Tag Archives: mommy

The Logic Of A Nine Year Old

Over dinner:

Big Mickey: “Mom? I been thinking a lot about this. And I think you really should take the t.v. out of our room.”

(insert very surprised look here… ) ever since they were wittle itty bitty babies they’ve ALWAYS had a TV in their room. In fact, they wouldn’t go to sleep without it at least on with no volume in the background.

Sort of a makeshift nightlight, if you will.

Oh sure, I’d get up and turn it off in the middle of the night but then ONE of them would wake up and turn it back on. ONE of them was scared of the dark. This ONE is now telling me he wants the TV out of his room. This is a very interesting turn of events. Could it be that he’s finally outgrown his fear? Could it be that my baby is growing up? Coudl it be that he’s maturing and no longer scared of silly things like the boogyman?

ME: “Why?”(insert a very interested-in-your-conversation look here)

Big Mickey: “Because Annequin always wants to put it on HIS shows. And I would rather just have it OFF than to watch his shows. So I’ve thought about it a lot and decided the best compromise is to take it out of the room.”

ME:* No longer impressed and now somewhat cynical. “Uh, so in other words. Take the TV out. You win?”

Big Mickey: “EXACTLY!”

I think further discussion needs to go into this decision

I think further discussion needs to go into this decision

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Egg In Your Face

Never cook a hard boiled egg in the microwave. 

I attempted to this one day last week on my lunch hour and lemme tell you.. unless you want to spend the better part of your lunch cleaning up a huge assed mess then boil your hard BOILED egg like a normal person. 

To my defense, it wasn’t supposed to be hard boiled. It was supposed to be “soft boiled.”  

I’d been craving soft boiled eggs …errr… ok scratch that. After eating caldo de res (Mexican style beef stew) for the past four days for lunch and dinner (I mad a HUGE pot) and being utterly SICK OF IT I decided it was time to “change it up a bit.”  

Of course I had no other leftovers to warm up and I didn’t really feel like cooking anything. And nothing sounded good except for a hard boiled egg. Well, I didn’t cook it long enough which is ok because the only thing better than a hard boiled egg is a soft boiled one.  

Well, Annequin sees my lunch and smiles BIG and his little eyes widen with excitement and he says, “WHAT IS THAT MOM???”  

Translation=will get up off the table where you are soooo obviously trying to relax and eat  on your lunch hour and make me one please even though I already ate about a half hour ago.  

Not being one to turn down cooking something for my kids that they will actually ENJOY and I won’t have to shove down their throats, I figure “what the hell!” 

So I wolfed my lunch up and got up and started boiling his egg.  

Not even a minute later he comes up and asks, “Is it done yet mommy?”  

Because “mommy” is what they call me when they’re kissing booty.  

Thinking it’s probably NOT done yet but it will be ok if it’s not because he like his eggs over easy anyways, I get up and crack open the egg. 

 GAWD. 

 Not only is it NOT ready but it’s really REALLY really not ready. Very runny snot looking. Gross. 

So he smiles and says, “OH OH! I guess you have to make me another one, hu?” 

Ugh. But ok. Let’s try again.  

“Ok but don’t RUSH me this time ok?” I tell him. 

A few minutes later I figure the egg is ready. I crack it up open. 

Damn.  

STILL NOT READY.  

This time I’m not gonna start over.  

“I’ll just pop it into the microwave for 15 seconds and it will cook it just right.” I think to myself. 

About ten seconds in we hear a very LOUD explosion coming from the microwave. When I say LOUD… I seriously mean LOUD as in busting through a wall loud or two cars crashing up against each other loud or you-just-broke-your-microwave-you-dumb-bitch loud.

egg

 

FUCK!!!  

Do NOT tell me I just broke my microwave? My beautiful BIG stainless steel microwave that matches my other stainless steel appliances and I love so much because did I mention it’s BIG? 

Thankfully I opened the door and everything looks ok.  

EXCEPT FOR THE SCRAMBLED MESS ALL OVER MY MICROWAVE.

The kids of course think it’s funny as hell.

I am not as amused.  

