yeah, I don’t know when this turned into a cooking blog, either

yeah, I don’t know when this turned into a cooking blog either. my day today was actually pretty decent, but I felt a lot more stress than usual and when I am stressed…I bake. it’s my therapy. only its cheaper and I get to eat my progress. some people drink, do drugs, smoke, exercise- I do caramel.

tonight i got a recipe for chocolate cake out of my better homes and gardens cookbook. I was distracted when I was reading the recipe and I whipped the eggs for two minutes instead of the butter. I didn’t think it would make that much of a difference but I ended up with this:

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I realize that my recipe dyslexia is *probably* what caused this seepage, but because I’m a super responsible adult I’m not taking any credit for this b.s. because I’m perfect and BHG can kiss my diva ass. (how is that for working on divatude? good, huh! it hurt a little).

anyway, while those pans of hot mess (literally) were ensuring that I no longer ignore cleaning my oven, I decided I was going to make some Andes candies filling. one small problem: I didn’t have a recipe and the only one I could find online required a double boiler and id rather slit my wrists and bleed out for science than e-ver use a double boiler. no problem. I was still high on my tomato-corn pie victory and thought I could make one up. I melted my Andes candies and added butter because really, why not butter? then I got real daring and added powdered sugar and then I had something that resembled ground beef. the thought did cross my mind to use the ground beef as filling, but decided that even I can’t pretend that was ok.

I went back then to an old favorite of the caramel cake variety and made caramel filling. then I looked in the oven and saw that. after pulling out my flaming pans of shit, I just dumped them into a casserole dish and poured my caramel on top. wasting caramel is sacrilegious and I already am one confession in the hole after yesterday’s antics. here is the end result:

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as it turns out- chocolate explosion cake + caramel = chocolate molten lava cake. mmmMMmm. I think there is a recipe for that somewhere that you can make in the microwave though so who is really the winner here? not me and not my chocolate covered kitchen.

in other news, I let my son run around in just a diaper today. he had on a little size five thong before too long and I couldn’t figure out why there were bunny droppings all over my den. I’ll leave it at that.

weekend to do list: shampoo floors and clean oven.

I’m feeling stressed already. I think I need to bake.

bastard pie.

ever since i went extreme part-time at my j-o-b and started staying at home with my nuggets, i have proclaimed myself a domestic diva and strive everyday to live up to that title.  it’s surprisingly harder than you would think 1. because i have an almost 2 year old terrorist living in my house and 2. because i have never been a self proclaimed diva before and am not completely sure what being a diva entails. 

my best guess at divadom or divatude is that i should be making dinners everynight for my family.   when i was working we ate out A LOT. the loss of my income combined with the fact that my son acts wiggity whack at restaurants is part of the reason why i have started making dinners from scratch most every night.   i also enjoy making other odd treats like my caramel cake and and rice krispies.  i am a good-time gal (of the homemaking variety) and i’ll try anything once.   i have had a few godawful disasters in the kitchen.  two weeks ago i made homemade “aunt annies” pretzels.   aside from the fact that it looked like my kitchen had undergone a flour insurgency attack, the pretzels tasted like baking soda and ass.  

last week when we were in pennsylvania, i got spoiled with delicious homegrown tomatoes, corn, zucchini, cucumbers, squash, peppers– yummo!  i was having a bit of an unwanted fresh tomato detox one night and i ran across a recipe for http://bunsinmyoven.com/2011/08/17/tomato-and-corn-pie/ on pinterest and decided that i needed to take my little buns down to the farmers market and get the ingredients for this.  we got all the stuff we needed on sunday, but i couldn’t get around to making it until today because cooking new stuff gives me axiety and my kitchen wasn’t clean.  i don’t do my best work in the kitchen unless it’s clean.  strange i know.  

