Last night Ian crawled into bed with us at about 4:00 am. He curled up with me and went back to sleep.
At about 6:30 he woke up and was all cute and cuddly and warm and he said:
“Mommy, you are stinky!”
I sort of woke up: “What?”
Then he clarified: “You are smelly. You need to take a bath. Or a shower.”
Yes, all of this coming from someone that craps in his own pants.
Parenting is so charming.
Just trust me on this one.
Three holes took four people about 45 minutes.
Yes, we got a Wii for Christmas and it rules. I also got a GPS that has a British accent,* a new hot water heater, a new toilet and a washer and dryer. We don’t technically have the washer and dryer yet, but we’re going to pick them out this week. Does anyone have the Whirlpool Duet? If so, what do you think of them? And what is your favorite game on the Wii?
Also, is is sad that I am excited about my new toilet and my new hot water heater?
* Fine. I chose the British accent. His name is Daniel. It sounds like James Bond is telling me where to go. Well. Not really. But I still like my new GPS.
Me: You know who he looks like in with that metal bowl on his head?
Gabe: Who?
Me: That guy who underestimates the power of the dark side. You know, his lack of faith is disturbing.
Gabe: General Veers?*
Me: Yeah! That guy.
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Speaking of Star Wars, Claudia told me that if I was “eated by a lion” her new Mommy could be “Dark Vader”.
Sheesh.
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Speaking of new Mommys, Ian called me Grandpa the other day. GRANDPA? I mean, I know that I take after my Dad in a lot of ways but I think this was the first time I was ever actually mistaken for the man.
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*Upon further research, I realized that Admiral Motti was actually the guy who had a disturbing lack of faith in Darth Vader’s sad devotion to that ancient religion. But Gabe knew what I was talking about anyway.
Gabe: Where are the rest of those presents?
Me: I already wrapped them.
Gabe: Already?
Me: Yes. I am a very fast wrapper.
Gabe: Like Fu-Schnickens. Rabbit season, duck season, rabbit season, duck season.
Me: Word.
Ian is sobbing at the top of the stairs. He is laying there in a puddle. He is inconsolable.
Why?
Because Grandma is in the shower.
Seriously. My kid is losing his mind because he woke up and his grandmother (even though she is in town and in his house) is not immediately available.
My Mom is such a rock star around here.
Yesterday I forced the kids to take a nap with me. When Claudia woke up she only said one word: “Grandma”.
Normally I can’t get the kids off of me. Today I don’t even exist. Half of me loves the freedom. Right now I am typing and nobody is on me. Nobody is whining at me. I am actually alone in the office with the door wide open. It is lovely.
The other half of me feels like a second class citizen.
Oh well. Screw it. I haven’t changed a diaper since my parents got here.
As much as I like all of the Hello Kitty crap that someone somewhere is making a killing off of here is one thing I just cannot get behind.
The Hello Kitty Waffle Maker:
Ewww. The waffles look like little turds.
The guy in Target looked at me like I was insane when he saw me taking a picture of this with my phone.
True story: my real life friend Jeff is hiring Boy Shakira to “play” his friend’s birthday party:
Have you guys ever heard of swording? Seriously LHM is a prodigy at opening a champagne bottle with a knife. It is frightening.
What the F is a Nintendog? (not that I couldn’t just google it myself, but that isn’t nearly as amusing as asking you guys)
“Do NOT hit the microwave with that baseball bat”.
Seriously, nobody should ever have to say that again.
I think Oprah is stalking me.
First I start reading The Road and a week later Oprah makes it her book club suggestion, then the other day I mention Eat, Pray, Love
She is in my head!
Quick. Is she behind me right now? Is that her in the unmarked car across the street trying to peek at my book shelves?
Fine. I realize that these are not the most obscure novels written in English and that they were both most likely top 10 bestsellers already when Oprah recommended them. But I will tell you this right now - if this
Oh yeah, “and get up off ‘em” is a term I picked up off of Gabe a million years ago. I think it originated with ‘riding ones jock’. You know, getting off of one’s balls. Then again, it could mean something totally different. I’ve been accused of being a moron before.
I just tell stupid jokes, talk about Bob Guccione and trash the place.
THAT is why you shouldn’t let me guest blog.
Well, the joke still makes me laugh.
Every. Single. Time.
