Wednesday, November 26, 2008

A Connecticut Cranberry Massacre

I should preface by saying that I am not nor have I ever claimed to be a good cook. I'm a mediocre cook at best. I can throw a meal together that is relatively tasty, healthy and visually appealing. I'm just not creative or very experienced with many recipes. Versatile I am not.

I don't know what ever possessed me but I was at the farmer's market picking up a sugar pumpkin to make homemade pumpkin pie when I saw a bag of fresh cranberries and wondered if I could whip up some homemade sauce to boot. I found a recipe and started my mad experiment. No sooner had the mixture of water, sugar and cranberries started boiling when I found out how cranberries become sauce. THEY EXPLODE! And because they are red and plump, their little fleshy bodies get all mangled until you end up with a sauce that looks like a cranberry massacre. I never knew that sauce making was so violent!

I found this out the hard way when one popped out of the pot and hit me in the chest. The red juice and gooey berry innards made it look like a gun shot wound. Suddenly, everything went into slow motion and I threw my head back, clutched my chest and then looked around the room to find the shooter. I barely had time to realize what happened when they all started popping and red sauce spewed all over the stove. It looked like a crime scene in my kitchen.

Poor cranberries, you were very brave indeed. Just so you know, it was a noble sacrifice that will not go in vain. I will pause for a moment of silence before I slather your mutilated corpses all over my murdered, roasted turkey.

Monday, November 24, 2008

He Finally Did It!

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Ever since Bubba went back to school this fall, we have been battling him to go potty on his own at school. His teachers freaked out a little bit and tried to convince me to put him back in diapers. I told them to take that idea, smother it with lube, take a deep breath and shove it up their asses.

There was NO WAY IN HELL after the eight weeks of potty training that can only be described as miserable bloodcurdling anguish, that I was going to revert back to diapers! Instead, I opted to attempt training him at school. I went everyday, twice a day to make sure that he was going consistently.

He was squirrely at first. He screamed and fussed and went completely limp. But I persisted, bringing his favorite potty seat and offering him bags of fruit snacks as a reward. Well, that and telling him that if he wants to be a superhero like Spiderman, he has to use the potty. I use that same strategy to get Howie to clean the gutters. Eventually he would go for me but ONLY for me.

In his defense, even I wouldn't have gone for a couple of those teacher's helpers. They were scary! After a few weeks he went by himself but there was a hitch: I had to be within his line of sight. It was like the 2008 version of the Pavlov's dog experiment, except with a pre-schooler and his winky . Bubba's bladder would contract at the mere sight of me!

Again the teachers told me that this was a serious problem and they thought serious action needed to be taken. They wanted to form a committee to discuss his difficulties. I, being the respectful and modest person that I am, first put my thumb to my nose and wiggled my fingers and second, slapped my ass and then pointed to the exact spot where they could aim their puckered lips. Seriously? A committee? The boy will pee when he relaxes and is miserable enough to just pee already!

When I felt that he was comfortable with his surroundings, his teachers and the routine, I stopped going in. This gave him only two choices: pee or suffer. He chose the latter, preferring to dance around like a Nancy.

This went on for two months. I made sure he peed before he left for school and knew that as soon as he got off the bus he needed to be ushered into the bathroom so he could either piddle, drop the kids off at the pool or both.

Then, today out of nowhere I get a note from his teacher: Bubba was miserable and finally couldn't take it anymore so he went to the bathroom by himself and peed.

Imagine that!

Maybe we should form a committee to discuss how teachers who are quick to form committees always seem to miss the most obvious of strategies: patience!

Sunday, November 23, 2008

A Successful Moms Night Out


Okay, so it doesn't look that bad. One bottle of tequila (licked dry), a bottle of Margarita mix, one bottle of white wine, a few bottles of Smirnoff Ice, some Bacardi coolers and a topped off bottle of citrus Vodka. It doesn't sound bad until I tell you that only a handful of us were drinking and then we start to look all lushy.

