Danger Baby Asks The Tough Questions

Danger Baby and I went to the grocery store today. She really likes the little kid-sized carts they have there. Unfortunately for strangers, they think it's cute and talk to her.

The following is an exchange Danger Baby had with an unsuspecting shopper:

Unsuspecting Shopper: *makes small talk about items in DB's cart*

DB: *responds to questions with usual 3 year old chatter*

US: *spouse/SO walks over to her*

DB: Is that your guy?

US: Yes, that's my guy.

DB: *highly incredulous* YOU HAVE A GUY?!

US: *clearly unsure where this conversation is going to go, and looking like she wishes she hadn't started it* Yes, I have a guy.

DB: Why do you have a guy? Why do you have that guy? 

US: *stutters a bit* Well, I'm not sure. I ask myself the same thing sometimes. 

DB: *prepares to launch into a dissertation about why you should or shouldn't have a guy (I've heard it before, it has a surprising amount of conviction considering it comes from a 3 year old)*

Me: Ok, ok, now that you've pried into the private lives of strangers, let's move to the next aisle. 

 

Danger Baby.

She's not afraid to ask the tough questions. Especially if you are a random stranger in the grocery store.

 

 

 

 

 

The Angry Midget Learns A Hard Lesson About Frozen Pumpkins

The Angry Midget is really very smart, but sometimes she just has to learn things the hard way.

The pumpkin in question

TAM: *looking at the mostly rotten very frozen pumpkin on our front deck* Can I just shove that thing off the porch?

Me: Sure, if you can. It's probably frozen to the porch though.

TAM: Ok!! *gleefully bounces up steps and starts shoving at pumpkin with her foot*

Me: *after watching her struggle with the pumpkin* I told you it was probably frozen to the concrete. 

TAM: *kicks the very frozen pumpkin with her toes* OUCH! STUPID PUMPKIN! *kicks frozen pumpkin, again* OWWW!

Me: Maybe stop kicking the pumpkin if it hurts.

TAM: *huffs and kicks pumpkin again* *mutters* Stupid pumpkin. *stomps into house* 

The Angry Midget.

I love her, even if she isn't always the brightest crayon in the box.

My special Angry Midget Unicorn 

Gum Is Like Boobies...

The following is a conversation between Danger Baby and her dad:

Robert: *gets pack of gum out of pocket*

Danger Baby: What's that Papa?

R: Nothing *hids piece of gum in hand*

DB: Let me see!

R: *shows her his empty hand*

DB: I love gum! Gum is like boobies, squishy and yummy.

Well. I guess that clears that up.

 

 

 

What I Really Want For My Birthday

Today is my birthday. (Yea!!)

About a week ago, The Angry Midget asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her a card and a Kit-Kat would be fine. I didn't really need anything.

Apparently her dad didn't think that was the real answer because he asked me the same question a few days later.

R: So I need to get something for a girlfriend who has a birthday coming up. She's in her mid thirties. What should I get for her?

Me: Well, what does she like?

R: Um, Facebook and I think magic tricks.

Me: Huh. Magic tricks? Really? 

Then there was some discussion of dirty magic tricks he could try. I'll spare you the details.

 Me: Seriously, a card and a Kit-Kat would be fine. I don't really need anything.

Once upon a time I used to want all kinds of stuff for my birthday.  A bike, a Walkman, long dangly earrings, the latest NKOTB tape, purple headphones for my Walkman, Barbies, MLPs... I always had a list at the ready. Now... now I'm old. And practical.

Caspian Interchangeable
Photo Credit: www.knitpicks.com

Sure, there are a few things I'd love to have Knit Picks Harmony Needles and/or Caspian Needles are pretty close to the top of the list.

    

Harmony Interchangeable
Photo Credit: www.woolbin.com

But, there are bills to pay, and I already have a perfectly functional set of needles. These are clearly a want, not a need.

Then, as I was passing by The Angry Midget's Lair, I was struck by inspiration. I knew what I wanted for my birthday.

The request didn't go over very well.

Me: *in the car on the way home from school* I know what I want for my birthday.

TAM: What?!

Me: I want you and your dad to clean your room. Get rid of toys clothes and books that you have outgrown or don't want, and put your clothes in your dresser in an organized fashion.

TAM: Card and a Kit-Kat it is!

*Sigh* Maybe I'll have better luck with R...

Me: I know what I want for my birthday.

R: Too bad. I already got you your present. And your Christmas present too.

Me: Well, you can return it. This won't cost any money. I want you and TAM to clean her room.

R: Oh Man. No way. It's your turn I just cleaned her room last year.

Me: Um, yeah. I just cleaned her room a few weeks ago. It's your turn.

