Excuses, excuses.

Hey, you guys!  How’ve you been? Good!  Well, enough about you, let’s talk about me.

So the pie thing shockingly well.  I didn’t burn the house down, and the pie was not only edible, it was good.  Take that, um…cooking, I guess?  Anyway, other than that, I haven’t really been up to much.  Unlike everyone else I know.

I mean, so many of the people around me have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  (I have never seen that phrase in print before, it’s kind of gross, huh?)   I’ve avoided the pressure because of one thing:  I’m really good at making excuses.  Like, really good.  So good, in fact, that I’m going to share my list with you.

  1.  “I had Taco Bell today.”  This is a good one, because no one will question you after that, for a couple of reasons:  1)  They absolutely DO NOT want to hear what happened after that, and 2) every person in America and probably Germany has a Taco Bell story. (My husband has a Taco Bell legend.)  They already know what’s up.  However, you can only use this one once every few weeks, otherwise people will think you’re either a masochist or just plain stupid
  2. “Not unless you want to help me move.”  It’s surprising how well this one works, considering people don’t generally move that often.  It’s one of those things that people don’t even want to risk walking into.  I personally used this one three weekends in a row a while back, and it worked every.  Single.  Time.  Even though I haven’t moved in eight years.
  3. “I don’t have a babysitter.”  This one has a limited life span, since once your oldest hits the teen years it becomes assumed that you have a built in baby-sitter.  I have the great fortune of having the Destroyer as my oldest, and everyone know that ain’t nobody trying to leave him in a house alone with, well, furniture and dishes and windows and such. However, if your kids fall in the 1-7 age range, you’re golden.  Especially if you have more than two. It also helps if you happen to have the spawn of the Devil himself.  Or if your daughter may be a sociopath.

    sto
    Seriously, no one wanted to baby sit. Ever.
  4. “I’m broke.”  Cause nobody wants to pay for you.  Or maybe it’s just me-no one wants to pay for me.  Not even for the sheer pleasure of my presence.  Just kidding, I have like, three friends, and one of them is married to me and he has no choice but to pay.  I also have no job.
  5. “I don’t feel like it.”  Okay, so be careful with this one. It’s a classic, but keep this in mind:  This one is for the professional lazybones ONLY.  You have to be soooo lazy that you’re not even up to inventing a legitimate excuse.  Or, in my case, so lazy that you probably have a real reason for your inability to do something and you’re not even up to sharing THAT.  Also, the “I don’t feel like it” requires real conviction–you must not be talked into feeling like it.  It doesn’t matter what “it” is, you have already professed your feelings or lack thereof and THAT IS THE END.  FINITO.  The “I don’t feel like it” must be resistant to tears, begging, anger, and bribery.  That’s right, you don’t even feel like taking something you want to do something you don’t.  THAT, my friends, is excusery (not a word? It is now) at it’s finest.

There you go.  You are very welcome, because I have saved you from drudgery and irritation.  Did I miss any?

Why can’t I be Bruce Wayne?

Okay, so I you read my blog on a regular basis (and I know you do, because it’s just that entertaining) then you know that I love me some superheroes. Marvel, DC, Justice League, Avengers, all of it. I’ve already done a post about which super powers I would like to have.  Now I’m going to do this one about which superheroes the people in my life actually are.  I mean, if you think about it, we all have people in our lives that have traits of certain mutants or aliens.  Like, my sister Birdie and I have mutual acquaintance that would be Rogue because she sucks the life out of everyone.  Like that.

Of course, I would be Batman. Wait–The Destroyer has just informed me that I am not Batman.  He is insane.

“Of course I’m Batman.  I’m fabulous all day and then I lurk around all night fighting dirt and crime.  Mostly dirt. Also, I always wear black.” Not sure if Batman wears black because it’s slimming, but whatever.

“Yeah, but Batman carries out his threats.”

“Not the point, look, I’m trying to type here–”

“You’re actually the Punisher.  You just go around busting up everyone’s fun.”

What?  I thought I was fun, not the fun-buster.