so anyway, last night after j took lil’ j to take a bath, i decided that it would be the perfect time to make my pie crust.  please do not think for one minute that i wanted to make the crust, i actually wanted to buy the frozen crust in my grocers freezer, but that sonofa didn’t have any.  ugh.  i was actually pretty impressed with myself and my pie crust.  i didn’t have butter milk and i wasn’t fixing to buy for 3/4 cup of butter milk.  i just used whole milk and called it a day.

today i was tripping hard over combining the other ingredients, blanching the tomatoes, and getting everything put together all while having a screaming toddler and baby.  i have mentioned this before but 4-6 at our house is the witching hour.  trying to make food while wrestling my son and feeding a screaming baby is all but impossible.  i decided to just to put the stuff together at 2 when c was asleep and j was intrigued by jake and the neverland pirates. 

i will spare you the details but it took me 2 hours to get the rest of the pie ready to go and involved me de-seeding tomatoes.  i make a colossal mess and at one point i texted my bff with “i want to blog about this, but [what i want to say isn’t appropriate for public consumption]”  i decided to rename my pie “bastard pie” and decided that unless the pie came out of the oven with a pair of keys to some new wheels for me and a sack of oreos that it was not worth the trouble at all. 

i preheated the oven and popped that baby in.  it smelled like heaven, but i couldnt tell if that was just because i worked up such an appetite making this ridiculous bastardness.  i pulled it out of the oven and its like i got a bitch slap from deliciousness and cheese.  i cut it to serve and thought it looked awfully savory, but refused to admit it would be good because i really didn’t ever want to feel compelled to make it again.

as it turns out, this is the best damn thing i have ever eaten. like really… amazing.  if someone would give me fresh tomatoes and corn everyday i would do nothing but make this pie.  i would hire a nanny to come and watch my children so that i could make this pie from sun up until sun down.  yes, it is that good. 

i NEVER write recipes in my recipe book, i just bookmark them in my phone and use them from there.  it is decided that i will copy the recipe for “bastard pie” into a recipe book and that all future suitors for my son will have to make it before they are allowed to go out with him.  because i really want my son to have a taste for fresh delicious tomatoes and corn and because i would rather someone else make it and i get to enjoy it. 

if you are feeling bold and decide to make it, here are a few tips:

1. i added an extra 2tbsp of butter to my dough because i misread the instructions and i was feeling particularly paula deeny with it.

2. fresh shredded cheese makes a difference.  i swear that it does.  get yourself a block and do the leg work.  you won’t be sorry.

3. having a rosary handy is helpful because you will owe a few hail mary’s after the string of curse words that you spew while making this. 

at this point i was going to input some pictures, but they are billboard size and i don’t feel like screwing around with the programing to get them to fit.   maybe another day or you can check me out on the book of faces: 

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.630476458080.2111690.11900918&l=36a97c8174&type=1
 
also, i totally apologize for being too dumb to properly post hyperlinks.  i’d love to be able to put something witty on a link, but my ineptitude keeps me from doing so.  me so sorry.

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superstitious helicopter parent

when I was a little girl, I was slightly *a lot* OCD (and weird). there was an entire summer, when I was about 8, that all I did was lay on the end of my bed and watch the home shopping network for like 18 hours a day. seriously. i was mesmerized by the bling, teflon, and i was captivated by the urgency of the first 100 callers get this extra piece of crap free of charge.

and when other kids were playing king of the mountain or riding bikes or whatever, I was playing library. not playing at the library. I was playing actual library. oh yes, friends, I made up my very own Dewey decimal system and played pretend with my imaginary patrons checking out books. if I known I’d grow up to be a Drew, id have named my decimal system Dewey Drewy Decimal system because I had a penchant for alliteration and bombdiggityness at a young age.

