Me: I made some delicious banana bread! We can have it for breakfast tomorrow.
John: I have no idea what you guys are gonna eat… I’m gonna eat this entire thing while you’re both sleeping tonight.
Me: Hahaha! That’s pretty funny. Laugh now. After you eat my banana bread I will stab you to death.
Braden: And then I will cry.
*awkward quiet moment where I’m trying to decide if that was more funny than traumatic or not*
PS: Later that night, John wouldn’t let me hide the banana bread and leave only a pile of crumbs for Braden to find in the morning. I never get to have any fun.
On The Couch. The Other Night. Watching Some Show.
John: Oooh! That reminds me! *pauses show* We did this thing on the way to the gig the other day; it was awesome!
Me: *gets excited at the prospect of hearing awesome! thing* Yeah?!
John: Yeah! Totally awesome! Get a load of THIS!!! We were switching the consonants in our first and last names!!!!!!!!!!! You know? Yeah! :D!!
Me: *blank stare*
John: 😀 😀 😀 !!!
Me: *blank stare in which I am actually considering killing him for his own good*
John: !!!! 😀 !!!!
John: :D! *inkling of my disapproval setting in* Yes? Yes! :D!!
Me: What. the. fuck.
John: You know! Like you’re Cotus Larroll! Hahahaha! :D!!!
Me: You’re saying that like it’s a thing.
John: It is a thing. *look of remembering what a bitch I am creeping into his face*
Me: No. No, really. It’s not. Nobody does that.
John: They do, too.
John: Uh-huh. *realization of how stupid this game is but refusing to let go*
Me: Who? Who does that?
Me: Mmmhm. What kind of people do that? Do they use their brains productively most of the time?
John: *frustrated stare of defeat*
Me: *gloating sneer of victory*
John: Shut up. Shut up, I hate you.
Me: So what, was it quiet for like 3 hours and then all of a sudden someone goes, “OH MY GOD I KNOW WHAT WE CAN DO. IT’S THIS *THING*…”
John: I hate you. I’m not even going to tell you the rest of the story now. *turns show back on*
Me: So, you’re still a big vagina, then?
Okay, so maybe I got a leetle bit pissed off when I saw this image on Pinterest tonight.
and the princess didn’t have her heart broken by a man who couldn’t keep his dick to himself for more than five seconds because she was smart enough to say no to the pretty face that was hiding the vile creature behind it. And she had all the time in the world to then pursue her own interests and be the person she was meant to be, reveling in her identity and fulfilling her aspirations fully. She spent as much time as she wanted with the best girlfriends who always built her up and cared about what she was saying rather than pretending to listen and hoping she was soon done. And she hand selected the finest young men to keep her company (and then sent them on their way when she was bored with them) and she read books and made beautiful art and sun bathed and nobody ever left the fucking toilet seat up or made her have to drag their feelings out of them like driving nails into brick because they were such poor communicators that she just wanted to scream into infinity in those miserable moments of complete relationship hell when she would rather be twirling through the living room, singing her favorite song at top volume. She didn’t have to share the remote or watch any sports she didn’t want to, and she only got foot rubs with her pedicures and nobody expected her to have sex with them just for doing it. She smiled every day because she wanted to, not because she was pretending she was happy, and nobody needed her to fetch them a beer or make their food first so that by the time she ate hers it was cold. She played with lady bugs and stopped to smell the flowers every day. Her friends and family thought she was fucking awesome because she was able to live her life to her full potential instead of for some loser who resented her for not wanting him to drink jack daniels every fucking night. And she never had to sleep in the goddamned wet spot. THE END.
Yeah, maybe a little too far.
(Who am I kidding?! That shit had it coming.)
I kind of screwed myself by posting the most awesome Thanksgiving Day post EVER last year.
I mean, now that you’ve seen penis train tracks, you’re back this year to see what I have for you this time, aren’t you? Of course you are. I bet you sat up all night wondering. Have you been refreshing my page over and over again? Well, I mean, even more than usual?
