I didn't feenk so

Henny (aka Toddler ): I see San-a!
Me: Ooh, I see Santa, too. Hi Santa!
Henny: Hi San-a! San-a gon bing Henny a pesent.
Me: Santa is going to bring Henny a present because Henny is such a good boy.
Henny: Ess. Henny good boy.
Me: Is Santa going to bring Moon a present?
Henny: Ess.
Me: Is Santa going to bring Peanut a present?
Henny: NO!
Me: I didn't think so.
Henny: I didn't feenk so, too.

I hate age 11

Me: Hey, I have an idea. How about we go to the barber shop this afternoon and you can all get haircuts.
Moon: I don't like my hair short.
Me: I know. But you really need it cut.
Moon: I don't want it cut.
Me: Even though you wrestle with it every morning in the bathroom?
Moon: I just put that spray conditioner on and it's fine.
Me: Have you seen a mirror lately?
Moon: I want my hair long.
Me: Moon, I am trying so hard to let you express yourself. I know it's your hair and you should have a say in how it looks. But, ohmygod I hate your hair!
Moon: You just think boys should have short hair.
Me: Not boys. Just you.
Moon: I'm not getting a hair cut.
Me: It looks like you have a dead animal on your head.
Moon: I like it.
Me: You look like Phil Spector.
Moon: I don't want a haircut.
Me: I hate your hair.
Moon: I like it.
Me: Go get me a Q-Tip.
Moon: Why?
Me: So I can clean the wax out of your ears.
Moon: That's not fair.
Me: I don't care. I'm not having the kid with the poofy hair and the dirty ears.

I guess I'm glad there wasn't a machete wielding psychopath at the front door

Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: WHAT?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me: I'm in the shower! I can't hear you!
Peanut, increasing urgency: MOM!
Me: What? Is someone here? Come up here! I can't hear you! Are you okay?!
Peanut: MOM!
Me, getting out of shower, dripping, sticking soaking wet head out bathroom door: WHAT?!
Peanut: Can we go to Target?
Me: No.

No, not exactly the same

Pushing Peanut on the swing at the park.

Me: Want me to do an underdog?
Peanut: No.
Me: Good. I'm too old for that. Grandma used to do underdogs when I was a kid. But to be fair, she was like, 21.
Peanut: What did Grandma look like when she was 21?
Me: Mmm...I dunno. I guess she had curly hair. Otherwise, pretty much the same.
Peanut: Even the same wrinkles?

Shouldn't that be on a shelf or in a drawer or something?

D:  What is that on your neck?
Peanut:  It's marker.
Me:  From two days ago.
D:  Come on.  Go wash it off.
Peanut:  Won't come off.  It's sharpie.
Me:  It will come off if you wash it a few times.
Peanut:  Fine.  I'll just wash it off with hand sanitizer.
Me:  You can't wash it with......(pause, as the lightbulb goes off in my head)......NO!  That's not hand sanitizer.  I mean, it's, that's, just, no.  No.
D:  What?
Me:  He was going to wash his neck with this "hand sanitizer."

Shake your love. I shake shake shake your love.

Me:  Peanut, would you mind grabbing me a Monster Energy Drink from the basement fridge.
Peanut:  I guess.
Me:  Thanks.

Peanut:  Here you go.
Me:  Thank you very much.


Peanut:  Um, Mom.  Monster Energy Drink isn't a soda, is it?
Me:  Yes.  It's just a soda with a lot of caffeine so you can't have it.
Peanut:  Right.  But it's not the kind of soda that has fizz in it, is it?
Me:  Yes.  It's carbonated.
Peanut:  Right.  But it's not the kind of soda that would explode if you shook it before you opened it, is it?
Me:  Go get me a different one.

Time to re-check his browser settings

Peanut:  Hey Mom!  When you click on a pop-up, it always takes you to a different site where it says you have to enter your ID.
Me:  Do NOT click on pop-ups.
Peanut:  I know.  I didn't.  But, this kid in my class, he has a much older brother, and HE clicked on some pop-ups and it took him to this site that tried to get his ID.
Me:  Do NOT click on pop-ups.
Peanut:  Oh, I know!  I didn't.  Besides.  It's always just a scam so people can probably come to your house and steal all your stuff.
Me:  Yes.  That is exactly right.