…there are so many other examples of my bizarreness that I won’t bore you, but every time I think “my child is so weird” my next thought almost immediately goes to some variation of the colloquialisms “the pot calling the kettle black” or “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”. there are so many things about me that I hope my kids don’t emulate. funny thing about having kids is that they make you a better person or at least a more introspective one (which is saying something for a person who im pretty sure could carry on a conversation with a brick of it could just give an encouraging nod every now and again).

i would never want j or c to spend a whole summer as a QVCaholic or obsessing over the proper re-shelving or spewing a cornucopia of 4 letter words. or lots of stuff. superstition falls into the category of one of my least favorite things about myself. I am endlessly superstitious. I always have been and suspect that without taking a fist-full of anti-anxiety meds w/ a vodka chaser (which i have no intentions of doing) that I’ll always be.

superstition has always played to my insecurities or passions. “don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mothers back,” “seven years bad luck for breaking a mirror,” etc, ad nauseum. when I was in elementary school I actually wrote a book for a project that I really think I’ll publish (or attempt to publish one day). I couldn’t fathom stepping on a crack consciously for fear that wherever my mom was and no matter what she was doing she would break her back. it didn’t matter if she was standing immobile in line at the grocery store or laying on the couch. my active imagination would have ninjas busting through windows to give my mom a swift kick to the spinal cord and snap that shit like a twig. (this is before I knew about the awesomeness that is chuck Norris. if I were to have these irrational thoughts now about ninjas, chuck Norris would surely open a barns worth of whoopass on these ninjas before they could do any snap into a slim jim-ing. but I digress). I hope that my children are free from this superstitious worrying and that they avoid stepping on any sidewalk cracks. a girl can dream, right?

to this day, I am still super superstitious. I had a stall in my weight loss and I attributed it (in my warped little mind) to it being because i wrote about my weight loss here. in all actuality it has nothing to do with writing about it and everything to do with me sucking down fat pills (aka extra food). so here I am, slave to superstition writing about it again to cancel my original writing about it out. am I a freak? I think yes. I write about this stuff to 1. empty my mind and to 2. make others who are like me feel like they aren’t alone.

a lot of days, I feel like I’m the only parent on the planet. i wish I had my imaginary library patrons back so when my child does something hilarious or appalling, I could look at someone and say “did you just see that?”. most of the time i try to see humor in my life with my baby boos, but mostly I find myself being a helicopter parent so I can protect my kids from making the same mistakes I have made. i also fancy myself to be protecting them from themselves in general. I mean supermaning off the couch is boatloads of fun until it ends in an er marathon for stiches or a cast.

I apologize for not being “funny” today but sometimes I just need to empty the contents of my brain so that I can just fill it back up tomorrow.

in other news: my daughter has started a most annoying habit of sucking at the breastaurant really hard and then pulling herself off suddenly. it makes a pop sound and she smiles the biggest grin ever. the grin in cute, the boob pain I could do without. I’m so glad my nipples are an endless source of entertainment, but I would rather wear a clown nose or make classy fart-noises from my armpit. my new philosophy on bfing with her is “suck it or get off the nip”. I’m really screwed when these bottom teeth come though because she also enjoys biting down on my nipple and pulling back until it’s hanging out of her mouth like a cigarette/cigar. it’s a little audrey Hepburn, a little godfather, and a lot irritating (literally and figuratively).

my guy is just hilarious. his vocabulary is expanding in leaps and bounds everyday. today when his daddy came in the door he exclaimed “oh my God, hi!” (remind me not to say that turn of phrase anymore). later he looked at the cat and said “meow, meow… how ya doin’?” as if to translate. and he told me tonight that “[he] wanna go back to da bockbocks!” in other words, he wants to go back to see the chickens. smart boy. in keeping with my hope to make my children better than me I try to stray away from negative corrections like “go the eff to sleep” or “sit the Hell down!” or “eat it or starve” and stick with things like “you are sleepy, why don’t you close your eyes and rest. it’ll make you feel better”, “mommy would prefer it if you sat nicely”, or “you won’t have energy to play if you don’t eat”. again, I dont want my kids latching onto my nasty habits. besides, what are friends for if not to text them what I’m *really* thinking?

super creep

I’m back, now, ya here?

