tragic discovery at local park: peep down.

While enjoying a sunshiny day at a local Texas park last week, I made a tragic discovery. Like a train wreck, it both repulsed and attracted me.

We have a Peep down, people.

I repeat, PEEP DOWN.

Oh, the humanity.

The mushy, sticky, crunchy sweet goodness of this Peep will never be enjoyed by one of its many adoring fans. A moment of silence, please.

This post is dedicated, with love and gentle solace, to Megan, who may be the world’s greatest champion of Peeps and the first person I thought of when I made this tragic discovery. I know she will weep at this injustice.

Fingers in the nose – no, no! Using a tissue for boogers – yes, yes!

a page from “No No Yes Yes” by Lisa Patricelli

For a very long time, this is a rule that Braden has respected. Hey, if Mommy says fingers in the nose is a “no-no” and there’s even a book backing her up, it must be true.

But now we have reached the Age of Contrary. We see evidence of this with classic conversations like, “Here’s your peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” “NO. Dat’s not peanut butter jelly sandwich, DAT’S PEANUT BUTTER JELLY.”

And who could not see the genius in “Sit down at the table now.” “NO, I HAVE TO SIT IN DIS CHAIR NOW.” (The chair at the table.)

And if it’s fun to say “NO” to things just so you can restate them in a different way, well, then it must also be delightful to do things that have been forbidden. It’s all just part of the same circle of fun, right? Of course it is!

Life without testing the boundaries is boring, my friends. And the boundary between fingers and boogers is just SCREAMING TO BE BROKEN.

I mean, just look at how much fun this little dingaling is clearly having!

did he really have to be wearing the shit eating grin?

And so it goes, the boy realized that perhaps even if the book and The Mommy say fingers in the nose is not so groovy a thing to do, it can, in theory, still be done. And so he tested this idea, and found that yes, it can be done, and in fact, he quite enjoys sticking his fingers in his nose.

Over and over again.

it kills me that he can make even booger picking cute

Though it is clearly quite a bother to request a tissue before nostril exploration has begun, apparently it is no problem at all to do the same thing once one’s finger has been befouled. He walks over to me with his finger stuck out in front of him, a fine specimen riding the peak of his pointer, and says, “Put my booger in a tissue.”

Such gifts he presents to me, and lo, they take my breath away. It is an honor, such an honor.

And hey, I guess I have some idea of where he gets the appreciation for sticking things in his nostrils.

i.am.dead.sexy.

At least he’s not sticking other things in his nose.

Yet.

It says COCK.

Thanks to Books from Birth and Dolly Parton, Braden gets a free book every month, which is all kinds of awesome. Recently, his new book was The House That Jack Built. I was pleased – that’s a cute story!

Then I read it to him at bedtime.

It screamed “COCK!” at us.

No, seriously. Look:

And really, I can’t read this to him a single freaking time without picturing a giant wang all up in Jack’s house.

And yes, I know that a “cock” is a rooster. I also know that “gay” means happy and a “fag” is a cigarette. And yet, I wouldn’t say that a happy farmer smoking a cigarette next to his rooster is a gay dude tokin’ a fag by his cock.

And you probably have a lovely mental image that illustrates exactly why.

So. Thanks for this book selection, Dolly.

(Who, incidentally, I can never think of without picturing… you know damn well what.)

i am all things to all people. on Google. especially the perverts.

I’ve had some good fun with this here website, my friends, you better believe it.  Oh yes, I’ve celebrated my son’s life, I’ve talked about both fabulous and hard moments of parenting, I’ve embarrassed my husband. (Yes, embarrassing your husband is good, fun times. And hell, he makes it SO EASY.  What with saying things like this.  But I digress.)

And of course, I’ve talked to and met so many of you, learned about you, and built wonderful friendships.

But today I’m going to let you in on another part of having this website that enriches my life.

Keyword searches.

I am endlessly entertained by checking my web stats to see what web searches lead to this site.  Now, some of them, I will admit, make me want to vomit.  I’m going to spare you specifics on these, but if I could find the people who were entering them into a computure somewhere, sterilization would be in order.

