He's got the fever

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.

Oh, sorry

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"

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.

Time to re-check his browser settings

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

Do they make feline paternity tests?

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

Would someone else care to explain why this is inappropriate?

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

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

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

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

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

I chalk it up to ass and titties.

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

Of course, I thought I was fat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My uterus is a filthy whore

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm sure there's an audience for that

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

I couldn't make this shit up

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

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

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

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

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

Sign outside of store in Isla Verde, Puerto Rico:

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

Perv

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.

My vaganus is good for something

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

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

Well, now that you mention it

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