boo: "i'm hungry".

me: (in kitchen, cooking) "oh look! ta da!" (price-is-right gesture at pot on stove) "i'm cooking!".

boo: "but i'm hungry now".

me: "it'll be ready in a minute."

boo: "but i'm hungry now!"

me: "well, what would you like me to do? pull it out of my ass? it's not ready yet."

boo: "eww. i don't want to eat ass!"

me: "then wait! geez!"

boo: "you hate me!"

me: "no i don't."

boo: "yes you do! you want me to die! i'm so hungry i'm gonna starve to death!"

me: "oh harden up! you're not gonna die you big weinie."

boo: "but, i'm sooooo hungry!"

me: "well then die."

(much drama ensues)

so, today, i discovered that i am a horrible, horrible, evil, evil mother who wants to kill her child via starvation.

ooo... i hate me.

to accomplish this task, you must have the following:

• a child of impressionable age (in this case, 6 years old)
• time specifically allocated for talking
  to deflect your child's suspicion, this should be a regular part of routine.
• a straight face

• read a story.
  this act will get your child's guard down - thereby making them more vulnerable to evil attacks of parent.
• initiate a conversation about regeneration. this would be best accomplished by talking about geckos and/or lizards.
• prod child. ask him if other animals regenerate. "do kangaroos regenerate? do fish regenerate?"
  the child should reciprocate by asking questions as well.
• continue the barrage until the child says "do human's regenerate?"
• reply like this:
  "i don't know? did your tail grow back?"
• maintain straight face as child searches it for signs of fibbing.

• get other family members to corroborate your story.
• on occasion, check the child's tailbone and say things like "we had better take you back to the doctor, i don't think they got it all".
• encourage your child to climb trees saying, "be sure to use your hands! remember, you don't have a tail anymore!"

and sleeping on the couch with the tv turned off... that hurts his eyes as well.

and the walk-in-closet? well, the walk-in-closet makes his eyes hurt even "worstest of all".

hmm... interesting medical condition he has.

hell, my kid's not just cute and amusing anymore! he's also a great big prospective bag o'dough.

then he asked me if they had home computers when i was his age... and i said "uh... no".

then he asked me if there were airplanes back in the "olden days"... and i said "go away, kid. you're annoying me."

the late 70's? the olden days!?!? geesh!

me: "myssstery date! are you ready for your mystery date! don't be late! for youurrr mys-ter-y date... open the door. for your. mys-ter-y daaaaaate!"

boo: "MOM! can you stop singing that song?"

me: "but, i thought you liked that song!?"

boo: "yeah. but that doesn't mean i want to hear it all the time!"

me: "then how about this: iii'm comin' out, so you bettah get this party started." (insert dancing)

boo: "oh GOD, don't do that in front of my friends!"

i don't know what disturbs me more. the fact that, (a) i keep singing that song? (b) that my child likes that song? or (c) that at age 6, he is turning into me?

p.s. i am not "coming out", but you still had bettah get this party started.

also - happy memorial day!

to those of you who are not familiar with this american holiday, let me explain it to you... it is a day when we remember the dearly departed men and women of the armed services through barbecues, paid holidays, televised sporting events, and department store sales.

happy white sale everybody!

i say, obi-wan is his real name.

child disagrees. child says that obi-"one" is mr. kenobi's nickname.

i say, oh yeah? then what is his real name?

child says he can't remember. but he is positive that obi-"one" is a nickname. child then asks me if i know his real name.

todd. i say. todd kenobi.

child says, oh yeah. todd.

---

also, today i went downtown to do a little bra shopping. because it is just so fun... i mean, i just cannot express the joy of finding that all three of the bras in your size are of the grandma variety.

oh, yippee. i can look like i'm wearing a shirt when i'm not wearing a shirt!

feel my joy.

"wow, he's a talker!"

"he likes to talk alot, doesn't he?"

"my god! does he ever shut up?"

no. no he doesn't. it never, ever, ever stops. it's constant. it never relents. it's all the time with the talking. always. 24 hours a day. he never shuts it. never.

he must have inherited it from his father.

also - he is using the "naughty" magnetic poetry on the fridge to spell out phrases such as "kiss naked ass" and "wiggle some penis".

where on earth did he get this inappropriate behavior?

but he pronounces it "fock"!! Ha ha! and that, my dear, is what we call HIL-AR-IOUS.

---

also today, the child came up to me and said "gingivitis! gingivitis! it's the gum DISEASE!"

to which i responded with a "what the hell is wrong with you?"

"it's the gum DISEASE!"

"yeah, i know."

"the listerine told me so."

ha ha! my god. this kid is KILLING me! (i got a silly child AND he's cute AND rude... *CHA-CHING!*)

see? even with the silly bowl-cut... cu-ute!

i also noted that mine, is by far one of the most uncoordinated.

this is him losing a water fight to a very pale child.

i also noted that, even despite years of natural selection, there are still a scant few (let's face it) butt ugly children.

oh, it's hell for me, people! hell!

i says to the child, "that's not playing, hon. they're mating."

child says, "what's mating?"

i says, "they're having sex."

child says, "ooooo! they're make-in' bay-bees, mommy! THEY'RE MAKE-IN' BAY-BEES!" child says this loudly so that other parents turn to sneer at me.

oh no! we're poisoning their children with the truth! BEWARE! i am the devil! blaarrrr!! FEAR ME! and those blasted fornicating squirrels!

---

also, i learned that, just like zach from saved by the bell, i am not ghetto.

I am 0-20% Ghetto

I don't even know what ghetto is? Fuckin Preppy.
I better hop in my beamer - head for the hood and get some chicken, watermelon, and newports.

