What do you get when you cross one very rundown woman with the byproducts of a six year old’s stomach virus?
You get a very ill woman, that’s what.
Happy Day After Thanksgiving everyone.
This is NaBloPoMo Day 29. You can read more, and watch a fun video about the poop cycle, here.
I did not come this far to blow it all now. No, my friends, I am not going to let this day go by without posting. I wrote a long and rambling post that went nowhere and, since I like you, I’ll spare you.
It’s become clear to me that Mondays and I do not get along, particularly on the blogging front. I don’t remember how to make all the words and such. Thankfully this is the last Monday of NaBloPoMo. Yay!
In lieu of a real post, I’ll show you a picture from this summer when my kid pretended to get eaten by a shark.
No one has more fun getting eaten by a shark than my kid!
There you go. I’m not really sure how to end a pointless post. So maybe I’ll just end it like this.
This is NaBloPoMo Day 25. You can read other writers here.
On my day of rest after The Great Migraine Event of 2013, Nathan came down with some sort of Gross. He puked in his father’s car, then was feverish all day with a record high of 103.2. Fun times.
Today he’s feeling better with his fever back to low-grade status. This roughly translates to him wanting to be better enough to want to do stuff, but not really being better enough to actually do stuff. Oh, and he’s cranky as all get out.
Here are a few highlights from the last 24 hours.
In an independent taste test, 1 out of 1 child in my house feels that Tylenol Cherry Flavor is the more desirable pain reliever and fever reducer than Target’s Up and Up brand grape pain reliever and fever reducer.
Even when you cannot see any color variation from the original piece of rye bread, you can have the toast you just made sent back to the kitchen for excessive darkness.
This kid can recognize the back of every single commemorative and foreign coin he has within an instant of seeing it. I know this because he asked me to please quiz him. For fun.
Nathan has a ton of Crayola crayons with wacky names like Manatee and Antique Brass. I do not know where these crayons came from.
It is next to impossible to write a blog post while your kid is forcing you to test out every single one of his 45 million crayons.
45 million is entirely too many crayons.
It is a scientifically proven fact that your kid will only want to eat junk when he is recovering from illness giving rise to a very real fear that your child will be sick again shortly. The other option, to deny him the only thing he feels like eating, means you’ll have to endure endless hours of whining, you’ll have to sneak your chips and dip snack into the bathroom to eat it, or your child will starve to death. My child happens to think the last one is the most realistic possibility.
Having my child well enough to whine and complain is far better than having him mope lethargically on the couch. But don’t tell him I said that.
PS – OBVIOUSLY I didn’t take my chips and dip into the bathroom. That’s where you sneak ice cream and candy, but not chips and dip. I ate the chips and dip in front of him.
This is NaBloPoMo Day 24. You can read other great NaBloPoMoErs here.
Did you ever hear a word and have the sneaking suspicion that maybe it means something that you’re not quite comfortable with?
Nathan has this giant stuffed peacock that he named Chiggy Cheeby Chavers. We just call him Chiggy, because we’re like family. I have to tell you that I hate this thing. I swear this kid picks out a toy and then deliberately tries to annoy me to death with it.
I was going to write a whole post about Chiggy and why I hate him. Here are the highlights:
1. He’s too big and he’s always in my face.
2. He screeches.
3. He bites people and then if he bites you, you will start turning blue and into a peacock. So you have to use a special “chig-lotion” to counteract the effects of Chiggy’s saliva.
4. Chiggy must be fed eleven pickles whenever he demands them or he goes crazy, which involves much screaming and destruction.
5. He lays eggs in Nathan’s closet and the babies all live in my garage. I’m supposed to go outside every night and feed them.
I will give my kid some credit, he has a good imagination. It’s unfortunate that he uses it for evil.
I decided to Google the word Chiggy before writing this post, just in case it did mean something we shouldn’t say in public. I probably should have done this right when I had the feeling about the dumb bird’s name, but I really didn’t think this phase would last so long. Urban Dictionary has several definitions for Chiggy. First is the name given to a couple on the UK version of Big Brother 8. Sometimes it’s used as a substitute for obscenities, which I guess isn’t really that big of a deal.
Another definition is “an absurdly cute animal.” Nathan thinks this thing is cute, so maybe he somehow knew that chiggy meant that. Who knows?
But now, here is where it gets bad. Oh, so bad. Stop reading right now if you are grossed out by disgusting sexual things. Here is the fourth definition, straight from Urban Dictionary:
“Chiggy is when a male pees in the females [sic] mouth, and slowly starts to drip out of her nose, creating a mixture of snot and pee. Then, she pukes all over the male. This period is called loop.”
I mean, I assume this is sexual, because ew. And why?
A chiggy is also someone who is very good at physics but doesn’t speak English well. That is awfully specific. It’s also “a cute, cuddley [sic] ninja-type short person from Irish decent.” I don’t even know where to start trying to figure out what that means. Finally, it’s also “a fat poop inserted in one’s ear.” That just made me giggle, because it said poop.
I really wish I had told Nathan from the get go to change that stupid bird’s name. I had a feeling a chiggy wasn’t a good thing. But now it’s too late to go with my gut.
Nathan and Chiggy
This is NaBloPoMo Day 16. You can read my fellow yeah writers here. I’m also adding this to the moonshine grid, which you can read here.
Now, I’m not one prone to complaining, but, well, I’ve got something on my mind.
I’m about to say something you’ve heard more than once already this month: I had a post planned for today but you’re not going to see it here. And the reason, as it almost always is, is that I’m too tired to write it.
Nathan woke up at 4:30 today, but he didn’t wake me up because I’d already been up for 2 hours. So I’m well aware that I probably would be in a much better mood and less crabby today if I had gotten some sleep, but this is not the reality we are faced with.
Please, someone tell me that 7 is the magic age at which only children suddenly start to play by themselves. Please. Because if it’s 8 or, gasp, later, I’m not sure I’m going to make it.
I have parked my child in front of a borderline inappropriate show so that I could sit down for a little while and not have to entertain this kid. I played dominoes against my will, I fed him, I let him follow me around, I even let him throw stuffed animals at me. But then, when I begged for a few minutes to sit down and not hear his precious, sweet little voice talking to me for just a few minutes, he insisted upon sitting down next to me.
Now, when I say next to me, I don’t mean a foot from me or even a few inches from me. I mean practically on top of me. His head is leaning on my arm and I can barely type. We are all squished up on one end of the couch and there is enough room for him to stretch out with his head touching the other arm of the couch and his feet wouldn’t be touching me. He could sit on the love seat with his father and they would both have plenty of elbow room. He could sit on the chaise that is next to the couch I’m sitting on like a king on his throne, but no. No, he is sitting all up in my personal space.
(I cracked myself up there. Mothers don’t actually have personal space, do they?)
Do not misunderstand. This kid means the world to me, but I would really, really like it if he wasn’t sitting on me right now. I’ve asked him to move, but he declined citing an extreme necessity to be close to me. It looks like the only way I’m going to gain a little space is to go cook him dinner.
He just made me put my arm around him. That’s my cue. I’m off to the kitchen.
This is NaBloPoMo Day 9. Read more from other NaBloPoMoErs here.