A Theme Song for JJ

Lately, life has been throwing me alot of curve balls, and really, I suck at baseball (and every other sport known to man).

Oliver is being bullied at school. The kids are all calling him gay and saying he has a "mangina" and asking if he's a girl.
So he cut his "luscious locks" that he loved.
And he's having trouble with his teachers.
They refuse to make accomodations for him. At all.
He's brilliant, but he's also forgetful and high energy and unfocused. As a result, his grades are in the toilet.
So he wants to be medicated.

I hate that. I love my silly, eccentric, crazy, imaginative boy. I don't want him to change. But he's 11 years old and if he feels like he needs help, I have to respect that.

Bean's health is appalling.
He can barely walk he's in so much pain from the osteonecrosis in his hips. And because he hurts so badly, he's nauseated. So he can't hold down food much.
We've been to the urgent care twice and the hospital once in the last 6 months for dehydration.

It hurts me so much to see him in pain. But I can't mother him. It doesn't work when his mother does it and it's not going to work if I do it.

Tallulah's growing up. And my sweet compliant child has gotten an attitude. Now instead of having an ally who helps me with just about anything without being told twice (and in some cases without being asked at all) is arguing with me about everything.

I knew it was going to happen, but at 7??

Mom is still Mom. Nosy as all get out and touchy about everything.

I can't expect her to change after 60 years of being this way.

And I still can't find a Doctor who will listen to me about my weight gain and fatigue.

With all of this going on, I've decided that I need a theme song and this is what I've chosen:



Bring on the Rain by JoDee Messina

Another day has almost come and gone,
Can't imagine what else could go wrong.
Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door.
A single battle lost but not the war.

'Cause tomorrow's another day
and I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain.

It's almost like the hard times circle 'round.
A couple drops and they all start comin down.
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head,
I might be barely breathing, but I'm not dead.

No, cause tomorrow's another day,
and I'm thirsty anyway,
So bring on the rain.

No I'm not gonna let it get me down.
I'm not cry,
and I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight.

'Cause tomorrow's another day,
and I am not afraid,
so bring on the rain.





To me, this song is about acceptance, which is something I have a really hard time with.
I can handle just about whatever comes, but for some reason I can't accept that this is my life.

I will always have drama, I will never be rich. I'm not a skinny girl and I never will be. The love of my extended family is conditional and my sister is a bitch. I may never finish school or even go back at all and my dreams of being a Rock Star are just that, dreams.

But I am loved, by two of the most amazing children God ever created and a man who is so strong of heart that it brings tears to my eyes. I have friends that I don't have any idea what I did to deserve and I have two sisters in spirit that will love me no matter what.

But the best part is even though the rain is pouring, I am happy.

And this too shall pass.

Manspeak

To wrap up my Girly week, I thought I'd go into Manspeak.

For all you guys, I just want to say that I am not claiming to be fluent in Manspeak. It's more that I understand the gist of any given situation - after all, noone but a man can truly speak Manspeak. But I speak Manspeak kind of like how well you speak German after taking it throughout high school.

The guys at work appreciate that I know some Manspeak. Because for them it translates into if I wear a low-cut top I will not get offended if they look at my boobs. They're men, if it's on display they will look. And I kindof figure that if I didn't want them to look, I shouldn't have worn that top.

My girlfriends for the most part like that I can translate for them, for instance -

You slept with him on the first date?? Nope, sorry hon, the best you're going to get is fuck buddy.

Bean loves that I understand his Manspeak. Because for him, it means that as long as he's not drooling over the gorgeous 22 year old blonde that just walked by, I don't really care if he looks. My only request is that if he's going to be obvious enough for me to notice then she better be smokin.

And Oliver is beginning to learn of my Manspeak abilities.

Mom, can you take Tallulah over there??

Translation: There's a hot girl coming and I don't want her to see me hugging my mom and holding her hand.

Mom, I'm going to air dry after my shower, so can you knock before coming in?

Translation: I'm going to play with myself for awhile. Can you guard my door from Tallulah??


But mostly I really hope that in years to come Tallulah appreciates my knowledge.

So that maybe when I tell her dressing like a whore will make boys treat her like a whore, she will listen.

The Masterful Victory of Oliver the King of the Elves

The hero was minding his own business walking through the forbidden forest.

He was unafraid. He'd faced all of these dangers before.

The fortress that could not be toppled trembled at his footstep.