I'll let you know if I get what I asked for.

This is her room in it's current state.
There is still more mess behind me, but it was just too much for the panoramic photo app to handle.

My Two Year Old Has An Imaginary Boyfriend... I Blame Her Sister

The following is an actual conversation I just had with my 2 year old:

Danger Baby: *puts toy phone to my ear* Mama, this is my boyfriend, Nicky. He wants to talk to you.

Me: *has pretend conversation with imaginary boyfriend* *hands phone back*

DB: That is Nicky, he is my boyfriend. He is bigger than me, and he is older. He is your friend. Is he your boobie friend?

The hell?

What is a "boobie friend?"

 

 

A Three-Year-Old's Reason For Liking Random Things

While getting Danger Baby into her diaper this afternoon, I had a very revealing conversation with her.

DB: Poop poop poop *grabs butt-cheeks* Mama I have to poop I have poops in my butt.

Me: *checks DB's butt* Nope, I don't see any poops.    

DB: Where are all my poops?  

Me: They're up here in your belly. *Squishes belly*  

DB: *laughs and squirms from tickles* I like poops. 

Me: You like poops? 

DB: Yeah. I like them. I like poops. A lot. 

Me: Why? Why do you like poops? 

DB: Because I like them. I just do. 

Me: Hmmm... Ok then. 

She has really been something else the last few days.


UPDATE:

I told Robert about this, and of course, he had to ask her the same thing. "Why do you like poops? Poops are gross and stinky."

Her answer:
"No they're not! They're pretty and shiny and sparkly and blue! I love them!"

What the hell has this kid been eating??

Danger Baby Is Concerned About Your Lack Of Cats

While getting ready for the day, Danger Baby had some questions for me.

DB: Mama, do you like Pocahontas?

Me: Sure, I guess she's ok.

DB: I never met her, Mama! I love her! *crazy giggle* Do she have a cat? I want to pet her cat. Do she have a cat, Mama?

Me: No, she doesn't have a cat.

DB: Do Pocahontas have a cat? Mama?

Me: No, she does not have a cat. 

DB: Mama, Mama, can I see her cat? Do she have a cat?

Me: No. She. Does. Not. Have. A. Cat.

DB: Do Pocahontas have a cat?

Me: NO! NO, SHE DOES NOT HAVE A CAT!

DB: *runs just out of sight around bathroom door jam* *peeks back into bathroom* *whispers* She needs a cat. *runs off*

The hell?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

More Than Just A Photo

Photos have taken over this blog.

I have several posts sitting in the draft folder. Some just need a final polish, others are barely more than a rough thought, a vague idea of what I want to write about.

Someday, I will finish those posts.

Someday, they will see the light of day.

Until then, though, I will continue to share a photo every Sunday.

UPDATED! AGAIN! I Can't Turn My Brain Off

After seeing a comment on a friend's status, I was reminded of an old saying:

"It's colder than a witch's titty outside"

The little thought train in my head pulled out of the station, and is refusing to turn around and go home. I think the conductor may be drunk.

These are some of the stops it made as it circled around and around:

So, why are witches titties so cold?

Do they have a circulation problem?

And if they are really as cold as people would have you believe, do they dispense soft serve instead of milk?

And if they do produce soft serve, how can we be sure that it's because of the temperature of the titties and not magic, I mean they ARE witches after all.

*sigh*

Writing it out makes me feel a little better.

Not really.

UPDATED

A friend commented wondering what flavor the ice cream would be.

Good question. My response: Well, being a witch, I'd imagine she could make it any flavor she wanted. #magic #yo

That's right, I #hashtag on Facebook. Don't judge me. You know you do it to. #butIstartedit And now I'm #hashtagging my blog #likeaBOSS 

Well, that got weird.

UPDATED AGAIN

Ok, I'm just going to link the post on Facebook because it's getting a little crazy over there.

Home

Ugh. I should be writing.

I'm not.

This could be a problem.

I'm homesick not just for home, but for a person who used to be close and is now back where I wish I was.

Balls.

Emotions. What are they good for?

Hormones? They can go screw themselves.

Distance? It does make the heart grow fonder.

But...

But distance also makes the heart ill.

*Sigh*

I miss comfortable.

I miss normal.

I miss home.

The Angry Midget Does Not Approve This Message

The following happened after The Angry Midget watched her 100,000th (that may be a conservative estimate) political ad.

TAM: I'm Makaya Meyer and I DON'T approve this time of year.

Me: *Raises Eyebrow*

TAM: What? I can't stand voting time. It's all: 

"Blah, blah, blah. I'm better than Obama."

"Blah, blah, blah. I'm better than Romney."

"Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. BLAH."

