Wednesday, March 25, 2009
This morning I woke to Thing Two's sweet face standing at my bed.....
"Mom. Are you awake?"
"Mom. Are you awake?"
"Mom. Are you awake?"
Bliss. As I slowly open my eyes, dragging my mind from a sexy dream involving David Brinkley and a hot air baloon, her sweet face...
"Holy shit it's the alarm GOGOGONOW!!!" Thank God Pete is here to supervise the crisis.
I knock Thing Two and her tutu over in my mad dash downstairs, past Thing One, at whom I snarl, "YOU are in TROUBLE!"
"I didn't do anything."
"Maam? Is everything okay there?" says the futuristic box on my kitchen wall.
"Yeah, we're all right, it's just my son..."
"Please enter your bypass code, maam."
I am frantically trying to enter the bypass code while simultaneously digging in my ears with freshly cut fingernails in order to retrieve my earplugs.
Thing Two is yanking on my underwear to get my attention.
"Maam. The code."
"Mom! I want a kiss and a hug"
"Um, it's...I think it's...wait that's for..."
"Mama! I wanna KISS. You kiss me, mom."
"Maam, please state your security code."
"Mom, can I have a honey and turkey sandwhich for breakfast?"
"Mom! A kiss!"
"Maam, if you don't enter the bypass code we have to send a squad."
I just...wait here it...Oh ferchrissakes just send em. I could use the help.
You see, my kids do stuff.
Stuff for which there is no warning, no explanation, no adequate retaliation.
They ply the dog with goldfish crackers and then frame him for their petty crimes.
They wipe boogers on my walls.
They wear, walk on, and make tents out of my clean laundry.
They fight over who gets to say, "fubba fubba John."
They grab my skirt to break their falls.
They disable me with pretend laser guns.
They stick their grimy little mitts in my mouth when I'm not looking.
They spill stuff.
They wreck stuff.
They dump stuff.
They do stuff.
They use my sewing supplies for surgical tools.
They paint their own fingernails.
They set off alarms.
So by all means, please send a squad.
Every morning at 7.
And have them pick up some turkey, woudja?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Me: Isn't Daddy the best daddy in the whole wide world?
Thing One: Well, when I grow up, you're not going to need Daddy anymore.
Me: Why not?
Thing One: Because I'm going to marry you and we're going to have an open house.
Me: What about Daddy?
Thing One: Well, he can take a woman from the open house.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Me: Because you guys put on all your winter clothes, climbed into the pedestal sink in the bathroom, ran a humongous bubble bath, and danced a jig in it, sending a flood of soapy water, Bobby Brady-style, flowing down the stairs and through the bathroom ceiling, filling our kitchen light fixture with water and effectively leaving us without electricity in the kitchen for days.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
I was in rehab. There, I said it.
It's not that I'm not a fairly transparent person in most respects, it's just that, well, how do you go from "Redneck Pedicure" to "I'm an alcoholic and I was abstinent for 16 of the last 17 years and a week after I took that video I took a drink and couldn't stop.
Could. N't. Stop.
So I went to Hazelden. Wonderful place. Spectacular staff. Beautiful Minnesota setting, if I do say so myself.
I'd recommend it to any (other) mental defectives. I'm also writing about it. At the Hazelden Alumni site. Yes, I graduated. With honors. (<--That's a little alcoholic humor.) Fortunately, for me at least, I can also share it with you. Because every story contains experience, strenth, and hope. So you can bet your sweet ass I'm going to share mine. Over here. Can you see that okay?
Maybe someday the twain shall meet.
And hey, feel free to leave me comments, okay? Here, too.
Because neediness is the cornerstone of an alcoholic mind.
I just made that up.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
We are a family of five, including Lenny the dog.
Lets break it down:
2/5 of us have intentionally eaten crap
1/5 of us really likes eating crap, especially when served on a bed of Huggie Diaper, with a bit of nice au jus
2/5 of us have rolled around in crap for pleasure
2/5 of us have crapped in the backyard
4/5 of us have pissed in the back yard
1/5 of us have whipped it out and pissed at the park, right there in front of God and Everyone
1/5 of us have been to jail...more than once
2/5 of us are, for all intents and purposes, bald
1/5 of us is going to start preschool this fall
2/5 of us can barely hide our excitement at the prospect of a good, sound, preschool-street-justice-styled ass-whoopin' that 1/5 of us is likely to receive by the end of September
One could predict that the above statement might be true for another 1/5 of us
5/5 of us truly love Dan Zanes and Friends
2/5 of us lurked in the alley behind the Fitzgerald Theater in May for 45 minutes after the show so that 1/5 of us could shout, "Hi Dan Zanes! What kind of car do you drive?"