The sasquatch followed obediently at his heels.

And the giant??

He was the hero's best friend.

No, there were no more mysteries here for him. It was as safe to him as a child's backyard. As it should be, since he was Oliver, King of the Elves.

But on this day something was different.

A serpent had crept into the forest and lay watching him.

As he talked to the giant and played with the sasquatch it came upon him in stealth.

But the serpent could not fool wise Oliver.

He snatched it from the air as it rose to strike.

The snake reared ready to change his target and strike at anything he could, but Oliver was fast.

He threw the serpent into the Bog of No Return, but not before the serpent gave him a parting gift, a bite to the eye.

As the hero watched his foe sink to oblivion, he felt the sting of venom. He screamed.

Luckily for him, the giant knew the way to the old witch's den. There he led the king. Who begged for a potion from the evil hag.

A potion she had. And once Oliver, the King of the Elves, demonstrated his courage and kindness, she gave it to him without delay, instantly healing his grevious injury.

So Oliver, the King of the Elves, our hero can once again stroll through the forbidden forest unhindered.
And the serpent?? He still sinks in the Bog of No Return.

JJ's Drunken Blogging aka Why I Hate My Ex-Husband and Want to Kick Him in His Nonexistent Nut-sack

First of all, I have to tell you that Bean is asleep and therefore cannot stop me from drunken blogging. Connie is awake, but she doesn't give a rat's ass what I'm doing, so we're all good.

Oliver had a Halloween party tonight.

My sorry ass is still a week behind because of Bean being in the hospital, so I didn't get him the invitations until seriously late - like yesterday. And he only invited like 5 people.

I invited Connie and Miley and Ophalia and Dirty - basically all of me and Bean's friends that have kids.

Connie, Miley and Ophalia came. Dirty did not. He's Bean's friend, the girls are mine. My friends rawk.

Anyway.

Oliver did invite one school friend vocally a week ago, and he really likes him, so I called his mother and confirmed. So he had one school friend there.

He didn't really care that there was only one.. He had his 3 best buds in the same party - Connie's boy, the Beave and School Boy.

So we had this Halloween party.

I made pigs in blankets wrapped all mummy-like and chicken fingers that looked a little (if you squint and turn your head just right) like actual fingers. And a big ass cupcake (because I wanted to). ANd punches, both kid punch and very adult punch.

And I decked out the house.

And I bought favors and a shit-load of candy.

Perry made bad brownies and cookies. He bought fruit snacks and craft supplies and 2 bags of cheap off-brand candy.

Alien (Oliver's biological father) made a creepy maze and bought us a fog machine and strobe light for said maze.

So this party was set up to be the party of the fucking year.

Enter Perry.

Oliver ran into the garage while running the maze and went to Perry, because he hurt himself. And Perry says:

If you're going to run into things then maybe you shouldn't do the maze at all

Y'all, Oliver is a little clumsy. And a lot emotional.

So when he trips over shit he wants a parent to coddle him.

I realize that he's almost 11, but really is too much to look at the injury and give him a fucking hug??

I found Oliver hysterical in the house, where he told me:

I thought this was going to be a fun Halloween party, but Daddy's here and he's ruining it.

He wouldn't have said that to Tallulah.

It's hard to ignore what he says when he's been my dad for 7 years.

I bet he never even liked me.

Normally, I'm pretty diplomatic and I try to just deflect not actively jump in, but Oliver was hysterical and this was a party he's been looking forward to for a year, and I had been drinking the grown-up punch for about 3 hours.

So I pulled Perry into my room (the only kid-free room) and told him that if he couldn't say something nice to my son to not say anything at all.

And you have no idea the level of self control it took to not kick him the fuck out of my house.

Mean, Cruel and Heartless

Oliver brought home his conduct sheet the other day. There were 2 C’s, 1 B and 1 blank space, and I have no idea what that means.

B’s are pretty normal for him. He just can’t manage to be quiet. Or sit still. Or follow directions. And most teachers recognize that and don’t give him a whole lot of crap for it. So he gets B’s.

But C’s?? That’s a slippery slope. Pretty soon the C’s turn into D’s and the D’s turn into F’s.

And I hate to punish him for talking conduct marks. Mostly because I’ve come to realize over the last 6 years that he just can’t help it, he has a big mouth. But also because if I did then the boy would be grounded every day.
So I normally let those slide.

This time I had to crack the whip.

