Honest to doG conversation I had today with Large Fry
Large Fry: Mommy, I have a problem
Me: *not really paying attention* Mmhm..what is it Largie?
Large Fry: Mommy..I have pussy in my eye
*THUMP*My head against the refridgerator door trying to swivel around
Me: What? WHAT? What do you have?!
Large Fry: Pussy. I have pussy in my eye
Me: *Holding back extreme laughter* How..umm..how did this happen?
Large Fry: MOOOMMY! LOOK! PUSSY! IN.MY.EYE!
Me: OH! Pus. You have PUS in your eye
Large Fry: That's what I said MOMMY! Pussy! Ewwy gooey pussy in my eye.
Isettled him in front of Toopy and Bino. And then I laughed. Hard.
About Me
- Aly
- 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.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
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.
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
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?"
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.
**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
FIGHT!
*kick**bite**chase**howl for an hour**pinch**bite
Round 2
FIGHT!
Hit..Hit..***COMBO ATTACK*** kick..slap..pinch
FINISH HER! FATALITY!
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?
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
FIGHT!
*kick**bite**chase**howl for an hour**pinch**bite
Round 2
FIGHT!
Hit..Hit..***COMBO ATTACK*** kick..slap..pinch
FINISH HER! FATALITY!
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?
Friday, December 24, 2010
CSI: The Fry version
It seems that during the holidays around this house we have a never ending episode of CSI: Alberta happening around here. I've watched enough of that show to feel I am qualified to do this job and solve these crimes. I just need some kick ass theme music and a pair of shades like Horatio has.
The Most Recent Crime: Small Fry is put under the laundry hamper. When asked about this NO ONE in the house could account for this. Time to go all CSI-y on this crime.
Location. Isn't this what the TV always tells us to look for when accessing a crime? We had the hallway. Hmm. The culprit could have come from a number of doors. This is not helping. Was it..Groom? Large Fry? Fuzz?
Weapon: The weapon in this case was a plastic laundry hamper. I had seen Large Fry playing with it earlier but I try not to get tunnel vision while deciphering the clues before me.
1 Small Fry
1 Sippy Cup (How thoughtful of the perpetrator to think of his drinking needs)
1 white laundry hamper..with socks strewn about the hall.
Hmm. I think.. I *THINK* this was a crime of opportunity. There seems to be one witness and being of the 4 legged variety she isn't giving any statements. In fact she seems to be doing some weird hopp-y dance movement that makes me think she might be on mind altering substances. Not a reliable source.
That leaves me with 2 suspects: Groom and Small Fry. Their statements are as follows:
Groom: What the hell happened to the baby?!
Large Fry:
Me: How did he get under there?
Him: Who?
Me; Small Fry
Him: Who is Small Fry?
Me: Don't toy with me sonny-boy.
Him: Mother I don't know what you are talking about. Me and Fuzz are leaving.
AHA! Trying to leave the scene of the crime. I think I have my prime suspect but now he has an acomplice and a getaway car.
Here is what I think went down:
Small Fry goes unsuspecting into the hallway. He was heading down to probably pull the toliet paper off the roll when he was ambushed by Large Fry. Large Fry had seen the basket of socks in the hall and found prime opportunity. He casts Fuzz aside and dumps the socks, pulls the basekt over Small Fry and tosses the drink in after to throw us off track. Also likely he did it to buy himself enough time to run away until we noticed that Small Fry was NOT in the room.
Large Fry then comes into the room calmly to distract attention and lays quietly on the couch.
We have opportunity and motive. I think he's busted. But as he so calmly tells me right before I sat down to write this blog post "Mommy..you didn't see ME do anything. You can't tell I did anything!'
Damnit all to hell. I have no proof.
The Most Recent Crime: Small Fry is put under the laundry hamper. When asked about this NO ONE in the house could account for this. Time to go all CSI-y on this crime.
Location. Isn't this what the TV always tells us to look for when accessing a crime? We had the hallway. Hmm. The culprit could have come from a number of doors. This is not helping. Was it..Groom? Large Fry? Fuzz?
Weapon: The weapon in this case was a plastic laundry hamper. I had seen Large Fry playing with it earlier but I try not to get tunnel vision while deciphering the clues before me.
1 Small Fry
1 Sippy Cup (How thoughtful of the perpetrator to think of his drinking needs)
1 white laundry hamper..with socks strewn about the hall.
Hmm. I think.. I *THINK* this was a crime of opportunity. There seems to be one witness and being of the 4 legged variety she isn't giving any statements. In fact she seems to be doing some weird hopp-y dance movement that makes me think she might be on mind altering substances. Not a reliable source.
That leaves me with 2 suspects: Groom and Small Fry. Their statements are as follows:
Groom: What the hell happened to the baby?!
Large Fry:
Me: How did he get under there?
Him: Who?
Me; Small Fry
Him: Who is Small Fry?
Me: Don't toy with me sonny-boy.
Him: Mother I don't know what you are talking about. Me and Fuzz are leaving.
AHA! Trying to leave the scene of the crime. I think I have my prime suspect but now he has an acomplice and a getaway car.