Thursday, July 31, 2008
At the park, for instance, where she whacks more people than Sammy “The Bull” Gravano. And you can't see it coming. There is no build-up, no provocation, just that whackin' hand reaching out to whomever happens to be on her radar.
It goes a little like this: "I'm poopin' mama. NOOOOOOOOOO!!! MY POOOOOOOOOOP!" Then she puts the smack down on some unsuspecting little thing in a Mickey Mouse onesie.
Yesterday she took a little girl's sandals. Marched around the park shrieking, "MMMMMMMMY sanals!" Tried to smack the girl when I gave her her sandals back. The girl was, like, twelve.
The other day a little boy about her age was looking her way. I think he was about to propose when, out of nowhere, she clobbered him with her slotted spoon. Before I could get to her, she got another good whack in. Why don't these kids run?? I made her say sorry, and she did. She hugged him, whispered, "Sorry," and clocked him again. She's like the Black Widow, this one.
Today she and I went on a little date to Super Target. She sat buckled in the cart, with her chubby little legs dangling below her sweetest sundress, and maintained a ten-foot clearance between us and anyone who happened by. "NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO. Bat's MYYYY cart!!!!! Bat's not wour cart!!!!!" Little kids cowered. Big kids cowered. One grown man openly laughed every time he passed us.
This went on the entire time we were in Super Target, mind you. I'm not even exaggerating. At one point she was distracted by a bag of rice cakes I put in the cart. "I wanna rice cake, mama. Peas?" Just to teach her a lesson, I said no. Just to return the favor, she said, "I. want. ARICECAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Here comes laughing man again. "NO. Bat's MYYY cart! Bat's MYYY ricecake."
How am I responding to all of this, you ask? I'm not. I am doin' Paul Revere in my head.
I clearly remember Thing One's first attempt at defiance. He was about 2, and when I suggested we get dressed, he stood in the corner and timidly asked, "No?" Then he just quit hearing or seeing me for about a year and a half.
Thing Two's "Nos" sort of slam onto my head from above. Like the A.C.M.E. crate, and I am Wyle E. Coyote.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Thing One: I'm gonna take my diaper off when you leave.
Me: Well, then you're going to sleep in a pee pee bed, because I'm not going to clean you up.
Thing One: Why wouldn't you clean me up?
Me: Because if you take your diaper off you'll have to (I know, I should've known) live with the consequences.
Thing One: Where do the Consequences live?
I assured Thing One that I wouldn't make him go live somewhere else for such a relatively trivial offense, and then commenced a protracted and somewhat winding explanation of consequences, with lots of false starts and colorful examples.
Like this one: Well, like if you're running with your milk and I tell you to stop and you don't, your milk would spill. That would be a consequence.
Thing One: No it wouldn't, because I would just do this--(places flattened hand securely on top of imaginary cup of milk, effectively creating a vacuum seal).
Thing One: Oooh I know, like if people run and they don't hold their hair, it might fall out, that would be a consequence!!
Me: Yup. Or how 'bout this: If you don't brush your teeth every day, they'll turn brown and fuzzy and fall right out of your mouth forever.
Thing One: And that would be a bad thing?
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Thing Two: I meed some saxxonmommm.
Thing One: Can we watch "Yo Gabba Gabba"?
Thing Two: We wash yogabbagabbababbagabbababba mama.
Thing One: I hurt my penis, mom.
Thing Two: My peanuts hurt, mama.
Thing One (After being told not to bang his fork on the table because it makes mom nuts): I'm just a nutty banger.
Thing Two: Nut bang! Nut Bang! Nut Bang!
Thing One: I wanna watch "Meet the Robinsons."
Thing Two: I eat the bomb, mama.
Thing One: "Hi, Emily!"
Thing Two: "Hi, Enema!"