

As soon as we got in the house, Moon ran up to his bedroom and slammed the door.

Me: Two weeks.

Moon started grabbing whatever he could find in his room and throwing it.

Me: This is ridiculous. Stop it right now.

Moon looked me in the face, and in defiance threw a toy across the room.

Me: A month. You may not play anything electronic for a month.

Moon, crying: Mom, I can't live.

Me: Seriously?

Moon waited for me to go downstairs, then slammed his door and resumed throwing things.

Me: Five weeks.

Moon threw things harder.

As I finish typing this, Moon is standing in the back yard staring at the sky because he has been banished from the house until he can get his temper under control. I'm hoping he'll be back in before dinner time, as I think it's supposed to get cold tonight, and he has a completely trashed bedroom to pick up.

Grandma, if you're reading this, when puberty hits, Moon is coming to live with you.

And then steam came out of my ears and my head exploded

This is the conversation I expected to have when I picked Peanut up from school today:

Me: So, Peanut, I need to ask you something.
Peanut: What?
Me: Why did you pee in your garbage can?
Peanut: What do you mean? I never peed in my garbage can.
Me: Are you sure? Because your garbage can was full of pee.
Peanut: I didn't pee in my garbage can. I wouldn't do that.
Me: Well, you did pee in your garbage can. Is it possible that you were sleep walking when it happened?
Peanut: I guess, maybe. Because I don't remember ever peeing in my garbage can.
Me: It's okay. Maybe you were just confused in your sleep and thought you were in the bathroom.

This is the conversation that actually took place when I picked Peanut up from school today:
Me: So, Peanut, I need to ask you something.
Peanut: What?
Me: Why did you pee in your garbage can?
Peanut: Ho ho ho! Because I felt like it!


And a triple grande mocha smartass

Peanut: Mom, can we go to Starbucks?
Me: No.
Peanut: I wanna go to Starbucks.
Me: No. We're not going to Starbucks.
Peanut: Why not?!
Me: Because I said no. We're not going.
Peanut: Hmph. Well, I guess you didn't take your prescription today.


Somebody's getting coal in his stocking

Moon: Mom, I kind of don't believe in the tooth fairy.
Me: Why not?
Moon: I dunno. I just don't.
Me: What about Santa? And the Easter Bunny?
Moon: I dunno.
Me: You don't know if you believe in Santa Claus? He only brings presents to kids who believe in him.
Moon: I think the Santa thing is really pretty ridiculous.
Me: Oh?
Moon: Yeah, I mean, come on. Flying reindeer? Seriously?


Move over Jonas Brothers

I always think it's nice to have music in the house. D. and Moon both like to play guitar, and Peanut bangs on the drums or piano. We do whatever we can to encourage their musicality.

Or, we did. Until they started writing their own songs.

Peanut and Moon in unison:
My wiener's gi-ant/
gi-ant, GI-ant/
My wiener's GI-ant/
It doesn't fit in my pants.

Me: Boys, just for the record, neither one of you has a giant wiener. You're both little boys with little boy wieners.

Peanut: Dad's wiener's giant.

Me: Especially compared to the two of you.

Peanut and Moon in unison:
My wiener's gi-ant/
gi-ant, GI-ant/
My wiener's GI-ant/
But Dad's wiener's bigger.

Maybe he can get consulting work?

Peanut: So, Mom, all of the Circuit City stores in New Jersey are closing?
Me: All of the Circuit City stores everywhere.
Peanut: Everywhere?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: All of them?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: Even in Michigan?
Me: Yes. Everywhere.
Peanut: Even in Ohio?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: So there are going to be no more Circuit City stores anywhere in the galaxy?
Me: Nope. None.
Peanut: But why are they going out of business?
Me: Because they can't make enough money to stay open.
Peanut: Why not?
Me: Nobody wants to buy what they're selling.
Peanut: Yeah, that's because their prices suck.

Mommy's medicine

Peanut: Why are we going to CVS?
Me: Because I need to pick up a prescription.
Peanut: For who?
Me: For me.
Peanut: Are you sick?
Me: No.
Peanut: Then why do you need medicine?
Me: It helps me be nice.
Peanut: Would it help you get me a blueberry muffin?
Me: Probably.
Peanut: Let's go pick up your medicine.