[sigh], i guess this is just what happens when you live in seattle...

ha ha! no they didn't... oh, i just kill me! i'm actually going for dinner... oh, hello! we can always count me in for FREE FOOD!

horny has also informed me that his house is a bra-free zone.

mm hmm... suuuure!

girls, however, are made out of poop, and pee, and boobs.

also, jennifer rented "nell" and ate lots of junk food. the resulting sugar high caused her to teach her child to BE nell.

he can now say chuckapeeeeeey! and teeey een a weeeyn... but he's not very good at it. this will require more practice.

yabba dabba doo!

me: "drinking what? pudding?"

the child: "no water."

me: "ok fine... you're gonna die!"

the child: "you can live forever on just water. you don't have to eat."

me: "mmhmm. is this what they teach you at school?"

the child: "i can hold my breath for a really long time."

me: "err... when did the topic of conversation change?"

the child: "what's conversation?"

me: "you know. talking, you baffoon."

the child: "i'm going to trade my pikachu for a blfadhffa."

me: "ohhh kay"

see, that kid's crazy. like a freaking loon! ... but with this latest plan of his, i'm going to save lots of money on groceries, and he'll be dead within the week, so i guess i can deal.

Do you want to guess what my child did between the hours of 1am and 2am this morning? ...Yes, my darlings. He peed in the fridge. You heard me right... he PEED in the FRIDGE!!

I didn't even know it was possible to sleep-PEE!

Needless to say, I need to do some grocery shopping this morning... And possibly refrigerator shopping.

me: go to sleep, duckface!

the child: no, you go to sleep, fuckface! teeheeheeeheeee.

me: close your eyes already, basshole!

the child: no way asshole! teeheeheeeee!

me: eh, shut up pithead!

the child: ok shithead! teeheeheeeheee!

and then we sang that banana-fana-foe-fana song for the child, me, and some guy named chuck.

have i told you that my baby is in the 2nd grade? and is a year ahead in school? and is reading at the 4th grade level? why, he's a little smartypants!

like mommy, like son... but, i'm not taking responsibility for his horrible sense of rhythm... that's his father.

no really! honest! i mean it! you should see him dance! it's like watching people die. painfully. with a lot of sudden jerky movements.

---

ooh! i'm having a miss cleo moment!

it's a little fuzzy, but... i think i am seeing a girl in crisis... a zealous (pre)teen with a penchant for posting anonymously? maybe?

do not under any circumstances, ask your child the following question:

hello, fork? meet my eye.

and now, we bring you the child's favorite old-time holiday song...

ps. who broke my archive page? was it you!?!

you people don't know what hard is until you've tried to hide five large presents in a 10 square foot apartment.

but, i'm smart, so i can! i mean, just look at my clever use of blanket!

he won't suspect a thing!

me: umm. cookies?

the child: nooo... BOOBIES!!

yup. just what the world needs... yet another breast-obsessed (little) man. hooray. fantastic. great. wonderful.

and GO ME! for raising such a sensitive, introspective child!

1. just because it's sunny out doesn't mean it's not BLOODY STINKING COLD!

2. some people dress their little girls up like little purple and pink clowns. with stupid purple, pink, and yellow striped hats with big fabric flowers on them. and striped pink and purple stockings.

3. these people should be shot.

4. my kid is a goober. (see photo below)

   

5. the only way i can get my ass down that slide is to clench my butt cheeks.

pft! after all i've done for him...

this was the reaction i got after i told the child to call me "princess mommy".

"tee hee!"

and this was the resulting reaction after i told the child that, no, i really mean it. he better start calling me "princess mommy" from now on. or else!

"ha ha ha ha!"

(mutter) ... ungrateful bastard...

because i am a responsible parent!

"Mommy! Corn came out of my butt!" And lastly, I'm going to give you the strangest google hit to date: "Sexy geriatric fotolog" Indeed. This is one sexy geriatric fotolog!

Phew!

And now here are some pictures of me killing my child:

Arg!


Gah!


Blargh!

As you can see, he is missing the front teeth I punched out last week... OK fine, I only punched out one of those. And it was already really loose. But it bled so that should count for something.

Is it just my imagination, or is my child the only one that trys to get his way by threatening to force me to watch French movies?

Because... as he claims... they all contain either "French kissing" or "French HUMPING".

Eww, gross.

I'll never understand how some people think that having a potty-mouth is not condusive with being a good parent.

Gasp! You can't say that! You're a mother! ... I can't? I can't say "shit"? Because I procreated? Because my child will turn into a serial killer if I say "asshole"? What?!?!?

Look, my parents never sweared in front of me, and look at what a bang up job they did.

June Cleaver is not the only appropriate mother figure. Or even A good mother figure... GOOD GOD I'd rather poke out my eyeballs than teach my son that women are supposed to be sweet and nice and never have any needs of their own!

Barf... Oh, excuse me. Fucking barf.

I always feel real strange whenever I see those weird mother-daughters that get along... What is that feeling? Envy? Or my skin crawling? I can't tell.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't not get along with my mother. We just have a very hands-off kind of relationship. Not that she doesn't try... Like the last time I saw her? SHE HUGGED ME AND PATTED MY HEAD!

Talk about creepy!

I hope my kid doesn't get the heebie-jeebies when I pat his head. So I'm hoping my plan of doing-the-exact-opposite-of-my-parents will work... Although I don't know how threatening to dance in front of his friends is going to keep him heebie-jeebie-free.

Today I got to watch a horrifically bad kid movie, eat a dirt flavored jelly bean, get my ass-size compared to a 40 year old woman who was seriously wearing pink jeans, and then I threatened to wring somebody's neck if he doesn't knock it off already! Gah!

Stuff Turdface didn't knock off already:

1. Talking... Fuckin' A! Does he ever shut up?
   
2. Fidgeting... Is it considered child abuse if you duct tape a kid to a chair?
   
3. Complaining... Hey. I was just trying to fix the mushroom haircut. Is it MY fault he has all those cowlicks?

My bright, 1-year-ahead-in-school, reading-at-the-a-6th-grade-level, 4th grader has notified me that he is going to be a hippie when he grows up...