Do they make feline paternity tests?

Peanut:  Hey Mom!  I have something very surprising and exciting to tell you.
Me:  Ooh, what?
Peanut:  T's cat had three kittens.
Me:  Oh, wow.  They didn't know the cat was going to have kittens?
Peanut:  Nope.  They were just sitting on the couch one night watching TV and their cat started having kittens.
Me:  Oh my.  That really is a surprise then, isn't it?
Peanut:  Yep.  But, I just know that my guinea pig will never have babies.
Me:  No.  Your guinea pig will never have babies.
Peanut:  But she might.
Me:  Um, do we have a boy guinea pig?
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Then how would your guinea pig have babies?
Peanut:  I dunno.  She just might.
Me:  Peanut, didn't we talk about where babies come from?
Peanut:  I dunno.
Me:  We did.  Do you remember, it takes a boy and a girl together to make babies?  We only have a girl guinea pig.  No boy.  No babies.
Peanut:  Oh yeah.  Wait, then how did T's cat have kittens?
Me:  T's cat met a boy cat outside.
Peanut:  Who?
Me:  I have no idea.
Peanut:  I bet it was Slinky.
Me:  Probably.
Peanut:  Figures.

This is just getting out of hand

Debt collector on phone:  Yes, I'm from Blank Collections Agency.  Your husband's corporate AmEx account has been placed with us for collections.
Me:  Yes, I know.  He's working on figuring out his reimbursements and trying to get paid for them.
Debt collector:  He is no longer with the company, correct?
Me:  Yes.  That's correct.  He has a number of reimbursements that he never took care of, and he needs to get in touch with HR to figure out how to handle it.
Debt collector:  Well, we have a very close relationship with AmEx and his former company, so is there anything we can do to help you?
Me:  I"m not sure.  We spent yesterday going through credit card bills looking at expenses.  What we really need are copies of expense reports from former company so we can see what has been reimbursed and what hasn't.  I'm hoping there's not going to be an issue with them processing the reimbursements.
Debt collector:  They may be able to set up a manual access to the system so he can get those records.
Me:  That would be helpful.
Debt collector:  Let me see what I can....
Toddler, pushing button to hang up telephone:  Fucker phone?

Tossing the pigskin?

Me:  What color is the guinea pig?
Toddler:  Socceh ball pig.
Me:  Yes!  The pig looks like a soccer ball.
Toddler:  I keek socceh ball pig?
Me:  No, No!  We don't kick the pig!
Toddler:  I keek socceh ball pig.

High hopes...he's got...high hopes....

Peanut:  By the time the Toddler is my age, I'll be fourteen.
Me:  No, you'll be twelve.
Moon:  No, you'll be eleven.
Me:  No, he'll be twelve.
Peanut:  No, I'm seven right now, so....
Me:  Right.  And the Toddler is two.  You are five years apart.  When he's seven, you'll be twelve.
Moon:  And by the time the Toddler turns seven, I'll be 23 days away from driving.
Peanut:  And then you can drive me to school.
Moon:  No.  I'll drive myself to school.
Me:  In what car?
Moon, shrugging his shoulders:  I dunno.
Peanut:  You have to get a job first.
Sixty seconds of silence
Peanut:  I hope you don't end up a hobo.

Well, at least he's mastered his "R"s

Me, backing out of parking spot, nearly hitting a man on a bike who decided to whiz between cars:  Nice!  Stupid fucking guy on a bike.
Toddler:  Fah-ker bike?
Me:  No!  No!  Babies don't say that.
Toddler:  Fucker bike?
Me:  No, no!  Those are not words for babies.
Toddler:  Fucker bike?  Fucker bike?  Fucker bike!
Me:  Awesome.
Toddler, singing in a sweet little voice all the way home:  fucker bike....fucker bike....fucker bike

I have homework? That's bullshit!

First week of school.  The boys' homework consisted of bringing home a massive, crap-ton of forms for me to fill out and sign in duplicate.  The same damn forms I filled out and signed last year.  The same damn forms I filled out online so I wouldn't have to fill out the paper version.  Which, apparently, I had to do anyway.  Schools need to cut some budget?  Here's an idea.  Stop with the damn forms already!  But, as per usual, I digress....