spent the past week in pennsylvania with J, J, and C. I nearly had an out and out anxiety attack prepping for the trip. this was C’s first flying experience and I’m not sure if you’ve ever tried to keep a toddler still and in a seat for 3 hours, but it’s best accomplished with a horse tranquilizer and a straight jacket. I chose to take the non-Casey Anthony route and I packed approximately 50 packages of fruit snacks, 6 rice krispy treats, 20 suckers, and every other odd and end sugar product I had in the house. my logic is that if their mouthes are full then they can’t scream or if they do at least it’s muffled.

the whole thing had me so worked up in a tizzy it’s amazing I didn’t end up in a padded room in a straight jacket all my own. I am serious as serious can be about this: it was the easiest day of travel (up to PA) I have EVER had. the kids were mostly cooperative, the flights were on time, the baggage arrived…it was joyous.

little j had a lot of firsts this week: he camped “out” for the first time, went to the stoneboro fair for the first time, fished and I can’t even remember what all else. also, he learned the phrase “upside down!” he flips himself upside down on the regular now and screams it. it’s still cute for a couple more days at least.

the purpose of this trip was so that middle j could take little j to “The Great Stoneboro Fair”. j’s grandpa went for 81 consecutive years. j has missed a few due to field exercises and plane ticket prices that were well in the $1000s + plasma donations and the promise of our first born. It was important to j that we go this year. he says it’s so that he could show his kids the fair. I think it’s part that and part that he wanted to show the fair his kids.

the fair is like a community reunion. everyone comes out to enjoy “firemen fries”, “hot sausage sandwiches from ‘the Italians’ or ‘the lions’ “, good conversation, and great company.

and this is where the super creep comes in. round 1. ding. when I get tired (or angry or emotional) my filter between my brain and my mouth malfunctions or takes a smoke break or something. while at the fair, we ran across one of jerry’s best friends. he has recently gotten engaged. Jerry went to introduce me, but I’d already met her and I began to recap the time. not like “oh, I met you here in 2007”. more like… “I met you here the first time I came to the fair. I think it was 2007 and we met up on the hill *points to said hill* and you were wearing a white shirt and jeans and boots w/ those little tassel things on the toe and your hair was braided and you didn’t have the highlights in your hair and it was night” and it was shut the eff up, creeper. she was so gracious just to smile and nod but im pretty sure she really wanted to pivot on her heel and run to the nearest fair booth that sold weaponry to arm herself against creepy mc creeperson over here. let’s just say I finished my lyrical interpretation of “when we met” and backed away slowly so as not to startle my prey.

on the flight back home, i was given an interlude to my creeping. I sat next to the sweetest gal who had never flown before. I tried to explain what was happening with the planes bumps and dings and she just kept saying “k” “k” “k” “k” which in case you didn’t know is Latin for “I’m praying to sweet 8lb baby Jesus and you are interrupting”. lucky for her, this was the worst flight I’ve ever had… on record. Denver airport decided to straight up shut down. like willy wonka style “no one goes in and no one goes out” we got to circle aimlessly for God knows how long (he does, he does know…I however didn’t check my watch) until the pilot decided that we needed to refuel. where better to refuel for our trip than grand junction? it’s practically in Mormon country and not anywhere near Denver relatively speaking. it’s nearer to Denver than say… Seoul, Korea but to far too walk and too far to hitchhike. we stayed their for an indeterminate amount of time and then back to Denver. only Denver closed the south runways and so we had to go an additional 25 minutes to the north. mine and j’s 2 hr layover turned into 20 minutes by the time we landed. 9 minutes by the time we got off the plane. our connecting flight was 60 gates down and we had 9 minutes. ready. go!

somehow we made it and to save super ad nauseum let’s just say the second flight didn’t go smoothly either. as luck would have it, overwrought travelers do not appreciate my sense of humor, I wanted to cut the flight attendant, and my children were complete angels. at that point in the day, though, I wouldn’t have cared if jack had been juggling people’s luggage full of breakables, while screaming, and running up and down the aisles just so he could kick sleeping people in the shins. I would have probably just smiled and said “that’s nice honey…why don’t you go ride the beverage cart and tamper with the smoke detectors”

