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Category Archives: thing 1

Are you drowning or waving?

I feel a lot like I’m drowning recently, but the title is a song lyric and has little to do with this post except that the following will be song lyrics that my kids butcher on a daily basis. They are quite hilarious.

Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People 

My kids sing: All you kids with the pop-tart kicks, you better run, better run faster than my mommy!

Actual lyrics: All the other kids with the pumped-up kicks better run, better run, faster than my bullet.

Colours” by Grouplove  

Kids: I am a man, man, man, man stuck up in the air, and I run around ’round ’round this down down and I don’t have no hair.

Actual lyrics: I am a man, man, man, man up, up in the air and I run around ’round ’round  ’round this town, town and act like I don’t care.

Wheel in the Sky” by Journey 

Kids: Oh the wheel in the sky is a’burning, I don’t know why it’s tomorrow.

Actual Lyrics: Oh, the wheel in the sky keeps on turning, I don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow.

Telephone” by Lady Gaga

Kids: Stop calling, stop calling, I don’t wanna drink anymore, I left my head and my arm on the dance floor. Stop tele-funkin’ me.

Actual Lyrics: Stop calling, stop calling, I don’t wanna think anymore. I left my head and my heart on the dance floor. Stop telephoning me.

Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen 

Kids: How d’ya think I’m gonna get a log without you on my own? You took me for everything I said and kicked me outta my phone. Are ya happy? Are ya saggy fried?

Actual: How d’ya think I’m gonna get a long without you when you’re gone? You took me for everything that I had and kicked me out on my own. Are ya happy? Are ya satisfied?

Give up the Funk” by The Glee Cast 

Kids: We won’t do funk. Give us the funk. We peed on funk. Gotta have that punk. We gonna tear this mother, OW! We gonna tear this mother, OW! You gotta real type of crane, going down, getting down, there’s a whole lot of ribbon going ’round.

Actual Lyric: We want the funk, gotta have the funk, we need the funk, gotta have that funk. We gonna turn this mother out. We gonna turn this mother out. You gotta real type of thing, going down, getting down, there’s a whole lotta rhythm going ’round.

 

Sometimes I giggle, sometimes I have to make sure I’m singing it right.

*Note: Lady Gaga one may not be safe for work, just fyi.*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Mea Culpa

So this week came straight from the bowels of somewhere not nice and also unkind. Probably somewhere like hell, but also maybe somewhere like my worst enemies house. I’m not sure but it came in, slapped me, and then kicked me while I was down.

Yeah, it’s was that much fun.

Drama Queen (aka Thing 2) was sick all weekend but never got a fever, so I thought maybe it was just one of those late summer colds, which seem to last for weeks on end. Other than some coughing and a scratchy throat, though, she seemed totally fine. Until yesterday, after her first day back at Daycare after last week, when she was lethargic and kept complaining of a headache. I felt her forehead and realized she was burning up. One trip to the ER later, the diagnosis was pneumonia.

Crap.

Pneumonia sucks so hard because it can go from being “not a big deal” to a “freaking big deal” in a matter of a few days. Thankfully, we caught it early, which was good.

She’s on antibiotics with orders to stay home until Friday. Which means Mama is staying home with her, because Daddy gets to finally go back to work *hopefully*.

That was another thing this week, my husband, who works in the Natural Gas industry, basically hasn’t worked since last week. Most people would be like, “Yay! He got time off!” which I totally was. Until about Tuesday, then I started freaking because, see? My husband? Is paid by the hour, which means if he doesn’t work: No freaking paycheck. Talk about stressed out.

Maybe he’ll get some work before the end of the week, but it’s not looking too good.

Which just absolutely pisses me off to no end.

Then of course, there’s all the school work I’m having to do, which is totally fine and everything, I mean, I did sign up for it. But when you’ve got a sick kid at home, a husband not working and another kid starting Kindergarten and all the fun that is that, it starts to get a little much. 

I can totally do this, though, I think.

I also have to deal with a group project from hell, which should make for some interesting posts.

Today, though, something happened that made me want to punch someone. We drove by the school where Little Man (aka Thing 1) had to go for the Screening from Hell (which I promise to write about soon) and he says, “Do I ever have to go back there, Mama?” I told him, “No. You don’t” (which I totally meant). He said, “Good, because those people there? They made me feel stupid. They kept trying to get me to do things that I couldn’t do. I can do them now, Mama, I really can. I’m not stupid, right?”