Hey, we weren't that drunk. Really. We were still able to mold perfectly realistic (realistic for a porn star) penises out of play dough and open our dirty grab bags. Can you believe nobody wanted to take home the giant chocolate penis on a stick? Oh well, I suppose I can always throw it in Mamaw's Christmas stocking. *snort*

Saturday, November 22, 2008

Because I Like To Show Off My Nipples

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Every year around this time, when the weather gets cold, Howie and I throw down a major battle of the thermostat. You see, I would prefer that it would be slightly chilly so I can wear my comfy sweatshirt, flannel pajama pants and fuzzy socks. I would also like to not have to sell my kidney's to pay for the heating bills. He would prefer it to be 10 degrees less than they keep it in HELL. You know, sweltering to the point that you are sweating while you stand in front of the refrigerator with the door open!

I turned the heat down when he wasn't looking and he was less than thrilled:

Howie: "Why is it so cold in here?"
Me: *Looking around* "Huh, what are we talking about."
Howie: "You turned the heat down again didn't you?"
Me: "Well, yes. But it's not that bad."
Howie: "I can see your nipples."
Me: *Pretending to fondle myself* "What, and you don't like that sort of thing?"
Howie: "I can't. I'm too cold."
Me: "That's because you are walking around the house in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. Put some clothes on already, it's November!"
Howie: "I'll still be cold."
Me: "Breathe out. Can you see your breath?"
Howie: "No."
Me: "Then it's not too cold."


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When I was in third grade I joined my Yucca Girl Scout Troop. It took me ten more years to even know what a "yucca" was. Sometimes I can be thick. And easily distracted by shiny objects.

These yucca plants can be found all over Guymon and while I lived there I never paid them much attention but during this last visit I stopped to take a closer look. Their foliage sort of reminds me of a daylily except instead of yellow flowers it blooms beautiful bundles of white flowers.

Sadly, it is not the state flower of Oklahoma. That honor belongs to the Mistletoe. See, you learn something everyday. That fact also took me many years to learn. Because I always assumed the state plant was the tumbleweed.


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The town of Slapout, Oklahoma consists of a an intersection with a flashing yellow light, a service station which was demolished by a tornado and one other building. On their sign, they proudly display their booming population of 8 people along with a zip code although there was no sign of a post office. I do feel sorry for their postman, if they have one. He'd have to walk across the cattle guards, for ten miles down a long dirt road while dodging tumbleweeds blowing in the wind and trying to avoid wild coyotes just to deliver a grocery store flyer for a town 20 miles from Slapout.

Thursday, November 20, 2008

A Fiery Shit Storm

How did I get myself into this? It started innocent enough. And for a good cause. I found out that one of the moms from our club was in a bad situation and needed our assistance. I sprung into action and got the ball rolling for her to receive meals delivered and some other assistance but thought we should do more. I suggested that the proceeds from a fundraiser that we were talking about should go to this family.

We put an ad in the local paper and started making plans but when we sent everyone a heads up on the newspaper notice and such, a fiery shit storm ensued.

It started off just like any other storm; breezy with a hint of pressure in the air. But then the wind kicked up and before I knew it, bolts of lightning (aimed directly at my head) were raining down from the sky. The cause? The ad read that the proceeds of the fundraiser were going to kids in need from our town. And this was apparently unacceptable and offensive to people's sensibilities because what I clearly meant by wording it that way was, "please send me all your money so I can buy my myself an emerald encrusted push up bra and finally be able to get that gold leaf toilet seat I've always wanted."

Because I'm "self serving" that way.

So perhaps the wording could have better but apparently there are strict criteria as to what defines a needy child. From what I'm told, being abandoned, needing clothes, food and medical care and having no hope for a Christmas is NOT ENOUGH! Because after all, if we help this family we'd have to help EVERY family and we can't do that so we shouldn't do it at all.

So...I'm guessing that my proposal of a bake sale to fund my DDD implants is not going to go over that well. Some people are just so picky about where their money goes!

