Laugh, Mom

Well, that was really crappy of Moon? and the llama?

2011-04-13T09:17:00.000-07:00

Peanut, apropos of absolutely nothing: And then, he was done with what he was doing and he said he was going to do it and HE DIDN'T!
Me: Wha, huh?
Peanut: The llama.
Me: The, llama?
Peanut: Yes! Exactly. And he didn't.
Me: Could you possibly stop and explain to me exactly what the hell you are talking about?
Peanut: The llama. Moon said he would and he finished what he was doing and he still didn't.
Me: ???
Peanut, completely disgusted: Nevermind.

Next time I'm buying Sex and the City Band-Aids. Nobody will want those...

2011-04-11T06:48:00.000-07:00

Henny: Mommy! We hab Dora band-aids.

Me: Yes we do.

Henny: Can I hab one?

Me: You don't need one.

Henny: Yes I do.

Me: No. Don't waste the band-aids.

Henny: Can I hab one for my boo-boo?

Me: You don't have a boo-boo. Put those away.

Henny: Oh Mommy, you see dat?

Me: See what?

Henny: Watch Mommy. I tripped.

Me: You didn't trip.

Henny: Mommy look. Oh, I tripped 'gain.

Me: You didn't trip.

Henny: No, watch Mommy. Oh, I tripped 'gain.

Me: You don't need a band-aid.

Henny: Oh no, Mommy. Watch. I tripped 'gain.

Henny: Oh Mommy. I just hurt my arm...

Things are better than they used to be

2011-04-08T06:13:00.000-07:00

D. is gone for about eleven hours a day. Sometimes twelve or thirteen, but mostly eleven. He doesn't travel all that much anymore. He used to be gone for two or three days every week, sometimes more. But now it averages less than two days a month. Things are better than they used to be.

Dinnertime tonight was the same as last night, but shittier because I made Peanut cry. He sits next to me at the table and he has a chewing problem. The problem being that he shovels food in like he hasn't eaten all day and then chews with his mouth open. And he sits next to me. He's hungry. I understand. We eat dinner too late. The boys are starving by five o'clock and I really should feed them then. But that means I make dinner twice, or D. has to reheat a meal and eat alone every night. Neither situation seems like a winner to me. So, Peanut is starving by dinnertime. And he shovels food in. And chews with his mouth open. It makes me crazy, and tonight I yelled. I yelled. He cried. I am totally fucking this up.

Last night, D. and I talked about career. He offered praise and encouragement for the marketing work I'm doing. Told me I don't need the acknowledgement of being hired for a full-time job. That along with a steady paycheck and someone to tell you "nice work," being employed by someone else also comes with its downside (see first paragraph). Reminded me that self-employment is where it's at because I can set my own hours and take vacation when I want and do the work that I WANT to do and still pick the kids up from school every day. And I cried. Because picking the boys up from school every day and being alone with them for four to seven hours is exhausting. I love the crap out of them, but they're exhausting and I am tired. I'm tired of cleaning the same messes over and over, and wiping poopy butts, and not sleeping through the night even though my youngest child is almost three. And I'm tired of yelling.

I walk around the house whispering to myself, "it could be worse....it could be worse....it could be worse...." It could be worse. So much worse. Everyone's healthy. We have enough, everything. Food, clothing, shelter, wine. We have enough. D. is employed, I have awesome clients, we have a CABIN for pete's sake. A cabin. I have friends, both online and in real life. I even had a friend this week who just stopped by for margaritas. That never happens anymore, and it was so nice. D. and I have gone through some rough shit in the last year and a half, but I think we've come out better for it. We talk more. We COMMUNICATE more (though it's still a work in progress). He's a much more involved father. And frankly, less of a dick. I like him so much more when he's not a dick. We have so much to be thankful for. I have so much to be thankful for. And I am, I swear.

But this day-to-day? It's wearing me out. Things are better than they used to be. I'm just still so tired.

About twenty minutes. Only slightly condensed.