I knew it was a mistake getting that stupid canvas grocery bag.

My mother always said that when I had kids one day she hoped that they would be JUST LIKE ME because that'll teach me. So I told her to cram it.

And then, last night my child said to me, "but it's all about me! ME ME ME!" and I realized the prophecy has come true! Hallelujah! It's the second coming of me!

Then I flipped him the bird... You know. Just for fun.

My child made a food chain with stuffed animals... I am raising a nerd.

BIG NERD

This morning there were great tantrums because OH MY GOD! THESE SOCKS ARE SO UNCOMFORTABLE THAT THERE NEEDS TO BE SCREAMING! AND THROWING OF SOCKS ACROSS THE ROOM! AND THEN THERE WILL BE KICKING! AND MORE SCREAMING!! AT 6:00 IN THE MORNING! AAAAAAAAH!!!!!!

So I brought out the really stern look and I did that thing where I point the hairbrush at the wee bratty child, and I said, "Knock that shit off right now!" And the shit was not knocked off... So I shriveled up and died.

This afternoon, when I picked him up from his after-school program (digital camera in hand), Turdface told me not to take his picture because he was looking too slutty.

Slutty

HA HA HA!! How can you not love this kid?

It's probably a good thing that I had a boy, because it would just get way too girly and pink in this house, and there would be way too many barrettes lying around. (Not that there still aren't way too many barrettes lying around - but dude, if you try to clip one in his hair? He totally goes apeshit.)

And, believe me, I do understand that it can't be all that easy to have me as a mother, but SHEESH! Was it really necessary to react by ducking, running, and screaming just because I'm singing "I feel pretty" to my kid while brushing his hair?

He SHOULD feel pretty. I'm a bad ass hair brusher. I have mad hair brushing skillz. I am a hair brushing GODDESS.

Ungrateful child.

How do I get my kid to stop trying to move things with his mind? Because I don't know how much more of the intense staring I can take.

Today is the very first Annual Sparklypants Family Junk Food Day... You see, this is all part of my plan to form healthy lifelong eating habits for my child. (Red Vines are SO a fruit!)

(Here is where I would post the picture I took of a table full of junk food, but then my camera batteries died AGAIN, so you'll just have to imagine marshmallows and movie-theatre-butter popcorn and Cheetos as far as the eye can see.)

It's not even noon, the pizza dude hasn't gotten here yet, we haven't gotten through the opening credits of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and I'm already sick. Who knew that 2 donuts could knock me on my ass?

:barf:

What does it mean when your child is singing Deep Purple's "Smoke on the Water" except he's changed the lyrics to:

"I am weird. Weird, weird, weird, weird.
I am weird. We-eeird."

Do you think he thinks he's weird?*

* Because he's totally weird... Freaky Deep Purple singing 8-year old.

At brunch this morning with Turdface, our waitress told us that we are SO CUTE. We just sit there quietly reading! And talking like normal people! There is no screaming! And no crazy, shouting children! We are so well behaved!

Little did she know that once we got home, that we'd be singing along to Bust A Move, and busting a move like Mr. Bean.

The other week someone asked Turdface if I was his sister. HA HA! Oh silly, stupid man. I'm not his SISTER, I am his VERY YOUTHFUL AUNT. Or at least that's what we're telling people this week.

It's his birthday today, you know. He's nine, and we're headed to go see his very first Broadway show... You know what they say! It's never too early to start gaying them up!

The child, after hearing that I will be dragging his heathen ass to church this Christmas, proclaimed that he Can. Not. Go. because he does not own a t-shirt that says "Jesus Rocks!".

HAHAHAHAHA!!

Althought I'd like to take the credit for his hilariously agnostic ways, I cannot. But still... I TOTALLY LOVE THIS KID.

I don't know what's more unsettling... That my kid wants to play chess over dinner, or that he beats me at chess 50% of the time. Or maybe that he tells the waitress that he is 38 in the hopes of getting her to serve him beer. Or that he says he can't wait to get home because he needs to "take a dump".

I don't know if I should be horrified or proud.

If you haven't brought a 9-year-old little boy to work with you today, you totally missed out! Not only did you not get to convince him that the heart shaped Godiva chocolate is filled with guts, but I bet nobody at your office fell out of his chair 4 times, colored his hands a rainbow of highlighter colors, drew on his parent, amused the masses with his lifelike drawings of 80's Big Hair Bands, or warned everyone of the dangers of Korean Poodles. *

Your office totally sucks.

* Don't ask me about the Korean Poodles. I don't have a clue.

Apparently, when purchasing a milkshake for the baby, it is impossible for the mommy to not sing "myyyyyy milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, and they're like, it's better than yours".

But since the baby said, "damn right, it's better than yours" and then proclaimed "banana" as the best milkshake for bringing the boys to the yard, I don't feel so bad about it.

You know what's fun? When you wake up in the middle of the night to go pee, and someone has pee'd ALL over the seat. Ha ha! Good times!

Of course, not as much fun as the time he pee'd in the fridge, but still! F-U-N!

In retribution for sitting in pee, I will be posting these pictures of him on the internets.

Tell your child he looks like a giant mushroom with big caterpillar eyebrows.

President, Future Monobrows of America
and Irritated Child

Me: Look! It's your girlfriend!

Turdface: EWW GROSS!

Me: Huh? But I thought you liked her?

Turdface: Well, I did. But then I saw her dance. And it was totally inappropriate for her age.

Kids are funny. Especially kids that yell out "I'm outside! And I'm in my underwear!" Which are my favorite kinds of kids ever.

My NORMALLY darling, wonderfully behaved child just told his (H2-loving) father that men who drive Hummers have small penises... To which I said, "HA HA HA!" But then my NORMALLY darling, wonderfully behaved child told his father that he was just repeating what I had told him.