“No, it’s just that being the fun-buster is fun for you. That’s why you smile when you do it.”  (Note:  This is not why.  I just have this weird quirk where I smile when I’m angry.  Don’t ask me why, I wish I looked fierce and scary and intimidating.)

“You shut up and let me be Batman before I punch the air out of your lungs.”

He laughed, said “Punisher” and went to eat all the food out of the refrigerator.

I have previously called the Big Man my own personal Hulk.  But now that I think about it, that’s not quite right.  He has no Bruce Banner side to him;  he always just walks around being huge and intense.  He’s the Juggernaut. Like this:

He does that several times a day.

Wondergirl is Captain America.  She doesn’t make the rules, but she sure will enforce them.  With violence.  Sweet, sweet, justified violence.

The Destroyer.  He’s Beast.  No, he’s not blue, and he’s not even really hairy yet.  But he does run around on all fours (not joking)  and can physically do some pretty amazing crap. He’s also pretty smart when he feels like it.

Kid Sensation.  I almost put Kid Sensation down as Iron Man, because of how good he is with technology. But Iron Man talks too much.  So I gave him Cyborg.  I would ask him what he thinks of that, but he won’t say anything, anyway–he’s on the computer trying to buy something behind my back.  Haha, Kid, there’s no money in that account.  There’s no money in any account.  Joke’s on–well, all of us, I guess.

Birdie is Storm.  She’s usually the voice of reason, until she gets mad.  Then it’s lightening bolts and tornadoes for everyone.

Yay!  Family dinner!
Yay! Family dinner!

Ah yes, Supermom.  No, she is not Superman, she is Darkseid.  I’m dead serious.

What about the folks you know?  Who are you?

Just plain weekend.

I have to admit, I sometimes feel that everyone is having a better weekend than I am.  So I documented my weekend and realized that they probably are.  But that’s okay, because mine wasn’t half bad. Here it is:

Go to the farmer’s market with your six-year-old. It is so nice to go with someone who doesn’t have any time constraints or an agenda. Kid Sensation was cool to wander with me, sample food, be the only one dancing to the live band, and tip the violinist. Although, apparently balloon animals are okay, but the prospect of getting paint on his face on purpose is terrifying and definitely not okay.

Throw the football with with your twelve year old. Ask him what him and his friends talk about at school. When you suggest boobs, he will emphatically tell you not boobs. Which probably means boobs. You will also find out that his friend, Optimus Prime is a serial dater but that The Destroyer has incredibly high standards for someone who still loses arguments to his six-year-old brother. And who smells like old hummus by the end of the day.

Go boot shopping with your ten-year-old. She will be picky. You will be impatient if you are the Big Man and feel like you should be at home watching football—but you promised. She will hug her Daddy and you will be caught smiling.

Fight with your six-year-old. He will have stayed up late to sneak-watch Frozen, so he won’t be on one, he’ll be on all of them. The final showdown will come at 1 p.m., right as you’ve arrived to your Sunday meeting, where he will melt down as you try to tuck his shirt in in an effort to avoid someone thinking you just brought some random homeless Ewok with you. (He also needs a haircut.) You decide it’s time to go nuclear and call in the Big Man. Kid Sensation is taken out for a few minutes, comes back tearstained and chastened, and instantly falls asleep.

ewok

Have cramps and be cranky and mean.

Eat chips and dip. Feel better. Have a mimosa. Feel even better.

Have your kids make dinner under your direction. Wonder if The Destroyer’s spaghetti is better than yours. No one says it isn’t. Have hurt feelings.

Watch Peyton Manning break Brett Favre’s record. Realize again how cool it is watching history being made with kids.

Pray and be thankful for everything and everyone you have.

Random Thoughts Thursday

I decided to treat ya’ll to another visit to the wonderful world inside my head.

Because you enjoyed it so much last time.  YES YOU DID.

“I guess being dead won’t work either.”  I tried not to respond to the kids pleas for some motherly attention and played possum with my eyes closed.  Kid Sensation stone-cold walks over to me, lifts up my right eyelid, and screams “MOM!” right in my face.

“Oooooh!  I have a Honeycrisp in the fridge.  Imma eat that!”  Pretty exciting, if you ask me.