With a rusty fork.

When I can get beyond the TRULY DISGUSTING AND DEPRAVED searches, there are the mild perverts.  I imagine these are the kind of winners who “bump” against you “by accident” on the subway.

They land on my page by searching:

• nipple pleasure
• moms with nice racks
• naked wrestling
• mom crotchless
• nut in my mouth
• mom peeing
• slap me around
• bunchy vagina (W. T. F.)

To whomever searched “i put my mascara in my vagina” – STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT NOW.  There are things that just shouldn’t be inserted in certain areas.  I THINK YOU’VE DISCOVERED ONE OF THOSE COMBINATIONS.

And whoever searched “big fat and ugly” I hate you.

But then there are the searches that just make me laugh.  A few recent examples:

• i want to shave my face off
• jello farts
• bitch perfume
• im going to eat your uterus
• can you put chocolate on the head of a penis

This is really just a small sampling, and only from the past four days or so.  I’m sure you can now see why this is so amusing to me.

Incidentally, my top three search terms for the past year?

1. sarcastic mom
2. best push up bra
3. bewbs

Numbers 1 and 3 are completely understandable, right? Right.

And number 2?  Oh, you have no idea how glorious it is for me to claim that lovely search term.  You may or may not remember this post about that earlier this year.  Go ahead, read it.  It’s funny, and it will give you insight into this push up bra business.

Guess what, PR Asshat?  You can #suckit.  I might still be on the second page of hits for “best push up bra” but I think you and I both know that I still win this round.  So eat me.

Of course, that post bought me top 3 ranking for both searches: “asshats who should die” and “Ultimate Assholes of The Universe.” *cough*

*awkward silence*

(please feel free to stop and confirm that I actually *am* the number one search return on Google for “Ultimate Assholes of The Universe,” it’s okay, I understand the urge to do this. go ahead. laugh. Now laugh even harder when you see I’m hits number 1 AND 2. get it out of your system)

(PS: no really, DOESN’T THAT RULE!?)

Continuing!  To the person who recently searched “getting him off with your bare feet,” here’s my advice:  since making him a sandwich and getting him a beer with your feet is going to be pretty hard, just go ahead and cheat and use your hands on those ones. But using your big toe to turn on the TV on Superbowl Sunday should be pretty easy.  Unless you’re a fucking moron.  Or, you know, you don’t have feet.  In which case the search would be pointless and you’re wasting my time and yours.

Only other thing I can think of is you wanting to get him off the couch, in which case, two feet planted squarely on his back in a sudden power thrust should do the job nicely.  I mean really, sometimes you just want to watch Keifer Sutherland, er, I mean 24, alone.

What?  Wait, we’re not talking about putting our feet on naked wiener are we?  Oh, good grief.  Really?  This searcher must be the alter ego of the weirdo who Googled “gross wieners on your body” the other day.  Right.

Of course, the best thing for me was noticing just yesterday that a search for “wife is a bitch” landed someone on my site.  Now, if that was John, we can congratulate Google for 100% Success in returning accurate hits to sites from searches.

All in all, the whacked out nutjobs out there with access to a computer are giving me a bit of free entertainment.  And I like it.  Thanks, ya fuckin’ head-cases.  I owe ya one.  Maybe I’ll even write a post one day for the person who wanted to know, “can I use the diva cup for military training” because that is IMPORTANT INFORMATION.

Clearly.

Don’t let the man get you down.

And if you must submit, make sure you let them (the powers that be) know you’re going to do it your way.
Especially if your way is like a cocky little bastard.

Gah, I love that little troublemaker.

I clearly have superior parenting skills.

Braden is fully toilet trained.

I say this and feel odd, as if I’m talking about having gotten the puppy completely house trained. But yeah, it’s a lot like that, considering he used to piss on the floor pretty regularly.

