Fat ass squirrel

After enjoying some holiday magic with my friend and son , we decided to nourish our famished bodies. We decided a healthy gourmet restaurant was the way we wanted to go. So we opened the shiny glass doors of a McDonalds and woofed down some nourishing vittles. We managed to finagle our way through the crowded parking lot without being run down by any of the luxury vehicles that patron such a high class establishment.
Once my son was safely strapped into his booster seat we were about to leave, fortunately for me, I took one last look to my left ….and there it was!! We spied an extremely fat (ok, ok, let me politically correct, a big boned) squirrel. He was walking across the top of a trash barrel with acrobatic precision. He seemed to sense us watching him and continued show off his death defying talents.
Hunger got the best of the fatty bombalatti and he stuck his entire body into the trash can, sans his rotund bottom, his ass was the size of a 9 month old childs. Then the big boned grey critter emerged with a French fry which he gleefully enjoyed perched atop the trash can. He was given us the evil eye, he was telepathically informing us not to even dare think about taken his possession from him. Upon finishing his fry (mind you his table manners were atrocious), he again began his search for more delicacies.
To my wide eyed amazement he emerged with a entire hamburger. Untouched by the lips of a human. He did a little jig, he spun around, he raised the roof. He skillfully jumped off the barrel and began enjoying his extra pickle, hold the onion burger. Again, he gave us “the look”. I did not want his stupid French fry, but the burger was more than I could stand. It is rude to eat in front of others. I telepathically informed the fat, greedy bastard that I was coming for his burger, and he better not even dare try to stop me…I must have truly frightened him with my sheer force of telepathicenergy. The obese, selfish jerk took his burger, jumped a fence and ran up a tree. Who would have thought that, over weight bastard with high cholesterol and a bad ticker would have been able to move like that. That’s right my faithful few, all creatures great and small fear me!!

I do not want my little boy to grow! I am not a "freak" I am going to miss my baby. I will share some background.

My son was a screamer. That is an understatement!! My beloved would wale until I was ready to take a handful of sleeping pills (ok, my followers, you do know I speak in jest). Seriously, this kid would not shut up!!! I honestly believed my ears would dole out enough blood that it was a viable option to bleed to death, or that enough blood would boil into my brain, and surely, my head would explode!! The pitch this boy could reach would kill a seagull flying 3000ft above!!! I suffered this fate for two years. Mind you, this would go on for hours at a time.

Well, fast forward to future day. The most beautiful tow headed blue eyed boy (no longer a full fledged member of the water torture gang), so giving, kind and intelligent. My suicide attempt, ok ok, NOT really (wrote that for dramatic effect) has long been forgotten. The fact that he is so good and aging (almost four) makes me melancholy for the days of yore. The days when I took care of him. He feels the need to take care of me now.

He informs me daily "I love you to the stars". Another of his favorites is..."if you are stolen I will take my motorcycle and flashlflight and rescue you!". The latter is especially sweet since his plan of rescue is that on a battery powered Harley and a LED lighting McQueen flashlight!

I cannot stop the little man from growth...however...I can stop his educational computer games. Hmmm, maybe I should stunt his educational growth and keep him here with me forever!! YUP! That is exactly what I am going to do. Billy, mamma and 30 cats forever!! (Ok, my faithful few know my sense of humor!)

"excusable parents"

WOW! It has been forever since I have blogged. I recently visited my sight and realized how much I miss it.

My son has aged greatly since my last blog. Time truly does fly. I am wishing it flew like a quadrapelegic chicken (this exists, read previous blogs), but unfortunately, I revolve around the planet not the other way around.

Since my previous blogs I have begun to realize I am truly a “special parent” What is a special parent you ask, well I shall explain.

As my faithful few know, I am not afraid to refer to my precious child as an “ass” So let’s begin there. When my child is acting “asslike”, I take immediate action. I prefer my son be a thoroughbred instead of an ass. I correct and redirect my son immediately from behavior that is ass like! NO excuses are made for his behavior. I do not blame the weather, the environment, tiredness, allergies, sun, moon, grass, air, noise, bad breath, constipation, gas, hunger, thirst,..you get the point. I simply grab my child (not always gently) towards me and tell him to stop being an ASS!

Yes, I have friends that think this is cruel and unusual punishment and my next appt should be an interview on Nancy Grace. However, to my “excusable parents” (term I made up for parents who do not admit their child is being asslike, and repeat their dumb ass reasoning as to why their child does not behave) I ask you, would you rather take Billy to the grocery store or your “excusable” child? YUP, point made.
What makes a “special parent?” It is the parent that does not pay heed to the ”excusable parents” staring at you. It is the parent that listens without excuse as another parent tells you what an ass your child was while in their care (and takes action). I am exhausted of the excuses for their offspring. I am deaf to their explanations. C’mon, stop raising a bunch of assholes. It is not your job to raise a spoiled over indulged toddler. It should be your goal (and I believe your duty) to raise a well behaved adult with manners and values!! Please …if you are a “excusable parent”..I mplore you STOP for the good of society!