Why The Tooth Fairy Needs Financial Assistance

On Tuesday, Birdie had to have her two front bottom teeth pulled. A while back I noticed that her permanent teeth were coming in behind her baby teeth and the doctor assured me that while these shark teeth look funny, the baby teeth will fall out and everything will be fine and dandy.

He lied.

I should have known her teeth would be stubborn. After all, they are living within a being that eats, breathes and shits stubborn. We tried everything but they just wouldn't budge and when they started causing pain I took her in. They extracted the two bottom ones, leaving her with two gigantically gaping holes in the front of her mouth and what looks like a random tooth strangling from behind.

I was amazed at how well she behaved during the procedure. She did flail her feet around like spasmodic octopus arms but all in all, she was great. Probably because she was high on gas. At one point she looked over at me and was like, " you want a hit? And why are you spanking that midget in a cowboy suit." Afterwards, she showed me her two little chompers and I told her that the tooth fairy was probably going to leave her some serious bank!

They also had to put another cap on another cavity ridden tooth. Because our goal is to have all of her teeth covered in silver and then attach diamond studding so she can achieve a complete "ice grill".

Last night she put her teeth under her pillow but the "tooth fairy" had a hard time making the drop because she was awake for what seemed like the entire night. Howie went into her room to "check the heater vent" and then to "make sure the window was closed" and "close the closet door". Finally, he gave up on that and just went over, gave her a hug and made the exchange. She was over the moon this morning!

It's yet another milestone in her life. Losing her two front teeth. It's fitting that those two little teeth would come out at the same time, seeing as how they came in together as well. Farewell little chompers.

A picture of Birdie the day her two little teeth came in (9 mo).

A picture of Birdie yesterday. Toothless.

Public Service Announcement

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So I've had a few people ask me about being able to "subscribe" to my blog. I haven't been too great at offering it in the past. Not because I didn't want you to subscribe but because I'm a little bit HTML challenged. *covers face in shame*

I was finally able to find Feed Burner and have been miraculously saved. So this is how it works: Take a look over to the right. Do you see a heading on the top right side of the blog that taunts you (bully on the playground style) about subscribing? Click there and enter your email address and the letters that pop up that will allow me to steal your identity. No really, it will allow feeder to send you an email update anytime I post a new blog. So you won't miss a minute of my useless blabbering.

Wedgie Day

While getting dressed in the morning:

Birdie: "Mom, what day is it today?"
Me: "Thursday. Why?"
Birdie: "I knew it. I always get wedgies on Thursdays."
Me: "Me too!"

Because the earth rotates just slightly inverted on Thursdays which causes a strong gravitational pull that affects underwear everywhere. Everyone knows that.

Tuesday, November 18, 2008

A Heaping Bowl Of Pussy(cat)


When he's not trying to eat out of our cereal bowls or drink out of our toilet bowls, he is sleeping in our fruit bowl.

He's bowlerific.

Freaky Feet

Aren't genetics a strange thing? Whether it's Birdie's propensity to clumsiness (totally Howie's genes) or how Bubba looks out of the corner of his eye just like me...there is so much weirdness that we passed on to our poor helpless children!

Tonight I noticed that Bear has freaky feet. Just like me. And my mom. And my grandma. And probably every woman in our DNA sequence all the way back to that monkey who had snazzy toes.

Bear can pick things up with her feet. Tonight it was a diaper and a hair bow. Tomorrow she will be picking up fiery batons between her digits and twirling them in the air before catching (and balancing) them on her head.

My mom used to do this. She called it her "lazy cleaning". She would roam through the house picking up papers, pens, bowling balls. She'd spread her toes, clamp on tight and drag stuff through the house before putting them away. Again with her feet.

Poor Bear. She didn't stand a chance. If only I could ensure that she won't inherit Howie's ability to burp the alphabet!

In Search Of Penis Shaped Soap On A Rope

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Tonight is bachelorette night eve. I finally convinced the ladies from my moms club to let loose on our mom's night out and have a bachelorette night. Yeah I know there is that tiny technicality about us NOT BEING BACHELORETTES but you know, I'm a fierce rule breaker...a rebel without a cause. Actually there is a cause: TO GET SHIT FACED DRUNK. Oh, and to have the occasion to give my friends phallic toys stuffed into a gift bag.