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coke crusaders

I had no idea there would be such an outpouring of support from my peeps about my undying LOVE for the coke. (re: coca cola. not the white stuff that one snorts…for cripes sake, I am a mother)

I have decided that I will start a group called “coke crusaders”. I have *no idea* what the purpose of this group will be other than basking in all of our Coke loving awesomeness. I have decided that on my (insert shameless free advertising) cafe press page there will be a whole section of inappropriate day wear that will be certainly NSFW and will make your beverage preference overtly obvious to your server. wearing these will serve two purposes 1. it’ll save you from the uncomfortable pepsi v. coke convo at your local pub and 2. it will announce your awesomeness to the world. let your light shine, baby. let.it.shine!

As a coke crusader you must be prepared to commit yourself to a life of red and white. I don’t necessarily think we should identify w/ the label “pepsi hata’ ” but “coke advocate” will do nicely. coke advocates, unite!

is it ok if i stab you in the eye with this here pencil?

i almost went all chicken mcnugget crazy up in my local mcdonalds fine dining establishment tonight. i posted this on facebook earlier but i had a standoff with the cashier over coca cola. i ordered my #4 and when asked what i wanted to drink i said “coke.” the lady says to me “we don’t have coke” to which i said “like you are out?” and she says “no. like we dont serve it” um, WTF?!? coke is the official sponsor of 3 things: 1. mcdonalds, 2. the olympics, and 3. diabetes. i was just fixing to jump out of my car and give her the old drive through beat down when i decided that i would tell her to please cancel my order and that i would take my mcdonalds order elsewhere. she was quite confused and asked “because we don’t have coke?” um, yes the hell i am. i don’t even buy fast food from restaurants that serve pepsi (with the exception of arby’s and that’s only because they lace their arby’s sauce with cocaine and nicotine [that’s the only rational explination for it to be as addicting as it is] and they serve dr. pepper, which i can be down with).

this whole interchange reminded me of all the times that i have been asked “is pepsi ok?” eff no it isnt. is it ok if i stab you in the eye with this here pencil? it’s not these people’s fault so i usually squelch the rude and respond “no, i’ll have *insert iced tea, lemonade, or root beer*” and jerry usually looks at me in horror as soon as the question begins to form at the servers lips because he knows and fears what my response will be. the absolute WORST is when they don’t bother to ask and they serve me up a steaming cup of nasty. its one thing if i know what im getting (and sometimes im even down w/ pepsi) but i dont like surprises. i realize that some people don’t get hot over the difference, but there is a definite faction of the population that will cut you with a butter knife for trying to pull a pepsi slicky on them. (and i guess vica versa). i suppose i fall somewhere in the middle. i definitely care, but i won’t pelt you with french fries either… unless i’ve been on a diet and haven’t had a coke in 4 months almost and then you step to me with some “we don’t serve it” nonsense. check yourself mcdonalds cashier or at least don’t act like you’ve never heard of a mcdonalds that sells coke. if you think my son is a terror during a blood sugar meltdown, you aint seen nothing yet.

speaking of my son… he is really loving his new weekly activity of little gym. he enjoys it so much so that today he pulled the towels off the towel rack and was going all parallel bar on that shit. i ran out of the shower when he was mid-ankles to the bar and we had a discussion about swinging on bathroom fixtures. he didnt’ go back to do it again, but he did ride the bathtub faucet like a pony screaming “yeehaw!” “YEEHAW!” you can take the boy out of texas, but you can’t take the texas out of the boy.

