I know, it’s been forever.

Sorry, holidays, travel, depression, nothing happening, depression, you know the drill.

So this just happened, okay. Thing 2 has proudly told The Mommy earlier today that the 1990s are “the olden days” and that there was no electricity then.

Thing 2: *bangs on my door really hard*
Me: THAT IS NOT A KNOCK.
Thing 2: *makes with a better type of knocking*
Me: Yeeeeeeessss?
Thing 2: How did you get to school when you were young?
Me: I drove myself, sweetie. (Hey now. High school is long enough ago.)
Thing 2: But how were there cars?
Me: You’d be surprised. My car out there? Was built in the 1990s.
Thing 2: ….oh.
Me: Yeah, I just broke your brain, didn’t I.
Thing 2: *closes the door and goes hollering off to his parents* SHE SAID THAT HER CAR WAS BUILT IN THE 1990S…

Yes. Yes, the earth was cooling in the 1990s and we all rode dinosaurs. Naturally.

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SAME OLD SLOG

So apparently the boys got into a tussle. Thing 2, since he is a diva, had a hysterical crying fit at the top of his lungs so we would all know he was upset. Later, dialogue:

Thing 3: *wanders by, whining slightly*
Thing 2: *hollers from down the hall* “AND DON’T BE A DICK!”
The Mommy: “WHAAAAT?!”
Miss Adventure: “NEVER SAY THAT WORD AGAIN!”
Thing 2: “But I already said it!”
The Mommy: “Do NOT say that word ever again!”

I can’t claim responsibility for this one. It’s not part of my usual vocabulary.

A new year, the same old slog.

Overheard:

The Mommy: “Pull up your pants!”
Thing 1: *laugh*
The Mommy: “I see crack! Crack kills, remember that!”
Thing 1: “Crack kills. GOT IT!”

My life, ladies and gentlemen.

Christmas problems

We’ve got some allergies in the household that mean we don’t really keep cookies here.

Apparently Thing 2 will not accept leaving Santa marshmallows. “But he NEEDS milk and cookies!”

This is why Miss Adventure hides her candy. We’re going to leave Santa candy bars, hopefully, since I have them.

 

Also, Thing 1 is funny. The Destructakittens have been banished to the garage, so I can leave my room door open. My own cat, an elderly, cranky thing with a few medical problems (who stays in my room 24/7), eats far higher quality food than the kittens do. So if they see an opportunity to sneak in and have a snack, they WILL. Usually my door is closed. So I’m watching the NCIS marathon (weakness of mine) and Thing 1 comes skipping by using a belt off a bathrobe as a jump rope.

Thing 1: What are you watching?
Miss Adventure: It is a show called NCIS.
Thing 1: Thank you!

So. Amused. (That could be the vodka talking. Pseudo-Mommy Wants Vodka. Merry Christmas.)

Home Again

I was down visiting friends and family (of choice) in my hometown, as you could probably tell from my entry on The Niece. The New Niece is coming sooner than anticipated, so I’ll have to jump down there again after the holidays and get ready to catch The Niece while the doctor catches The New Niece, as it were.

I spent most of that time with The Niece and her parents, but I did have a few blissful days of pretending I’m childless (and quite a few days of no cats, rabbits, or rats stomping all over me!). So I’m back home and watching the kids this afternoon, as per usual. Thing 1 tries to come in my room, tells me something, then knocks over a box while trying to get at something under it necessitating a sharp “Get Out Of My Room!” from me which wigs her and the Destructakitten who also wanted in out. So she leaves…

…but I guess I really scared her, because she farted in my room. And it lingered.

Back to the grind. *sigh*

Upon The Niece

What, you didn’t think my trio of Things were the only kids in my life, did you? No, I have a niece. I have two, in fact, and one on the way, but I sadly don’t see the other one much because her parents live across the frackin’ country from me.

Now, The Niece I speak of, I have been actively involved in her life from Day 1. Day 0 I was a no-show because her mother was in a really bitey, scratchy mood after pushing The Niece out. The Niece loves me just as much as I love her, and every time we see each other she has a happy flail-fit, complete with gleeful screaming, and we must hug and snuggle. Best of all, I was absolved from diaper duty since Day 1, a promise her parents have faithfully kept (although I’ve done my share of potty duty these days). She is two.