2011-04-07T06:00:00.000-07:00

There are approximately seven hours between picking the boys up from school and them passing out at night. This represents about twenty minutes. I'm not great at math, but I think that equates to this basic series of events occurring 21 times, every....fucking....day....

Peanut: Mom. They keep saying the "s" word.
Me, in the kitchen making dinner: Who?
Peanut: This song.
Me: Oh. Yeah. Don't listen to that.
Peanut: Okay.
Henny, coming downstairs: Mommy, I pee in my pants.
Me: Why did you pee your pants.
Henny: I dunno.
Me: Let's get you cleaned up. Moon, can you get some new pants for Henny?
Moon, rolling eyes: Urghhhhhh!!!!
Me: I know. Just help out, okay?
Peanut: What's for dinner?
Me: Greek salad with chicken.
Peanut: I hate that.
Henny: I heet that!
Me: You do not.
Peanut, poking and hitting Moon: Moon, play with me. Play with me! PLAY WITH ME!
Moon: Ow! Mom, he hit me!
Me: Don't hit your brother.
Peanut: He won't play with me.
Me: Of course he won't. You're hitting him.
Peanut: I want him to play with me.
Me: Nobody wants to play with someone who's hitting. Be nice.
Peanut: I don't want to be nice. I want him to play with me.
Me, bending over: He's not going to play with you if you're hitting him. Moon! Can you get some pants for Henny?!
Henny, hopping on my back: Piggy wide!
Me, falling over: No. No piggy ride. Get off of me. Moon! Get Henny some pants, please!
Moon: Urghhhhh!!!
D, calling on the phone: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Me: What, I can't hear you. You're breaking up.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I wan a talk a Dad. Lemme talk a Dad.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I wan talk a Dad. I need talk a Dad.
Me: I can't hear you at all.
D: Gurgle gurgle gurgle.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
Me: I'm going to go.
Henny: I need talk a Dad!
D: Gurgle gurgle bye.
Me: Dinner's ready. Come and eat guys.
Henny: I heet that.
Me: You don't hate that.
Peanut: I don't want any salad. I hate salad.
Me: Don't eat salad.
Henny: I don't wan chicken. I heet chicken.
Me: Don't eat chicken.
Henny: I spilled.
Me: Okay. I'll clean it up. Let me grab a napkin.
Henny: I lick it?
Me: No. Do not lick the table.
Henny: I lick it.
Me: Please stop licking the table.
Henny: I need salad. I wan scoop it.
Me: I'll scoop it for you.
Henny: I wan scoop it. I need scoop it!
Me: No. Let me do it. Here, here's a scoop of salad for you.
Henny: No. I need more. I need scoop it.
Me: If you eat all that I'll give you another scoop.
Henny: No. I wan scoop it. I can't eat all dis. It's too much.
Me: That makes no sense.
Peanut: Can I have a dessert?
Me: I do not even care.
Henny: I wan ice cream!
Me: Have ice cream. I don't care.
Henny: Can I have more ice cream?
Me: Don't care. Hey, we need to go pick up Dad from the train. It's raining.
Henny: I don't wan pick Dad.
Me: It's raining. We need to pick up Dad.
Henny: Can I bring my ice cream?
Me: No.
Henny: Why? I wan bring my ice cream.
Me: You can't take ice cream in the car.
Henny: I bring my ice cream.
Me: You're not bringing your ice cream.
D: Hi! How are you?
Me: Eh.
D: What's wrong.
Me: Just. You know. They're just.
D: Dinner smells good.
Peanut, running around corner: NAKEDSTUFF!!! NAKEDSTUFF!!!
Me: Where. are. your. clothes?!?!

Haitians totally need Shrinky Dinks

2011-04-06T07:01:00.000-07:00

True story: my therapist yawned today. It was somewhere in between telling her about my kid's totally normal, average, uneventful birthday party and talking about how I STILL don't know what I want to be when I grow up. Okay, maybe it wasn't so much a yawn as a barely audible sigh, but I could tell I am boring the shit out of her and she's only still seeing me because I look like a dollar sign. And I'm only still going because I'm not assertive enough to tell her that I probably don't need to see her anymore (And if she's reading my blog, "Hi!" also, we should probably revisit my "fear of confrontation" issues).