Barista wisdom

At Starbucks, I'm trying to place my order while getting Peanut under control. He is talking incessantly, repeating the same thing over and over, and knocking down food in the cooler.

Me: I'd like a Triple Grande White Chocolate Mocha.
Barista: Ok, anything else?
Me, eyeing Peaunt: A Xanax?
Barista, laughing: I don't have any kids and that's exactly why. It would have made me crazy.
Me: You know, this morning it's really more my husband than the kids.
Barista: Ah, that I can sympathize with.
Me: He took so long to get ready this morning that he missed two trains. Two! I had to drive him to Secaucus so he could get get to the city on time.
Barista: I wouldn't have done it. I would have let him be late. If he loses his job, oh well.
Me: He had to catch a train to Boston. And he's the breadwinner.
Barista: Ugh. I guess you had to, then.
Me: Uh-huh.
Barista: He's good looking isn't he?
Me: Very.
Barista, shaking her head and rolling her eyes: Men.


Should I be concerned

that my son took a little red sticker that said, "press here" and stuck it to his butt and then pulled down his underwear and said, "Hey Moon, press here!" and then said, "No wait," and took the sticker off his butt, then stuck it to his penis, then said, "No wait," and took it off his penis and stuck it to his testicles, and then shook with laughter while yelling, "Press here! Press my balls. Look, Moon! Press my balls! Mom, Press here! Press my balls!"?

Nah, that's totally normal, right?


And how

Peanut: Mom, remember how I used to take medicine for my asthma and allergies, but you had me stop taking them because you thought that's what was making me act bad?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: Guess you were wrong about that.


He's single-handedly paying for Billy Mays' retirement

Peanut: Mom, why are you taking your bras off?
Me: Because it was poking me and it hurt.
Peanut: You need to get Strap Perfect. That will solve your problem.
Me: What?
Peanut: You know. Strap Perfect. Like on the commercial. It comes with clear ones. It will keep your bras from hurting.
Me: Oh?
Peanut: It's only $19.95. Plus shipping and handling.

I should also point out that Peanut owns: Moon Sand, the Betty Crocker 100 pc. Cake Decorating Kit, Pixos, Blendy Pens, the Marshmallow Shooter, and Glitter Lava.

For all interested parties, Peanut's birthday wish list includes: Bendaroos, the Snuggie, Rocket Fishing Rod, and Big City Sliders. Thank goodness he hasn't seen the Burp Gun, yet.


Big brothers don't babysit because

their idea of childcare is bringing down all the pillows from the bedroom to make a "baby fort" (jail, let's call it what it is), to contain The Baby so they can sit on the couch and watch Spongebob.

The "F" word

Peanut: Mom, throw snow on me!
Me, shoveling: I don't want to throw snow on you.
Peanut: Mom, throw snow on me!
Me: I don't want to throw snow on you. You'll cry.
Peanut: Mom, please, throw snow on me!
Me: I'm not throwing snow on you. You'll cry.
Peanut: Mom, you're fat.
Me, stern: Peanut, that is not very nice at all.
Peanut: Well, you're not really fat, it's just, well, it's just your butt.

I threw snow on him. He cried.


Gas, grass or ass. Nobody plumbs for free

Plumber: My guess is, there's probably a pipe under your bathtub that's the old galvanized and is rusted through.
Me: So, you can just patch that, right?
Plumber, laughing: I can patch the ceiling when I'm done replacing your pipe.
Me: Do you take blowjobs in lieu of payment?
Plumber: Bitch, when's the last time you showered?
Me: Half off if I show you a little titty?

Okay, so those last three lines are bullshit, but, can I just say, "FUCK!"
I'm going to have to get a second job. Or, you know, A job.


I'd like a triple skinny vanilla mocha bitchslap, please

Starbucks lady: Oh, look, he's sound asleep. He looks all worn out.
Me: Yeah. He was up most of the night. He has a stuffy nose and only slept for a couple hours.
Starbucks lady: Aww, poor little man. Did you get any sleep?
Me: No. Not much.
Starbucks lady: Well, you look great for only having a little bit of sleep.
Me: Really? You don't think I look a little crazy?
Starbucks lady: Well, I didn't want to say anything...