We talked and I told him that if they weren’t pulled up into B’s by next week that his weekend plans would be in jeopardy.

Because I’m mean.

That was the same night that he didn’t get to go to fencing because he hadn’t finished his homework in time.

Because I’m cruel.

And then, the next morning he called me at work moderately hysterical because the dogs had eaten his conduct sheet.

I laughed.

Because I’m heartless.

The Super Frightful Ever Spooky Pants-Less Dementor

Oliver adores Halloween. He always has.

His favorite show when he was 2 was Scooby Doo – and his very first crush was Daphne. And I let him watch it because he adored it.

Everyone told me that it would cause him to have nightmares, but really, what child doesn’t have some nightmares, and he loved the idea of the boogey man.

Granted, I did have to sweep the room before bed to check and make sure the boogey man had gone home for the night, but really, nothing unmanageable.

Anyway, not the point (which I am getting to, I promise..

Because Oliver loves Halloween so much, he’s convinced his sister that it is the best holiday ever, and since she would really like to be able to follow him around like a puppy dog (and occasionally does, literally), it wasn’t very hard.

So every year we’ve built upon our Halloween decorations.

3 years ago we got this frightful tree thing. I’m not really sure if it’s supposed to be a wicked witch or a tree monster, but I like it. And it cackles whenever someone walks by (or when the sun sets, or the wind blows, or all the time really.. and it took Bean almost 2 weeks to find the source of the cackling after I put it up..).

2 years ago we started the graveyard in the front. Now we have about 12 tombstones, and yes, they fall down all the time, but I love the fact that they look better when my grass isn’t mowed, so I get to be lazy creative.

Last year we got these bone wind chimes that shake whenever they hear a sound - or at least they do when the batteries are good.

And inside we have spider web curtains and table cloths, and pumpkin candle holders and a spooky candle tree for the mantle.

I love it.

Our new additions this year were some cauldrons (hanging from chains above my bar so that Bean can hit his head on them every morning while making me coffee) and Oliver’s favorite:

I’m really not sure what it is. Maybe the Grim Reaper?? Maybe a Zombie. Maybe just a spooky skull guy in a black cloak..

No idea.

But he’s hovering in our front window ready to scare the shit out of you whenever you walk up and belatedly notice him. (or when you get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and see him out of the corner of your eye when your husband is working and you’re home alone with the children..)

Anyway.

We have fun at Halloween.

This year there’s a Harry Potter theme (which we've done before, only Oliver was a super cute Harry Potter and Tallulah was Hedwig - seriously, it was the cutest thing ever!!).

Tallulah is going as Hermione.
Oliver is going as a dementor.
I am going as Professor McGonagall.
Bean has to work.

Last weekend the kids tried on their costumes.

Tallulah looked very sweet in her get up.

Oliver looked hilarious.

For starters, the mask is too big.

Second, the cloak is too short.

And third, the ghoulish dementor hands that he had to have?? Those he can’t get on without an assload of pulling and straining on my part.

So I told him he’d have to wear black pants with it.

His response??

Or no pants.

I was howling.

I don’t know if you guys have read Harry Potter, but a dementor does not have pasty pale, scrawny little legs.
And that’s not even mentioning that parts of the cloak come up to his crotch.

Perry has them on Halloween. Since he refused to trade with me.

So he can have fun taking Hermione and the Pants-less Dementor out Trick-or-Treating.

Fencing - As in the Kind You Do With a Sword, Not a Barrier Between You and Annoying Neighbors

A long time ago in a ghetto far, far away, there was a guy that taught with my mother.
I annoyed the living shit out of him.

Every football game, every school function, I would walk up to him and say "Why????" and he would answer "Why not?" and then we'd repeat. For hours.

I never claimed I was a good child.

Plus I was all of five. Give me a little credit.

If you fast forward 13 years, Mr. WhyNot was still teaching with my mother, only his classroom had moved next to hers.

And Oliver was completely fascinated by him.

It must be genetic.

I have no idea really what Mr. WhyNot teaches all day long, Marine Biology maybe, but after school, the time that Oliver would go see Grandma on occassion, Mr. WhyNot changed clothes and became the high school fencing coach.

Keep in mind, that as soon as Oliver understood what was going on around him and had enough fine motor control to grasp things, every object that came to hand was a sword.

So Mr. WhyNot's afternoon practices were freaking amazing to him. It also helped that he had some blow-up foils that he would let Oliver play with.