I can't believe he ratted me out.

I forgot to dress my child in green before I sent him off to the Pinchy Olympics... How could I forget ST. PATRICK'S DAY? The day I pledged to celebrate by getting bloody stinking drunk every year until I die or the cirrhosis kicks in?

Poor, poor Turdface. My poor, poor pinchable baby.

Also? I'm not wearing green either. And yet: Pinches received = ZERO! What the hell? Where the hell are all the pinchy men?

While making Play-Doh people, Turdface proclaimed "I AM GOD! Muahaha!" and then he smashed said Play-Doh people and said, "See?"

That kid cracks me up. He also totally creeps me out.

This morning, I dropped Turdface off at his playdate and then took off running.

I hope they weren't concerned when they saw me tearing off down the street screaming "FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOM!", but seriously. I'M FREE! I cannot contain this kind of enthusiasm!

Turdface came to me this morning dressed in my green DKNY t-shirt and said, "Is this new? When did you buy me this shirt?"

How is it possible that my child wears the same size shirt? I've got lots of boobage - He's 9... WTF?

Also - MY KID IS CROSS-DRESSING! Ha ha ha!

Turdface is off swimming with friends this afternoon, and before he left we discussed how I would spend my time:

Me: Watching movies?

Turdface: Eh... no.

Me: Getting totally drunk?

Turdface: YES!

Turdface is a bad influence... You have been warned Parents Of Children Who May Someday Be Associated With Mine. You have been warned!

Somehow, my child convinced me to shave his eyebrows tonight. Except that, BY TOTAL ACCIDENT, it included the shaving of his whole forehead. And ended in him lying in bed saying "aaah, smooth" followed by "AAAAAH! RUGGED!!!" whenever he reached an eyebrow.

This kid is going to be the fucking death of me.

Also, I am having A VERY DIFFICULT TIME not laughing my head off.

Turdface is doing that thing where he hits me up for a baby brother again... Does he not yet understand how this works?

I ain't got no man, and I still have my sanity... I already had one baby, and the resulting inability to pee in the same manner with which I peed before I got kicked in the bladder 74632352 times a day by little feet, is still very traumatic for me.

(Am I done peeing now? ... How about now? ... Now? ... No? Now?) That is the conversation I have with myself EVERY SINGLE TIME I PEE.

Too much information? Well too bad. You're at the Too Much Information About Jennifer Website... Deal, baby!

My kid has no rhythm. Like... None. He doesn't so much "moonwalk" as he "walks backward while music is playing". He can't even do the worm in the right direction, and all that involves is writhing around on the ground.

But OH MY GOD, is it ever fun to watch. You should come over! We'll make popcorn, play "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough", and scream requests like "ROBOT!" and "CABBAGE PATCH!" because if you thought that one where you pull one leg up like a flamingo and grab your ankle and vigorously thrust your knee back and forth was funny, you'll absolutely pee yourself when you see him do The Butt.

"No, seriously. Where's my stinkin' underwear?"

"Oh. My. Gawd."

"Shove it, lady!"

(Crap. Where's my wallet?) "Up your butt."

Ah. He is his mother's child. I am so proud.

Today, after giving me a picture clip holder made with his own baby hands!, Turdface gave me a poem that talks about how "great" and "enlightened" and SHORT, I am.

SHORT?! Hello! I am not short, kid. I have yoga pants taller than you.

Turdface: We are the asshood!

Me: Ya ya!

According to the reward system implimented at Turdface's nerd school, he has been talking too much in class to go on the special field trip tomorrow.

Ha. Yeah, I could have saved them the trouble of counting "reward points" and just told them at the beginning of the year that they can just forget it. The kid doesn't shut up! Ever! Earlier today I bet him $5 that he couldn't be quiet for 5 minutes... Surprise! He failed after about 30 seconds.

Here is where I would claim that he was just taking after me, but when I was his age I was The Shyest Kid Ever. Which is weird, because 19 years later I would be standing on a pool table and flinging my shirt over my head.

Turdface inherited my hair color, the shape of my eyes, and according to the conversation he's having on the phone right now, my phraseology.

"I am SO going to get Kirby & the Amazing Mirror."

"Totally."

"No seriously. I need good weapons."

"Oh my GAWD."

"Like, gag me with a spoon!"

OK. I was lying about the last one, but really - How much longer could it possibly be before he actually says that?

Turdface stayed over at a friend's house the other day, and... get this... THEY COOKED! Like, real meals and not just a handful of Rainier cherries or some cheese! (You know, like we do here if there are no doggy bags left.)

I hope he doesn't get some crazy idea in his head that that will be happening in the Seattle Crap Museum... Because I ain't touching anything dead and raw.

Blech.

Free to good home. Or bad home. Whatever... Just FREE! Take him!

Did you know that a farmer's tan is just like wearing a shirt except with "titties"?

And did you know that the pope likes Batman? But that's just the new pope, because the old pope was all about Spiderman.

Also, echo echo echo echo... I'm not sure what that means, but he wouldn't shut up about it until I flipped him the bird.

And finally! Turdface leaves to see his father, Ponch in less than 6 days. OH, HOW I WILL MISS THESE CONVERSATIONS!

Things I did today:

1. Watched in horror as my child ate a 2-year old Twinkie he stashed in the time capsule he made in the 2nd grade. (GROSS!)

2. Sliced my arm in half on the (sharp!) mirrored edge of my medicine cabinet.
   On a scale of 1-10, level of pain experienced? 3
   Level of pain told everyone I experienced? 12! OMG! Look how big the bandage is! I'M TOTALLY DYING!

3. Screamed my head off on the rides at Seattle Center. AAAAAH!!!!!1!!

4. Took lots of pictures to record the Day Before Turdface Goes On a Plane All By Himself Like He's a Big Boy or Something, What Is This Bullshit? He's Just a Baby! Day.