I think we know which kid is most likely to end up in a jail cell in Tijuana

Moon came home from school today and rushed upstairs to secretly make me a birthday present.

Have to admit, the kid knows what I like.

Not to be outdone, when Peanut saw what his brother made for me, he said, "Mom, I made a present for you, too. Hold on." He then climbed onto the couch, perched on my shoulder and farted. "Happy Birthday, Mom!"


Um...toilet paper?

Me: Ack! Why? Why is there poop on the toilet seat? Why? Peanut! Why is there poop on the toilet seat?

Peanut: It's not poop.
Me: It's not poop?
Peanut: It's my wiener lint. I didn't have anywhere to put it.


WTF? Does nobody use Kleenex in this house?

Sitting at the dinner table:

Moon: Mom, why is there a booger on the wall?
Me: What? Where?
Moon: Right there. Behind you.
Me: EW! Peanut! Why is there a booger on the wall?
Peanut: What? Where?
Me: Right there.
Peanut: Oh.
Me: Get a tissue and clean it up right now.
Peanut, with a tissue: It's stuck.
Me: Use a wet paper towel.
Peanut, with a wet paper towel: It's still stuck.
Me, scraping it off with my fingernail: Oh! Ew! This is so disgusting. Put it in the garbage, right now. I'm going to barf.
Moon: Jeez. If you're going to put boogers on the wall, at least do it in a less obvious place.
Me: What?
Moon: Well, if you're going to put boogers on the wall, you should probably do it in a place that's less obvious.

I will be spending the remainder of the evening searching all of the "less obvious" places in my home for Moon's booger stash.


Reason #571 why you shouldn't take parenting advice from Laugh, Mom

Q: Dear Laugh, Mom,

My son is out in the snow, lying face down, sobbing, because he hates the stupid gloves I made him wear. What should I do?

A: Grab your camera, of course!

Well, laugh for a minute, first, then grab your camera. Then, when he's really pissed because you're taking his picture while he cries in the snow, laugh some more.


A synopsis of our super-positive and upbeat family holiday

I haven't posted much for the last two weeks, as I was on a semi-self-imposed computing hiatus while visiting family in Michigan. Did you miss me? I'm sure you expect that after two weeks of family togetherness I might have some complaints. But, let me assure you, I have only good things to report about our visit. Because, you know, I'm a super-positive person. So, here's what happened during our two weeks away:

*I'm happy to say that neither time nor distance have altered the warmth of my mother-in-law's feelings for me. In fact, she likes me exactly as much now as she did the day she found out that I was knocked up and her son was the Baby Daddy.

*We only got pulled over once on the Ohio Turnpike. The police officer was generous enough to give us full credit for every mile per hour we were going over the speed limit. The fine is going to cost us the low, low price of $160 plus an unspecified number of points.

*We didn't waste any of our money doing fun things like going out on a date or getting together with friends we haven't seen in a long time. Nope, we saved big time by sitting around the house bonding with family members who only mildly resented our presence.

*Peanut let me know that he does not have three middle fingers. Only two. They work perfectly. Which is great, because I heard that the bird is the word.

*Thanks to a brief conversation with his lovable scoundrel of an uncle, D. now knows that men can have an active and healthy sex life well into their sixties. And if you pick the right stripper a BJ will only cost you $120.

*As far as I know, none of my in-laws heard that monster fart I snuck upstairs to let fly, forgetting that the baby monitor was on.

*As far as I know, none of my in-laws heard the sex that D. and I had upstairs, forgetting that the baby monitor was on.

*Our four year old niece said "damn it." Which is doubly positive because, 1. It was funny, and 2. She didn't learn it from my kids.

*D.'s Burger King onion farts only made us want to throw up for, like, six of the eleven hours we were trapped in the car together.

Good times, I tell you. Good times.


Starting the New Year off on the right foot.

Me: Come here, Peanut, I want to tell you something.
Peanut: What?
Me, whispering in his ear: You look really handsome today in your new sweater.
Peanut, whispering in my ear: Thanks.
Me, whispering in his ear: I love you very much.
Peanut, whispering in my ear: I love you, too.
Me, whispering in his ear: You know what? You, and Moon and The Baby are my favorite sons.
Peanut, whispering in my ear: Oh yeah? Get a liiiiife.