Monthly Archives: December 2004

Is it just me, or does that look like a …

I was in the garage going through boxes trying to rid some of the clutter. I came across a bag of toys someone had given me for Gabby.
I never should have done that because, this one toy? It brought out the 13 year old in me and I can’t put it down, nor can I stop laughing, NOR can I stop following Tony around with it and taking pictures of it.
whatkindoftoyisthis.jpg
Oh, but it’s missing something. But what’s that over there? A set of BALLS? Oh, but there’s THREE of ’em? NO PROBLEM! Where there’s a pair of scissors, there’s a way.
withballs.JPG
I know. I KNOW.
(Tony’s not laughing nearly as hard as I am, but he hasn’t seen the balls yet… Just wait til he does)

Little in the middle but she got much branch

We’re getting ready to go get our great fun. This probably is my LEAST favorite thing about Christmas. I’m all for a fake tree, but Tony don’t play that. I will go inspite of my hatred for great fun shopping because the ONE year I decided I’d stay home and trust Tony to find a decent tree is the one year I ended up with a piece of shit tree with an entire middle section missing. I swore to myself I would never let that happen again. Funny thing is, this year? I WANT to get an ugly tree so that I can teach my boys about finding beauty in things that are percieved as ugly to the world. I thought I’d get all “deep and shit” and teach them that beauty comes from within and that with a little love, an ugly tree can become a beautiful thing. But that’s, like, even too cheesy for ME to stand. And I have a high tolerance for cheese.
So, off to deal with The Ignorants and The Assholes of this town in search of a pretty tree that we’ll waste AT LEAST $60.00 on only to throw it out a few days later.
Merry effin Christmas.

My HEART!

Earlier this week, I started feeding Gabby baby foods. Carrots, pears, bananas and peas. She loves them and can’t get enough and this made me happy.
Until just a few minutes ago. When she made “The Face” and did “The grunt” and I KNEW “Oh my GOD, she’s going to do her first “Real Poop.” And by “real poop” I mean, the kind that you have to work to push out, the kind that isn’t all precious and yellow and effortlesses on the exit. The kind that is multicolored and LUMPY.
Sure enough, after about 3 minutes of faces and grunts came the smell of the REAL POOP. I wanted to cry. Not because it smelled so damn bad, but because SHE’S ALREADY DOING REAL POOP. She’s growing too damn fast. I don’t think I can take it!
I want the precious, yellow, textureless poop back! Infact, can I just shove her back inside me and start all over again? PLEASE?

I’ll rip your piece off

Anyone watch The Apprentice finale last night?
I was out shopping during the beginning of it and came home just in time to see REGIS PHILBIN all up in the audience with a mic in his hand.
What in the shit was that about?
And Donald was all “Ask all of the great people in the audience who should I vote for”
And Regis was all “Who should The Donald vote for, people?”
And I was all “Why doesn’t The Donald make up his own damn mind and quit acting like a spineless dick about it?”
That was just… STUPID?
And don’t even get me started on the “live band” singing the “Money” song. If I ever hear that song again, someone’s getting a round house kick to the ribs.
I thought it was highly fitting that, while watching that piece of crap finale last night, Gabby lifted her legs and ripped a horrific “wet” fart in the direction of the TV. It was as if she was saying “This is a piece of crap, but since all I’ve got is a fart laced with crap, I’ll go ahead and send a “shout out” to your piece of crap show, you pieces of crap.”
That said, I’m glad that Kelly won. I freaking HATED Jen.
Alrighty, then. That was special, wasn’t it?