And before you (I’m talking to “you,” the person who has spare time in his/her life to make asshat comments on posts because you hate yourself and you’re taking it out on others) go making some bitchass comment about how that wouldn’t have happened if I’d not let him run around naked all the time, please to be looking at this: click here for a special, pre-valentine’s day gift of love from me to you.

In all seriousness, though, leave any comment your heart desires.  I like it rough.

Also, I fully expect gratuitous thank you’s from ALL of you because for a split second, I considered posting Avitaballs as the link up there.

YOU’RE WELCOME.

Now we can move on.

So, Braden has been reliably doing all business on the toilet for quite some time now, but you’ll have to forgive me for not talking about that as the progress/training was ongoing. If you have children you know the rule: IF YOU CELEBRATE IT TOO SOON, THE UNIVERSE WILL PUNISH YOU WITH A SWIFT REGRESSION.

It is only now, after such a long time, that I feel safe telling you…

MY KID GOES ON THE TOILET! MY KID GOES ON THE TOILET! I DON’T HAVE TO WASH DIAPERS ANYMORE! I DON’T HAVE TO WASH SHITTY AND PISSY UNDERPANTS ANYMORE! THERE AREN’T PUDDLES OF URINE ON THE FLOOR IN THE BATHROOM ANYMORE! I DON’T HAVE TO PULL DOWN TINY UNERPANTS FULL OF BROWNIE BATTER ANYMORE!

When he can actually wipe his own ass, I think I’ll bake him a fuckin’ cake.

Now, having said all this, we *do* have occasional pee accidents because he has taken to doing the very same thing his Mommy does. He gets all wrapped up in something and he can’t.stop.and.go.pee.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my son is a Pee Holder.

He pretty much refuses to stop what he’s doing until he reaches CODE RED. At that point, he’s running to the bathroom like his testicles are on fire and sometimes he ends up wetting his pants while he’s right in front of the toilet trying to pull them down.

Which, yes, is maddening, and I’m all, “DUDE. You finally learned how to do this really well, don’t go screwing it up by waiting too long. Don’t wait, come right to the toilet!”

To which he replies, “What? All I know is that I’m totally going to forget everything you just said except that part where you said ‘don’t go screwing it up’ and I’m gonna yell that at top volume in public, repeatedly, the first time it seems like it might be really embarrassing for you. I might add in that word you said in the car the other day, too. ‘Asshole,’ right? Right. Now go wash my underpants, beesh.”

So, okay, yeah. I admit there are still a few accidents here and there. And the occasional shart. Which is really just funny, quite frankly, because he says, “Oooh, Braden pooped in pants,” and then quickly follows that with “It’s okay, it’s JustUhShart!”

It’s all par for the course.  Most of the time, things are now clean and dry around here, and I couldn’t be happier about that.

I have to admit that the Sentimental Mommy side of me does miss seeing that chubby hiney he used to flash as he ran around the house threatening carpets from wall to wall. Just a little.

But sometimes, we have special moments like the one that happened the other day:

Braden: *fidgeting in living room*

Me: “Do you have to pee?”

Braden: “Yes.”

Me: “Go to the bathroom.”

Braden: *doing the hammer dance in the living room*

Me: “What are you doing!? Go to the bathroom and PEE!”

Braden: “No, I DANCING FIRST.”

Me: *trying not to laugh. failing miserably*

Hey, at least he has his priorities. Sometimes, before you go to the bathroom, you just have to say, “STOP. HAMMERTIME.”

I stand by my celebration.  Because that? Is clearly a sign of superior parenting.

Step two is crucial, really.

It wouldn’t be Christmas without this wonderful How-To from everyone’s favorite gifters.

There really is no occasion you can’t brighten with a dick in a box. And really, it would be nicer than getting a pap smear for Christmas or Hanukkah, right?

Also available on YouTube.

Merry Christmas to you all. May you find love and joy (and maybe even some genitals wrapped in pretty bows) today and for the rest of this season.

I only teach him the most important things.

And if you don’t think this is important, you wouldn’t fit in around here at all.

And I fart in your general direction.