And then he mentioned to Oliver that he could begin actual fencing lessons when he turned 8.

So we did.

And he loves it, as I knew he would.

But as I've said before, I hate it.

It's a very disorganized little group and they change practice locations and times without letting you know, plus the practice is late in the evening and that sucks balls.

But it is really amusing to watch the little kids fence.

The haven't gotten those graceful steps down yet, so mostly they flail around waving swords and trying to whack one another. And they jump all over the place trying to imitate the graceful steps of the older kids..

It's hilarious. Usually it ends up with one of them practically chasing the other across the gym..

Here's a picture from Oliver's first tournament..




Like I said, he loves it. No idea why.

But we will continue with the damn fencing lessons. Though sometimes it feels to me like they are payback from Mr. WhyNot to me for all those stupid questions.

I'm Too Random for My Blog

It's a random kind of day and its Wednesday so I guess it works out well.

• I hate Tuesdays.
• Mostly because Oliver has fencing.
• Which he loves.
• But I don't.
• In fact I loathe it.
• Purely because practice is at 7:00. So I get to go home, relax and then I have to go out again.
• This Tuesday I was particularly pissed.
• Because I had a shittastic day at work
• And because Glee is back and I couldn't watch it.
• Oliver got a notebook taken away from him at school.
• By a teacher
• Because it had a skull and crossbones on the front
• A very cartoony skull and crossbones.
• Mommy's not pleased.
• Tallulah got "caught being good" at school
• So she's a "wise owl" now.
• She's thrilled.
• Sometimes I really don't understand her.
• She's so very perfect
• And that's something I've never been accused of.
• I just finished listening to the entire "Wheel of Time" series on audiobook
• While working.
• Because the next book is due out in November.
• But now I'm bored.
• I'm thinking about doing it again
• But I'm scared the new book will come out before I'm done.

The Monster I Created

This year Oliver’s riding the bus home from school and there are a couple of scheduling issues that might cause him to be home alone for a few minutes every once in a blue moon.

So I bought him a cell phone.

Before you get all riled up about how a 10 year old doesn’t need a cell phone, let me tell you that we don’t have a house phone. So really he kind of does, and it does not go to school with him.

After I bought him this phone I put a few numbers into his contact list and told him in no uncertain terms that he is not allowed to call anyone else.

Everything was fine. I would get texts from him when he was in his room asking things like “Can I get a snack?” or “How are you?”. But for the most part he just answered it if it rang.



And then his cousin/best friend got a cell.



I can’t get him off of it.



They text from the minute he walks in the door until I bodily rip it from his clenched fist 30 minutes after bedtime.



Yesterday he took it in the bathroom with him.



I started to get upset and frustrated with him until I got up from where I was sitting to eat my dinner and grabbed my phone to take it with me to go take a shower.

Good Kids

On the day of the shower, when my world was all going to shit, while I was out and about, the kids decided to be helpful.

Mom and Bean shrugged it off.

So sweet that they want to help and surprise Mommy.

I know my kids better.

They wanted something.

But that's not the point.

The point is that they:

Cleaned the living room.

Vacuumed the dining room.

Cleaned to kitchen.

Did laundry.

However

They washed a huge load of their laundry with half a bottle of bleach.

Fortunately Bean jumped in and fixed it as much as he could, but I have no idea how he did. I think the conversations went like this:

Oliver: Bean, is the bleach supposed to smell that strong?

Bean: Umm... Why?

Oliver: Well we did laundry and the bleach smell is really strong.

At which point, Bean leapt out of wherever he was sitting for damage control.

And I do have to say that I admire my husband's self-control, because no yelling whatsoever happened here. No children were injured and no anger was vented.

The death toll was: 4 of Oliver's school shirts, 1 of Tallulah's play skirts.



And there will be housecleaning for the rest of the week if they want new Webkins.

I've Been Ate Up and Spit Out

My plans for this weekend were simple.

Friday - Catch up with Bean, who I had not seen for a week (because Ms. Man decided that she was going to call in sick after being on vacation for 8 days. I'm sure that she really did injure her back, in the same way that I'm sure someone who can party as hard as she says she does AND can handle very large pitbulls like she actually does is really entitled to military disability.. Whatever.)

Saturday - Head on over to #2's house for Hero's graduation party around noon to take care of all the arrangements. (Because I was hosting it there, since their house was more central, not because #2 & Mrs. #2 are incompetent.) Bean and the kids would join me about five and we'd leave around eleven after helping clean-up.

