Upon Blogs

My blogroll is pretty short. Why? Because I have a thing.

That thing is that I don’t like your kicky layout. If I have to click anything more than the “Older Posts” button (a cut in a post every now and again is fine), I am too lazy to put in the effort and I won’t do it. Especially if I have to click for every single effin’ post. Nope. I’m just going to click away and put my reading effort into someone else’s writing effort.


I was in the bathroom earlier and heard The Mommy chasing Thing 3 around. He kept saying “You can’t get me!” and running around the downstairs while she assured him that she could indeed get him. I finished my business, came out of the bathroom slowly (because that door could be very well lethal to an anklebiter) and heard “Can’t get me!” and Thing 3 barreling toward me. I merely put my hand on his head and said “I got you” in a rather deep, deadpan voice.

This apparently freaked out The Mommy because she didn’t know I was in there. I remain perplexed as to how she missed hearing the toilet flush. Thing 3, of course, giggled like a Teletubby and ran off again.


Video Games Are Awesome

All the crap a lot of politicians talk about how terrible and life-shattering video games are have never seen anything like the scene in our office currently.

Thing 1, Thing 2, and The Daddy are all contentedly playing Minecraft together on the same server. Working together, importing their various buildings, and yelling at each other as the enemies approach to “LOOK OUT!” and whatnot.


Reason for the Season

It is officially time.

Yes, I am aware Thanksgiving has yet to pass. I also have a Christmas Hello Kitty that is on perma-display in my room.

But. The Things have just had the Fear of Santa instilled in them for the year.

This is the one good thing about the Christmas season. Instead of sending the kids to bed in their rooms for naughtiness or being put on yellow (school discipline structure we’ve adopted at home to stay consistent), we now get to tell them that Santa sees their naughtiness and will take action accordingly.

You see, we have snowglobes. Beautiful, Christmas-y snowglobes. Which are magic. No, really. Don’t believe me? Why else would the TSA ban them? Because broken magic leads to crazy delays and people being sent to Portland when they should have gone to Pittsburgh. Snowglobes are fuckin’ magic, okay.

Santa sees the Things through the snowglobes. And it doesn’t matter where in the house they are in relation to the snowglobes…Santa can see everything. All the time. It’s a direct link to the North Pole. And if you don’t think there’s a whole mission control center for this type of thing…well, not my fault Santa hasn’t brought YOU anything for years.

Thing 2 would not stop rolling his eyes during lunch today. He interrupted me for the last freaking time and I finally stated, in a rather doom-y tone, “Your input is not required.” Oh, THAT shut him up. For like, fifteen seconds, but it was fifteen seconds of blessed silence. And then he rolled his eyes. “If you keep rolling your eyes at me they’ll get stuck that way.” The Mommy had enough by that point and OUT CAME THE SNOWGLOBES.

I look forward to the ensuing frustration meltdowns. Because you cannot argue with Santa. Santa is a honey badger and does not give a shit about the extenuating circumstances in your head. So be good, for goodness sake!


I know that there are a lot of parents of babies and toddlers out there whose parents depair of their ever keeping clothes on. Babies and toddlers just shed everything they can, including their diapers. Well, let me assure you of something–

–it doesn’t get better.

I was watching the Things this evening while their parents were out at the store and such. Thing 1 ended up jumproping with a large stuffed snake wearing her long-sleeve t-shirt and absolutely no trousers. She’d ditched them somewhere. Thing 3 tends to keep his clothes on throughout the day, but Things 1 and 2 will always pitch them if they can find reason to and simply run around in their underroos, or even naked as a jaybird if they think they can get away with it.

So to all of you parents who hope it will get better, I’m very sorry. Because it doesn’t. Heck, even *I* hate clothes. Never can wait for when I’m alone in my room and can ditch them. The next generation just wish to be nudists.

Someone else knows my life!


Except that I don’t know why she thinks it’s just toddlers. Things 1 and 2 are in school now and none of this stops with them!

Snippits. This is my life, in sound byte-worthy chunks.

Me: Wake up in the morning, go to do the normal morning things, discover someone’s dropped a hairbrush and an entire TP roll in the toilet. …Must be a Monday (Go to other bathroom.)
The Pet Housewife likes this.

Me: …who taught the Things The Viking Song?! ANSWERS, PEOPLE! Explain to me how and why I just heard one of them scream like a Viking?!
The Daddy: Shrek 2 has the song, and it was on the radio in the car the other day. Immigrant Song, btw 😛
Me: Viking Kitten Song, grr.
Longtime Bud: Immigrant Song, off of Led Zeppelin III, 1970. Or, if you prefer, “Viking Kitten Song.” LOL!

Me: The three year old has just appeared at my door on all fours, wearing only his pullup, with a bag of fruit snacks in his mouth. “What in the name of SANITY, son?!” I can’t even.

Me: Why the hell am I awake so early? Oh. Destructakittens. Who push laundry baskets left on the stairs DOWN them and scream while doing so. Grrr. Tea, shower, breakfast.

Me: Had to clean toothpaste off the back of roommate’s head tonight. No idea how it got there. The children are immensely talented.


Thing 1 was just running merrily about the house when she learnt the Big Rule about why we don’t run indoors. Yep, she tripped and got rugburn on her knee and, from what I could tell of the sound, a wall straight into her noggin.

The Daddy dropped everything to come hug her, and I blearily wandered out of my room (I’m ill today) in pure confusion to find both of them sitting on the hallway floor hugging as Thing 1 is doing the top-of-her-lungs wail. Thing 3 comes up, sees his sister crying, and crouches down to hug her, saying “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

Thing 3 is also the one who is very much made of rubber and as long as you don’t make a big deal of it when he has bumps and scrapes, will “shake it off” and go on with his day.

Sometimes the little ones make me smile.

Of course, then Thing 1 got up, demanded a hug during which she rubbed her face in my shirt (snot!) and then demanded to be allowed into my room (which is a Thing-free zone), which restored everything to business as usual, but for a moment there, it was adorable.

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