5. Packed the baby's things for his very first all-by-himself flight to Hawaii. BOO HOO! SO SAD!
   

This apartment is really really boring without Turdface. Oh my God! SOMEONE ENTERTAIN ME!

It would especially be appreciated if you could engage in any of the following activities:

1. Elevator Disco
   Anytime we're in an elevator alone together yell out, "FREAK OUT!" and commence dancing. (Extra points for interpretive dance.)
   
2. The Ya Ya's
   If we engage in any behavior remotely conducive to bonding, throw your hands up in the air and scream, "YA YA!"
   
3. The Answer
   The answer to every query is, "In your butt". For example: "Where is the remote?" "In your butt!"
   

I got a call from a very angry child, chastizing me for not taking him to the hairdresser before he left. (But how could I? How cute is he with his overgrown, flippy, surfer baby hair? I can't have that cut off! IT'S SO CUTE!)

So his father, Ponch, took it upon himself to take Turdface to a "butcher" who when he told him he wanted it short in the back "CUT IT ALL OFF!!!!" and now he looks "stupid!" and he has to go to daycare "looking all stupid!" and that hairdresser! He is "SO STUPID!" We hate him! The big stupid head!

I wonder where he got this obsession with his hair?

Me: Look! A Nepali/Tibetan restaurant!

Turdface: What do they serve there?

Me: Uh... Yak?

---

(Singing along to "99 Luft Balloons")

Me: Ich bin ein frankfurter

Turdface: Frankfurter? What?!

Me: What? Those are the words.

Turdface: Uh... not.

Me: Aaaaaand sing it with me! Ich bin ein frankfurter.

---

And, carrying on the family tradition of batshit crazy dreams:

Turdface: Last night, I dreamt of global warming.

Me: ... Ok, hippie.

Turdface: And everybody got cooked! Like ramen!

When I was little, my mother would always threaten to change my name to "Concepcion" or "Innocencia" or even better, "Innocencia Concepcion" whenever I misbehaved. (Which was never, of course.)

I appear to be carrying on this family tradition... Here are some of the names I have threatened my kid with:

1. Bruce-Ree *
   
2. Ignacio
   
3. George Foreman
   
4. Tiffany
   
5. Waffle

* This name ACTUALLY suggested by Ponch while I was pregnant. FOR REAL.

Turdface called me a disgrace to meathood yesterday... I'm not sure if he means that I am a disgrace to omnivores everywhere, or if I am MEAT and I am a disgrace to all other MEAT.

Two more days until Turdface's Christmas break! ... How does he deal with it?

Turdface: Ugh! I can't stand it! MY VACATION IS TAUNTING ME!

The drama. It is in my genes.

Turdface is TEN YEARS OLD today. Holy crap! Does this mean it is no longer acceptable for me to send him to school with his lunch in a Sephora bag?

Since he'll be spending his birthday with Ponch this year, we will have to sate ourselves by celebrating with ... THE MANY FACES OF TURDFACE!

Fat Baby

Irritated Toddler

The 'I am manipulating grandma' face

Coughy McHackerson

Goober

Turdface hates wearing shoes, eating lettuce, and being forced to watch Gilmore Girls. But, he loves bubble tea, ironic breakdancing, and drawing... Let us partake of THE HISTORY OF TURDFACE ART!

Turdface: "The fart... It is strong with this one."

Turdface: (Playing inappropriate video games at Ponch's) "Oh no! I shot my friend!"

Me: "In the face?"

Turdface: "No. I'm not Dick Cheney."

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PS. Look! It's me! I'm a mommyblogger!

Turdface: Mom. Don't EVER fart on a match.

Me: HA HA HA! HA!!! HAAA!! HA!

Turdface: No! I'm being serious! Don't ever fart on a match!

Me: HAAAAAHAHAAA! HA! HA! Can't... breathe... Too... funny.

Turdface: Quit laughing! I mean it!

Me: HA HA HA! HA! *Wheeze* Well, I wasn't planning on farting on any matches. HA HA! But thanks for the tip... *Choke* BAHAHAHAAA!

I am also quite fond of the conversation where we talk about what I would do if someone rubbed their butt on me, and I, in retaliation, rubbed my butt on them - but then they liked it!

Turdface: (Playing The Sims) Arg! Fire! Here comes the firemen!

Me: Are they hot?

Turdface: ... Huh? What does that mean?

Me: Hee! Hee!

Turdface: Eww! Like that? Gross! You're a pervert! ... Eww! Pervert! My mom is a pervert! Eww! Yuck! You're grody!

Me: Muahahaha!

Turdface: Blech! (Insert gagging noises)

Phone: Weeeeeeeeeeee

Me: Ack! What did you do to the phone?

Turdface: I put it too close to my butt.

My kid... So classy.

Also, what's up with me waking up every day at 5:00 in the morning - regardless of when I go to sleep? No seriously. WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?! Because I want to make it stop.

The :poolboy: recently scrolled through all the pictures of Turdface I keep on iPhoto, and I started to notice a theme...

Do you see it? Because I think it just might be my imagination.

I've never really felt like somebody's mom... or at least I don't feel like I think I'm supposed to feel like. Unless all you're supposed to feel like is yourself, but with this kid hanging around a lot... Like summer camp!

But then I sat on the floor and tied my boyfriend's shoes... In double knots.

OH MY GOD! I'M SOMEBODY'S MOM!

Turdface is back. And brown. And porky... It's like having my own little honey baked ham walking around!

At least until he's gets a Seattle winter, and a few months away from Ponch's diet of deep-fried grease, under his belt.

Since he's been back, we've had the following conversations:

Turdface: Big Assery!

Turdface: My armpits smell like rice cakes.

Me: (Eyes roll back in head.)