Sunday - Do a thorough cleaning of Oliver and Tallulah's rooms in preparation for Summer.

See. Simple. Uncomplicated.

Here's what actually happened.

Friday, Mom graciously took the kids off our hands.

So far, so good.

So we went to pick up Bean's truck (yay!! no more car sharing!!) then decided to get the groceries for Hero's party.

After that, we more or less came home and went to bed, being the old people that we are.

I did get to spend time with Bean, but I was envisioning a quiet dinner.

Beggers can't be choosers.

Saturday, the party went more or less as planned and everyone had a good time. Except that Tallulah was a monster.

She kept trying to pull:

He hit me back!!!!!!!!!!!

and

But I only pinched him once!!!!!!!!!!!!!

yeah.. sorry. You can't pull off a tattle if you have to tattle on yourself for the story to make sense.

But when we got home, we found that the dogs had chewed through a 6 x 6 square piece of the carpet where we keep them penned in the dining room.

Fuck me.

We have every intention of replacing all the carpet in the front of the house with tile. And are even in the process of a refinance to do that, but I'm not ready!!

Sunday morning after I got the dogs all outside (because I didn't clean that shit up when we got home at 1 AM), I got a closer look at it, and there was tile underneath.

So guess what we did Sunday??



Because even kindof odd forest green linoleum looks better than holey shit stained carpet. And it certainly smells better.

Now if I can only figure out how to get the fucking glue up.

Because of the holey carpet I only got Tallulah's room done on Sunday. She's neater than Oliver, and really it was just a matter of tossing out some of the stuff she neatly hoards.

Today after work I tackled The Beast.

This is just what was under Oliver's bed, after he cleaned it.



Tomorrow's trash day (thank God) and there are about 10 big black trash bags out there mostly full of crap from the kids rooms.

And I am now sore everywhere.

Do You Have To Be So Blunt??

Perry was over on Wednesday for his visitation with the kids and Bean was working, so I was helping Perry make dinner for the kids and trying to be sociable, because that's what grown-up, mature divorced parents do - or so I'm told.

And whenever I do something like that I try to make conversation about something completely innocuous that could never in any way be construed as being related to:

1. An attack on his parenting.

2. An attack on his manliness.

3. A comment on our crappy marriage.

4. A comment on my new wonderful marriage.

5. A comparison between my new wonderful marriage and our old crappy marriage.

6. His crazy family.

This week I chose Rowlf. He's losing his nuts next week.

And of course anytime two grown-ups (or two people in general) are having a conversation Oliver feels the need to eavesdrop.

Me: Rowlf is getting his nuts chopped off next Wednesday.

Perry:??

Oliver:WHAT??

Me: Bean's taking Rowlf to get his nuts chopped off next Wednesday. Do you want him to take you next Thurday now that we know where to go?

Oliver: NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Perry: Jenn, do you have to be so blunt? The word is neutered.

Me: So, Oliver, was that no for Rowlf's nuts or for yours??

I didn't answer Perry, because really it wasn't worth it, but I'd like to take this opportunity to answer him.

Yes, Perry, in MY kitchen while eating MY food and talking to MY children, I do have to be that blunt. And really is "neutered" so much of a better word?? At least my choice of words completely describes exactly what the procedure is going to be instead of using euphemisms and other malarkey to make someone feel better about what they're doing to their animal.

I am chopping the nuts off of my beloved dog. I signed a fucking contract saying that I would chop the nuts off of said dog before I could buy him for a third of what he was worth, and people are paying ridiculous amounts of money for what are essentially mutts - but I really wanted one. So those bad boys are coming off. But you know what?? I'd chop them off even if I didn't have a contract, because my boy still squats to pee, and he doesn't mark any territory and I like it that way.


How's that for blunt, Perry?? And you know what?? You can take your comments, your euphemisms, and your malarkey right on over to Fawk You Friday.

My Son is So Cool and Also Possibly Gay

I have realized recently that I blog much more about Oliver than Tallulah. I'd like to state for the record that it's absolutely NOT because Oliver is my favorite. I don't think that I have a favorite, really.

(Though, I'm also fairly certain that's what most parents who do have a favorite tell themselves)

It's just that Tallulah is nothing like me.

Yes, she's girly, and loves music and sings most of the time and she's a drama queen high strung. And all of those things are like me. But she's just very normal.
Yes, she's very smart and artistic and special and she can be insanely sweet and helpful (when it gets her something she wants). But she's happy in the box. It's where she chooses to be.