Last night a few of us patronaged a local "adult store" in search of gifts that while still functional, will send flushed faces and a resounding chorus of nervous giggles throughout the crowd. I won't say what we bought but trust me, some husbands are going to mightay happay!

It's been a LONG time since I've been in a sex store. Now that I think of it, it's only like the third time I've been to one which is probably why we were there for TWO HOURS! Okay, in all honesty, we wouldn't have been there that long had a certain someone, I won't name names(Shari), hadn't spent all night in the McDonald's bathroom after a freakish milk/chicken broth allergic debacle which caused her colon to spasm with some fierce hostility. We bought party favors, grab bag gifts and then went browsing through the colorful aisles of graphically adorned toy packages.


There is some seriosly scary shit in there! We walked the aisles in a line, like a foursome of squirrely girls walking through a circus freak show tent. We moved slow, stayed close together and kept our hands and feet very close to our bodies. It's not that we weren't interested, just a little skiddish. It surprised me how non-challant the staff is about where they are and what they are peddling. It's like as soon as you walk in they're all, "can I interest you in some naughty lingerie? How about a video with some 'back door' action? No? Some nipple clamps? We're running a special on our silicon strap-ons!" And they say it like they've just offered to show you a wool sweater. Not a hint of discomfiture.

They need to run specials because a bottle of lick-able lotion costs like a MILLION DOLLARS (not including tax).

So anyway, here's to a crazy bachelorette night *raises glass*. May our cosmos be "stiff", our amaretto blow jobs plentiful, our buttery nipples sweet. And after it all, may we still have room for some sex on the beach.

Saturday, November 15, 2008

Where The Wind Comes Sweepin' Down The Plains


I'm absolutely positive that when Oscar Hammerstein II was writing the lyrics to "Oklahoma" he must have been looking at this exact same scene.

It is remarkably beautiful. So simple and so peaceful. Maybe it's because I am an okie at heart that I can see it's gorgeousness.

This right here, this is what I miss THE MOST about Oklahoma. I miss that complete openness, the feeling that you could take a deep breath and suck in twenty acres of fresh air. I miss the sky and how it seems to go on forever. It's as if heaven and earth are joined together at the horizon. I miss the summer storms when the sky turns every color in the spectrum and you can actually see the wind blow in from a town 10 miles down the road. I miss the smell of wet caliche and the taste of June rain. I miss the openness, the quietness, the stillness.

I often times feel claustrophobic in Connecticut. While I find it beautiful, there are times that I wish I could hop in my car and take a drive down a deserted dirt road just like I did when I was a kid and see this picture out of my driver's side window.

Guymon, Oklahoma


While going back to Oklahoma for my dad's funeral wasn't exactly a happy occasion, it was an opportunity for me to visit my old stomping grounds, Guymon Oklahoma.

Guymon can be found in the panhandle of Oklahoma sandwiched between Kansas and Texas and easily accessible to five states.

It wasn't exactly what one would call an "exciting" place to grow up, after many tumbleweeds can one count in a given afternoon. But it was a wholesome small town and no matter where I live, a part of me will always call Guymon home. It was nice to get back, to see people and things I hadn't seen in years and while so much of it has changed, so much of it remains exactly as I remember. I would never move back to Guymon but there is something about it that will always be special to me.

I would like to take the kids out there to visit next year. It will be good for them to see where I grew up and to also experience a change of scenery. If I take them during pioneer days they can watch their first rodeo and maybe even experience a spring storm. They have never known anything but a landscape full of trees and houses and buildings and people. It will be interesting to see what they do in the vast openness of the Oklahoma plains.