“I guess it’s time to ram the doors with my truck.”  The Destroyer was fifteen minutes late coming out of football practice and the school doors were locked.  I had to figure out a way to save him (and then kill him if nothing serious had happened). Ramming things with my truck is always the solution.

“Do I separate them or let them work it out?”  Trick question–I had no intentions of doing either.  I just parked them in front of a violent cartoon so they’ll both shut up for thirty minutes.  I’m such a good mom.

Because this is EXACTLY the kind of things Wondergirl needs to see.
Because this is EXACTLY the kind of thing Wondergirl needs to see.

“You stay in that corner, spider, and I will stay in this one.  That way we’ll both lead long, happy lives.”  She didn’t listen, though, and I really didn’t want to fight her. I only talk tough.  I went into the other room–no one wants a spider in their afro.

“That was bad.”  I thought that about a lot of things today.  I think that about a lot of things a lot of the time–a solid fifty percent of which are things I have done.

“I am so trifling.”  I was playing Farm Saga instead of cleaning the kitchen.

“Matching socks?  Who cares about having matching socks?  Ebola is real in these streets!…is what I’ll say.”  Have I mentioned that I hate laundry?

“You lose, cat.”  I had a staring contest with the neighbor’s cat through the window.  He thinks he’s better than me.  I showed him.

“If I take two samples of the same item at Costco, is that stealing?”  Now that I think about it, probably not.  Also, I’m a fatty, and everyone expects a fatty to take two samples.  I can’t let them down.

“Those are for douchebags.”  I’m not sure what this was about.  Oh, wait.  It was one of those bikes that goes over your shoulders and you have to run.  I saw one of these in real life.  It was pretty douchetastic.

“How dare you?”  After pretty much everything that comes out of Kid Sensation’s mouth. I mean, he says stuff like “Never mind that” and “You meant to say…”  How dare he?

“Where does he think he’s going?1?”  I thought Kid Sensation was getting into someone else’s car and panicked.  Turns out it was Gustavo, his classmate.  Again, I’m pretty much Mom of the Year over here.

“I know!  A tangerine!”  Trying to think up what to have for snack.

“Buzz all you want, dryer.  Those clothes will stay in there until no one has underwear.”  Not true.  Just until I have no underwear.

“NO!  No more Gerald and Piggie!”  Seriously, no more Gerald and Piggie.

I know I’m not the only one with random thoughts–gimme some of yours.

Wondergirl on Ice.

I decided to spend a little time with Wondergirl the other day, mano y mano.  It’s football season, so most of our time is spent either at The Destroyer’s games, to and from his practices, or watching football on TV.  I figured one of us should pay her at least a little bit of attention, that way her therapist can’t blame us.

So we watched Frozen for the billionth time together.  But this time, instead of faking like I was watching the movie while screaming on the inside, I listened to Wondergirl’s running commentary during the flick.

It was…interesting.

“Why are her parents telling her not to feel anything?  They’re not good parents.” Well, the king’s idea of medical attention was a visit to some trolls, so there’s that.

“So after they’ve messed her up, then they up and die.”  I thought the exact same thing. But they seems to be Disney’s way out with bad parenting a lot of the time.  Cinderella’s dad croaked and left her with this terrible woman he obviously married for money.  But I digress.

“So why did he (Hans) come to the coronation?  If he’s got that many brothers, he can’t be very important.” I know, right?  Elsa should have been insulted.

“If someone was dancing like that at my party, I would make them leave.”  I wouldn’t.  That old man was getting down, and I would have made sure he had plenty to drink purely for entertainment value.  Then when he started getting belligerent (I don’t know, but the Duke of Weselton seems like he’d be a mean drunk) I’d kick him out.

“Why would she announce that she wanted to get married at her sister’s party?  If my sister did that to me, I’d kick her out.”  Wondergirl sure is kicking a lot of people out of a party that isn’t even real.  Oh, and announcing her engagement at someone else’s party is exactly the kind of crap Wondergirl would pull.

Of course, she had to stand up and sing “Let it go.”  She’s still only ten.

“Kristoff looks like he stinks.”  Yeah, he kinda does.

