Helping Bring A Touch Of Hate To Every Day
My offspring hate me from time to time every day. It’s healthy for them. It makes them appreciate the HAPPY times even more. I do what I can since I’m not raising my children in abject poverty and neglect. Just extreme sarcasm with a touch of smart-assness. Lately my offspring have been developing their own sarcasm and I can not tell you the intense pride I feel… well when it’s not directed at ME, because when it is directed at me then I just get the urge to ground them until they are 30 or so. My youngest progeny just this morning replied my request for help making breakfast with a curt “I’m not your personal chef!” My urge to shove her into the oven was quickly over rode by admiration as I’ve said that exact line or a variation to her just about every day for the past few years. The elder of the progeny has developed the ability to roll her eyes. Usually at me. Which just pisses me off, so I guess she’s succeeded in mission. Though I often wonder if her mission is to set a record for the child who has spent the most time standing in the corner. Cabbage Patch is still working on her eye rolling technique, smartly she has chosen to practice on her sister and not in response to me. I’m very proud of both of them as I hadn’t developed these talents until I was at least 9.
Damn Menopausal Computer
Fucking computer of mine. It’s still having heat issues. K left recently to go procure my computer a new fan as I have yet to locate the Estrogen program for the computer. And just like a tempermental computer, it’s working FINE since he walked out the door. I hate this computer some days. (K brought home a brand fan with a brand new SUPER screwdriver and I installed it all by myself! The fan, not the screwdriver… I used the screwdriver to install the fan silly!)
72 Months Old!
That’s right, my youngest Tiny Terrorist turns 72 months on the 13th! Woohoo! What? Did you have to get a calculator to figure out that she would be 6?!?!?!?! Well so did I… actually I had to use the calculator to figure out the month part, but WHATEVER! Back to me and my HATE. I absolutely HATE it when people refer to their child’s age in months after they are about a year and a half to 2 years old. Come on people! If your kid can actually tell someone they are 2 or 3 then stop looking like an obsessive compulsive totally neurotic child absorbed nitwit and stop with the month thing. Nobody but you gives a fuck how old your child is to the EXACT month. Next thing you’ll say is that you keep track of exactly how many times your kid takes a shit during the day! (please, don’t tell me if you do… I don’t need to know about your sick fetishes.)
(*Dude! I totally suck! I just hit my kid in the head with the telephone. It was an ACCIDENT! Stop looking at me like that!)
Nothing is more disgusting than dog barf! Yes, dog barf trumps even cat vomit for grossness. Yesterday right after a nap on the sofa Coco decided to hurl on a sock on the floor. It was so vile I did the only thing I could do. Which was yell for K to come clean up the dog barf. No really, it was that bad – worse than any of the times my progeny has spewed on me. Then I told him to just throw away the sock because I couldn’t imagine ever being able to wear it again even if it was washed and bleached a few dozen times (well that and it wouldn’t fit me anyway – not my sock!).
Okay, that’s enough hate for one day. I’ll be back soon with the recap of Cabbage Patch’s birthday and all the toys that give me the urge to disembowel the person who purchased them for my offspring. I know! You can’t wait!!!