This child started her Terrible Twos with a bang. As a matter of fact, once her birthday party was concluded, the shit-fits started. And they haven’t stopped since! I can reason with her to a degree, as one of the things you’ll most often hear me ask at home is “Why is this tantrum-worthy? What is all this FUSS about?” and the Things usually get their acts together because they are intelligent little creatures and no one can make you feel sillier about throwing a tantrum than Miss Adventure, let me tell you. But The Niece doesn’t always listen to reason. Which means WE HAVE MELTDOWNS!

One of my failings as a pseudoparent is sadly that if I can’t resolve it easily by food, drink, cuddle, or diaper change, I have no sweet idea how to handle meltdowns. I usually just FLEE. This works with the Things because when they melt down, it’s often because they want attention, and fleeing means they don’t get that attention so they knock it off. But with The Niece, she’s often legitimately upset about something, even if it’s tiny, and I have no idea how to handle it. All I know is, things are probably going to get worse when The Baby Niece appears soon.

Also, The Niece has decided to wear out my name. Quite literally. Now that she knows saying my name gets my attention and I will usually respond with “Yes, dear?” she is determined to have my attention at all costs. She will babbletalk, and then say my name, as if demanding me to respond to what she just said. Her mother thinks she’s trying to hold a conversation. I think she’s just in love with the syllables that make up my name. Most of them, anyway. My real name has three syllables but in Niece-speak it gets slurred into two. So imagine this, at all times: “Vennn-cha?” (Since she can neither fully pronounce my real name nor Adventure.) And of course, whenever such horrid injustices such as NAPS! or BEDTIME! or ANYTHING SHE DOESN’T WANT HAPPENING RIGHT THEN! she will scream my name. Yes, dear, as if that will help. I may love you and I may let you hide in my arms when you’re upset a lot, but your mommy and daddy still get to make all the decisions around here, missy.

Her mother often jokes that she’s obsolete whenever I’m around, and that she and her husband could just take off and The Niece would be perfectly happy. I must say, it’s quite the sweet feeling, knowing that someone’s sun rises and sets on you while you’re with them.

But I’m still happy she has to nap every day. Because “Vennn-cha?” eighty thousand times a day makes me want to go shred pillows. Is that bad of me?

To the pain!

Thing 3 is feeling very under the weather. He’s got some legit medical issues that make it so, rather randomly. So anyway, he’s curled up in the big bed with his oxygen cannula on, playing Angry Birds and Super Cupcake Maker on the Kindle.

The Mommy has to take Thing 2 to taekwondo so I am dispatched from the safety of my room to hang out in bed with Thing 3 and do whatever. So I bring my laptop and my DS. I ended up needing neither of them. It starts out very unhappily, as changing his diaper puts Thing 3 into instant No Mode. Add that to how bad he feels, and we have Situation Whiner-Whiner-Zero. But then The Mommy leaves, Thing 1 is playing on the computer, and it’s just the two of us. That raises his spirits slightly–Thing 3 just loves having Miss Adventure to himself.

First Thing 3 wants me to give him my FULL attention while he makes cupcakes. We discuss colours, types of frosting, and I successfully lobby for gummy worms (eventually). We make several cupcakes together. Then I get him to agree to turn on My Little Pony. We watch a few episodes of Friendship is Magic while he complains when I have to fast-forward through the ads. “More ponies!” Yes, dear. BTW, we don’t do gender roles in this house.

Thing 1 decides she needs to be where we are and wedges herself into bed. This eventually turns into half-laying on me, and not in a nice weight-distribution type of way, but the way that makes me have to lie absolutely still and sets my leg on fire. (Miss Adventure has the rheumatiz.) But I deal until The Mommy comes home, and then I wriggle my way out from underneath the deliberate dead weight on my lower half.

Only to be run into at top speed on the same side by Thing 2, who is still wound up from taekwondo and will never, ever understand why we don’t like running in the house. Which of course was an accident, but ow.

Pseudoparenting is painful sometimes.

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