Here is what I think went down:
Small Fry goes unsuspecting into the hallway. He was heading down to probably pull the toliet paper off the roll when he was ambushed by Large Fry. Large Fry had seen the basket of socks in the hall and found prime opportunity. He casts Fuzz aside and dumps the socks, pulls the basekt over Small Fry and tosses the drink in after to throw us off track. Also likely he did it to buy himself enough time to run away until we noticed that Small Fry was NOT in the room.
Large Fry then comes into the room calmly to distract attention and lays quietly on the couch.
We have opportunity and motive. I think he's busted. But as he so calmly tells me right before I sat down to write this blog post "Mommy..you didn't see ME do anything. You can't tell I did anything!'
Damnit all to hell. I have no proof.
Friday, December 3, 2010
For one of the strongest women I know
I have always kept this blog light and funny but this entry deserves a bit of seriousness. I've been thinking a lot about her recently--as we talk nightly and the more I learn, the more I decide she really does deserve something. I cannot make her Queen of the World--so I will give her a shout out the best way I can.
This entry is for one of the strongest women I know. In the last few weeks she has been through hell. When most people would be in bed on strong, strong sleeping drugs-- she has kept going. In the last few weeks, her world has been turned over, under, upside down, and back again.
She's stronger than she thinks. She has moments of despair, moments of failure, and moments of anger. Who wouldn't? But she's a fighter. She's got spirit and creativity and more class than some people have in their pinky toe.
She's tough. Probably the toughest person I know personally. In the last few years she has seen many things, heard more than that, and lived what most wouldn't. All for love of those around her. She has done without, sarcrified, and continues to do so out of love and compassion.
And you guys are probably thinking "Why the hell?"
I'll tell you: She's really that amazing. Her heart is that compassionate, even against those that have wronged her. Those that are trying to blame her and break her down to ease their own hearts--she still seeks out compasion for them.
She still has her sense of humour--one of the best I have ever known. She makes me laugh even when I am having evil days. You know the kind? The kind where nothing.goes.right.ever? Those days? Only she can call me a hornswaggled gutter slut and get away with it. In a grammatically correct sentence no less.
She is one of the best mothers I've ever known--she has patience (even if she doesn't see it all the time), kindness, and the love for her children flows from her aura. Her children range from Medium-Small-Tiny. They are her soul and she gives them the best of herself. They do not realize, yet, what a fantastic mother they have. They will someday.
Even with the chaos around her, she still lets me bitch about things. To her. And she listens. And then she takes the time to make me laugh. I feel guilty for doing this. I've told her so (for we are always honest with each other). She tells me "Lady, deal. Bitch away. Do it or else." Okay maybe not those words--but it's close. And she lets me do this! And I bitch and bitch and at the end she always has something profound to say. I value and respect her opinions and advice more than she probably knows. Until now.
This is pure truth- She's gorgeous. No bias here. She's smart, funny, AND gorgeous. She has a radiant smile, beautiful eyes, and a tatoo that I'm not suppose to know about.
And for all this, I'm the lucky one. I'm lucky enough to know her and to call her my friend.
This entry is for one of the strongest women I know. In the last few weeks she has been through hell. When most people would be in bed on strong, strong sleeping drugs-- she has kept going. In the last few weeks, her world has been turned over, under, upside down, and back again.
She's stronger than she thinks. She has moments of despair, moments of failure, and moments of anger. Who wouldn't? But she's a fighter. She's got spirit and creativity and more class than some people have in their pinky toe.
She's tough. Probably the toughest person I know personally. In the last few years she has seen many things, heard more than that, and lived what most wouldn't. All for love of those around her. She has done without, sarcrified, and continues to do so out of love and compassion.
And you guys are probably thinking "Why the hell?"
I'll tell you: She's really that amazing. Her heart is that compassionate, even against those that have wronged her. Those that are trying to blame her and break her down to ease their own hearts--she still seeks out compasion for them.
She still has her sense of humour--one of the best I have ever known. She makes me laugh even when I am having evil days. You know the kind? The kind where nothing.goes.right.ever? Those days? Only she can call me a hornswaggled gutter slut and get away with it. In a grammatically correct sentence no less.
She is one of the best mothers I've ever known--she has patience (even if she doesn't see it all the time), kindness, and the love for her children flows from her aura. Her children range from Medium-Small-Tiny. They are her soul and she gives them the best of herself. They do not realize, yet, what a fantastic mother they have. They will someday.
Even with the chaos around her, she still lets me bitch about things. To her. And she listens. And then she takes the time to make me laugh. I feel guilty for doing this. I've told her so (for we are always honest with each other). She tells me "Lady, deal. Bitch away. Do it or else." Okay maybe not those words--but it's close. And she lets me do this! And I bitch and bitch and at the end she always has something profound to say. I value and respect her opinions and advice more than she probably knows. Until now.
This is pure truth- She's gorgeous. No bias here. She's smart, funny, AND gorgeous. She has a radiant smile, beautiful eyes, and a tatoo that I'm not suppose to know about.
And for all this, I'm the lucky one. I'm lucky enough to know her and to call her my friend.
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