In addition to all of the forms, one of Moon's teachers sent home an actual homework assignment for us to do.  A freaking essay.  I kid you not.  The assignment was to tell him about our kid in "A Million Words or Less."  I was tempted to just send him my url and say "have at it," but I didn't want to get called in to the principal's office.  So, here's my essay.  Moon, in far, far less than a million words.

Our son, Moon, needs a haircut.  He has this crazy, curly, wholly unkempt set of locks that makes his already oversized head look six inches larger in diameter than it actually is.  I’ve been insisting on a haircut for well over a month now; each mention met with a shrug of the shoulders and an utterance of, “but I don’t want a haircut.”  It seems Moon likes his hair long.  And curly.  And crazy.  Short, tidy hair isn’t cool.  It doesn’t fit with Moon’s idea of who he is.  And at age 11, Moon is all about figuring out who he is.

Until recently, Moon was happy to just be our kid.  The one that we made and shaped.  He was fine with believing whatever we believed.  Thinking what we thought.  Liking what we liked.  Just going with the flow.  Now, he’s happy to go with the flow, so long as the flow doesn’t get in the way of any of the super-cool stuff he wants to do with his super-cool friends.  If he were awake, he’d be rolling his eyes at us right now.  We are SO not cool.

The way we tell it, Moon is wicked smart, incredibly handsome, funny, completely disorganized,  a little cautious (and thank goodness for that, because his brothers are totally bananas), prone to anxiety, mature beyond his years, and occasionally mouthy.  At his core, Moon is a sweet, gentle, kind soul.  He doesn’t pick fights, he doesn’t play rough, he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

But, if you were to ask Moon who he is, he might paint a little different picture.  He would tell you that he’s an awesome gamer, a real life guitar-hero, and he can p3wn you on the basketball court.  He might also tell you, “oh snap, you got served.”  Even though you probably didn’t get served.  He seems to have a little trouble with the proper context for “servage.”

Moon has been having a massive growth spurt lately.  Needing new shoes every month.  Wearing jeans that are three sizes too big in the waist, just so they’ll be long enough to touch his ankles.  There are a lot of complaints of growing pains.  Sore legs.  Sore knees.  Sore feet.  What we all need to remember is that the growing pains aren’t just physical.  Every roll of the eyes, every sigh of exasperation, every utterance of, “but, you don’t understand,” is just another form of growing pain.  A little bump in the road on Moon’s journey through adolescence.  If we don’t mess up too badly, he’ll come to the other side of that journey a thoughtful, warm-hearted, intelligent adult.  And hopefully, somewhere along that road, he’ll stop off at the barber shop for a haircut.

That's love

Peanut, crying, feelings horribly hurt:  Mom, Moon said my craft project is stupid.  Now I don't want to do it anymore.
Me:  What?  Your project isn't stupid.  It's awesome.  I love what you're doing.
Peanut:  Moon says I'm obsessed.
Me:  So what.  You're doing something creative and super cool.
Peanut:  Moon think it's stupid.
Me:  Look, Moon is an ass.  He's on his laptop doing absolutely nothing productive, and you've spent two days doing this totally awesome, creative, amazing craft.  He doesn't know what he's talking about.
Peanut:  Mom, I think you lost weight.

Would someone else care to explain why this is inappropriate?

Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' tonight, tonight.  Santa's comin' tonight.
Me, ignoring him...
Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' tonight, tonight.  Santa's comin' tonight.
Me, still ignoring him....
Peanut, singing:  Santa's comin' in meh butthole, Sant's comin' in meh butthole.
Me, no longer ignoring him:  Um, no!  Not appropriate.  Absolutely not.
Peanut:  What?  Why is that inappropriate?
Me, at a loss:  Because you can't say butthole.
Peanut:  We say butthole all the time.
Me:  It's not appropriate because I say so.  And I'm the Mom.
Peanut, sighing:  I don't get you.

That would be an interesting system

D:  Aren't we supposed to get all that rain tomorrow?
Me:  From the hurricane?  Yeah, I think so.
Peanut:  We're going to have a hurricane?
D:  It's not going to be where we are.
Me:  We'll just get some rain.  We're too far inland to get a hurricane.
Peanut:  Oh, because we're by Pennsylvania?
Me:  No, because New York is in between us and the ocean.  Do you guys know about hurricanes?
Peanut:  Yes.
Me:  Do you want to watch The Weather Channel so you can learn about it?
Peanut:  I guess.  Sure.
Me:  Do you know how they pick names for hurricanes?
Peanut:  Whoever dies first.