Memo To Kids: October/November 2008

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To: The Three Of You
From: Mom
Re: Better Late Than Never


So I may as well start off by offering my deepest apologies for being late on your memo yet again. I've been out of sorts lately. Even before my life turned upside down I seemed to be just one step behind my normal routine and I can't explain it. For the first time ever I've decided to combine two months at a time and while I acknowledge that I will never remember everything that happened during those months, I assure you that I will hit the hot spots, the top headlines, per se. Okay, so I don't know exactly why this is, but every two years or so, you decide to test me and your dad. It's like you're a trapped prisoner of war who decides that security looks a little lax lately and you try to escape without detection only to find out that while we may look like we are not watching, we have extra security measures in place that will assure that you will NEVER escape! Muah ha ha

We may leave the door open but whether it be the electric fence or the rabid pit bulls surrounding the perimeter, rest assured...we will catch you and the punishment will most certainly be painful! When you were two you went through a defiance phase where you refused to say "please". It took me a full 24 hours of mental warfare to get you to cave. Then when you were four you went through a biting/fighting phase and I had to make a point by taking away your favorite toy and making you give it to our neighbor. Now you are six and you decided to act out in school. This month alone you have been caught in a fight, sent to the principal's office for cohorting with other girls to meet up in the bathroom at circle time without permission and you set off the fire alarm so that the entire school had to stand outside. In the rain. And when I threw down some major punishment that included no tv, no computer, no radio, no Pokemon cards, no barbies, no Halloween parade at school and no trick or treating, your principal called me aside to tell me that I was being too harsh. I stood my ground. Because I had already laid the rules out for you and while I too felt like I may had come down too hard, I was not about to renege on what I had originally said. That would send the message that you can walk all over me and then I'd have to drive you to Nebraska and drop you off at a hospital and never return because it's legal to do that there and don't think that I wouldn't!

No, I stood my ground because I wanted you to learn a lesson. It's not so much that I want to be a hard ass, I just want to teach you a lesson now when it's easier to learn. Trust me, it's better to do it now than when you are 16. Your grandma Rainbow gave me some great advice when you were first born. She said, "kids are like little trees. You plant them, you water them, you love them but every once in a while for some weird reason they will start to grow crooked. It's our job as parents to catch it early and tie them to the ground so that they stand up straight. Eventually, their roots will grow strong and you can release them without the fear of them wavering because they have grown solid and stable." I really believe that and while right now I am not your favorite person in the world, I know you've learned a lesson. I never believed it when my mom said it to me but it really does hurt me more than it hurts you. But the Oreos and tequila seem to be dulling the ache.


Someday, when you are in junior high or perhpas high school, someone might ask you what you were doing the day that Barack Obama was elected as president of the United States and you can tell them that you stood in line with your mother for over an hour to cast her vote. And you felt the energy of the people, regardless of who they were voting for on their ballots. It was the most amazing thing to see the lines of people lined up and how magnificent it was to be part of that. You stood in line with me the entire time. You ran around the library parking lot, you kicked at rocks and touched people's cars and generally ran around like a typical three year old boy. You talked non-stop about dinosaurs and farm animals. You kept asking me when we were going to get to see the animals because you assumed we were going to a fair or circus. You saw the tents with people hovering about and made the mental connection that somewhere around the corner theremust be a monkey dressed in a clown suit and a tiger jumping through hoops. It really was a circus albeit without the animals!

So we were standing in line and the most amazing thing happened. The woman behind me asked how old you were and I replied, "three". She retorted, "wow, he speaks very well for a three year old." I stood there, dumbfounded because nobody had ever said anything like that about you before in your life. I've heard, "he's doing well for an autistic child" or "what's wrong with him" but never that you were a good speaker. I wanted to grab that lady, hug her and start sobbing all over her pretty green trench coat. For the first time ever, someone recognized you as just a normal little boy. And it was glorious. People no longer see what's wrong, they see what's right and I couldn't be prouder if you yourself had been elected president that night.

By the time we were at the end of the line you were flirting with a little girl in front of us. You were holding hands and exchanging phone numbers and planning to meet up for drinks. I only point this out because when I told your dad both of these stories this part is what he focused on...the fact that you could pick up a chick while standing in a line. He says that's a vital skill that every man must master and you my boy "got game."