So, incidentally, she doesn't really make for interesting blogging.

Oliver, on the other hand..

Has tried to hatch dragon eggs in the backyard.

Wants to be a leprechaun for Halloween.

Is convinced that he will be getting a letter from Hogwarts next summer, since obviously he takes after me and not his Squib father, Alien.

Has picked out the song for my funeral - "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead" - and told me.

Randomly bursts into song.

He's like me, only WAY weirder cooler.

This weekend he was my date for "Wicked" after Bean got sick.

I told him that I had the cutest date there.

Yes, I know. It's okay, Mommy, I'll make you look good.

We discussed his plans for the series of books he's planning on writing.

He held a not sarcatic conversation with a man who set off the smoke detectors about fashion and music and coke (the soda kind, not the illegal drug kind), using phrases like true that.

And he loved the musical.

Hump Day Shorts

Just a couple of short little antics for Hump Day:



I tried really hard to upload a picture that I actually took, but my phone is all wonky and won't send it to me. Grrr..

1)

Anyway, I actually saw one of these on the way home from work today, and it cracked me because I can't decide if it's saying "my hotness can not be contained by a regular motorcycle, I need a third wheel for that" or "I really like motorcycles, but I'm not coordinated enough to drive one". What do you think??

And this just makes it better - when I looked up the picture because my phone's all wonky, I found out they are actually called boss hoss trikes. Muahaha..

2)

My mother just informed me that she gave the kids watermelon today, and Oliver chose to eat his in the bath.. I just don't know what to say about that.

My New Defining Characteristic - Hypocrisy

So my kids play with playmobil, and while it's gorgeous and fun (and expensive), it's also a little fragile. I mean not in the "broken beyond repair" way, but in the "if you pick it up wrong, or touch it wrong, hell if you sneeze near it wrong, it will fall apart and you have to rebuild it and it's a pain in the ass" way.

Well, they're playing Playmobil with Leni and Morgan (because Tallulah was begging to get to play with the boys, so I gave her today, and Oliver yesterday and tomorrow) and Morgan decided to move Tallulah's mansion. Insert big boom and the bottom falling off of the house, and also the roof losing pieces.
So I went in to try to fix it, only Santa didn't explain to me how to fix it when he brought it over, he told Perry, and of course, they broke it 2 seconds after Perry left. Perfect.

After trying for 10 minutes, and getting all but one of the roof pieces on, I went to put up the last one and the whole roof snapped off. Perfecter.

So I did the only thing I could do. I ripped off the roof and stuffed it in a bucket to await Perry's pleasure. And then I bitched at all 4 kids about how we don't move the mansion (the roof also came off last time they came over).

Now is the part where I'm a giant hypocrite.

Not 5 minutes after I huffed out of there, Oliver huffed out and threw himself on the couch.

Me: What's wrong Oliver?

Oliver: I'm just not going to play with them.

Me: Why?

Oliver: Because Morgan keeps on making rules I don't like. And Tallulah keeps saying "that's mine". (all of this was delivered either in drippingly sarcastic tones, or when quoting to Tallulah, a high pitched mocking voice)

Me: Oliver, is it worth it to get upset over this?

Oliver: No. But they..

Me: Just answer the question.

Oliver: (squirms and starts pulling at his hair)

Me: Don't get pissy with me. Answer the question.

Oliver: No.

Me: (insert a brilliant explanation of how he's not really mad about the rules, or the "it's mines", he's mad because he has to play with the girls and share Morgan)

Oliver: But..

Me: (insert a heartfelt explanation of how if Ella and Leni came over but not Morgan he'd be sad and need extra attention too)

Oliver: But I wouldn't play with the girls, I'd just go in my room!!

Me: Ok.. go to your room, and calm down, and when you aren't mad about anything anymore and can be civil to other people, you can come out.

Oliver: (huge dramatic sigh)

See?? Look at me, all not being okay with Oliver pouting and throwing hissy fits, but I can break the roof of the playmobil and yell at small children when I get mad.

In my head it's because I'm the mom and I can get away with that shit. Or maybe because I very rarely REALLY throw something or totally lose it.

But if I was being completely honest with myself I would admit that it's really because I'm not capable of the control that I think he ought to have.


Just this once, I think we won't be honest.