He talks. I'm not sure what language he's speaking, but he talks...

Me:  So, what would you like for breakfast?
Toddler:  Ya Ya Yick.
Me:  Um...French Toast Stick?
Toddler:  Unh-Unh.  Ya Ya Yick.
Me:  Right.  French Toast Stick.
Toddler:  UNH-UNH!  Ya Ya Yick.
Me:  Okay.  So I'm going to go downstairs and get the French Toast Sticks.
Toddler, following me downstairs:  UNH-UNH!  UNH-UNH! Ya Ya Yick.
Me:  Hmm...how about if you show me what you want for breakfast.
Toddler, opening fridge and pointing:  Ya Ya Yick.
Me:  OH!  Okay.  Yogurt.  YO-GURT.
Toddler:  Yick Ya.
Me:  No, no.  YO-GURT.  Yogurt.
Toddler, nodding in agreement:  Yick Ya.
Me:  Yes.  Exactly.  Yick Ya.  Let's go upstairs and have your Yick Ya.
Toddler:  Foon?
Me, sighing:  Yes, I'll get you a spoon.

Oh. Ok.

Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  He's at basketball.
Toddler.  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  At basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy went to play basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at school.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at work.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's in the bathroom.
Toddler:  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  Daddy's at basketball.
Toddler:  Oh.  Ok.  Wheh dah-ee?
Me:  I don't know, but I hope he's bringing home liquor.

And, I'm going to just go ahead and kill myself now

I'll admit it.  I thought I was hot stuff today.  I decided to take a risk and wear a dress that was just a smidge shorter than my normal comfort zone, with shoes just a bit taller than I'd regularly wear on a Tuesday.  When I walked out in public today, I saw the head of every male I passed turn in my direction.  I did so great with my caloric intake that I didn't feel bad at all about taking the boys out for ice cream.  Because, I was clearly hot stuff.  

Cut to three hours later when two women show up to buy the Bowflex Dave put on Craigslist....

Skinny, tan, young, fit lady:  Oh, how are we going to get that apart to fit it in the car?
Me:  No worries.  Just a few bolts to undo.  Here, I'll start working on it.
Lady: No, no.  You shouldn't have to bend over.
Me:  Really, it's no problem.

As I'm unscrewing the bolts from her god damn, mother effing Bowflex...

Lady:  Wow, it's quiet around here.
Me:  Well, I have three boys, so not usually.  But one is sleeping, one is watching TV and the other is reading.
Lady:  Three boys, huh?
Me:  Yep.  Three boys.
Lady:  Well, hopefully this one's a girl.

Yep. Hot.  Stuff.

Schpeak up, Schonny

Peanut:  Mom!  I peed in the bathtub and the Toddler just put tub water in a cup and drank it!
Me:  Oh my God!  That's disgusting.  Drain the tub.
Peanut:  I poured it on him.
Me:  No!  I said drain the tub.  Do not pour pee water on your brother.
Peanut:  Come on, Mom.  Are you deaf?  I wouldn't pour pee water on him.  I SAID, "I farted on him."

They'll probably find this even funnier when they learn what "cock" means....

In the back yard with all three boys.  Neighbors are home.  There is a little league baseball game going on across the street.  Lots of local families within hearing range.

Me:  Come on, let me use the swing.
Moon:  No!
Me:  Come on.
Moon, laughing:  No!
Me:  Ick.  When is the last time you brushed your teeth?
Moon:  Mmm.....I dunno.  Probably this morning.
Me:  You have chocolate cake all over your top teeth.  Gross.
Moon, laughing:  I have chocolate cahk?
Me:  Cake.  I said cake.
Moon:  Chocolate cahk!
Me:  Stop it.  I said cake.
Peanut, laughing:  Chocolate cahk!
Moon:  I need to brush my chocolate cahk!
Peanut:  You have chocolate cahk!
Me:  Ok.  Can we please stop yelling chocolate cahk?
Moon:  You said it!  Listen I have a song.....

Honestly, I don't even remember how the song went.  But it had a lot of chocolate cahk in it.  And I totally will understand if the entire community bans their children from playing at my house.  But, the cahk was delicious.