Don't give your kid and his best friend (who is 10-years-old and AS TALL AS ME! My kid's best friend is a GIANT!) a couple of "strike-anywhere" matches and then set them out on the front lawn of your building with a sparkler.

Unless, that is, you're a'looking to watch children turn scarily into tiny pyromaniacs right before your eyes.

I took three 10 and 11 year old boys to brunch this morning... Three! And I didn't kill anyone!* Or die!

It's not as dangerous as it sounds... Pretty much it's just like being around a small gaggle of disgusting people for 2 hours.

What Disgusting People Do At Brunch

1. Attempt to dig out own eyeball with spoon.
   
2. Discuss bloody tricks as performed by Argentinian "magicians".
   
3. Belch order to waitress.
   
4. Discuss the proper way to make a baby chicken poop. (Just squeeze it!)
   
5. Offer to punch each other in the face.

DON'T YOU WISH YOU WERE ME?

* However, at one point, I did have to tell a crazy homeless man that I might have to punch his teeth down his throat.

Turdface has a mediocre haircut. (Unlike the yesteryear of the "Overgrown Surfer Baby")... And despite the fact that I too have a mediocre haircut, I have decided this is unacceptable.

When polled for possible haircuts, Turdy gave us the following list:

1. Corn rows
   
2. Pompadour
   
3. Afro puffs
   
4. Dreadlocks
   
5. The Rachel

Me: What's wrong with you?

Turdface: I'm bloodthirsty.

Kid + toilet + action figure + huge wad of toilet paper = aneurysm.

(How to watch TV in the Seattle Crap Museum)

Host of Cash Cab: Who was the first vice president of the United States?

Me: JOHN ADAMS!

Turdface: John QUINCY Adams!

Host of Cash Cab: The answer is John Adams!

Me: WOOHOO! I'm right!

Turdface: WOOHOO! I'm right!

Me: You're not right! John Adams and John Quincy Adams are TWO DIFFERENT PEOPLE.

Turdface: What?!?

Me: Ha! Ha! (singing) I am smart. You are dumb. I am smart. You are dumb. (Insert dancing involving pointy fingers.) I am smart. You are dumb. Ha ha ha ha. I am smart. You are dumb...

Turdface: GAH! (Attacks.)

While he is a freshman in college, he is still 21, so he can still purchase beer. You see, he took a couple years off to backpack through Europe, and do a little hand modeling.

Also, in his spare time he enjoys building those model ships inside of bottles. And getting into bar brawls. And has the ability to shrink to the size of Issunboshi.

Turdface starts middle school tomorrow... Middle. School... I still remember middle school! Vividly! Am I really mature enough to have this kid? Seriously?

I mean, we spent a good 10 minutes today quoting Better Off Dead. ("Franch bread." "Franch fries." "Franch toast." "Franch dressing.")

And then I threatened to chaperone his first middle school dance (on Halloween) and show up dressed like the bald guy from OK Go. (He would be "shaggy haired guy from OK Go". And we would force his friends to be "pointy haired guy from OK Go" and "other guy from OK Go".)

And then he rolled his eyes at me and said, "Suuuure."

He's so much easier to irritate now! THIS IS GOING TO BE GREAT!

Apparently, it has become the custom in the :scm: for there to be dancing in the kitchen while I cook dinner ever night. I don't know how this happened, but my neighbors across the way must be very amused.

Last night, in preparation for his upcoming First! Ever! Middle School! Dance! next month, I showed Turdface how to do The Butt, Krump like a white girl, and the all important lesson on how to drop it like it's hot.

That's appropriate for a 6th grade dance, right?

PS. Fast forward to this morning:

I'm pretty straight-forward with Turdface; as I don't want him growing up with weird schoolyard ideas, like the time I thought girls could no longer eat pineapple once puberty hit*... But exactly how does one answer the question, "what's 'masturbation' mean?"

Because so far my answer is, "Hey! Look... over... there... or something."

I'm hoping the answer is, "Ask your father."

* It is not clear what I thought would happen if you did... It was not explained. I just believed because I was ten.

I spent all afternoon, doddling around downtown with a couple of tweens. Complete with punching, hitting, kicking, and choking... And the requisite burping and farting noises, and postulating about who can make what body part fart, (It doesn't just stop with armpits! Who knew?!)

I think I will require about 5 alcoholic drinks.

Also, did you know that police "secure the perimeter with duct tape and monkeys"? (Someone go tell my mom she's been doing it wrong all this time.)

Turdface: Can I have a cookie?

Me: No.

Turdface: Please?

Me: No.

Turdface: You're a butt head.

Me: (Picks up cookie jar, and walks away) What were you saying?

Turdface: ... You're... very, very pretty?

The 10-year-old Turdface has a date to the Halloween middle school dance at his school... I thought it was real cute for a second, (AWW! Baby's first date!) but then I found out that she is... Wait for it!!

13.

I can't stop my eyeballs from bugging out of my head! Help... me.... am dying...

A few days before his very first Middle School Dance, a very tortured and awkward Turdface asked me how it is that you go about telling a girl that you don't want to go to a dance with her anymore, because there's this other girl, and besides - she's kind of weird.

And I said, "Tell her she's weird!"

What? ... That would totally work, and you know it.

ANYWAY, it doesn't matter because it was a middle school dance, which means that he stands on one side of the gym while she stands on the other side of the gym, and then they just kind of pretend to be ignoring each other.

He could totally double book and no one would be the wiser.

PS. My kid totally did the worm AND the robot at the dance... It's nice to see all those years of training have finally paid off!

I just spent the last 5 minutes explaining the proper use of the word "prick" to Turdface... If I don't win Mother of the Year 2006, I WILL BE SHOCKED!

Let us celebrate by looking at this picture of Turdface back when conversations were not about farting or pooping or how I had better watch my back, because I so have a wedgey coming! When he was sweet and pliable, and let his mommy do this...

