There we were, standing in the kitchen, ready to get some rockin' new ink.
No,
it wasn't a tattoo party. (Side note: Seriously, don't get tattoos at
tattoo parties, unless the goal is to leave with a permanent doodle
marring your flesh, some psuedo-kanji proclaiming you a prostitute, or
hepatitis. Good ol' hepatitis.) We'd just returned home from a friend's
daughter's birthday party with goodie bags that included matching lady
bug temporary tattoos. Momentous. Occasion.
So, I helped her hop up to sit on the kitchen counter top. I
prepped the necessary tattooing supplies (wet rag? check!) and we
planned where to put them. Phoenix chose her right forearm. I did the
same. Twinsies. Word.
"Alright, Phoenix Greenbeanix", I said to her. "Are you prepared to get your super awesome ladybug tattoo?!"
She looked me square in the eyes.
"Mama", she said. "It's not a real tattoo. I'm not old enough to make that decision."
Fair enough, you tiny little rules-lawyer. Fair enough.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
The importance of the "L" sound.
Phoenix: "Mama, I'm a bird! I'm fapping! Fap, fap, fap, fap, fap! I'm a biiiiird!"
Me: *speechless*
Me: *speechless*
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
You want a what?
"Mumma, I need to eat a hedgehog. Is it time yet?"
Phoenix is certainly an eccentric child, but this was a new level of where-did-I-go-so-wrong. She wants to eat a hedgehog.
My four year old is a monster.
Worst is, she apparently assumes there's some sort of appropriate "Hedgehog Devour-Hour". It's exactly like Happy Hour, but entirely different in every possible way. Is it time yet, Mom? Time to feast on what just might be the cutest, and least edible, critters on Earth?
No, child. It is not time. Long live the Hedgehog! Viva la Hedgolution!
"Phoenix, we don't eat Hedgehogs. We love them. People keep them as pets, just like how we have puppies. Some people have them as pets. We don't eat pets."
So there she sits. Baffled.
"But they aren't like puppies!" she says. Now she's getting upset.
"They aren't pets. They're for eeeeating!"
I begin mentality tallying how much money I'll need to put her into therapy. I decide it'll be more affordable to go for the fashionable Hannibal Lecter face mask, but less effective in the long run.
She hops off of her seat and darts into the kitchen. She begins rummaging through the fridge. A moment later she comes running back into the living room holding something in her hands. I'm about to tell her to go back into the kitchen to close the fridge door when she thrusts her hands toward my face.
"This is not a good pet." she tells me indignantly.
I look at the stuffed quahog in her hands. Realization dawns. Quahog!
Not hedgehog.
"You're half right, Phoenix." I tell her. "A quahog would make a terrible pet."
Once our quahog lunch was over I showed her some pictures of hedgehogs. Her enthusiastic squealing (EEEEE, they are the adorablest! EEEEE!) reassured me that I can go ahead and toss the Hannibal mask back into storage.
At least, until she's a teenager...
Phoenix is certainly an eccentric child, but this was a new level of where-did-I-go-so-wrong. She wants to eat a hedgehog.
My four year old is a monster.
Worst is, she apparently assumes there's some sort of appropriate "Hedgehog Devour-Hour". It's exactly like Happy Hour, but entirely different in every possible way. Is it time yet, Mom? Time to feast on what just might be the cutest, and least edible, critters on Earth?
No, child. It is not time. Long live the Hedgehog! Viva la Hedgolution!
"Phoenix, we don't eat Hedgehogs. We love them. People keep them as pets, just like how we have puppies. Some people have them as pets. We don't eat pets."
So there she sits. Baffled.
"But they aren't like puppies!" she says. Now she's getting upset.
"They aren't pets. They're for eeeeating!"
I begin mentality tallying how much money I'll need to put her into therapy. I decide it'll be more affordable to go for the fashionable Hannibal Lecter face mask, but less effective in the long run.
She hops off of her seat and darts into the kitchen. She begins rummaging through the fridge. A moment later she comes running back into the living room holding something in her hands. I'm about to tell her to go back into the kitchen to close the fridge door when she thrusts her hands toward my face.
"This is not a good pet." she tells me indignantly.
I look at the stuffed quahog in her hands. Realization dawns. Quahog!
Not hedgehog.
"You're half right, Phoenix." I tell her. "A quahog would make a terrible pet."