Asshole

At the pool, Peanut:  Mom, will you hold me?
Me, snuggling him:  Sure.  Are you tired.
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Cold?
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Just want a hug?
Peanut:  No.
Me:  Are you peeing on me?
Peanut, laughing and swimming away:  Yes!

He knows what he wants (here's a hint...it's not lunch)

Me:  Do you want some lunchy?
Toddler:  Keys?
Me:  Yes.  Those are the keys.  Are you hungry?  Would you like some lunch?
Toddler:  Car?
Me:  No car.  Lunchy.
Toddler:  Keys?  Go car?
Me:  No car.  Lunch.  You want some lunch?
Toddler:  RAAARRRRR!!!
Me:  You could have just said no.

Shocker

Peanut:  Mom, you will never find the remote control!
Me:  It better not be anywhere near your butthole.
Peanut:  Nope.  It's in my penis.

Just hand me a stick of gum

Me, kissing Toddler:  Muh!  I keess you.
Toddler, fanning nose:  Ehhhhhh....
Me:  What?  Is my kiss stinky?
Toddler:  Poo.
Me:  What!?  My kiss is poo?
Toddler:  Keess poo.
Me:  My kiss smells like poo?
Toddler, pushing me away:  Poop kiss.  Gwoss.

The art of compromise

Me:  Get dressed.

Peanut:  No!  I am NOT going to school!
Me:  Yes you are.  Get dressed.

Peanut:  No I am not.

Me:  Yes you are.  Get dressed.

Peanut:  NO!  I'm not going.

Me:  Do you remember what happened with lacrosse?

Peanut:  Yes.  But I'm not going to school.

Me:  You are.  If I have to throw you over my shoulder again, you're going.  Now, if you'd prefer not to go to school naked, I suggest you get dressed.

Peanut:  Fine.  I'll go.  But I am NOT wearing underwear.

Me:  Fair enough.

Walked into a doorknob again...

D: That's quite a black eye.
Me: I know.
D:  Your arms are covered in bruises, too.
Me:  The Toddler keeps kicking the crap out of me.
Me again:  (yawning), man, why am I so tired all the time?
D:  Maybe it's cancer.
Me:  Probably.  Then I'll die and you'll have to raise these three kids all by yourself.
D:  No, it's not that kind of cancer.  It's just the kind where all your hair falls out but you still live.
Me:  Is it at least the kind of cancer where you lose weight?
D:  No.  You'll just have to have your asshole removed or something.

What? This is totally appropriate for a trip to the playground

I am 5'4" tall and have been since the fifth grade.

When I was a Freshman in high school, I weighed 96 lbs and wore a size 8.

When I met my husband, I weighed 143 lbs and still wore a size 8.

I chalk it up to ass and titties.

At 143 lbs., my body was boomin'. I used to have these black pleather pants that I wore out to every party. They were double awesome because guys thought I looked super hot and wanted to hook up with me, and because they didn't breathe at all, my super sweaty crotch guaranteed I wouldn't let anyone go past second base. Total virgin-whore dichotomy. Dudes love that.

Of course, I thought I was fat.

My college roommate and I used to call ourselves the "porky girls."

In an attempt to develop an eating disorder, I learned how to make myself puke, and was disappointed when I couldn't stick to it. I was a total asshole to myself.

I dated this guy who was a foot taller than me. Once, I made a comment about him being such a big guy and me being such a small girl. His response, after looking me up and down, was, "Huh. You are not all that small." We broke up because he got crabs (not from me). Karma, bitch.

With my first pregnancy I gained 60 lbs. I took my regular, pre-pregnancy jeans to the hospital because I thought I'd be wearing them home. My mother, in her infinite wisdom, brought me a size 18 jeans because she thought I'd be wearing THEM home. We were both wrong. The 18's were too small.

I did lose most of the weight and got down to a size 14, which I maintained with very little variation up until about four months ago.

Thanks to stress and adrenaline making it necessary for me to work out in order to function with some sort of normalcy, the weight has started coming off. I bought myself some size 12 pants and donated all of the 14's to charity. Last month, I was trying on clothes and the sales clerk insisted I should try on a 10 because the 12's weren't fitting right. Not only did the size 10's work, they looked great.