Special Sauce…… POLICY HAHHA

McDonalds has a “Sauce Policy”.
A SAUCE POLICY.
I, for one, was totally unaware of the SAUCE POLICY. But thanks to the bitch with the headset on who forcefully pointed to the sauce policy posted right there on the drive thru window, I now know! Bitch was all “HAD THOU PAID ATTENTION, THOU WOULD HAVE KNOWN ABOUT THE SAUCE POLICY!”
A Policy! FOR SAUCE! A SAUCE POLICY!
The sauce policy goes a little something like this.
A 6 piece = 1 sauce
A 10 piece = 2 sauces
A 20 piece = 3 sauces
That’s right, bitches, you get THREE SAUCES for TWENTY McNuggets. Each additional sauce will cost your ass a dime. (Hey, I didn’t write the sauce policy, I’m just reporting the sauce policy)
Who decided they needed a POLICY? For SAUCE? Were the kids behind the counter all “OH FUCK! Someone just ordered a 10 piece and I have NO IDEA how many sauces to give them! If only we had a policy!” Or, like, did the managers get tired of people asking for extra sauce? Were they all “That bitch just asked for TWO MORE DRESSINGS, does she think SAUCE GROWS ON TREES? We need a policy. For the sauce!”
I, for one, think the fact that a sauce policy exists is hilarious. Once I realised there was a policy on sauce, I couldn’t stop with the SAUCE POLICY jokes (and thank God my boys have my sense of humor, because they jumped right in).
Me:” Can I have 3 ranch dressings with my SIX piece, please?”
Andrew: “Uh, ma’am, you just violated our SAUCE POLICY, unless you cough up an extra 20 cents, I’m going to have to escort you out.”
All of us: ” HAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHA”
I don’t even have to say “You had to be there” because that is some funny shit right there.
SAUCE.
POLICY.

Ouch

Gabby is teething.

And when babies are teething? They like to BITE ON THINGS. Which means, ANYTHING you stick in their mouths gets bitten, gnawed, and chewed on. About every 3 hours, I willingly place one of my boobs in her mouth to feed her, normally, this isn’t a problem, but remember, she’s TEETHING. So, she’ll suck for a little while, then B-A-M she bites down on my nipple and starts BITING AND GNAWING AWAY. It’s a dangerous situation. If I try to pull it out, it hurts like HELL, so, I calmly say “NO, Gabby! No bitey mommies boobies!”
“What is that you say, mommy? HARDER?”

I’d switch her to a bottle in a heartbeart, were it not for the fact that she REFUSES TO DRINK FROM A BOTTLE. It’s my fault, I waited to long to introduce her to it (Like three months too long.) When we DO try to give her a bottle, she mocks it. She’s like “What is this synthetic piece of crap you’re trying to pass off as a nipple? Get that piece of rubber out of my mouth NOW, and give me my nice, soft, warm natural titty back… THANK YOU.”
I can’t remember if the boys did this, but I had stopped breastfeeding Ethan at 4 months and Andrew at 6, so probably not. However, I don’t think I can do that with Gabby because of the whole “she refuses to take a bottle” thing.
Any breastfeeding pros have any suggestions? Or must I, must MY NIPPLES live in torment every 3 hours for the next few weeks? HELP?

Fun times!

In case you’ve ever wondered what it’s like at my house in the mornings, I give you “My Life in the Mornings, Every Morning, Except for the Weekends and Vacations.”
“Get up!”
“We’re TIRED!”
“On the Gooood Ship Lollipop” OR, maybe “I like big butts and I can not lie, you otha brothas…”
“STOP!”
“GET OUT!”
*Pillows flying at me*
“Get dressed.”
“Get your socks on.”
“Get your shoes on.”
“Why aren’t you dressed yet?”
“Put the ball down and EAT YOUR BREAKFAST!”
“Stop writing “I love pink” on your brothers notebook and FINISH EATING!”
“SCHOOL IS FOR BABIES!”
“I hate school!”
“Well, I hate cleaning toilets and washing your dirty chonies, but I have to do it!”
“PUT YOUR SHOES ON!”
“My socks are BUGGING ME! I can’t stand it!”
“Stop calling your brother a bunghole!”
“I don’t care if you called you a retard first! BOTH OF YOU STOP!”
“If you miss the bus, you’re on restriction tomorrow.”
“I hear the bus! THE BUS IS COMING!”
“I have to PEEEEE!”
“Go pee and then RUN! RUN LIKE THE WIND!”
“I love you!!”
“Ah, peace and quiet! I think I’ll sit down and read…”
“Wahhhh, I want tittymilk! WHERE MA’ TIT AT?”

This is all MIKEY’S fault.

Oh my God. How do I even begin to explain this? I’ll try. Ok…
Have you ever had a fart in the form of a bubble that travels all the way up your crack, not actually “popping” until it reached the top of your pants?
NO!?
You’ve not LIVED til that happens! I only wish someone had been here to share the moment with me.