Big changes in bear land. You started singing these months. And you learned your ABC's and you learned to count to 12 in English and 5 in Spanish. You learned how to put on your shoes although you always seem to prefer to wear your brother's Lightening McQueen shoes rather than your Dora boots. You learned how to take off your clothes, as evidence by the day that you stripped down to your birthday suit while in your crib and then flung poop across the room. That carpet cleaning bill is totally coming out of your college fund! You learned to say "please" and "thank you" and "I'm sorry". You learned to pedal your bike if only for a few rotations. We put your big girl bed in your room this month too because you are performing acrobatic moves from your crib that scare the shit out us. We tried to let you sleep in it but you screamed for about thirty minutes and I didn't have the will power to stick with it. That lack of will power is also why I finished off that bag of hot wing and ranch Doritos and will have to spend an extra forty thousand hours at the Y. You also tried going on the potty this month. You sat there for a good while, trying your best to summon some pee but alas, we were left disappointed. You were quick to remember how your brother was rewarded during his basic training. You know, we screamed at him and forced him to drop and give us 20 push ups and then scrub the floor with a toothbrush. No, we gave him fruit snacks every time he went successfully and you remembered that the cheers that followed a potty sit down were accompanied by snacks. We cheered and whistled and clapped when you hopped from the throne. Then you looked right at us and said, "treats now." On November 3rd you turned 2 years old. I can't believe you are two already, it seems like just yesterday that you were born! Your birthday fell on a Monday and we decided to have your party on a Thursday because it was a good day but on that day I found out that your grandpa Mando died. I considered going ahead and having the party but in the end, I didn't have it in me. I wanted your party to be fun and joyful, not boring and sad when I would inevitably start to drip tears into the fruit punch. So I delayed your party for a little while, I hope you understand. And while I will always miss grandpa and hate that he's gone the thing I hate the most is that you will never know the loving touch of a grandpa. Pappy died two years ago and with grandpa Mando gone there will never be occasion for you to sit on a grandpa's lap or have them sing to you or read you a story. They will not be around to feed you eat junk food or teach you how to fish. Not that either your brother or sister had much more time with either of them but I feel that more than anyone, you got the shaft. You will never remember them. While you may never know the smell of old spice emanating from Pappy or hear grandpa Mando's silly giggle, you should know that they both loved you and at one point, you were the center of their joy.

I promise that you will get a party this month...eventually. I want you to have a memorable second birthday filled with family and friends because while we have lost a lot, we also have a lot for which to be grateful. We have each other and amazing friends, many of whom are as close as family. Happy Birthday, my sweet girl. I love you little, I love you big, I love you like a little pig!

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

A Strange Sense Of Peace

For those of you who don't follow the blog over on MS, I wanted to update you on stuff that has been happening. I'm sure you've noticed that I've been m.i.a and there is good reason for it.

My dad passed away last Wednesday night and it's been hectic to say the least. He had been sick off and on for YEARS but I could feel in the last few weeks that he was starting to wind down. My aunt said that he was very happy last week. He packed up all of his things so he could move to Texas and said he was ready to go. Then on Tuesday he got kind of tired and droopy. He didn't eat or move most of the day, preferring to sleep. Then that evening he started to hallucinate and was pale. She took him to the e.r. and they suggested that he be moved to a better hospital in Kansas (he was in Oklahoma).

After the move, they attempted to do the best they could for him and also tried to do his regular scheduled dialysis the next day. They said he had too much potassium in his system and his blood was too thin to dialize. They tried everything but by 7:30 Wednesday night they said there was nothing they could do and gave him 30 minutes to 12 hours to live. He died at 8:05.

I lost both of my parents in 11 months and you would think that the loss would be devastating but really, there is relief. Relief that they are no longer sick, no longer in pain, no longer separated. It's not easy to be without parents but at the same time I am at peace with it. It's almost like the loss of my father brought the acceptance of both of their deaths.

Or maybe it's that I've suffered so much that I've reached my pain threshold. I'm cried out, and mourned out and suffered out. There is no place to go but forward. I'm at peace. I'm absolved of worry.