Today, on a lark, I decided it would be funny to dig some of my pre-pregnancy clothes out of the dark recesses of the attic. This shit hasn't seen the light of day in ten years. For the most part, they're totally dated, not my style anymore, and honestly, not even nice clothes. I don't know why I'm still hanging on to them.

What I do know is that I don't care if it's 85 degrees outside today. My ass still looks hot in pleather.

He's one to talk

Peanut: Hey, Mom! Remember in Paris, all those naked people?
Me: Wha?
Peanut: You know, all those people and children, with the penises?
Me: I'm not sure what you're talking about.
Peanut: When you were in Paris.
Me: You mean, the statues?
Peanut, laughing: Yeah, the statues of all the naked people.
Me: Yes. What about them.
Peanut: Why were they naked?
Me: Because they were statues of the human form. It's natural to not have clothes on.
Peanut: But, why did they have to have privates?
Me: Human bodies have privates.
Peanut: Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?

Sticks and stones

Me: Come on, Peanut, we have to go get your brother.
Peanut: But Mom, what if someone steals my stick?
Me: What stick?
Peanut: The stick that I just put in that hole.
Me: People don't really steal sticks.
Peanut: Oh yes they do.
Me: No. They don't. Nobody is going to steal your stick.
Peanut: What if the neighbor kid has been watching out the window this whole time, just waiting for me to leave so he could come take my stick?
Me: The neighbor boy has not been waiting to steal your stick.
Peanut: I bet he has. He should be grounded for that. Stick stealer.

Yeah, this is basically what my Friday night looks like

D., freshly showered after clearing snow: I want to just put on sweatpants, but I'll wear jeans instead.

Me: Wear sweatpants.

D.: But I want to impress you. I know how much you like it when I wear pants. Plus, I'm kind of gassy, and wearing sweatpants when you're gassy is like putting poop through a strainer, some of the fart just gets caught in there.

He followed this up by pulling down his pants and shaking his penis all over the living room

Peanut: Mom, can I have a hotdog?
Me: Go ahead.
Peanut: Mom, what's a beef frank?
Me: It's a hotdog.
Peanut: No, what's a BEEF FRANK?
Me: It's a hotdog.
Peanut: No, a BEEF FRANK. What's a beef frank?
Me: A hotdog.
Peanut: No, Mom, a beef frank. Is that like a pig's wiener or something?
Me, pounding my head on the table: No. A beef frank is a HOTDOG.
Peanut: Oh. Look at my penis. This is the naked man dance.

Not sure he should hang out with Grandma anymore

Peanut: Hey Mom! When I was at Blockbuster with Grandma, some person just did something so stupid. I was renting Carnival Mini Golf and some prankster put Cooking Mama in its place. What an idiot!

Me: Huh. How about if you stop calling people idiots?

Peanut: I will stop calling people idiots when those idiots stop making mischief in the store.

And I'd like to thank Mother Nature for kicking me in the taint while I'm down

So, as I mentioned previously, things have been a little shitty (a lot shitty) for me lately. And I hate to sound like I'm having a huge pity party (I AM having a huge pity party), because I know I'm fortunate in a lot of ways. My kids are healthy, we have a roof over our heads, the bills are all paid, etc... But I have clearly done something to piss off the universe (Ahem, sorry god for peeing in all those church parking lots, but it's basically your fault for giving me a tiny bladder and not putting enough public toilets in locations that would allow me to not pee my pants on the way home from the bar, but I figure I should apologize just to cover my bases in case this is all just a case of bad pee karma).

So, anyway, you know how when things are bad, you always think, "well, at least things couldn't get any worse," but then they always do? Yeah. That. So, things got fucked up, and I wanted to think they couldn't get any worse, but I had a strong suspicion that they would. And they did. And then they did again. And then they got even worse. So, I pretty much figured THAT had to be rock bottom. And it basically was. Until Mother Nature decided to get involved. Specifically, in the midst of my anguish & grief, I discovered that the bearded clam is turning into a silver fox (for those of you who aren't big on euphemisms, I FOUND GRAY PUBES!!!!). Motherfuck. Seriously? As if I'm not feeling shitty enough, I need to have it pointed out that my vagina is getting old? Thanks, Mother Nature. Thanks a lot.

