About Me

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Very Small Town. No really. Don't even try to look., Alberta, Canada
I am a stay at home mother of 2 boys. I try to keep total and complete command of this kingdom. I reign tall! But they are very are skilled little ninjas waiting to take me out at any available opportunity. You would think I would learn my lesson. I don't. Every day, I return. Everyday they kick ass.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Flying Salmon

I have two boys that live in this household and one older boy that masquerades as a grown adult half the time.

I've noticed that my children solve problems in very different ways. While Large Fry has the ability to work out problems, my Small Fry tends to be true to his one friend: a can of salmon.

Problem: Child locks.

Large Fry has been able to disarm any child lock that was in his path since he was 18 months old. He patiently works the lock, taking time to unlock it carefully, and retrieve whatever he wants.

Small Fry: Smashes the lock with a can of salmon.

Problem: No one is paying attention to him

Large Fry will jump up and down, wave his arms, and become increasingly loud until someone, anyone, notices him.

Small Fry: Will throw a can of salmon at you.

Problem: Anger

Large Fry is a wailer. He wails and cries big crocodile tears at the very THOUGHT of being angry.

Small Fry: Throws a can of salmon. And I don't mean just to the floor. He arches it like a pro football player making the 1 million dollar throw.

Problem: Fighting over a toy

Large Fry has perfected the art of tattling. It can be heard across mountians and seas..the call of "Mooooommmmmyyyy! Small Fry has my toooooooyyyyyyyyy" It makes skin prickle, hairs stand that I will actually have to get off my ass and DO something. A toy intervention, possibly leaving both children pissed off at me and my sanity restored to something you can store in a ziplock bag.

Small Fry smashes Large Fry with a can of salmon. Takes toy and leaves. Doesn't look back.

I've tried to take the can of salmon. He notices. His second choice is a huge can of black beans. I'll take my chances with the salmon.

Thursday, January 27, 2011


PMS has hit my household hard this week. And by that I do not mean my usually sunny disposition is ruined by low grade levels of Bitchitis and threatening to cut said bitch for a bag of chips.

I mean PMS-Penis Measuring Systems.

I noticed this phenomenon had entered my home 2 days ago. I noticed Large Fry had entered the washroom and was relieving the 3rd Kool-aid Jammer he had taken without asking when he suddenly proclaimed that "My thingie is SO BIG! It's as big as Thomas's copling rods." To then my astonished face as to "What the fuck is a copling rod?!"

He has then began to measure his "thingie" against everything that will sit still.

What the hell is this?

So after two days of him measuring his "thingie" against this and that (and one call from his teacher about what NOT to do with counting bears) there was a payoff to all this.

This morning when my son got up for school he went to the washroom to conduct business. His father followed to "share" business. And then I overheard my son at the ripe age of four proclaim.................

"Well Daddy. Mine IS better. Not bigger. Better. See?"

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

I draw the line at bumholes

Large Fry has be sick for the last two days. Not sick enough to where he actually sleeps and I can get house work done or sit on my ass on Facebook doing Very Important Things, but sick enough to be slightly whiny and slightly annoying.

**I take everything I said about Thomas the Train away. On days like this he rocks my socks. He's been entertaining said sick child all day.**

However, the nature of Large Fry's illness is greatly centered around the need for a toilet if you get my drift. Several pairs of undies later I think we have this problem under control.

But now his bum hurts so he says. It huurrts. HURRTS BAD. His bum is NOT feeling good.

Now I am a good Mama. I kiss boo boos of all kinds. I kiss Fuzz's boo boos.( If anyone needed boo boo fixing it would be Fuzz I might add. Poor thing has it ROUGH). When the child asked me to kiss his bumhole I had to draw the line.

You agree with me right? I am sitting on Facebook minding everyone else's business when this small streak runs in and screeches at what can only be a decibels dogs can hear "Mommy!! Mommy!! KISS MY BUMHOLE!"

Say what? Surely I did not hear that correctly. Surely not. I ask slowly as to not confuse myself or the child.."What did you say?"

Large Fry: Kiss.my.bumhole!

Me: No. No I don't think I can do that.

Large Fry: Why not? I think you can if you just give it a chance! You might like it!

So this is when parenting bites me in the ass? I proceed to have the longest 4 minute argument of my life on why I will not kiss his bumhole.

He's sulking on the couch now with plans to asks his father when he gets home. I have no plans to forewarn him either.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

Bless their hearts

It has come to my attention being a woman raised in the Great State of Texas (GSOT) that you can say anything about anyone as long as you say "bless their heart" either at the beginning or the end of the bitchfest.

So I have decided to utilize this to my advantage.

Small Fry: Bless your heart, but you are turning fucking mean. I'm sorry but you are sorta-kinda-a-little-arsehole. You were at one time this snuffly, sweet, ball of kisses that smiled a lot. Now you smile...while you are doing something mean. Hitting, biting, kicking. screaming, and/or throwing things. Sometimes you do this in combinations. Like Mortal Kombat. Observe:

** Mom vs Small Fry**
Round 1
*kick**bite**chase**howl for an hour**pinch**bite

Round 2
Hit..Hit..***COMBO ATTACK*** kick..slap..pinch


Bless his heart. He's lucky he's cute.

Large Fry: Where did the mouth on this child COME FROM? Bless his heart. He's mouthy. The things he says..It makes me blush. And that's saying something. Friday he informed me he had two girlfriends..he needed a spare. He's turning bossy and controlling. Like Donald Trump only shorter. One day I fully expect him to walk up to me in briefcase and suit and inform me that I am fired.

Groom: Bless your heart but WHAT the FUCK is wrong with your VISION? Pay attention to what I have done. VALIDATE me you internet whore! Look around at the slaving, cleaning, cooking organizing, and put me on the pedestal I so richly deserve to be on for being a domestic -fucking- goddess. AND DO IT NOW.

Chinchilla: You are so noisy, bless your heart. I want to glue cotton balls to your feet.

Dog: Bless your heart. You can't help being a giant pansy. Can you?