Once our quahog lunch was over I showed her some pictures of hedgehogs. Her enthusiastic squealing (EEEEE, they are the adorablest! EEEEE!) reassured me that I can go ahead and toss the Hannibal mask back into storage.
At least, until she's a teenager...
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
A fate worse than death.
I've been writing up this list of things worse than walking into a fresh cloud of dog fart while battling morning sickness.
Things Worse Than Walking Into a Dog Fart While Battling Morning Sickness:
I have yet to come up with a single thing. French kissing a piranha almost made that list.
Almost.
1.
2.
3.
2.
3.
I have yet to come up with a single thing. French kissing a piranha almost made that list.
Almost.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The Lament of the Old
The old folk, they tell me about how they used to run and play outside. "Don't come in until dinner is ready." They played, and imagined, and threw rocks, and accidentally hit baseballs into the crotchety neighbor's windows. They skinned their knees. They blew up toy soldiers. They made crowns out of flowers.
"Kids these days. Ugh. It's just the end of the world. The end of America!" they say.
"Kids these days. They just sit in front of their televisions or their laptops or their iMajiggers. They're soft. The schools spend so much time worrying about their precious self esteem that they don't bother to teach 'em. Everyone wins, everyone's special? They're fat and lazy. They don't know the value of hard work. They're spoiled. America is going down the tubes."
Oh, the lament of the Old.
So, I come bearing this tidbit of good news. Take heart! (Take pacemaker?) A time may come were we all press 8 for English, and when our children are too lardy to run the kickball bases without a 15 minute union break.
But that day is not today!
A time may come when Ronald McDonald is the write-in winner for the Presidency. A time may come when the leading injury in children in carpel tunnel syndrome from countless hours of button mashing on the latest video game. It may someday come to pass that it is considered a form of abuse to ban your 7 year old from Facebook.
But that day is not today!
A time may come when public the school systems limit outdoor recess time to a four second glimpse out the window. There may come a day when not one child in our country knows what it feels like to catch a pop fly in a well worn baseball mitt... until the wii comes out with an "Authentic Feel Baseball Mitt" attachment.
But that day is not today.
Of this, I am certain.
At this very moment Bae and Phoenix are leaping about the in backyard. They are armed with one shield, a plastic light saber, a felt centurion helmet, and what appears to be a glow-in-the-dark scythe. They've decimated entire ranks of Bad Guys. They've fought zombies. They've been firefighter, cops, and space pirates. They fought off powerful spells.
They're fighting for good, they're fighting for justice, and they are unknowingly fighting to preserve your Norman Rockwellian ideals of American children. They will fight to the end, or until dinner time when they're called back into the house.
They are stalwart defenders of the-
Oh, wait. And now, they are digging up worms in a surprisingly elaborate plan to catch a robin.
Rest easy, septuagenarians. There are still kids with scraped knees and intact innocence. There are still water balloons, cap guns, superheroes, and the integrity of children who know they're "it" when they've been tagged. Your world is still alive, hidden in the tall grass of my back yard. Your games are still being played. You laughs are still being laughed. Your childhood is still being lived by a new generation of bright-eyed kids. And your nation's future is safe in their dirty, worm-scooping hands.
"Kids these days. Ugh. It's just the end of the world. The end of America!" they say.
"Kids these days. They just sit in front of their televisions or their laptops or their iMajiggers. They're soft. The schools spend so much time worrying about their precious self esteem that they don't bother to teach 'em. Everyone wins, everyone's special? They're fat and lazy. They don't know the value of hard work. They're spoiled. America is going down the tubes."
Oh, the lament of the Old.
So, I come bearing this tidbit of good news. Take heart! (Take pacemaker?) A time may come were we all press 8 for English, and when our children are too lardy to run the kickball bases without a 15 minute union break.
But that day is not today!
A time may come when Ronald McDonald is the write-in winner for the Presidency. A time may come when the leading injury in children in carpel tunnel syndrome from countless hours of button mashing on the latest video game. It may someday come to pass that it is considered a form of abuse to ban your 7 year old from Facebook.
But that day is not today!
A time may come when public the school systems limit outdoor recess time to a four second glimpse out the window. There may come a day when not one child in our country knows what it feels like to catch a pop fly in a well worn baseball mitt... until the wii comes out with an "Authentic Feel Baseball Mitt" attachment.
But that day is not today.
Of this, I am certain.