“If she didn’t remember Elsa’s powers, how did she remember Olaf?” I don’t know.  But I know one thing, remembering him from childhood wouldn’t have made him less of a freak show.

And why does he have teeth?
And why does he have teeth?

“So, um does Elsa have a kitchen and a bathroom in there?” You know, Wondergirl, you’re kind of ruining the movie.

“She’s a wreck.” Wondergirl is right on with this one.  Elsa is clearly an emotional wreck.

“Why didn’t she tell them to shut up singing and wasting everyone’s time.  I would have.”  She’s talking about the trolls. We know you would have, Wondergirl.  But on the other hand, she has a point.  If I were Ana, I would have been like, “Yeah, fixer-upper, true love, that’s great and all BUT I’M LITERALLY FREEZING TO DEATH OVER HERE.”

“I would have taken my last bit of strength and strangled him to death.” I almost pointed out that then she would have surely died too, but we have already established that Wondergirl is fine with dying as long as someone goes with her. 

That was pretty much it. I think I need to revisit some of the other Disney movies with her–her take on the Little Mermaid is something I am pretty sure I need in my life.

Absolute Evil

UPDATE:  This post is in no way political.  Dick Cheney’s evil is based solely on his looks. Because I am that superficial.

Not too long ago, I did a post about things I think are an absolute good.  Like breakfast and such.  Now it’s time to talk about the other side, the side that lives in Wondergirl’s soul.  I’m kidding.  She has no soul.

1.) Clowns.  All of them. The Joker isn’t evil because he’s a psychopath; he’s evil because he’s a clown.

2.)  Heartburn.  Heartburn is evil because it only comes from delicious food.  I have never gotten heartburn from lima beans.

3.)  My house.

4.)  The Internet. The internet is entirely responsible for my failure to accomplish anything, ever.  I would be a somewhat productive human being without the Internet making me waste my time looking at lots and lots of crap that I can’t afford.

5.)  People who hate Dragon Ball Z.  Look, I’m not saying you have to love it like I do.  Being indifferent is okay as well.  But if you can look me in the eye and tell me you hate Dragon Ball Z, I’m pretty sure you also kick babies and slap cake out of people’s hands.  Evil.

6.)  Flesh colored leggings.  Gross.

7.)  My scale.  I don’t even know why I let it live here.

8.) That guy who put a lift kit and 24s on his new Camaro.  He should be killed for committing that hate crime against that poor car.  I’m not even a Chevy girl like that, but you get a Camaro because it’s fast and it’s supposed to be low to the ground and why oh why would he do that?  Because he’s evil, that’s why.

9.) Jerry Jones.  He has to be evil; he’s obviously been dead for like, three years.   See also:  Dick Cheney.

10.)  Dick Cheney.  He needed to be on here twice, because he’s too evil for just a side note.  The man is terrifying and I’m pretty sure he’s the Boogeyman.

I'm not sure what facial expression this is, but I'm sure whoever he's looking at is now a pile of bones somewhere.
I’m not sure what facial expression this is, but I’m sure whoever he’s looking at is now a pile of bones somewhere. He ate them, is what I’m saying.

11.) Popeye’s Chicken.  Everything up in that joint is terrible for you and they know it.  So they make it smell extra good (try driving by Popeye’s with your window rolled down) and taste extra good so that so you don’t even notice your thighs and heart getting bigger while you’re still eating.  See also:  Krispy Kreme.

12.)  People who drink decaf.  They’re obviously trying to throw my addiction in my face and that’s a pretty evil thing to do.

13.)  Money.  For never being in my bank account.

Let’s start this Monday off right.  What’s your absolute evil?

I’m not Beyonce, but I woke up like this.

Have you ever woken up irritated? Like so irritated that you knew you were going to be an awful human being that day and no one was going to want to be within 50 feet of you and the thought of it made you GLAD? No? You think you’re better than me? Huh?

Let me backtrack. We’ve gotten through the first week of school. You know that week where you’ve already spent god knows how much money and yet the kids seem to have nothing so you have to spend more money that you don’t have? Yeah, that week.