Before going this morning, I asked friends on Skype to make up something for me to talk about because I am fresh out of material. The best anyone could come up with was to tell her that I eat toilet paper (thanks ANGIE, glad you guys are so creative). Aside from a general malaise brought on by six months of shit weather and raising three sons that make me want to eat Xanax like Altoids, I'm freakishly normal from a mental health perspective. But that sigh? That hurts. Because therapy? It's like a cocktail party. I am there to entertain. And eat all the pigs-in-a-blanket.

When she sighed, I knew it was time to up my game. Haul out the big-guns. Really blow her away with the depth of my insanity. So, I blurted out, "Last week I paid $10 for Shrinky Dinks. For Haiti."

Have I mentioned that I am shit under pressure?

"You bought Shrinky Dinks? For Haiti?" She wanted to kill herself right then and there. I could tell. But when I commit to something, I see it through. So I spent thirty minutes telling my therapist about my hatred of the local Home School Association. That's the PTA, by the way. But here they call it the HSA. Because it's apparently classier to use a name that makes NO FUCKING SENSE.

I hate the HSA for multiple reasons including their fund-raiser abuse, their ridiculous committees, the expectation that every woman in town should want to put in 40 hours a week on meaningless projects for NO PAY, and the fact that it's a small-town social power play in the guise of "helping our over-privileged children." I hate them because they use the meetings as an opportunity to make other women cry. I hate them because last year at ONE SCHOOL (there are four in the district) they raised $110,000 through fund-raisers, of which the school got to keep $30,000. The rest went to pay for the shitty chocolates and over-priced wrapping paper they made our kids pimp out. I hate them because they're too crappy at math to realize that if each family sent in a check for $100/year they could do away with these stupid-ass fundraisers. I hate them because since I got home from therapy, I've gotten three e-mails asking for money via new fundraisers. (Except the one about the fundraiser at a bar. I can get behind that). But mostly I hate them because they made me buy Shrinky Dinks. For Haiti.

My therapist might as well kill herself. Or drink before our sessions. Because I am going to ride this HSA crazy train for weeks.

How about you? Is your PTA an objectives focused organization? Or a social clique machine? And does anyone else have one called the HSA? What does that even mean?

Why yes, I did just tell the world how much I weigh

2011-03-23T08:04:00.000-07:00

Care to join me?

P-Eu Strikes again

2011-03-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

I have this "friend." She is European. That probably has nothing to do with anything, but people have tried to assure me that she's not really rude, she's just "European" and somehow therefore has different standards for what makes one an asshole.

I've written about my friend, the Pushy-European (P-Eu) before. We have an almost three year history of her putting me in uncomfortable situations that violate my boundaries. I even succeeded in passive-aggressively breaking up with her shortly after Henny was born.

But, we live in a small town. And Peanut likes P-Eu Jr. And I had a shitty, shitty, really rough patch in my life last year which resulted in huge amounts of anxiety, introspection, and some major life changes. It's an ongoing process, that will hopefully result in me being better as a person and us being better as a family.

Somehow, somewhere in the midst of the super vulnerable time that was last year, P-Eu reappeared. And I let her. Because I was not in a place to turn down anyone's gesture of friendship. And because Peanut likes her son.

They've played a few times. Not as often as P-Eu would like, but at a level of frequency with which I feel comfortable. Having not seen each other for a few months, a playdate was planned for today. Peanut was invited to P-Eu's house after school. I agreed. Peanut was excited.