At this very moment Bae and Phoenix are leaping about the in backyard. They are armed with one shield, a plastic light saber, a felt centurion helmet, and what appears to be a glow-in-the-dark scythe. They've decimated entire ranks of Bad Guys. They've fought zombies. They've been firefighter, cops, and space pirates. They fought off powerful spells.
They're fighting for good, they're fighting for justice, and they are unknowingly fighting to preserve your Norman Rockwellian ideals of American children. They will fight to the end, or until dinner time when they're called back into the house.
They are stalwart defenders of the-
Oh, wait. And now, they are digging up worms in a surprisingly elaborate plan to catch a robin.
Rest easy, septuagenarians. There are still kids with scraped knees and intact innocence. There are still water balloons, cap guns, superheroes, and the integrity of children who know they're "it" when they've been tagged. Your world is still alive, hidden in the tall grass of my back yard. Your games are still being played. You laughs are still being laughed. Your childhood is still being lived by a new generation of bright-eyed kids. And your nation's future is safe in their dirty, worm-scooping hands.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Not a baby goose. That other kind of Gosling.
Maybe I'm just too far to the right on the Kinsey Scale to appreciate this Ryan Gosling chap. Because I think he looks kind of like a dingus. But seeing all of those "Hey, girl." images was insightful, even if it did result in me repeatedly asking myself what women could possible see in this guy.
I mean hell, he doesn't even have a decent mustache.
There's a sadness in his eyes, leading me to believe
that this shot was taken moments after he realized
he'd never be half the man Tom Selleck is.
I mean hell, he doesn't even have a decent mustache.
There's a sadness in his eyes, leading me to believe
that this shot was taken moments after he realized
he'd never be half the man Tom Selleck is.
I'm pretty sure that I could grow a better mustache, honestly. Annnnyway. These "hey girl" posters read like a letter of desperation from an entire generation of straight women craving a man who:
1. has the ability to do things without being asked.
2. knows how to build/make things.
3. is good to children and animals.
4. listens.
5. is clean and well dressed.
6. is complimentary and romantic.
Hey, guess what, Normal Man. You're in luck! You, too, can attain meme-worthy status. It's easy! Just do things, make stuff, care, listen, bathe, and take your attempts at romance beyond poking your lover in the back with your erection while she's trying to sleep.
So what the gist of this Hey Girl meme is saying is that a man should be self-reliant, capable, compassionate, respectful, and romantic if he wants to represent himself as a good dating selection?! Shocking.
Yet, taking a look at My Very Worst Date, OKCupid, some of the men I know, I realize I should start teaching a class or something. The class material would be so simple to compile. It's all just common sense. The title, on the other hand, could be tricky.
Maybe:
"How to Be More Like Ryan Gosling: Refrain From Referencing Your Boner In Pick-Up Lines, and Other Useful Dating Tips"
or
"How to Be More Like Ryan Gosling: Building Bookshelves, Making Dinner, and Actually Getting Laid (Without Paying For It!)"
or
"The Gosling Technique: Self-Reliance and its Aphrodisiac Effect on Women"
or
"Hey Girl is Not Your Maid, Not Your Mommy: The Gosling Transformation"
Hmm, what do you think?
1. has the ability to do things without being asked.
2. knows how to build/make things.
3. is good to children and animals.
4. listens.
5. is clean and well dressed.
6. is complimentary and romantic.
Hey, guess what, Normal Man. You're in luck! You, too, can attain meme-worthy status. It's easy! Just do things, make stuff, care, listen, bathe, and take your attempts at romance beyond poking your lover in the back with your erection while she's trying to sleep.
So what the gist of this Hey Girl meme is saying is that a man should be self-reliant, capable, compassionate, respectful, and romantic if he wants to represent himself as a good dating selection?! Shocking.
Yet, taking a look at My Very Worst Date, OKCupid, some of the men I know, I realize I should start teaching a class or something. The class material would be so simple to compile. It's all just common sense. The title, on the other hand, could be tricky.
Maybe:
"How to Be More Like Ryan Gosling: Refrain From Referencing Your Boner In Pick-Up Lines, and Other Useful Dating Tips"
or
"How to Be More Like Ryan Gosling: Building Bookshelves, Making Dinner, and Actually Getting Laid (Without Paying For It!)"
or
"The Gosling Technique: Self-Reliance and its Aphrodisiac Effect on Women"
or
"Hey Girl is Not Your Maid, Not Your Mommy: The Gosling Transformation"
Hmm, what do you think?
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