Save Me

I was just coming here to tell you all how little kid said, "I love Jesus and I love my mommy. But not in that order because Jesus doesn't make me chicken nuggets."

Isn't that adorable?

Well, yeah. Two minutes later I tuned in (because he talks ALL DAY LONG, I have to tune in and out to save my sanity) and heard him singing, "Ashley the mommy is a very bitchy bitch. She's a bitchy bitch, she's a bitchy bitch, she's a bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch."

(Which is actually kind of catchy but clearly inappropriate for a 4-year-old.)

At first I didn't think that's what he was really saying because I didn't think he knew that word or at least wouldn't be able to use it in context but as soon as I asked him about it, he swore he was singing, "Ashley the mommy, I love her love her love her," which obviously sounds nothing like "bitchy bitchy bitch."

Now he's crying and screaming because I've insulted him by pointing out that "I love her love her love her" sounds nothing like what he was singing previously and he's going in his room and closing the door until I come apologize. But he's doing this all very loudly so it doesn't benefit me at all.

I don't think he'd pull this kind of crap on Jesus.



edited to add: He later claimed he was singing "Ashley the mommy, I love her to bits bits bitsy bits," which seems plausible and a more likely story than he could come up with on his own. So maybe I do owe him an apology but I think he fell asleep in there so I might just enjoy the peace and quiet instead.

(Maybe I am a bitchy bitch bitch bitch.)

Pretty Rude

The other night we went out to dinner and as we were waiting for a table an elderly man passed by and little kid exclaimed, "Wow, he's old!"

I sternly reminded him of our rule about not making comments on how people look; I know he is familiar with this rule because I drilled it into his head recently after he shouted "That is one fat mama!" when he saw an obese lady on a scooter at Walmart.

"Do not make comments on people's appearance!" I hissed at him once the elderly man had passed.

"Don't talk 'bout people's parents? I not sayin' nuttin' about his parents! He prob'bly doesn't even have parents!"

"Appearance! How people look. Don't comment on it."

We sat in silence for about 2 minutes until the next guy walked by.

"That's one cool lookin' dude," little kid said loudly, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"I told you not to say anything about how people look!" I said, exasperated with him.

"Even when it's somethin' good? That was a cool lookin' dude! He looked all awesome."

"No, not at all. Just don't say anything about anyone."

"Well now you're the one bein' rude. 'Cuz that's pretty rude not to tell someone they're lookin' awesome."

Same but Different

Living with little kid is like living under the same roof as a jealous lover. He angrily told an affectionate Mr. Ashley last night to "Get your hands off my mudder!" and can't stand to even watch me snuggle the dog. If Big Kid comes within a five foot radius of me, little kid is squirming between us and yelling "Don't touch my mommy! She's mine!" despite my reminders that I was Big Kid's mom first and that I love them both equally.

While I put makeup on, he stands in the bathroom and talks about how beautiful I am and sighs, "I love your hair," while I style it. He frequently calls me Princess Mommy or My Most Beautiful Mama. He's also changed the words to Sublime's "What I Got" from "Lovin' is what I got," to "Mama is what I got, I said remember that! Mama is what I got. That's why I don't cry when my dog runs away, don't get angry 'bout the bills I have to pay..." luckily he doesn't remember the rest so he just sings that part over and over again. I like it a lot.

This morning while we were snuggling in bed, he asked, "Mama, who do you love more, me or daddy?"

"Oh, quit this. You're not in competition with your dad, little kid."

"Yeah, but if you had to pick...."

"little kid, who do you love more, me or cookies?"

"Oooohhh. You or cookies? Hmmmm." He was thinking hard. I laughed.

"What?" he asked. "I'm thinkin' I'd pick you...as long as you pick that you love me more than daddy. And more than Murphy. And bubby."

"little kid, I love you all the same but different. The same amount, just in a different way."

"Well, that's how I feel 'bout you and cookies."

 Knowing how intensely he feels about cookies, I can accept that answer. I am loved.

Wanna Doctor

When I finally turn to a life of crime (we all know it's just a matter of time), the first thing I'm doing is stealing someone's driver's license and credit card and renting a Rug Doctor to keep forever! With all of the optional attachments!

I just love freshly shampooed carpets.

Cookie Monster

We just cannot have cookies in the house.

little kid started harassing me about having some cookies at 8:30 a.m. At 9:30 a.m. I assured him that he could have cookies after lunch (if he ate his lunch!) and for the past hour I have been harassed about lunch every 3 minutes. He knows what time lunch is, he knows it is not lunch time, we both know he will not eat all of his lunch and will probably not rightfully earn the cookies.

I just told him to knock it off about the cookies or he wouldn't have any (because I'm sick today and I'm tired of his bullshit) and have heard 15 minutes of wailing about how I'm ruining his life. So I sent him to his room and now he is yelling that this proves that I'm trying to ruin his life.

WHAT ABOUT MY LIFE?? Who is the sick person being forced to spend a ridiculous amount of time discussing the possibility of cookies at lunch?

He has just announced that he is being forced to hit himself in the head because I have ruined his life.

That works for me.

New Law

We've recently implemented a new chore chart around here. All was going well with everyone falling into routine quite nicely--until last night when Big Kid was doing his laundry round-up chore and I heard some stomping and muttering from the other room.

"What's up?"

Big Kid walked into the kitchen with an armload of clothes and a scowl on his face. "You know, it should be a law that no child should ever have to touch his mother's underwear."

Mr. Ashley and I looked at each other and laughed. "What?" Big Kid asked. "I'm serious."

And that's how Big Kid got his laundry round-up chore permanently reduced.

(Because he's right!)