I wanted to pull over, march over to the school and punch someone. Hard. Beneath the belt. Twice.

I was so upset that my son, who isn’t perfect, but also isn’t stupid, had to go through someone else making him feel inferior. It just made me want to scream.

I smiled at him in the rear-view mirror and said, “Honey, you are *so* not stupid. You are the smartest little boy I know, and sometimes I think you are even smarter than me.”

He smiled and said, “Thank you, Mama.”

Then his sister said, “Why’d you make him go there, Mama? Why did you do that?”

And I wanted to cry. Again.

UGH.

This week? Can totally kiss my butt, because I’m so over it.

That’s me in the corner … sobbing like an idiot.

Thing 1 starts school in a week and a half. Granted, he *technically* starts school in a week, because he’s going to daycare with his sister for three days while *I* start school, but still: my baby is growing up!

Waaaaaaaah.

As excited as I am for him, I’m also a little sad. For me. Totally selfish, I know, but in a few weeks, he’ll be telling me, “That’s not what teacher said, Mommy, you’re wrong” and then I’ll have to fight with my hard noggined kid for twenty minutes because some things Mama actually knows but he doesn’t know that yet.

I also might have to crawl out of the corner, stop the rocking back and forth and sobbing, so that I can actually go to school myself, and ya know, pass, so McHusband isn’t all, “What the hell-0 are we paying for if you are just gonna stay home all day and cry like a big baby? Huh?” and then that might cause some marrital issues.

Wait….what was I talking about?

Oh, right, the kid starting school.

Waaah. And some such.

 

In which the kid that DIDN’T get shots had a fit….and Mama almost lost her schmidt.

On Tuesday, I had to take the kids to get their dreaded shots for school. This is the worst thing in the world for me to have to do, especially alone. I absolutely loathe going, but understand that it’s something that has to be done.

Ugh.

I was prepared for each kid to get three shots (I know. Three is a lot. Ugh.) and I wasn’t doing very good at coping beforehand.

When we got there, the DR informed me that Thing 2 needed zero shots, but Thing 1 still needed three. I almost jumped for joy. Not because my poor little son had to get three shots but because the Drama Queen didn’t have to get any.

So, I promised Thing 1 that if he didn’t cry, and if he didn’t freak out, we’d stop by McCrackHouse [McDonald’s] afterwards and get him some apple dippers (the kid loves apple dippers). He did so great. He didn’t cry, he didn’t wince and he was so freaking brave. It was amazing.

That’s what apple dippers will do to the boy.

The DR gave both kids a sticker and Thing 1 a book, because he was the one that got the shots.

When we got to the front to get copies of the records, Thing 2? Lost her schmidt. She started screaming that she didn’t want shots and that she really, really, really wanted a book and MAMA! why are we still here?

She then plopped her butt down on the ground a refused to move.

I just stared at her. And counted to three. It didn’t work, so I counted to ten. Nope. (I was counting in my head to calm myself down)

I said to her, in my Mama’s Gonna Kick Some Butt voice, “Get up. Get up right. now.

She stood up and continued to bawl. at the top. of her lungs.

I was embarassed. I was angry. I was befuddled. Mostly, I was in a hurry to get the hell-o out of that place and speed away.

I’m not sure what her problem was, other than Thing 1 getting a book and her not getting one, which is not even a big deal.

All I know is that when I got into my vehicle and she finally stopped having a fit, I looked at her and said, “If you ever do that again, you will never go anywhere with me again. Ever.”

And then I called McHusband and informed him that next year? Shot duty is his.

Surly-ness (or Whut happened to my child?)

I love my kid. Really, really I do. But, today, I’d like to lodge a complaint with God or whomever I need to file a formal complaint with. (I say that because I might just have to file a complaint with his Daddy, I’m not sure of the legalities yet.) Because, seriously? Dear Internets, this youngin has got something burred up his butt and I’m not sure how to remove it without kicking him square on the seat of his pants.

See, today, we went out to Cheyenne to get out of the house (which still felt like an oven at 4PM, even with the new curtains, because Wyoming has decided to have hot flashes this year) and maybe see the live band they have on Fridays.

We stopped to grab a bite to eat (Mama don’t cook when it’s ten ba-jillion degrees in her house, she just don’t), and I noticed that Thing 1 had been really quiet and … well, kind of surly. I didn’t think anything of it until the Snapiness set in. Meaning everytime I spoke to him, he snapped back a response.