I Have the Coolest Son Ever or How I Failed Horribly

I took Oliver over to Alien's today. (Alien being Oliver's father, it's a really long story, but biologically speaking Oliver is not Perry's son). And Alien was talking about how Oliver needs to start doing "guy things" - obviously I said yes, and explained how that's not my department, Perry's a pussy (which Alien totally agreed with) and Bean hurts (another really long story), but Alien is more than welcome to take over.
Then we left and Oliver and I were talking in the car.

Me: Alien wants to take you to do "guy stuff", would that be okay with you??

Oliver: Yeah!! Because you know, I've lived with females my whole life.

Me: What about Dad??

Oliver: Well, he's a shemale.

This is the point where I failed horribly, because I shouldn't have laughed at that, but it was fucking hysterical. Mostly because I'm pretty sure he's right.

Principal of the Year

So Oliver told me yesterday that if he gets commended on all portions of his TAKS test (don't get me started on how absurd TAKS is - it's a whole diatribe) that he will get to take a picture in his principal's corvette and he has a theory on that (I'm so proud!! He's all getting theories, just like Mommy!!):

Oliver: Most principals don't have corvettes, they have volkswagons.

Me: oh yeah?

Oliver: Yeah. But Mrs. P has a corvette!! I guess that's what happens when you're Principal of the year.

Me: You think?

Oliver: Yup. If you win then you get a corvette!!

Now I'm not saying that this theory shouldn't be true - but somehow I don't think it is.

If I Only Had a Brain

I am an idiot. Did you know that?? Oh yeah.








I know absolutely nothing. Not the color of the sky. Not what’s for dinner. Not how to make a dog behave. Not how to spell A-P-P-L-E. Not how to make a six year old behave.


It’s been occurring gradually. At first it was little questions, like this:

Me: Oliver, please go take a shower.

Oliver: Can I take a bath instead?

Me: What time is it?

Oliver: 7:45

Me: Since that’s 15 minutes before bedtime, no. Take a shower.



Then it became help.

Me: Tallulah, please pick up your room.

Oliver: Yeah, Tallulah! Go clean your room!

Tallulah:?!?!

Me: Oliver, I don’t really need your help.



But now it’s outright and open, Mom you are dumb as a stump and I must hold your hand and help you because obviously you don’t know what you’re doing.



Me: Oliver, please don’t roll on the floor with the dog – you’re encouraging bad behavior.

Oliver: (looks at me & continues to roll on the floor with the dog)

Me: (?!?!) Oliver! I asked YOU to stop that!

Oliver: (HUGE melodramatic sigh) Mom. He likes it.

Me: But I don’t.

Oliver: (HUGE melodramatic sigh) Mom. He’s having fun.

Me: But I’m not.

Oliver: (HUGER melodramatic sigh) Fine. I’ll go play my DS.

Me: (And I REALLY hope you’ll excuse this example of HORRIBLE parenting, but at this point it’s a complete credit to my self control that my hands are not around Oliver’s little pre-pubescent throat – you’re not seeing the smirk on his face, it’s INCREDIBLY annoying) OLIVER!! I WASN’T TRYING TO GET YOU TO NOT PLAY WITH THE DOG I WAS TRYING TO GET YOU TO PLAY WITH HIM CORRECTLY, BUT SINCE YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW BETTER THAN I DO, GO AHEAD AND PLAY WITH HIM HOWEVER YOU WANT AND HE’LL GO AHEAD AND BITE YOU HOWEVER HE WANTS. BUT I HOPE THAT AT SOME POINT YOU MIGHT NOTICE THAT HE DOESN’T BITE ME THAT WAY, SO MAYBE, JUST MAYBE THE WAY THAT I TREAT HIM MIGHT HAVE SOME MERIT.



I don’t know where he gets these emotionally charged dramatic impulses from. I definitely need to ask his Grandma Maude - it's got to come from that side of the family.

Fly

Actual conversation with Oliver this morning:

Me: Are you ready? (keep in mind that he is hiding behind his bed at this point)

Oliver: Yup.

Me: Have you brushed your hair?

Oliver: Yup.

Me: Teeth?

Oliver: Yup.

Me: Are you wearing shoes & socks?

Oliver: Yup.

Me: Pants?

stands up

Oliver: Yup.

Me: Is your fly zipped?

Oliver: (while trying to get into his fly) Well, since I can't play with my penis at the moment, I guess so.



I left the room, assuming he was ready.