Running out of ideas for how not to strangle your offspring while suffering through the fifth month of winter? I found this video clip, and was reminded that when all Baby Einstein toys have been wedged into the walls of a fort, and you haven't seen your couch cushions since the Christmas break, and they've all but beaten each other senseless with spatulas, then there's nothing better than cracking out the empty ketchup bottle, the sound and spatter both gentle reminders of why one should always maintain the utmost respect and deference to the almighty power that a shart holds over your dignity. I believe Freud would agree that engaging in antics like this firmly entrenches a child in the potty phase, leaving little hope of them ever being that person who has the decency not to laugh when someone deems it acceptable to fart in public, or when an acquaintance happens to accidentally shit themselves at a pasture party, having gone toe-to-toe with the never beaten bottle of whiskey. Yes, we're inadvertently setting up our little ones for success, and I couldn't be more proud.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Flat Stanley has a French fry dink...
The night started off harmless enough. The kids were knocking back their Happy Meals, loading up on the nutrients. There was an undercurrent of excitement that the Happy Meal toys had been updated...when you eat there as much as we do, even the prettiest and most functional of toys lose their edge after multiple repeats.
The toy this week is an adorable little book, titled: "Flat Stanley Goes Camping", complete with a little cardboard character to be taken along on this amazing new adventure.
My ever vigilant 5-year daughter started punching along the perforated line on the pop-up Stanley that came with the book. Then very calmly she passed it over to me and stated:
"Look at this, Mommy...Flat Stanley has a French fry dink."
No concerns as to why Flat Stanley decided to yank his penis out to go camping...no, nothing of notable concern regarding that. No mention at all regarding his unabashed joy of getting all that fresh air before he goes camping. Rather, remarkable interest that his penis bore an uncanny resemblance to a French fry. Explaining that it was likely the seam over the zipper on his pants rather than his actual penis hanging out, proved a task too monumental for this Mommy.
Dear McDonald's,
Tell Flat Stanley to tuck his tackle in.
This kind of behaviour just isn't safe around a tent zipper.
The toy this week is an adorable little book, titled: "Flat Stanley Goes Camping", complete with a little cardboard character to be taken along on this amazing new adventure.
My ever vigilant 5-year daughter started punching along the perforated line on the pop-up Stanley that came with the book. Then very calmly she passed it over to me and stated:
"Look at this, Mommy...Flat Stanley has a French fry dink."
No concerns as to why Flat Stanley decided to yank his penis out to go camping...no, nothing of notable concern regarding that. No mention at all regarding his unabashed joy of getting all that fresh air before he goes camping. Rather, remarkable interest that his penis bore an uncanny resemblance to a French fry. Explaining that it was likely the seam over the zipper on his pants rather than his actual penis hanging out, proved a task too monumental for this Mommy.
Dear McDonald's,
Tell Flat Stanley to tuck his tackle in.
This kind of behaviour just isn't safe around a tent zipper.
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
The annual holiday report...
This time last year, I shared the following story with you. Click here for a reminder of the carnage. This year Jack informed me: "Here's an idea. Maybe just don't put the gifts under the tree early, just to make sure we don't open them." Here's a thought Jack - maybe I should have you tested for mutant sociopath genes.
Last year was also the year of the botched gingerbread house, see Exhibit A:
Yet another culinary disaster - apparently the icing needs to set before you apply the roof. Whatever. I fucking hate making Gingerbread houses. Upon the caving of the roof, Jack informed me: "Hey Mommy, it looks like a house from the Philippines." Thank you, Captain Current Affairs. To which Peanut then added, rather gravely: "Maybe next year Daddy should do it."
Well, this year Daddy did do it. And of course it was a masterpiece. Show-off.
From our house to yours, all the best in 2015. I predict it's the year my husband will agree to "sit" for a professional family photo. One can only work with the photos one has.
Last year was also the year of the botched gingerbread house, see Exhibit A:
Yet another culinary disaster - apparently the icing needs to set before you apply the roof. Whatever. I fucking hate making Gingerbread houses. Upon the caving of the roof, Jack informed me: "Hey Mommy, it looks like a house from the Philippines." Thank you, Captain Current Affairs. To which Peanut then added, rather gravely: "Maybe next year Daddy should do it."
Well, this year Daddy did do it. And of course it was a masterpiece. Show-off.
Christmas morning went off without a hitch, although I don't think Isla was impressed having been woken by her brothers at the crack of dawn. I've never seen a yawn that big around Elsa...how dare she lack reverence in the presence of the Ice Queen, never mind baby Jesus's birthday. Kids nowadays. No shame. Our singing Elsa reminded me (approximately 9,000 times) to let that shit go.
Even though they each have their own electronic devices, there always seems to be that one with the best games. So the line-up begins. James can be seen here delivering his very best: "Back off, bitch. I'm next." face.
From our house to yours, all the best in 2015. I predict it's the year my husband will agree to "sit" for a professional family photo. One can only work with the photos one has.
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