5 lb sack

what do you wear to church when your pre-baby 2 clothes are 20lbs too big and your pre-baby 1 clothes are 5 pounds too small? you wear a dress that requires your husband to zip you up with the help of a little crisco on the zipper and a favor from the Lord himself.

actually the dress fit ok except for the boobs. Clara had a growth spurt last week, so I’m pretty much on jugs 3/4 full no matter how long ago Clara just ate. in case you were wondering what happens when you stuff 2 10lb potatoes in a 5lb sack…let me enlighten you. the result? one big 20lb potato and fabric that whimpers for mercy. in other words, I had one mean uniboob, crying fabric, and no hope of being able to discreetly feed C in church.

my complete disregard for my diaper bag PMCS left me at church w/ no way to feed my daughter and no bottle. about 2 minutes after we got to church J also started screeching so he had to head on down to nursery town. our church doesn’t have an overflow room, so w/ j downstairs and me in the fellowship hall feeding Clara w/o being able to hear the sermon, we decided it was best to go. we turned around and explained to the people behind us that we had to go. I don’t know why we did that. it’s not like Methodist require “get out of the service free” cards. I guess it was the guilty catholic mindset just creeping it’s way out from behind the pagan curtains.

anyway, it was a good weekend. yesterday I got to spend a whole…wait for it… 2 hours out shopping by myself. I used up some of my birthday money on a griddle and a new microfiber dusting wand. do I know how to have a good time or what?

you mean this is my fault?

oh… I hate it when I’m wrong. I really hate having to say “you were right, I was wrong”…especially to my husband. come on, don’t act like you don’t. as a matter of a fact, I saw pillowcases today that were embroidered with “Mr. Right” on one and “Mrs. Always Right” on the other. I wonder if they have bulk discounts. but I digress…

it’s no secret that I had a bad last two days with my kids. (part of that no secret thing probably has to do with the fact I blogged about it and facebooked about it, and linked my blog from my facebook…but whatevs). today, ever the amateur child psychologist, I decided to watch my son to figure out what triggers were causing him to go from 0 to naughty in 1.2 seconds.

he usually watches PBS (aka the “babysitter”) for an hour in the morning. judge me if you want. I need that long to consume enough coffee to function, feed Clara, clean up after breakfast, and settle in for the day. the only way to avoid chernobyl is to let the kid drink some milk and watch tv. this morning I didn’t turn on the tv, but I wasn’t playing with him either. boyfriend lost his marbles. he started jumping on the couch, pulling books off the bookcase, throwing things, attempting to slap his sister… you name it. hmmm…interesting. I turned on the television and he played w/ his toys and acted like a good boy.

after his nap, I let him come out to the living room when he was ready which just so happened to be about 3 pages before the end of a chapter in my book. I finished reading and meanwhile señor grumpy was flopping around on the floor screaming like he had a compound fracture. when I was finished wrestling him and reading my chapter, I got down on the floor and we played. he was a totally different child. he was back to my little sugar dumplin. I’m sensing a pattern. I then took a step back to examine the events of the past 2 days. all signs pointed to boredom.

survey says? child acts like fruitcake when he is bored. solution? don’t let him get bored. when he took his afternoon nap, I looked up tons of activities that we can do to keep things interesting. I can only play with his toys so many times before I’d rather be jumping on the couch too.

ok, so his awful behavior the last couple days was kinda my fault. or my fault. period. gah. I hate having to admit that to other people, but it really stings when you have to take a good long look in the mirror and tell yourself that you were wrong.

I’m really surprised it took me this long to crack the code. I fancy myself quite the Nancy Drew. ha. anyway, I kept asking myself why the heck did I never get a bad report from daycare when he was going. you know, something along the lines of “please don’t ever bring your son back. we have put him on homeland securities watch list under the pseudonym “Osama bin toddler” duh! this kid had 9 other little rugrats (albeit, one with very sharp teeth and a biting problem) to keep him from getting bored.

thank goodness that Clara will be old enough to entertain him soon too. the reason God invented siblings is because parents are too old and require too much coffee to be good playmates.

Jesus. God. help me.

after yesterday I was prayerful that today would go better. I don’t even want to get into yesterday. I have TTSD (Terrorist Toddler Stress Disorder). let’s just say that I sent a few smoke signals up yesterday that today would be better.

this morning was pretty good. Clara got over whatever drama it was yesterday that was making her need to be dining at the breastaurant nonstop. the weather was nice and jack kept saying “oupsite” (outside), so I put everyone in their swim diapers and out we went.