This weekend, for his birthday, we will be putting on $500 worth of REI merchandise and heading out to Crystal to learn to snowboard... Which pretty much means that I will sprain something and bruise everything and whine a whole lot.

... This should prove quite entertaining.

We are back from Turdface's birthday o' snowboarding! Alive and with all our fingers and toes!

I imagine that snowboarding is a lot more fun when your face isn't planted in the snow... And you aren't flying down a "bunny"* slope toward your inevitable death... And you aren't falling on your knees for the ELEVEN HUNDREDTH TIME. OH MY GOD! WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!?

Despite the knees that look like apples and the mild concussion, we had so much fun!

And yet - I don't think I've ever been quite so happy to be back at the :scm:, where there are warm showers, dry clothes, and pain killers.

Don't expect a whole lot of pictures though - as I found it impossible to take any while CAREENING DOWN A MOUNTAIN.

* Bunny slope? For what? KILLER NINJA BUNNIES? Because that was way steeper than I had anticipated... Hence the jostling of my brain.

When asked what his new years resolution was for 2007, Turdface said, "To increase my Fart Power™ threefold"... I'm not exactly sure what increasing ones Fart Power™ involves, but I'll be sure to let you know once I find out!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go purchase tiny toiletries for the vacation that will make all my self-righteous indignation burn... burn... BURN!!

(Because, apparently the restaurants in Disneyland are "sponsered" by, like, Stouffer's! I'm not even kidding! ... What's wrong Disneyland? Did the restaurant deal with Hot Pockets fall through?)

Round these parts, snow tends to last about 4 hours before it melts.

So when you wake up at 5:30am and find like A WHOLE INCH on the ground, it means it's time to:

A - Scream at your kid to "EEEE! WAKE UP! IT'S SNOWING!"
B - Bundle up your kid and drag him, sleepy eyed to the park.
C - Pelt him with one kajillion snowballs.

It's, like, the law or something.

Also, later that day at lunch, when you gesture a little too wildly and whack his plate so that it goes FLYING IN THE AIR, you can totally tell the waiter that it was his fault.

(Wasn't it anyway? I mean, I never gesticulated this violently before I had a kid.)

This morning at the Seattle Crap Museum, Turdface whined and cried and complained about his hair and his shoes... Because the hair! IT IS TOO POOFY! And the shoes! They don't GO with anything!

And I went, "WHATEVER!", because I'm nothing if not patient and thoughtful... And I also went, "OH MY GOD! Are we seriously still having this conversation? And if so, could you please stab me to death?"

Ah... He's finally become the daughter I've always wanted.

Today, Turdface, on his way to the kitchen with an empty plate in-hand, tripped on his too-long jeans and... SMACKED HIMSELF IN THE FACE WITH THE PLATE.

... 13 hours of labor just totally paid off, as this is officially the funniest thing I have ever seen!

Today, after my annual Yuppie Sell-Out visit to my broker to invest my Yuppie Sell-Out bonus I informed Turdface that I am now super rich... And I did this by doing a little dance and singing, "I am rich and you are poor! I am rich and you are poor!"

And then I told him how much money I have, and how much money my broker anticipates I will retire with in 25 years. And then I told him that I don't believe in inherited wealth, so he started crying.

Heehee!

Yesterday at lunch - because that's what we do here in this house, when we want to eat something that's not a Nutrigrain waffle or soycutash. - Turdface discussed all the shirts he will be making in his upcoming silkscreening class.

Me: How about if you make yourself a shirt that says "Cock Blocker" on it?

Turdface: Ha ha ha haa!

Me: Ha ha ha haa!

Turdface: Wait... What's a cog walker?

At dinner last night, I told Turdface that when he fell asleep I was going to shave his eyebrows off, and then draw them back in real high so that he looks perpetually surprised.

You'd think that would be enough of a threat to make his stop drawing pictures of me with a Hitler mustache, but no! ... How'd he get to be so insolent?

I recently spent two and a half hours at a middle-school band concert.

You can't really tell at all from this picture, but behind that camera phone, I am laughing. Because HA! I'm at a middle school band recital! HA! HA! Like I'm somebody's mother or something. (Should I have worn mom jeans?)

But I was also crying, because I have officially heard more calypso music than I ever, ever, ever need to. (Next person who sings the Banana Boat Song will be killed.)

Turdface left last Friday to summer in Hawaii like a froo-froo princess. Or maybe just to spend the summer with Ponch, eating things like meat and lard and no vegetables ever, and making my mother buy him lots of inappropriately violent video games.

Since he's been gone the Seattle Crap Museum has been the following:

1. Quiet
   
2. Clean
   
   Naked
   
   Yes, that's right! Naked time has returned! Also, forgetting to close the blinds has also returned, so hello there! I am the new naked neighbor.

I picked up Turdface at the airport last night, after spending the summer with his father in Hawaii... And he is way overtanned! WAY! Like, I've been forced to start referring to him as "potato". FORCED, I say!

Stay tuned for pictures of us torturing each other!

This apartment has way too many pre-teen boys in it... How can they be so smelly? And dirty? THEY HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING. Do boys make their own dirt?

Gawd. I'm going to have to start walking around here with a hose.

PS. I have done nothing this weekend! NOTHING! Nothing except loiter around coffee shops and restaurants, and read, and walk, and listen to old episodes of This American Life. I didn't even do the laundry! I'll have to go to work tomorrow in a sack! WHEE!

My child just said the following to a friend of his:

Yeah, nice pink oxford, gaybo.

... I will be horrified after I've stopped laughing.

I was just at a middle school band concert! Envy me! And the woman in front of me was either drunk, or way too excited about being at a middle school concert... I think she was about one shot of tequila away from gettin' jiggy with it.

(Boo on me for not bringing along a shot of tequila!)

Conversations with Turdface

Me: I'm going to do "The Butt".

Turdface: No!

Me: Cabbage Patch!

