After many a beleaguered night and added gray hair (not because it was particularly hard, but because I was trying to teach myself how to do every single thing for the first time) I would like to announce that
is up! Come and see it! When you get there, don’t forget to update your bookmark with the new address. (BECAUSE YOU HAVE ME BOOKMARKED, RIGHT.)
See ya on the flip side!
Walking down the sidewalk next to church today, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a car slow down and roll down its window. Ready to give directions, I stopped and turned, only to be greeted by three guys leaning out the window leering at me. “Hey baby, can I go to church with you?” the driver drawled, one arm hanging outside the car.
“Seriously? You’re hitting on me?” I yelled incredulously. “It’s nine o’ clock in the morning! I’m next to a church! I’m holding a Bible! What’s wrong with you?”
They drove away quickly, not prepared for encountering crazy on a Sunday morning.
I continued walking, indignant.
But in my head I secretly thought Damn, I still got it.
If you want to see something totally hilarious, go check out your local church gym on a night when they have a Skate Night for kids 3-7. That’s 30-40 smallish kids trying desperately to stay on their feet but losing the battle every 20 seconds. Add to that your own kid, one of the smallest there, with adjustable pink Barbie skates as big as boats on each foot. “Mama, look at me!” he’ll say, and then face plant. This will repeat about 149 times. Add to that a pinched faced Skate Nazi who walks around the gym trying to dodge all the tiny bodies hurtling toward her and yelling in everyone’s face “Excuse me! Attention! It is MOVIE and SNACK time! Take your skates off RIGHT NOW!!” and then scurries away to go ration out the cookies and Kool-Aid Jammers like a Russian grocer. Top off the night with a Christian indoctrination “movie” Davey and Goliath: Happy Easter, in which Davey’s grandmother, who just the day before had been teaching him how to throw and catch a baseball, dies of old age and he must learn the hard but valuable lesson that Grandma is gone, but in three days she’ll be resurrected at the Easter play on the hill. In claymation.
And all of this entertainment can be yours for only $2.*
*Extra snacks not included – ONE BAG OF CHIPS PER KID, says Nazi.
Dinner, drinks, movie
Hang out ’til the wee hours
Sleep in, lounge, repeat
Pizza, skating, juice
Home by eight and jammies on
Up at six, repeat
My favorite part of this video is how hard the mother is trying not to laugh. Story of my life. Like yesterday when Bug asked where girls pee pee from and I said “Girls pee pee from their vaginas.” And Bug looked at me sternly and said, “Mama, NO. That is NOT A WORD.”
The Seat Uppers are quickly outnumbering The Seat Downers in this house. Potty training is heavily underway, with the number of successes outnumbering the number of wet pants.
The Seat is up more often these days because Bug is learning his newest skill in standing up fashion. I didn’t think I really had a preference about learning standing up vs. learning sitting down, but now that I think about it, why not just get him to stand and aim from the get go? Really you’re just talking about the difference between cleaning pee off the floor in front of or cleaning pee off the floor behind the toilet. I’ve heard that some parents even toss a few bits of cereal in the bowl and play Sink the Floaters. Improves aim, they say. It also puts a visual to the saying “Who pissed in his Cheerios this morning?” And who knows, with this early practice he might just be on track to become the Snow Writing Champion of 2025, which would make any mama proud.
I’m a little worried however that we’ve made his potty times a little too much of a group activity. A sure fire way to get him to tell us he’s got to go is to say that you’ve got to go. “Me, too, I’ve got to go potty! Let’s go!” he says. Like we both just realized that we need to go to the grocery store. Or vote. Also, I’ve made the mistake of telling him I have to go when I do in fact actually have to go, and then ten minutes later I’m standing, legs crossed, saying “Hoorayforyouyou’vegoneagainI’msoproudokaynowIT’SMOMMY’STURN.”
Luckily my successes have outnumbered wet pants, too.
Except for that once.
“I talked to someone recently who had very convincing arguments for Hillary.”
“Yeah, well, I feel like Hillary would have to do something like have the ability to poop gold before I’d consider voting for her.”
“I think being able to poop gold would make me not want to vote for someone. You know, because that person should be working to reduce the deficit. In the bathroom. Plus, we’ve already got a novelty president that we get made fun of for.”
“True, I hadn’t thought of those points.”
“Speaking of pooping…” (gestures towards Bug)
“Yeah, pretty sure that’s not gold in there.”