I really have no idea what swim diapers are good for because 5 minutes into our outside adventures, Jack had a very wet thong and Clara sharted and poop went running all down her legs and onto her chair. since we were at the baby pool, I stripped her down and dipped her butt-neked into the baby pool. I wiped her off and the cold water shock helped her remember how hungry she was. I couldn’t very well leave my 19 month old playing alone in the pool outside while I went inside. (don’t even tell me that I could bring him inside too bc that would have started world war drew). so, I did what any person desperate to have a good day would do… I picked up my naked baby, pulled down my tanktop and fed her. I have no privacy fence either. these are desperate times.

after swimming, j napped and c ate for 3 straight hours. in the meantime, I was phone accosted by a terd telemarketer. at one point he said “you aren’t going to hang up on me are you? I didn’t peg you as the rude type.”. I might not of been the rude type before but that sure turned me into one.

jack woke up in prime form from his nap. I thought babies were the ones who were supposed to scream non-stop. I have a 19 month old who obviously has one very loud and pissed off demon living in his vocal cords.

events of this afternoon: he told me he was hungry. I took him to the fridge and let him pick his food. he picked rice. I gave him some and he picked up his bowl and placed it on his head like a hat and then started screaming a shrill window bursting scream. (he did continue eating it though. he just started picking the rice out of his hair like monkeys do lice. keepin’ it classy) next, he asked me for a sip of water and poured a just opened bottle of water out on the couch. then, he walked to the bookcase and pulled off every single book. I looked up from feeding Clara when I heard pages of books being ripped. is there a destruction stage before the terrible twos? this is either a stage or I’m going to have to keep lighters and scissors hidden from him until he goes off to college. he also tried to use his sister as his step ladder today. I caught him before he got moving to good on that one. it’s like I can see his little naughty wheels turning under that thick skull of his. right now he is jumping on the couch for the millionth time today. I continually tell him he will hurt himself and he doesn’t listen. I’m sure it’s a metric shitton of fun, but I’d really rather not have to deal w/ a full-body cast.

please tell me that this is just a boy thing and that I didn’t sign up for this twice. Jesus. God. please help me!

birthday war cry

its my birf-day in 1.5 hours. I usually get real fired up over birthdays, but I already got my present of 1 very awesome kuerig coffee maker. amazing! one of the cool things about my birthday is that i share it with a couple of friends. I also share my birthday with a soon to be 28 year old who was born weighing in at a whopping 16 lbs and some change. in addition to being of gut busting proportions, this baby sumo wrestler was born in the room w/o a doctor. yes, this small toddler was delivered by nurses. I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but I’m fairly certain this ladies blood curdling screams has something to do with the fact that I am an only child.

speaking of children, my little j has started an interesting habit. for all intents and purposes of explaining his behavior we will call it a “war cry”. this child is all little boy and sometimes he gets a determined look on his face and goes charging off to do destruction or to just be naughty in general. now, I am pretty sure I’ve got jackenese figured out, but every now and again he slips in a word that I *think* sounds like something but it’s not even in the ballpark. Lord help me, I hope that’s what we are dealing with here. well, when j goes charging off to naughty-town he screams his “war cry” which just so happens to be a very shrill noise that sounds an awful lot like “tittttyyyyy!”. now, I’m not denying that the Army taught me some colorful language, but I can tell you with the utmost confidence I’ve never said titty in front of my son. that word makes me cringe…so don’t try pinning this on me. besides that word has 5 letters, not 4. also, if you know saint Jerry, my husband, you’d know jack didn’t go hearing that word from him either. I do not know WHERE he heard it or if it’s even what he is saying. I do know that it’s just a little funny and it does make one heck of an expletive. go ahead, the next time you stub your toe or lock yourself out of the house, just scream tiiittttyyy! you’ll be laughing so hard you’ll forget what got you to sayin’ it in the first place.

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