Well damn. My gf and I went to visit another gf who had a baby about five weeks ago. She had the baby
laying on the floor, and I JOKINGLY--JOKINGLY, people--said, "Awww, babies. You know before they start rolling they make really great foot rests."
My gf, who should be used to my sense of humor by now, snatched that kid up off the floor and glared at me like I'd just said the kid had cooties.
Lighten up, people. Like I would use a baby for a foot rest, knowing perfectly well that cats
make the best foot rests. They're warm and soft and their purring vibration is oddly erotic.
Once again I am faced with the joys of parenting: refrigerator art. Most parents are thrilled to display their child's handiwork, be it a picture of a dog or a cat or the usual house with a smiley face sunshine, mom and dad and 2.5 kids in the yard standing next to a tree. Not at my trailer.
I just had to referee yet *another* argument between Male Offspring #1 and his siblings as they jockeyed for prime space on the refrigerator door. Male Offspring #1 is 22 years old and YOU'D THINK he'd be smart enough to know not to slap pictures of nude chicks on the fridge. Alas, he says it's "MY art and I have a right to display it."
It was at this exact momen that I knew I had failed as a mother, because my response was, "You want art? I'll give you art UP THE ASS."
What does that even mean? Beats me, but the words were out before I could even stop them and it's not like I haven't used them many times in the past.
My verbal parenting responses are divided into two categories: for the offspring who don't cuss like a sailor,
I say, "You want something to cry about?! I'll GIVE you something to cry about!" The offspring that are 8 and older
get the previous "up the ass" response. I'd like to have a wonderfully intelligent Dr. Phil comeback, but it's just not there. Sigh. At this rate I will never see that elusive Mother of the Year Trophy on my mantle.
Favorite Song O'The Day: Crazy by Gnarls Barkley