As we pulled up in the driveway, Mr. P-Eu emerged from the front door to greet his children. Who were at that very moment arriving home from school. With their teen male babysitter whom I have never met or heard of before. As Peanut scurried into the house to play with his friend, I asked Mr. P-Eu if I should call P-Eu in 30 minutes or so to see how the playdate was going. Mr. P-Eu told me not to bother, as P-Eu wouldn't be home and he, himself, would be in the attic working. But not to worry, because the babysitter was there. The teen male babysitter whom I had never met or heard of before, and whom nobody had informed me in advance would be watching my child. Have I mentioned that I absolutely do not allow male babysitters because someone I care for had a horrible childhood experience with a teen male babysitter?

I sat in my car for a few minutes, trying to figure out a polite way to say "Oh, Hell no, Mr. P-Eu!" I tried calling D. to see if I was overreacting. I started to drive away, trying to convince myself that it was fine, not wanting to disappoint my son who was already in the midst of playing with his friend. About 30 seconds away from P-Eu's house, feeling pissed off and vomity, my mom called.

I told her the situation. She said, "Oh Hell no. You go back and get him right now." And I did.

When I got there, Peanut and P-Eu Jr. were on the second floor, hanging out P-Eu Jr.'s open, screenless bedroom window. I'm glad I went back. I have to break up with P-Eu once and for all. And I need to learn to trust my instincts at all times. And to make my boundaries clear and insist that everyone in my life honors them.

For (once again) reminding me of those things, I am grateful to P-Eu.

I'm still totally breaking up with her.

Guess who ended up with pancakes...

2011-03-19T10:09:00.000-07:00

Henny: Mommy, I hab pancakes?
Me: No sweetie. I'm making waffles.
Henny: Okay. I hab pancakes.
Me: I'm not making pancakes. I'm making waffles.
Henny: No waffles. You make a pancakes.
Me: No pancakes. Waffles.
Henny: Okay. Yes. You make pancakes.

He's got the fever

2011-03-09T13:21:00.000-08:00

Moon: My throat was scratchy all day and now my stomach hurts.
Me, touching forehead: Well, you don't have a fever, so that's good.
Henny: I hab a Biebah.
Me: You have a...Bieber?
Henny: Yes. I hab a Biebah.
Me: You have a Bieber Fever?
Henny: Yes. I hab Biebah Febah.

Valid point

2011-01-27T13:10:00.000-08:00

Me: You need to get your fanny in here right now and do the cleaning up I asked you to do.
Peanut: I don't even know what I'm supposed to clean up.
Me: All this food the dog got into.
Peanut: Um, it's kind of your fault this happened in the first place.
Me: I'm not the one who left my lunch on the table.
Peanut: Yeah, but the dog wouldn't have had a chance to make a mess if we wouldn't have left the house. So, that makes it your fault.
Me: It doesn't matter whose fault it is. It just matters that we get it cleaned up.
Peanut: Um, yeah. It kind of does. You know. So we know who to blame.

Oh, sorry

2011-01-11T13:41:00.000-08:00

Laying in bed at night with Henny:
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mommy has penis?
Me, shaking head no.
Henny: Mommy has boob?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Da-ee has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Mahwee has tail?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Peanut has penis?
Me, shaking head yes.
Henny: Moon has penis?
Me: Yes. Daddy has a penis, and Moon has a penis, and Peanut has a penis, and Molly has a tail, and Mommy has a boob.
Henny, whispering: Shh...quiet. I seeping, Mommy.

Really? Dad and I just call that "Tuesday"

2011-01-07T16:16:00.000-08:00

Moon: Can I have a sleepover this weekend?
Me: No. But you can have one in two weeks.
Moon: Ok. Because I haven't had a sleepover since summer.
Me: That's not true.
Moon: Well, I've had K over twice, but I mean, I haven't had a GOOD sleepover. Where I go to someone else's house.
Me: So, you're saying it's not a good sleepover if it's at our house? I'm mildly offended by that.
Moon: Sorry, but it's not a good sleepover at our house.
Me: And why is that?
Peanut: Because I always annoy him.
Me: That's not a good reason.
Moon: Mom! He took off his pants, put on a mask, and ran into my room yelling "NAKED NINJA!" I don't call that a "good" sleepover.