Nana comes downstairs wondering what that noise was and the kids are more than happy to share with her how I don’t know how to cook a damned soft boiled egg and how I tried twice and failed and how I tried to cheat by nuking it but it exploded instead.  

Feeling defeated, I cleaned up the mess as best as I could then left back to work feeling more tired than I was when I left home.

 

 

Bath Time?

It just occurred to me that I haven’t had a bath for a very long time. It’s not that I don’t enjoy them. It’s just that my baths (the very few I’ve actually been able to have in my life) usually go a little something like this:

 
Me: rush home from a hectic day at work. All I can think of at this moment is a glass of Cabernet and a candlelit bubble bath. But first, I need to make dinner, feed the family, help the kids with their homework, send the older two to bed, do a bit of chores around the house, put the little twinkies in their cribs… then run the hot water while I’m rushing around the house trying to get everything in order so when I finally do end up in my bubble bath, I can relax.
 
Prep time? About 2 or 3 hours
 
Bath? About 30 seconds
 
Then it starts.
 
I hear, “Mooooooooommmmmmm….. my brother won’t leave me alone.
 
Me: Ignore
 
Them: she started it.
 
No he did.
 
No she did.
 
Who are you gonna believe?
Mom…..
 
MOOMMMMM??????
 
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. (usually it’s HIM crying because she hits him and he doesn’t hit back)
 
Mom, she hit me.
 
He started it.
 
She hit me.
 
MOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM
 
Me? Bath=over
 
I’m not complaining, though. Really. It was mostly just an observation.
 
I haven’t had a bath for a very long time.
 
And my teenagers haven’t been pesky little fighting pre-teen boogers for even longer.

 
 
Gawd I miss that!
 
 
*Plus, I thought this twinkie-taking-a-bath picture was sooo cute I wanted to blog about it.*
 

Just When I Thought My Day Couldn’t Get Any Worse

It’s been a very exhausting day. I’ve been busy cleaning all the stuff I avoided all weekend. You know, bathrooms, closets, laundry, etc. Getting the kids to clean their rooms is a chore itself. I am TIRED. So finally, I decide to rest a little. I pour myself some koolaid and sit down, ready to read a book.

 Ok, it was a beer but for the sake of the story we’ll say it was koolaid, ok?

So anyways, my 7year old decides he wants to cuddle. I put the book down, take off my shoes. And ewwwwwwwwwww! MY FEET STINK! Ok maybe it’s not my feet. Maybe it’s these 20 year old pair of shoes I have on.

Why is it that I just don’t have it in me to get rid of them? They are ugly, they are worn, they hurt my freaken feet. And yet… I hang on to them? AND now they are making my feet stink.

Before you say it.. NO I don’t have athletes feet. They didn’t stink YESTERDAY. They only stink today. It’s the damn shoes. Maybe the shoes have athletes feet, I’ll give you that. Do you think if I spray them with fungus spray they will stop stinking?

My mom heard once that peeing on your feet will cure athletes foot. Should I pee on my shoes?

She also heard that if you put about a cap of bleach in some water and soak your feet, that will cure athletes foot. She even did it once, and it worked instantly.

Then her husband tried it and burned his feet badly. He had to go to the hospital and everything. True story, I can’t make this shit up. Turns out she thought he meant a BOTTLE of bleach.

That goes to show men just PRETEND to listen, but they really don’t. hahahah Just kidding. But not really.

Should I clean my stinky shoes with bleach? Should I use the whole bottle, or just a cap full? I mean, if I ruin them…. would that really be a bad thing?

I just don’t have the heart to get rid of my old, ugly, worn, stinky shoes. HEY shoes have feelings too, you know. And they have been there for me through thick and thin. Literally. What’s a girl to do?

Anyways, just when I forget about the smell, my son tells me, “Ewww mommy, you have hairy arms.” And he yanks one out.

Great. I have stinky feet and man arms. 🙂 hahahaha

Oh well. Thank goodness I’d waxed my Mexican mom mustache the day before. I’m ready for cuddling! Maybe I’ll wax my arms for next time? Nah. I can deal with man arms. I just can’t deal with stinky feet.

originally posted at Kick Off Your Shoes And Stay A While on Monday, September 4, 2006