It’s also the week that you find out exactly the toll having your spawn home all summer has taken on your house, and so everything has fallen apart at exactly the same time. So now you have to do a bootleg job of holding your furniture together with duct tape, string, and a few paperclips. And staples. I’ve gotten to where I can’t relax when I sit in our recliner because I’m waiting for it to collapse under me and I want to be able to spring off of it like cat so I don’t have a recliner-related death.

I will look exactly like this.
I will look exactly like this.

The dishwasher keeps thinking it’s cleaned dishes that it hasn’t. That blinking “clean” light is actually the dishwasher laughing at me. So I’m washing dishes by hand like I live in a third-world country.

We now have a gopher razing our yard to the ground. I don’t have Bill Murray’s number. If you do, please tell him to contact me about a rodent and some dynamite.

My kids’ stomachs are actually black holes—infinite and unfillable. Of course, the Big Man is quite confident he can give me ten bucks to feed the family for the week and is astonished when I come home with potatoes and ramen instead of steak and asparagus. I kid, I kid. We can’t afford ramen after buying shoes for the Destroyer. Or after paying for school lunch.

Kid Sensation fell into a depression because he couldn’t wear his new school jeans and sweatshirt in 90-degree heat. He told me his summer clothes looked raggedy. I told him they look a heckuva lot better than heatstroke.

Good news: Wondergirl save her first altercation for the second day of school. Baby steps.

So after all that, Friday rolls around and I woke up irritated. And I plan to be pretty terrible today. At least until wine time.

 

 

 

 

 

Idle threats.

So I admit, I believe in spanking. It happens very seldom, though, reserved for things like running in the parking lot or telling me I’m fat. I do love an idle threat, though. I am forever threatening my kids with the beating of their lives that they know will never happen. They laugh at me. Hysterically. Well, all except Kid Sensation; he ignores me 75% of the time. I have actually gotten pretty creative with my threats.

Some of my greatest hits (ßsee what I did there? I’m funny) include:

“Do it again and I’ll slap your hair straight!”

“You’re going to make me feel like messing you up!”

“Hey, you, let’s fight. Them’s fightin’ words.” (Courtesy of the Simpsons.)

“If I have to get up from here, everyone’s gonna get it!”

“Do you want it from my slappin’ hand or my other slappin’ hand?”

“You must want to wear handprints.”

“Oh, since you said that, I take it you’re ready to rumble.”

“If I wasn’t over here, I’d ruin you.”

“Come over here so I can ruin you.”

“Say it again so I can slap the words out of your mouth.”

“Oh, yeah, come over here and say that while I step on your foot.” (This one sent Wondergirl into a fit of the giggles. My feelings were slightly hurt.)

“Mom SMASH!”

“It’s clobberin’ time!” (Then I had to explain to them what it meant to clobber someone and it took all the fun out of it.)

Like this, except with an amazing afro.
Like this, except with an amazing afro.

“What time is it? Time to kick some 12-year-old-butt, that’s what time it is!”

“You talkin’ to me? Boy, I’ll Jackie Chan you!” (Interchangeable with Chuck Norris and JCVD.)

“You wanna talk crazy to the Mom? Well, the Mom says this….” (This actually scared them a little, as they weren’t familiar with the Rock’s lingo and I was speaking of myself in the third person.)

“Don’t make me….” (This sentence ends in a variety of ways.)

“I’ll slap you over to Grandma’s house.” (She’d just make me come pick them up, and everyone knows I don’t feel like doing that.)

“You like CDs? Well see these fists!” (Actually, that one didn’t work because they don’t like CDs, only mp3’s and “mp3 these fists” makes no sense.)

They know it’s all in good fun, my actual punishments are quite sadistic. Like the time I made The Destroyer and Wondergirl clean each other’s room for fighting. For a week. Or when The Destroyer had to be Wondergirl’s servant for three hours after he said something mean to her—she absolutely relished it and contrived some of the most menial tasks possible, like fanning her nails dry. It was awesome, and it worked.

But they still enjoy my threats of bodily harm. They might be as off as their mother.

Do you randomly threaten? Or are you a good parent? (If you are, you can’t sit with us.)