Turdface: No!

Me: Hammer Dance!

Turdface: No! No dancing!

Me: Oh, come on! The theme to Masterpiece Theater is just so damned danceable.

Turdface: No!

Me: HAMMER TIME!

Me: Hey, buttface!

Turdface: What?

Me: There's more pizza in the kitchen.

Turdface: OK.

Turdface's friend: Ha ha! You answered to "buttface".

Jenjamin: ... You two are weird.

When you go to brunch with them (and their impressionable 3-year old little girls) to introduce them to your (totally not impressionable) 12-year old Turdface, START A FOOD FIGHT!

Although, in my self-defense... That was really good french toast. And it did so need to "get in mah belly".

Believe in God breath spray, Football is Gay gum, and Grow a Girlfriend... Just what every pre-teen, pre-pubescent boy wants for Easter!

PS. We are currently growing his girlfriend, and did you know that God is minty??

Me: I feel crappy. I don't want to cook dinner... Do you mind if we just eat Doritos? And ice cream?

Turdface Are you kidding? That's a pre-teen's dinner DREAM!

(dramatic pause)

Me: OK. Now go out and buy Doritos and ice cream.

Turdface: MOM! LOOK! I HAVE HAIR IN MY ARMPIT!

Me: Where?!?

Turdface: RIGHT HERE! (points)

Me: Where?!?

Turdface: HERE! ... Wait, you have to look at it in the light.

(Later that week)

Turdface: MOM! LOOK! I HAVE HAIR ON MY CHEST!

Me: Where?!?

Turdface: RIGHT HERE! (points)

Me: Where?!?

Turdface: HERE! ... Wait, you have to look at it in the light.

Yes. This is how I spent my day... Sitting in small rooms waiting for people to poke, x-ray, and papier-mâché my child.

And after I canceled the last of three appointments, Turdface said, "Aww. I picked the wrong day to break a bone."

Me: "Yes. Yes, you did."

Turdface: "I'm sorry, would tomorrow work better for you?"

Me: "No. I'm busy tomorrow."

Turdface: "How about Saturday?"

Me: "No, I have a class on Saturday until the late afternoon, and then I'll be too tired. But Sunday I'm free after 3!"

Turdface: "Why don't we just make it Monday?"

1. Suggest that they give him a full-body cast because it'll be "way more fun".

2. Every time you kid says "ow!" start playing the world's tiniest violin.

3. When your child is ushered into the x-ray room, tell him that you sure hope there aren't any spiders in there with him, or we'll need to get him fitted for a spandex body suit.

4. ... Or a fly. Because you remember what happened to Jeff Goldblum.

5. This is totally the best time to challenge your kid to a "mime-off". You're totally going to kick his ass at "I'm trapped in a box".

Turdface: Guess what they've started doing in the boy's bathrooms at my school!

Me: Peeing IN the urinals, instead of NEAR the urinals?

Turdface: ... That's a stereotype. You're sexist!

Me: Whatever, Pee's-In-The-Fridge.

Turdface: Can I use your laptop?

Me: No way!

Turdface: Please!!?!?!!!!!

Me: No!

Turdface: Aww, come on!!!!!!!

Me: No.

Turdface: That's it. I'm going to go pee on your pillow!

I just dropped Turdface off at the airport, to fly to Hawaii with our peoples and their chilly bins, to spend the summer with Ponch.

... Now who's going to jump out from behind things and karate chop me? Who am I going to say exasperated things like, "OH MY GOD, WOULD YOU JUST SHUP UP ALREADY?!" Who will smack themselves in the face with a plate, to my über amusement? And who will be responsible for taking out the recycling?!

Someone! Amuse me! ... Also, take out the garbage. And smack yourself in the face with something.

So, I picked up Turdface from the airport the other day, and pranced around Baggage Claim saying, "You can't carry that bag all by yourself! You're just a wee girl!" And then he said, "Oh, yeah. I forgot. (Prances)"

And then, later, he suggested that we get matching utilikilts for the first day of school, so that when I stand outside on the first day of class, singing "Sunrise, Sunset", everyone would know that we were related.

Turdface: Hey! Where's my apple fritter?

Me: (Points to belly)

Turdface: No, really. Where is it?

Me: (Rubs belly)

Turdface: Arg! WHERE IS IT!??!

Me: (Points) In mah belly!

(Oven timer dings)

Turdface: MY APPLE FRITTER! (Returns with apple fritter. Gives poor, long-suffering, saint of a mother the stink eye.) What is wrong with you?

Me: I'm too pretty.

One of Turdface's first assignments in school is to write a song, but he claims he doesn't know what to write about. So I go, "fart jokes!" And he goes, "I am in the eighth grade. I am too mature for fart jokes." What? Since when? This family is never too mature for fart jokes.

Besides, he says, he's supposed to be writing about something that happened to him, and since nothing has ever happened to him because everything is so boring, he's at a loss... I am not.

This one time
I was walking with a plate
And I tripped on my own pants
And hit myself in the face.
And it hurt really bad
But I didn't cry
Because it was kind of funny
So I laughed, HA HA HA!

For some reason, he did not respond to my singing of this song... Well, he did. But mostly it was just karate chops.

This morning, Turdface left for school wearing a baseball cap on his head... Sideways. Yes. That's right. Sideways baseball cap. On purpose.

I didn't know I was raising a douchebag.

Last week, I went to the semi-annual parent-teacher conference at Turdface's school... According to his teacher, he is very bright but needs to apply himself. He is working below his abilities, see? And he's talking too much in class, see? And then I said... Wait. Why are we talking about me?

Me: Aww! Look at the Brownies!

Turdface: (Horrified) ... Mom! That's racist! They're called African Americans!

3 Other Things That Are Racist, According to Turdface

1. Naming coconut cookies "Samoas".

2. Tea baggers.

3. Lucky Charms.