 It's so annoying!

Remember, she's only eight. Politicians better watch out for her when she's older.

Sometimes You Just Have To Wear A Bra

The following is the conversation I had with myself on the way to pick up the pizza last night.

Voice in my head (This voice sounds remarkably like my mother by the way): I can't believe you're wearing that out in public

Me: What? I put a bra on didn't I?

Voice in my head: *rolls eyes*

Pretty sure I won that one.

The Angry Midget Gets Me

The following was a conversation at the breakfast table Sunday morning.

Me: I love this cartoon. I don't even know why, but it just makes my day.

The Angry Midget: Probably because it has swearing. And pigeons. Pigeons are stupid.

I love that kid.

Reading Too Much Will Get You In Trouble... And Ruin Things...Apparently

Conversation between Robert and I about a drum video:

R: You have to see this drum video. Search YouTube for "How To Tune Your Snare" 

Me: Ok *typing* alright which one? 

R: Uhh...this one. 

Me: (looking at the video length) 12 and a half minutes?!  

R: It's worth every minute. I promise. 

Me: (not at all convinced) Ok.  

***Waiting for crappy wifi receiver in laptop to buffer epicly long drum video***  

Me: *scrolling through images on status bar while I wait* 

R: NO PEEKING!! Wait, this might not be the right one. Let me look. *covers screen with hands so I can't see what s going on* No this isn't the right one. 

***R takes over mouse and keyboard to find video*** 

***Clicks on "How To Choke The Cymbals (Warning: Jared Gets Injured)"*** 

Me: How To Choke The Cymbals Warning Jared Gets Injured? 

R: STOP READING SO MUCH! Man you're gonna ruin it! 

Me: (laughing so hard I'm actually snorting a little) "Stop reading so much"?! Really? 

And now, because I had to watch it, so do you... "How To Choke The Cymbals (Warning: Jared Gets Injured)"

Nope, That's A Nipple

Yesterday, we were getting ready to head down to my sister-in-law's farm to have a picnic and celebrate the official start of summer. Robert was standing in the kitchen, taking his allergy medicine and vitamins.

We Are All Doomed

Doomed, I say!

After a discussion with The Angry Midget about her homework, I have come to the conclusion that we are all doomed. This is why:

The Angry Midget: I don't understand why we still have to write our stories every week if we don't read them anymore.

Me: You need to do your stories so you learn to express a thought or idea in more than just one sentence.

TAM: But I'm not going to be a writer.

Me: It doesn't matter if your going to be a writer or not, you still need to be able to communicate a thought or idea completely and be able to expand on that idea for more than one sentence. 

TAM: Oh, you mean like a text message.

Me: *face palm* No. Not like a text message. 

No, Not like a text message

Doomed.

 

UPDATED: Why My Husband and I Shouldn't Do Yard Work Together

UPDATED:

On Monday, Robert and I did a little work in the yard, the following is a conversation we had about said work.

Robert (yelling at me over the leaf blower and lawn mower from the roof): Can you move the cars down the driveway? I don't want to splatter them. 

Me (also yelling over the mower and leaf blower, but not on the roof): Ok. Did you see I made a crop circle in the yard for you? 

Robert (pauses, looks back at yard smiles and nods his head)

We then went back to our respective duties.

Later:

Robert (looking at the mess he made by blowing nasty, mostly rotten leaves out of the gutter all over my nicely mowed lawn): I think next time we need to work from the top down.

Me: Ya think? Speaking of bottoms, did you see I also put a "Map of Tasmania" in the yard by the crop circle?

Robert: Um, no.  

So the moral of the story? Uh, yeah I don't really know that there is one. But you should totally click the link.

Unless you're at work.

UPDATE:
Best comment all day comes from my friend Tim on twitter:

Tim Beeler ‏ @Tim_Beeler

 

@WriteMindWriter So what you're saying is anyone looking for your place on google earth gets a show?

Juicy Beef: A Conversation I Actually Had With My Husband Today

Robert and I were in the car this afternoon, and a commercial for a show I've been looking forward to seeing came on. The following conversation was the result of that commercial.

Me: Oh, this is the show I was telling you about, GCB. It looks like it'll be pretty good.

Robert: What? "Juicy Beef"? Uh, I don't think I need to see that.

Me: "Juicy Beef"? Really? No, G-C-B. Remember, "Good Christian Bitches"?

Robert: Ok, because Juicy Beef does not sound like a show I would enjoy. That sounds like a show you can watch in one room while I'm watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show in another room. Far, far away from the Juicy Beef show.

Me: Juicy Beef. It's what's for dinner.

Robert: *contorted grossed out face*

Me: I'm so blogging this.