Movies Taken Too Far

Okay, so The Mommy ended up with a two-pound marshmallow thanks to the Internet. No, I don’t get it either, but there you go. When it showed up on our doorstep, she kept yelling “IT’S SO FLUFFY!” until I finally yelled back “ARE YOU GONNA DIE?!” “YES!” Indeed, we like our movies around here and Despicable Me is on the current kiddie rotation. And she kept saying “It’s so fluffy, I’m gonna DIE!” like you do.

Fast forward to today. We are doing a double birthday party since both The Daddy’s father and sister have birthdays around now. The Mommy decides, in lieu of a cake, to go ahead and let everyone dig into the marshmallow. For some reason, Thing 1 has gotten it into her head that anyone who eats the marshmallow will die. So when I take a big piece and stuff it in my mouth, she yells “Are you gonna die, Miss Adventure?!” Thinking she’s playing with the movie line, I say “YES!” and finish poking it into my gawp. (Big marshmallows are really sticky, FYI.)

Cue nuclear meltdown. “Don’t die, Miss Adventure! DON’T DIE!” I laugh, but then she starts sobbing. “DON’T DIE, MISS ADVENTURE! DON’T DIE!” Insert facepalm here. And much reassurances that I’m not going anywhere and she’s stuck with me right here, right now. What it took to get her down…let’s just say that with well-meaning but unhelpful help, I was ready to chug my vodka-and-ginger-ale, which given that I’m completely skint right now and hoarding what little liquor I have, should give you an idea.

Of course, Thing 3 loves to make things worse. “Wanna die, Mommy!” and sticks his handout for some marshmallow. “Gonna die!” he says triumphantly as he stuffs it into his mouth.

My life.


What the…

So Thing 1 and Thing 2 have had “What the…” down for quite awhile. They also know all the curse words because we all use them. They know they can’t use them at school and we don’t like them using them here at home.

First story: Thing 2 is studying for the next stripe on his belt, next colour, whatever the kids in taekwondo do. Anyway, there’s facts you have to remember, including acronyms. Such as WTF, which is….



World Taekwondo Federation.

Thing 2 was puzzling over it on his written sheet and Thing 1 came over to help him. “It says what the fuck, Thing 2.” “No it doesn’t!” “Yes it does, WTF, what the fuck.”

Good god, these kiddos.

Tonight I discovered that Thing 3 has added a new phrase to his repertoire. “Oh shit.” Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Said rather much like “Oshi” since he’s still not that great at enunciating. Needless to say, I will NOT thank him for his good words (which I do if he clearly tells me what he wants without whining or garbling) if he pops that out at me.

My life, people. The Daddy was also walking around on the half-roof (right below the dormer windows) yesterday. I still have no idea why, but he seemed to be on a mission.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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