Sadly, he takes after me

Me, looking out the window: Ooh, it's getting windy.
Moon: Where?
Me: Uh, outside.
Moon: Oh, phew.

My uterus is a filthy whore

I'm about to talk, in graphic terms, about my period. So you might want to stop reading right now. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case, read on (and also, eww).

So, the last two months of my life have been fucked up. I don't mean "my car broke down and I got a bad haircut" fucked up. I don't even mean, "I found out my uncle Kevin is a transvestite hooker," fucked up. I mean FUCKED UP. Alien-abduction-with-anal-probes fucked up. Beyond-Dr.-Phil-and-probably-too-fucked-up-for-Jerry-Springer fucked up. F-U-C-K-E-D-U-P. I have been through some crummy shit in my life (haven't we all?), and am a super tough cookie as a result, but the last two months have nearly broken me. It's been that fucked up.

I'm down 20 lbs. from living in a near-constant state of adrenaline (yeah! skinny jeans), my vintage business and blogs are in the crapper because I can't focus on any one thing (other than how fucked up my life is....I can focus on every aspect of that ad nauseum) for more than 30 seconds in a row, and I suspect The Baby has set up a meth lab in the basement, taking advantage of my distracted state to pad his college fund with ill gotten gains (and really, thank God one of them realizes they can't ride this gravy train forever).

To summarize, my life is fucked up and my kid is cooking up Nyquil to sell to all the baby crackheads at playgroup.

Which brings me to the dirty slut that is my uterus. Because my body is super-sensitive to hormone fluctuations, I don't have my period AT ALL while I'm breastfeeding. Between 18 months of nursing and a 9 month pregnancy, the crimson tide hadn't made an appearance in over two years. Until my life hit the skids. Then, suddenly I find myself doubled over with cramps and bleeding like an East-Coast-Thug-in-the-middle-of-a-bi-coastal-rap-rivalry (sorry, Notorious was on HBO last night) from my girly parts.

As if moodiness, cramps, and raging adult acne weren't bad enough, the real insult came about 14 days later when I FUCKING OVULATED. I mean, getting my period sucked, but I totally forgot the basic rules of biology which dictate that a menstruating woman at the peak of her child bearing years is fucking FERTILE. Are you kidding me, uterus? I mean, seriously? You really think, at this point in my life, it would be a great time to GROW A PERSON? Sonofabitch.

In practical terms, it's not really an issue so much as an annoyance, as D. had a vasectomy (*ahem* D. jerk off in a cup and take it to your ball doctor's office to confirm the vasectomy actually worked because apparently I'm fertile again and I totally don't want to have *another* accidental pregnancy because I can't handle any more kids and as a 32 year old married woman I don't want to have to get a schmushmorshion *ahem*). However, based on our conception history, I think it's possible for me to get pregnant just by being in the same room as D. In Trekkie terms, my uterus is a Klingon Destroyer, and sperm are the Starship Enterprise caught in a biological tractor beam. (Heh. Klingons. Uranus. Heh.) Wait, what was my point again?

Oh yeah. My life is fucked up. My uterus is a filthy whore. And D. needs to deliver a cup of spunk to the ball doctor. Get jerkin'.

G's up, Ho's down

Me: That is it! The next person in this house who insults someone else is banned from electronics for a week!
D: Here, Peanut. Put away the milk.
Peanut, whining: I can't!
D: You can too.
Peanut, still whining: It's too heavy.
D: If that's too heavy then you need to get down in the basement and lift some weights. Wimp.
Me: No electronics for a week!
D: What? That doesn't apply to me. You said the kids.
Me: No, I said the next person to insult someone. That includes you.
Moon: She did. She said person.
D: Come on. I said, "pimp." That's a good thing. The kid's a pimp.
Peanut: What's a pimp?
Me, hanging my head and muttering: oh. my. god.
Peanut: Hey Moon, you're a pimp.
Moon: No, you're a pimp.
Peanut, laughing: Pimp.
Moon, laughing: Pimp.
Me, still muttering: oh. my. god. What am I going to tell the school when they call?

I'm sure there's an audience for that

Moon: Blogging is easy. I could probably start a blog if I wanted to.
Me: Oh? What would your blog be about?
Peanut: My wiener. YEAAAAH!
Me: A blog about your wiener? Huh.
Moon: Day one...wiener lookin' good.