Wordless Wednesday – Every 6-Year-Old’s Got One

20 07 2011

See it?





That Just Blows

10 06 2011

Last week I was midway through Little G’s diaper change when he said, “Blow on my penis, mommy!”

I froze.

“What did you say, Little G?”

“Blow on my penis!”

In a panic-fueled moment, the thought flashed across my mind: Did something happen to my baby? What should I do? Who will I have to kill?

Then my sanity prevailed, I took a deep breath, I asked a few questions, and I puzzled it out in my mind. For your entertainment, here’s what I discovered:

Little G had some burly diaper rash that turned into a staph infection about two months ago. A vital part of treatment is to keep his rear end clean and dry, and I’m a terribly impatient woman.

Some of you parents may see where this is going.

I’d wipe Little G’s rear and then, in a hurry to get the process over with, blow and fan a little to dry things off before I applied the antibiotic ointment.

Yeah. Apparently Little G was unclear about what was happening there.

Okay, I thought, I know what happened, I’m not stressed. This is actually pretty funny, right? Except he keeps saying it. Every few days when I change his diaper I suddenly hear, “Blow on my penis, mommy!” Now I’m convinced he’s going to ask a babysitter to blow on his penis and the next thing I know, child services will be knocking on my door.

They’ll see the humor in this, right? Right?!

It’s probably for the best I didn’t teach him to say, “Hookers and marijuana!’





For The Child Who Loves Fava Beans

7 04 2011

“Mommy, what should I be for Halloween?”

Really, I can’t imagine why this is in the Amazon warehouse.

Ages 6 – 10.

“Mommy, are we having liver for dinner?”

*And yes, I’m aware they spelled Lecter wrong, but that’s the least of the problems I have with this product.





This Year I’m Sealing All the Doors

22 02 2011

Today Little G’s speech therapist brought the Goldman-Fristoe articulation test. Basically, she showed him pictures, he said words, and she marked down whether or not he articulated them correctly. (Result: he did just fine for a 2-year-old. Hooray!)

At one point she showed him this picture:

“Balloons!” he immediately yelled. Perfect. That’s one of the words we were looking for.

“Who’s holding the balloons?” asked the speech therapist.

“Santa!”

Oh, hell no.

Just so y’all know, if and when Santa starts dressing like a clown, he’ll no longer be welcome in my home.





Every Breath You Take

15 02 2011

Big G will be watching you.

Today the boys and I made a little Valentine’s Day craft. Yes, I know Valentine’s Day was yesterday. Shut up. I’m doing a frickin’ craft, people. You’re really going to quibble over one day? My plan was to make a cute little craft thingy (so technical!) for an older widow in our neighborhood.

Big G had other plans.

Remember T, Big G’s preschool girlfriend? Well, making cute paper crafts for widows is well and good, but making something for your adorable blond crush…obviously that’s even better.

Our compromise: a heart for the widow, a heart for T. Never let it be said I’m not a romantic.

So there I was, cutting out little squares of tissue paper in pink, red, and white (I know! It was like Invasion of the Body Snatchers!) and Big G said, “Mom, I think we should use pink. T really likes pink.”

“Okay,” I said. “I thought we’d actually use all three colors.”

“But we should definitely use pink. She really likes pink. I know, because she was wearing a pink dress yesterday.”

I may have giggled internally a little bit when he said that. I mean, really. He noticed what color dress she was wearing! That’s adorable!

Big G noticed I was cutting out white squares and said, “She likes white, too. Her pink dress had white dots on it. We should cut out white dots so we can have pink with white dots like her dress.”

Dude.

Either Big G has eidetic memory or he’s precariously close to moving from “adorable” into “little stalker.”

Nah. He’s still adorable. Giving crappy valentines to people he doesn’t like…making clothing-coordinated valentines for the people he likes.

My adorable, diabolical little stalker.





That’s Not What I Meant

10 08 2010

Today I took the kids to Farm Country at Thanksgiving Point. My friend, “Karen”, and I like to take our kids to Thanksgiving Point on Tuesdays in August because admission is only $2 per person. Yes, we’re awesomely cheap, though not so cheap that we’re willing to wait 45 minutes in the line for the Museum of Ancient Life.

Telling you where we went serves no purpose other than to share with you my favorite find:

It’s the elusive Emo Alpaca!

We also learned how chores get done around the farm:

It's not just me, right? This is weird.

And how many children can ride a cow at the same time:

Farm Country was fun and all, but apart from Little G biting some random little girl (whoops), there really wasn’t enough embarrassment for my taste, so we packed up the kids and went to McDonald’s. This particular McDonald’s has a Musical PlayPlace, which is a nice departure from the regular ways kids try to kill each other at indoor playgrounds.

Again, beside the point. I’m not doing well at staying on topic tonight.

When we walked in, the kids immediately gravitated to the display of toys available in Happy Meals. McDonald’s is currently doing one of those promotions where they have different toys for boys and girls. I ordered a Happy Meal for Big G. The teenage boy taking my order asked, “Boy or girl?” Of course, Big G is a boy. But I consulted with him, and he decided he wanted a Littlest Pet Shop toy instead of a Marvel Comics toy. So I’m forced to tell the cashier, “Girl.” He and his coworker, teen boy #2, snicker a little bit. Whatever. I order a second Happy Meal. “Boy or girl?” I look at Little G. “Girl.”

At this point the two teenagers are practically guffawing, and I’ve started to giggle a little bit as well. It’s pretty ridiculous. I finish my order, and teen boy #2 says, “Do you need a toy too?” I laugh, and say, “Sure, I’ll have a boy toy.”

I stop. I look at them. They look at me. “Erm…I didn’t mean that like it sounded. Really.”

Teen boy #2: “I don’t think we sell those here, but I can check in back.”

Why yes, I did inadvertently proposition a teenage boy (or two) today. Thanks for asking!





A Little Scared

10 07 2010

When I woke up this morning, I found a piece of dog food in my bed. The dog doesn’t sleep with us. He’s not even allowed on our bed.

So either the dog was on the bed during the night and I just didn’t notice, or…?

Maybe one of the boys put it there before I woke up? That doesn’t make sense, because my children don’t do anything silently. Seriously. Not even the bad stuff.

I’m 99.9% sure I didn’t put the dog food there. Thank heavens I don’t take Ambien, or the percentage might be lower.

I’m going to bed before this post gets any weirder. I look forward to reading your theories on dog food migration.

*Well, la-de-da, Mr. WordPress Proofreader who’s never had insomnia. I’m ever so happy for your Ambien-less existence. Jerk.