And once again

2011-01-04T08:24:00.000-08:00

Peanut: Mom, do you want this little comb that came with your new mustache scissors?
Me: Nose-hair scissors.
Peanut: Whatever. Do you want this little mustache comb?
Me: No.
Peanut: You're not going to use it?
Me: No.
Peanut: Can I have it?
Me: Yes.
Peanut: Cool. I'm going to grow a mustache. I mean, not yet, but when I do grow one I'm going to comb it.
Me: Ok.
Peanut, leaning over my face: Do you want me to comb your mustache for you?
Me: No.
Peanut: Because I could, you know...

Yeah, I know

2011-01-02T19:02:00.000-08:00

Peanut: Mom! Why did you buy these mustache trimming scissors?
Me: To trim my nose hair.
Peanut: Oh, I thought you were going to trim your mustache.
Me: No. I need to trim my nose hair.
Peanut: So, you're not going to grow your mustache out?
Me: No. I'm not.
Peanut: You have a mustache, you know.

I didn't feenk so

2010-12-17T12:40:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-04T09:34:00.000-07:00

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

2010-11-02T14:59:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-29T06:01:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-10-15T06:59:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-10-01T13:08:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-30T20:56:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-09-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-29T10:00:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-09-27T11:11:00.000-07:00

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....

2010-09-23T15:44:00.001-07:00

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

2010-09-16T07:25:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-09-10T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-08T16:42:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-09-07T13:07:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-09-01T14:49:00.000-07:00

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.

2010-08-10T17:58:00.000-07:00

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

2010-08-03T15:16:00.000-07:00

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

2010-07-07T14:36:00.000-07:00

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....

2010-07-02T17:44:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-27T16:12:00.001-07:00

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)

2010-06-20T12:05:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-19T19:17:00.000-07:00

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

2010-06-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2010-05-24T07:43:00.000-07:00

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...

2010-04-17T14:44:00.000-07:00

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

2010-04-07T08:04:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-04T06:30:00.000-08:00

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

2010-03-03T14:17:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-26T18:58:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-25T17:02:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-24T19:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-11T12:32:00.000-08:00

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

2010-02-11T12:15:00.001-08:00

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

My uterus is a filthy whore

2010-02-02T07:00:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-07T17:39:00.000-08:00

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

2010-01-04T12:12:00.000-08:00

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.

It's Got to be Austria

2009-12-19T16:56:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-21T16:30:00.000-08:00

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 ?!?!

2009-11-17T05:07:00.001-08:00

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

2009-11-06T12:03:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-11-05T18:06:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-05T17:54:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-01T06:43:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-29T15:30:00.001-07:00

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

2009-10-22T15:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-17T20:32:00.001-07:00

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.

Aiming Low

2009-10-09T06:14:00.000-07:00

Check out today's post over at Aiming Low:

Could I be more socially retarded?

2009-10-08T12:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-03T05:40:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-18T19:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-30T17:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-08-20T17:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-16T16:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-30T20:08:00.000-07:00

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.

Gratitude

2009-07-30T16:27:00.000-07:00

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!

Probably

2009-07-24T17:48:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-07-15T12:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-01T17:21:00.000-07:00

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.

2009-06-29T13:34:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-12T05:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-22T09:57:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-19T12:46:00.000-07:00

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)

2009-05-19T11:49:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-12T17:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-03T18:13:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-29T09:19:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-04-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

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?"

2009-03-31T16:53:00.000-07:00

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"

2009-03-28T17:32:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-24T12:39:00.001-07:00

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.

Perv

2009-03-18T14:53:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-18T05:33:00.000-07:00

-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.

2009-03-16T18:35:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-11T20:13:00.001-07:00

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

2009-03-10T17:19:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-05T03:57:00.000-08:00

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

2009-03-04T05:03:00.000-08:00

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

2009-03-03T18:05:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-26T12:28:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-26T12:22:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

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.