I would like to meet the person responsible for the Pokemon empire and chew up his face while twisting off his nipples and kneeing him in the groin. Of course, I assume there was a Y chromosome involved because no female would've sat down one day and said to herself, "I know! How about a cartoon... no, wait, a cartoon AND TRADING CARDS... based on magical creatures who live to fight and can say nothing more complicated than their own names--over and over again--and who periodically evolve into some other, equally annoying form. But we need a few humans. How about a 10-year old who's...
Before I launch into today's antics, a bit of housekeeping. 1) I lied, yesterday, when I said I'd talk about the not-a-gibbon that Joss sent me. She called dibs, but isn't ready to do it; so--a thousand apologies, but I must remain silent other than to say OH MY GOD IT'S SO COOL AND I LOVE HER. Sorry to be a tease. 2) Come closer, so that I can whisper in your ear and not piss off the fates any more than, you know, I already have. I think the current antibiotics are helping. Shhhhhhh! Do not tell! But I feel slightly less like wretched and stabbing-pain-ful dog vomit than I have for the last...
I had about a million things I needed to do this weekend. Fortunately, the kids were spending the weekend with their father, which theoretically freed me up to get lots of things done. Unfortunately, I'm fighting a whopper of a cold. Fortunately, I didn't let that stop me from beginning my training on Saturday morning. Said training being heading out BEFORE DAWN like CRAZY PEOPLE to see how far we could walk before our noses succumbed to frostbite and fell off. (Answer: Farther than we'd thought.) Unfortunately, I seem to be sicker today, after having done that. Go figure. All of which is to...
(Special! Bonus! Friday! Mini-entry!) Me: Hey buddy, I hear you got a time out at recess. Monkey: ... yeah... Me: Wanna tell me what happened? Monkey: No thank you! Me: Yeah, um, it's not really optional. Chickadee: Yeah, Monkey, that was a returgical question. Me: Rhetorical. And not exactly. Chickadee: That's what I SAID. *huffy sigh* Me: Okay. Monkey? What happened? Monkey: We were playing a GAME. Me: And...? Monkey: Miss Teacher thought I tackled C. Me: Did you? Monkey: No! Me: Okay. Did C... fall down? And then maybe... you fell on top of him? Monkey: It's not like he was CRYING or...
In case you haven't noticed, The Sarcastic Journalist gave birth to a scrumptious little boy this week. I want to bury my nose in his little neck folds and breeeeeeathe for a while. Stop looking at me like that. Go tell her congratulations and pretend I don't have a weird baby fetish. My own children, well, they won't do at all. They are big(ish) and no longer all that cute and they often SMELL and also they know how to irritate the living crap out of me. I've decided it's time to institute some changes around here, for sanity's sake. Monkey needs to spend some time in a room with nothing...
I had a conference with Monkey's kindergarten teacher this morning. You have to understand that EVERYONE loves Monkey. You can't NOT love Monkey, because he is generally a very happy kid and he's got this smile that lights up a room and he's got that joy joy joy joy down in his TOES (which is even deeper than his heart) and aside from the fact that I happen to be his mother, I'm telling you that EVERYONE LOVES HIM. [You know I'm not being biased, because I will also happily tell you that while many people enjoy Chickadee, many others find her to be prickly and weird. Personally, I enjoy her...
MONKEY IS A FAT DOG written on the fridge in magnets is hilarious according to all parties involved. CHICKADEE IS A FAT DOG written on the fridge in magnets is devastating, cruel, horrible, and leads to long discussions about how CLEARLY no one here is a dog and without that belt your pants would fall down so OBVIOUSLY you're not fat and by the way, didn't you start this? Please make a note of it.
Yin and yang. Dark and light. Despair and hope. Republican and democrat. Chocolate and vanilla. Chickadee and Monkey. Deep, dark pit of angst and... hours of self-entertainment with plastic hair. (Spelling and syntax are, unfortunately, correct.) Yeah, I didn't really know they were opposites, either. But then, there's a lot I didn't know before I met my kids. [By the way--seriously, you people are so pretty. But naive. Lord. While I appreciate all of the kind and praising comments I received on this last post, you don't all really believe that I always handle my flailing children with such...
Take one bouncing birthday boy. Add construction-paper crown (don't skimp on the glitter). Feed cupcakes for lunch. Bring home to stack of presents and promises of pizza and cake. Stir with friends. Top with ice cream. Take cover. I believe we can declare today a roaring success. In the sense, of course, that there were three children actually roaring, here, this evening, at various intervals. My friend's daughter Boing and Monkey were playing together SO nicely, and Chickadee--who is quite miffed that today was not HER birthday--would periodically interfere in a way that would cause mayhem,...
