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Showing posts from January, 2007

Say What? ("Gramma would beat my ass if she saw I typed that word" Language is Included)

Over the last week, Monkey Boy has been fond of saying, "What did you say punk?" whenever he gets in trouble. We're doing pretty good at not laughing though it's tough sometimes. I've been telling him he can't say punk like that. (Not that I know how I would like him to say it but I know it isn't like that) He'll try to change stupid to stupino so as not to actually say the word. He changes dumb to dumbo.

Today he said "What are you talking about cunt"

Someone tell my husband to come pick me up off the floor please.

Say What?

A daily conversation in the bathroom:

Monkey Boy: Mommy? Are these my testicles?
Mommy: Yes they are
MB: Are there balls in them?
Mommy: Yes there are
MB: But I can't rip* my body and play with them can I?
Mommy: No, no you can't.

*in the Spiderman 3 trailer, Spidey rips the black spidey outfit off and Monkey Boy calls that ripping his body. He thinks he's Spiderman. Who am I to disagree?

Stupid People Should Not Be Allowed To Breathe (Or Breed For That Matter)

I have two fantabulous examples to support my proposed legislation to Congress.

Exhibit A: "I was testing out your security"
I stole a candy bar once when I was about 7 years old from the Red and White store a couple blocks from our house in South Carolina. When I got home, my father asked where I got it from and I told him (I wasn't the brightest crayon in the box sometimes). He took me to the store, had the manager called down and made me tell him what I did. My dad then told him that I had no money to pay for the candy bar so perhaps the manager could think of a way for me to pay the store back. My punishment? I had to straighten the candy section (and back in 1980, it wasn't a huge selection but to a 7 year old, it was). I was so scared of my father and being caught stealing that I never did it again. That's right, I'm a wuss. I have paranoia when it comes to doing things that violate some law where I live. Where my children got no fear is beyond me. Some w…

A Glimpse Perhaps, One I Don't Like

One of my husband's dearest friends (and mine since The Captain and I started dating) lost his father to a heart attack a week before Christmas. My heart naturally went out to our friend, his sister and his mom. Clearly there are no words that can be spoken that will make them feel better. "I feel your pain" No, I don't. My father is still with me. "I know how you feel" Not a clue as to how I would even begin to feel if I lost my father. I thought of my cousins who lost their fathers, my dad's only brothers (in '02 and '05). I have no idea how they feel and I would never presume to know. What I do know, what I feel, is absolute heartbreak. I wish I could take their pain on. Take the stress away. Make it less painful. But, no, I can't do that, I really shouldn't do that. The pain, the heartache, the emotional breakdowns, it all reminds us that we are alive. That we were blessed with them in our lives. We have the memories. Photos. Storie…