Gas boy

My husband I try to follow the same page when it comes to parenting. However, what we constitute as “important” is vastly different. I truly believe there are times my husband brain is made of play-do. Take for example this afternoon.

My beloved boys arrived home shortly after I did this afternoon. The smell hit me like a freight train, I knew immediately what the offending odor was…gasoline. I refused to go near my husband believing he was the carrier of the smell, but immediately reached down to hug my son. Wait a minute, what is this, my child is reeking of the foul waft of gas! My husband says nothing to me and walks in the house. Before I can ask why my baby smells like petro and not baby powder, Mike gingerly and calmly states, you may want to wash his face and hands he dumped al little gas over his head at the neighbors. WHAT! What is a “little” gas, obviously it was more than a drop, but drastically less than the BP disaster. My mind conjures up a pictures of the birds that are oil covered, being carried away and put into cages…OH NO – is this what is going to happen to my child. A do-gooder volunteer is going to knock on my door with oversized rubber gloves on and toss him into a cage?

If I had been there when the incident I occurred (hhmm, strange to write that because if I were there I it never would have happened) I would have immediately put the baby in the car and headed to the ER. Gas + baby surely equals a terrible rash or seepage into the blood stream that would most definitely cause permanent damage! I scoop up the boy up and take him into the shower. His shower was reminiscent of the scene in “Sillkwood” when Cher got contaminated and had to wash in the contamination shower at work. I was scrubbing and lathering and rescrubbing and lathering. His hair was washed and rinsed 3 times. I used the wash cloth and soap with surgical precision as if my sons life depended on it (and in my mind it did!)

My husband believes I am over reacting, maybe I should dump some gas on him!!!

Mommy

I love being a mom. My son brings me happiness and is teaching me how wonderful life is each day. However, my faithful few, I am going to be truthful. Being a mom can really SUCK!

Out of the 24 hours in a day I probably feel complete bliss and peace with my child for about 1 hour of them. Oh please…if you do not admit the same you must be on some heavy duty drugs, or your kid is! My child is only two, and I am told it gets better, but thus far, the light has not shone on the end of my tunnel.
Billy is absolutely beautiful, bit blue eyes, blonde hair, and infectious laugh and a smile that lets him get away with anything. But then there is the TRUE Billy, the monster within….

He will run to you and wrap his teeny arms around you in a sweet offering of affection, don’t let him fool you, the little cherub is plotting...he really wants fling your glasses from your face and watch you blindly crawl on the floor fumbling your way through mounds of dog hair to locate them. He does this with a shit eating grin on his face.

He will come to you with a favorite toy, he will gently ask you to “play”. You gleefully accept, excited and proud that he is behaving so wonderfully. Two minutes into what you believe is a bonding and learning experience, the little boy whips his cars to the floor and begins a monster dance on them, screaming like a wild banshsee. You run in fear, taking cover under the nearest door way to avoid the path of destruction the tornado will surely leave.

I could go on forever, but I am sure you get the point. The next time I find myself in the unfortunate situation of being surrounded by a group of stepford moms who are ooing and aaawing over the “joys” of motherhood, I think I will reach up with a nerf hammer and begin bashing them thouroughly about their heads and upper torsos. While they are distracted I will reach into their diaper bags and grab myself a handful of their “happy” pills…hey maybe being a mom could be great every minute of every day….I really need to get me some of those meds.

I am writing this blog to my 2 year old son, in the hopes that one day while he is cyber surfing he will come across it and realize what an ass he can be! Yes, my faithful few, I called my child an ass! Get over it!
Dearest Billy,
Money does not grow on trees, you parents work very hard to put a roof over your head and by you the best and newest items. You must learn to respect Mommy and Daddys toys as well.
Why, oh why do you do the destructive things you do? You have cost your parents one billion dollars over the past two weeks. Lets begin with the phone. I realize that smashing it to the floor time and time again is great fun. I know how much you enjoy watching the battery fly out of the back and roll under the couch. But my loving child, it cost mommy and daddy $75.00 to replace it.
I am well aware Daddy left my camera in arms length of your tiny little hands. I assumed that once I yelled” Billy, no, put it down”, you would listen diligently and do as you were told. It was not necessary to show me that you could throw it halfway across the living room and over the couch, until it fell to its death. I would have been just as proud of your sluggers arm if you did it with say….um, a nerf ball. That little antic winded up taking $140.00 out of your college fund.
By far , my little cherub the worst act in the past two weeks was crashing our computer. You parents were well aware it was a seven year old dinosaur, but until you got a hold of it, it was performing the necessary functions. I am not exactly sure how you murdered it, but I do know one thing, I saw you tapping away at the keyboard and playing with disc drives. That was the last time she ever saw the light of day. We will not even dare to speak of how much buying a new on set your ever suffering parents aback.
Please my young son, I implore you, stay away from the household electronics. Mom and dad are not made of money. If you want to continue to eat and have this roof over your head keep your little fingers to yourself!