(Your Thanksgiving present to me is that you pretend that’s true instead of reminding me that you only check here about once every 6 months, and only to see if I’ve died a comically tragic death yet in a horrible (but hilarious) accident involving a staple gun, a bungee cord and a day-glo green thong.)
So how do you follow penis train tracks? Like this.
Bewbs trump wieners every time, my friends.
And yes, that is Percy at the station. Or, as my son might say, “Pussy is wooking weally hawd today!”
Happy Thanksgiving, Ya’ll. May all your train tracks be bewbies.
When I left the room he was making lovely drawings in his notebook.
If I’d had to take a dump, do you think he’d have progressed to his arms and face?
Oh, Raw Honey, look at you sitting there waiting for me! I heard you whispering for me to come over, Raw Honey. And you are sounding soooo really, very good to me right now. Let’s get better acquainted in a situation involving bread and butter, m’kay?
What the hell, Raw Honey…
Why would you toy with me so, Raw Honey? Why would you sit there, practically beckoning to me with your sweet, delicious Raw Honeyness… and then… and then… be… EMTPY?
How cruel you are, Raw Honey!
How. Very. Cruel. You have hurt me deeply, Raw Honey.
*deep, heavy sobs*
What is that you say, Raw Honey? You mean, you didn’t do this to me on purpose? You say it was beyond your control, Raw Honey? You were just sitting there, being Raw Honey and someone came along and emptied all the delicious Raw and sweet Honey inside of you out?
You are telling me that someone scraped you clean, selfishly enjoying every last drop of you, Raw Honey? Someone didn’t share you, but just ate you all in private? Someone ELSE did this to you and then PUT. YOU. BACK?
Just to fool me?
What is that you say, Raw Honey? Yes, Raw Honey, you are right, I *am* feeling rather stabby.
Don’t worry, Raw Honey. I’ll get even. I make all the meals around here after all, right, Raw Honey? People eat what I prepare, without question.
What is that, Raw Honey? You say there’s a funny tone to my laugh? Oh, Raw Honey, just ignore that. Everything is just fine. I am in a peaceful state, don’t you worry. Just overlook the strange new element in my laughter, Raw Honey. I promise, I’m okay. You just rest. Shhh, shhhh, now, Raw Honey.
Someone else better watch his Raw Honey Thieving, Trickin’ a Bitch Ass, though, Raw Honey.
But you? You just sleep now, Raw Honey. Shhhh.
Braden’s personality is this incredibly intoxicating blend of sweet, joyful, and smart mixed up with volatile, demanding, and loud. I’m going to go ahead and claim responsibility for passing on/modeling the former behaviors and blame my husband for the latter. Not because it’s true, but because I’m mostly an asshole and I like to say anything I can to make myself look good.
My son is not shy. He is unafraid to let you, and everyone around you, know exactly what he thinks and feels at any particular moment.
His thoughtful observations and questions [“If the bug is dead, we should just recharge his batteries.” / “Why is the sun sleeping?”]
strange ideas [“My penis is on backwards.”]
silly, quick quips [Him: “You need to get me a new eyeball!” Me: “Just call me Frankenmommy.” Him: “You’re not green.”]
and even his demanding and frustrated exclamations [“I CAN’T GO PEE, I HAVE TO DANCE FIRST.”]
are equally interesting and enlightening, often funny.
He’ll make you think and also laugh.
But did I mention that he’s loud? Holy crap, he’s LOUD. As John put it the other day, “He goes to 11. And often stays there.”
It’s so true.
Because of this, I was both excited and somewhat scared (okay, more than somewhat, possibly a shitload at times, when I considered it too carefully) about Braden’s very first time on an airplane. In fact, as soon as I found out we were going to get on an airplane with him, I started punching myself in the face no less than 10 times every 30 minutes to toughen myself up. I asked John to make airplane noises and then start screaming directly into my ear at random times when we’re in public to help condition me. For some reason he made the same face he made that one time I asked him how long he thought it would take for a mouse to explode in the microwave and whether or not that time would be altered by getting the mouse really drunk first.Read More»