I will be continuing to write. And write a lot. On the plane to Oklahoma I wrote so much that my arm muscle cramped up and went to sleep. I have a lot that I need to get out so there will be a lot to read. Thank you for those of you who have been so helpful and understanding.

Monday, November 3, 2008

Would You Like Some Cheese With That WHINE

This morning I told Birdie to go up to her room and put on her shoes for school. A simple request, or so I thought. Within seconds I could hear her upstairs groaning and grunting and then screaming because her shoes would not cooperate with her in the way she thought they should.

I was annoyed because she was doing this across the hall from where Bear was still sleeping. Secondly, for some reason that kind of acting out has the same effect on me as, say...a telemarketer who JUST WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER. It's akin to someone taking my spinal cord and running it over a sharp cheese grater.

I took a deep breath and prayed that she would get her shoes on without any more hysterics. Didn't happen. I went from zero to pissed off in about 30 seconds and ran up the stairs. I wanted to first stuff dirty socks in her mouth to stop the screaming and then shake her till her brain no longer spoke "brat". But I didn't. I pushed all the anger and frustration down into that little secret place that also allows me to tolerate it when Howie leaves his spit cup within the reach of small hands.

Me: "Please put your shoes on quietly."
Me: "Stop. Take your time."
Birdie: *whining* "I caaaaaaaan't, Mooooooooom my arms don't work and I'm too tiiiiiiiired to put my shoes on."
Me: *thinking to myself* "Go to a happy place, go to a happy place, go to a happy place."
Birdie: *Screaming and throwing shoes*

Now, I'd like to say that I was a perfectly patient parent who walked over to her and said, "now honey, we don't behave like that, let me help you." Obviously that was EXACTLY what I should have done but did I?


I squinted my eyes and pursed my lips and said with my mouth all scrunched up, "if you don't stop behaving like this you will regret waking up this morning."

Yeah. I know. Great parenting, right? This little girl can drive me completely crazy with her grunting and groaning and especially the whining! Oh the whining. It is a surefire way to torture me. If I had to choose between listening to my children whine all day and going to hell I would choose GOING TO HELL.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

Why Bath Time Will Soon Take A Lot Longer

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In an effort to save time and sanity, I dumped all three kids in the bathtub together for tubby time. And it's becoming glaringly obvious that this will no longer be an option. First, they fought over space, elbowing each others eyes. Then, Bubba stood up and started swinging his junk around which brought a lot of attention from the girls. Birdie had penis questions. Bear had the uncontrollable urge to reach out and yank the thing from Bubba's body so that she could carry it around in her princess purse. By the grace of God he sat down before she ripped his family jewels from his body although she did manage to stick her finger in Birdie's belly button.

Yeah, a little too much touchy-feely if you ask me. Too many arms and legs and other body parts swimming through the tub. All I have to do is make it through the next few cold months. Then, when it's warmer, I can line them up outside and spray them down with the water hose.

Cold Blooded Murder

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Minor left us another gift on our porch this morning. Another mouse. He's left mice, chipmunks, rabbits, frogs, birds, even a squirrel!

He's not just a cat, he's a cold blooded killer! I took him to the vet and explained that I was worried that he would contract some kind of disease from his slaughterings. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to be eating his victims, just torturing and murdering them. And we all know that's how serial killers start out - by torturing animals. Next thing we know, he's going to be wetting the bed!

The doctor suggested he be inoculated for the AIDS virus. I didn't know that cats could get AIDS! First of all, if there is a vaccine for AIDS in animals, why don't we humans have one? Seriously, the cats get one before we do? And secondly, how exactly does a cat contract AIDS?

Do they get it from having too many one night stands and not using kitty condoms? Do they get it from doing too many intravenous drugs? Perhaps I should sit Minor down and have a little talk. Two topics: safe sex and JUST SAY NO! I mean seriously, if I don't he will be out there on the streets trying to score some high grade catnip and having unprotected sex with any cat that'll let him sniff her ass!