Nov 20, 2005

It's 9 o'clock. Do you know where your children are?

Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do. The 4-year old is sleeping peacefully in her bed; and my 2-year old is lying her beside me, wide awake, saying, "You broke that, you broke that, you broke that..." over, and over, and over, for no apparent reason. However, she's hellbent on fixing it--whatever "it" may be. But the highlight, the HIGHLIGHT of my evening just happened mere minutes ago, when she said (spelled phonetically as a two-year old speaks), "Mom, stmell my fingerr..." as she shoved her tiny index finger up my nose.
"That smells like poop!" I yelled. "Do you have a poo-poo diaper?"
"No, my fingerr wass en mine buttt!"


Nov 19, 2005

I am crying, and I don't know why

I can tell you why she was crying: Because it was 630pm, she had woken up at 630am, and had forgone the daily nap. THAT'S why she was crying, people. Really, she's two--does there HAVE to be a reason? I think not. It could have been the missing nap, but then again, it could have been the fact that I changed her pee-pee laden diaper. I'm such a bitch. But then...OH, THEN...I took off her overalls and put on her pajamas! Oh.

Call CPS. I'm a horrible mother. Even after I got said pajamas on the tot, she chose to coerce me into pulling her jammie pants on and off no less than 10 times.

"NOOOoooooooo!!!! OOOOOooooooffffff!"
"Okay, I'll take them off."
"Okay, I'll put them on..."
"Okay, I'll put them....on?"
"Nooooooo!!! AAAhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!"

This conversation (or lack thereof) continued, whilst I wrestled Tigger pajama bottoms on and off a diapered ass for longer than I care to admit. She's so fricking persistant. Don't know where she gets that from.

Nov 18, 2005

Beauty Queen

We're all in deep shit with this one. She's already too cute.

Really, if there were a shirt that said, (front) "Seriously, now, you can't possibly think that your kid is cuter than this...this one that sprang from my loins..." (back) "and I'm not saying that just because I'm her mother." I would totally wear it.

Boxing Queen

Clairey vs. The Crusher

Claire Ailis, 26 months old, and a huge contender for the Tot-weight Championship. However, all her dreams came to an end when she was knocked out in the first round. What happened? Boxing Site magazine gives you the exclusive interview of "The Boxing Queen."

BS: Claire. Claire, Claire, did this happen?

C: I'm not sure, exactly.

BS: Did you see it coming?

C: No, not at all. I had both of my hands up by my head, you know, protectin' myself. Next thing I know, I'm down on the ground, KO'd. (shaking head, sadly)

BS: Yeah, it was pretty bad. Did it hurt?

C: Hurt? What do you think, Mother F#$*er?! H$#ll yes, it hurt.

BS: Sorry...I, I didn't know...

C: I have nine stitches in my eye! NINE stitches!

BS: I, I see that...

C: I'm just minding my own business, and next thing you know, it's like "And this little piggy went 'wee, wee, wee...' BAM! What the F$#K was that?!' and I'm down on the ground."

BS: Upsetting, I'm sure.

C: Oh, 'upsetting' isn't the word for it, man. I mean, sh&t...I started cutting my 2-year molars last week, my diaper leaks, then THIS happens?! Where does it end, man?! Where does it end?

BS: Claire, thank you for talking to us, and good luck in next year's TWC. Could we just get a smile for the camera, please?

C: Sure thing. Gotta pose for the posse.

Indeed, where DOES it end?

*After this interview was taken, the truth rose to the top, much like spoiled cream. Clairey had actually been "KO'd" by a patio table. There wasn't as much tough-talking little pigs going on, as much as a loud bang, and then loud screaming for "mommy."

Makes me laugh every damn time

Nov 17, 2005

My egg on drugs

Your Brain's Pattern

Your mind is a firestorm - full of intensity and drama.
Your thoughts may seem scattered to you most of the time...
But they often seem strong and passionate to those around you.
You are a natural influencer. The thoughts you share are very powerful and persuading.

Nov 15, 2005

Morning drama

This morning, Claire locked herself in my bathroom. Below, is the conversation that followed:

M: "Claire, unlock the door."

C: "No."

M: "Yes."
--doorknob wiggles--
"Turn the lock in the middle."
--wiggle, wiggle--
"Clairey. UNLOCK the door."
--knock, knock--

C: "Who there?"

M: "It's mommy. Open the door."

C: "No it's not. It's banana."
"Knock knock"

M: "Who's there?"

C: "Banana"

M: "Banana who?"

C: "I don't know!" (uproarious laughter)
"knock knock"

M: "Who's there?"

C: "banana"

M: "banana who?"

C: "I Don't Know!" (more laughter)

*At this point, i leave to go find a key for the door. I return about 2 minutes later, and unlock the door. I open it, walk in...

C: "uh-oh"

Nov 10, 2005

a poem of the morbid variety

*eta: it's just a poem. Really. I've also written a poem about crack, doesn't mean I'm a crackhead.


how far does it have to go
scars dripping down
how deep to unchain
the sadness
to hit a nerve
and end the hurt
how deep to end the sobbing,
shaking fear
not good enough to know.
Poised on the precipice
of virgin marble,
ashen grey,
head lilting in silence.
How far does it have to go
before it stops
and hits
the bone

Nov 5, 2005

God is watching...

Jenna had to pee while we were at the park. The only places to go: Port-a-Potty, or tree. Neither were kosher with Jenna. She decided to hold it, since the potty's were, in her own words, "nasty."

As we were driving home, I said, " soon as we get home, you can go pee-pee in our nice, clean potty." Her little voice pipes up from the backseat: "Yea. I can go pee in our clean potty. It's not nasty. The pottys in Tomball, Texas are clean because that's how God made them. God put all the clean pottys in Tomball, Texas...not at the park."

SO, world, if you want a clean potty, come on over to Tomball, Texas--known for the copious amounts of white-trash rednecks in Walmart, and the clean pottys.

Nov 1, 2005


The Chicks

Jenna cat

Little pumpkin Clairey