I mean, look, for a five year old that has had very little discipline problems, it probably wasn’t as bad as I am thinking it is, I just know that tonight, he was off. He didn’t want to dance when the crappy band started up. He snapped responses back to me and yelled at me to do something (honestly? I can’t remember right this second, but it had something to do with the Kid’s Meal toy) and he just acted…..well, like a fifteen year old instead of a five year old.

Which I’m all ready to deal with, when he’s fifteen. I’m not ready for the surly, bad temper-ness at only five years old. I’ll smack someone a few times with something and it won’t be pretty if I have to deal with this for 10+ more years.

He’s entitled to bad moods, and I love him dearly no matter what.

Sometimes I just wish that he would have them when we decide to stay at home and do nothing all day.

I could deal with him storming off to his room and slamming the door.

Nope, wouldn’t bother me one bit to have a second of peace and quiet.

Really.

Growth spurts

Today, I took a few pants from Thing 1s closet to cut off at the knees. A lot of moms that I’ve known throughout the year always fuss about the seasons and changing clothes out. Although I sympathize, it isn’t something we do in WY. Mostly because we have a week of summer. Mostly because even the term “summer” is relative. ( As someone who grew up in Fl, I can promise you that summer up here is very, very mild.)

This could be a pro or a con, I’m not sure which yet.

Anyways, as I was taking pants that were way too short, but were still a little loose in the waist, Thing 1 stood next to me. I then realized the his head was up to my chest.

I’m not a short woman. I’m 5’8″, according to my drivers license (me? I say I’m 5’7.5″ only because I’m tired of being so dang tall). He, at five-almost-six (in September) years old, is already up to my chest.

This both scares me and makes me happy. I know that he probably won’t be bullied much. In third and fourth grade, I was the tallest student (not girl, student) in the entire school. This meant that the odds of my being bullied by any one person went down significantly based on how much taller I was. So, there was one boy that bullied me once until I stomped him into the ground.

The downside is, he’s so tall and skinny, it’s hard to find clothes for him. It is hard to think to myself, He’s only five, when he looks like he is at least seven.

I also have to deal with the Nosy Nessies out there thay challenge me when I say he’s only five. (I think I remember when I gave birth to my son, nosy. Also, if I forget, I have this handy dandy thing called a Birth Certificate that I can check). But that’s not a big deal.

I can’t believe they are growing up so fast. As much as my brain is happy about this, my heart aches.

And so does my uterus.

Stabby! Twitchy! and PMS-y?!

My five year old son has a problem, apparently. He’s PMS-ing today. I think.

See, a few weeks ago, Gymboree was having this ginormously awesome deal thing going on where I got shoes for like two bucks. Problem is? The shoes don’t fit Thing One (which I honestly thought they would, also reason #9596 why I *hate* shopping for kid’s stuff online).

At first, I didn’t realize they didn’t fit. I handed the shoes to Thing One and walked away to find Thing Two’s shoes (she likes to play “hide-n-seek” with her shoes) when I heard grunting. And sighing. And more grunting. I kid you not, the first thing that went through my head was: Oh dear son of a motherlessgoatwhore — please don’t let him be pooping his pants.

He wasn’t, dear readers, your hearts can stop that pitter-patter-ing. He was trying to put his shoes on.

I realized quickly that they weren’t going to fit. I was bummed, because they are super cute shoes.

I said, softly, to Thing One, “Honey, I don’t think those are going to fit, you’re going to break them if you keep trying to put them on.”

What happened next can only be described as a Class A Meltdown.

He huffed! He puffed! He blew my resistance down.

I was taken aback, honestly. This is my good baby. The one that never melts down. The one that never gets upset over shoes not fitting.

I felt bad.

I took him to McCrackHouse (A.K.A “McDonalds”).  He wasn’t happy.

(As an aside, this youngin’ lurves McCrackHouse. That’s why I call it “McCrackHouse” — because he lurves it that much).

He looks at me, stony silent, and says, “Mama, I don’t want this toy. I hate this toy. Throw! It! Away!” — which also perplexed me. This child has been talking about nothing. but. Panda 2. since the commercials came on. Panda two toys are at McCrackHouse right now.

I stared at him, smiled sweetly and asked, “How would you like a Midol?” Because I? Am the Awesome Mommy. Also: because sarcasm flows through my veins. When it comes to my kids, that is. And The Husband.

Also: we’re moving this weekend. Since I didn’t know this until today, I’m a little Stabby McStabbyPants today. Just a tiny bit though.