Things Said In Homes with Children (Installment #”I forget…”)

Every day is something new.  Some days, when it rains, it pours.  The other night, comedy gold was overflowing from my five year old’s crazy little brain and spilling out her mouth.  We are, in part, to blame.  There is way too much anime and crime show watching in this house.  That probably has some to do with some of the stuff that she pops off with.  (I know, we suck at parenting.)  But some of this stuff, it’s just genuine observations that come out sounding hilarious…

Like this one…

“I love puppets…  You know, cat puppets?  You stick your hand in their butt.”

Or this one.

Your pee is very golden yellow.

Some are a bit disturbing, (and completely our fault, as I mentioned.)

To the TV…

Tear his head off, Meliodas!!

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Some are kind of creepy, in the way that only a child’s complete honesty can be.  To her Daddy…

I love playing with you.  You’re like a doll…that moves and talks.

Like most kids, sometimes she sings or talks to herself while she plays.  Sometimes in the third person.

[J*] loves men.  Like you… You’re my little puppy-man.

And her jokes are both wildly silly and oddly appealing.  I say to our pain-in-the-ass Bengal cat, “Bizzy, what are we going to do with you?”

And J pipes up, laughing…

Like throw her in the trash or give her to someone else?

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Behold the Biz, in all her glory…

At any rate, if you have or have had small children in your house, you know practically at all time something cute, funny, or crazy is coming out of their mouths.  What are some funny things you’ve heard kids say?

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Things Said in Homes With Children…continues

I’m laughing but also I’m perversely proud.  I was in the bathroom helping my five year old DD clean up after number 2.   We use wipes and paper.  She asks me if I’m going to do a pattern…

Me: What?  What do you mean?

She says:  Wipe, paper, wipe, paper…A, B, A, B

All I can say is, it’s nice to see her applying what she learned in school.

Things said in homes with children

Sometimes, as a parent, you say things you never thought you’d say.  You say them without thought…and then you pause…  Did I just say that?  Did that just come out of my mouth?

Sometimes it’s pretty straight forward, something that is common sense for most adults, but needs to be spelled out for a child.  That doesn’t mean it’s not still hilarious that you actually have to utter the words:

“Please don’t shoot peepee all over the floor…” 

…to a girl…

And then there are the offhand remarks that, upon a moment’s consideration, sound horrifically inappropriate without a frame of reference.

J* got a Mr Potatohead for Christmas from my dad and stepmother. (Yes, I know it’s early yet;  Gifts came in the mail, we opened ’em!)  If you haven’t seen the “new and improved” version of Mr. P, he has pants now, and a nifty little trap door in the back to hold some of his spare parts. It opens up kinda like the button downbutt-flap in those weird, old skool pajamas. It’s that dang little compartment that led to my  ruination  moment of pause today, as I told my three year old,

Here, put the tongue back here in his butt so you know where it is the next time you want it.

For those of you who still feel you need an explanation, how about a pictorial?

What I was thinking when I said it...

What I was thinking when I said it…

What it sounded like...

What it sounded like…

Parents, hit me up with some of your best “Things said in homes with children…”

The Methos Chronicles: Episode [Nonoxynol] 9

I think I may have stumbled upon something here, folks.  An idea with real potential here:

A method of birth control more natural than pills, more reliable than “natural family planning…”   And the only thing you have to do is remember to feed it and scoop its litter.  Yes, I’m talking about my cat of course.  But seriously, for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, let me introduce Methos:

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He’s lovable, he’s large, he’s dopey…he likes to wear shoes (sometimes on his face)

And he has no qualms whatsoever about making himself comfortable in the bed (or on the couch) while hubby and I have sex.  The other night, I practically used him as a pillow, since he didn’t feel inclined to move.  But at least he wasn’t staring right at us this time.   That can get pretty damn awkward.  It’s like I can hear him thinking (perhaps in a British accent), Ugh, they’re at it again.  They’re worse than animals… that’s fucking disgusting…   Except, as I said, he can’t be bothered to get up and leave.  But we’ve adjusted to it.  Mostly we ignore him, and sometimes we kick him off the bed if we find him too distracting.

But there was this one time he happened to on the bed and there was a contraception… mishap.

Women who have experimented with different types of contraception may be familiar with a spermicide foam sold in a pressurized can with applicators.  So, for those needing it spelled out, the applicator can be filled quickly and with little preparation, by applying it to the top of the pressurized can and release it when you see the applicator is full.  Voila!  You’re ready for safe* sex.

*this foam is for prevention of pregnancy only, and does not protect against HIV or sexually transmitted diseases*

*this foam is for prevention of pregnancy only, and does not protect against HIV or sexually transmitted diseases*

I don’t know where on the bed the cat was; I wasn’t really paying much attention to him.  Hubby and I were getting busy, and one of us was attempting to fill the applicator.   It wasn’t anything new, except this time, we held the applicator to the nozzle a bit too long.  Suddenly, the pressure from the can became too much.  The plunger rocketed out of the top of the tube in a plume of contraceptive foam and bounced off the ceiling.

It was a mess.  There was foam on us, foam on the bed, foam on the ceiling…   But we’re all adults here.  We know sex in real life is often not as sexy and graceful as Hollywood makes it look.  I don’t think that alone would have derailed us for long.  When I really lost it was when I looked over to see Methos, still sitting placidly on the comforter, a look of calm confusion on his face, and contraceptive foam dripping off his head.
Needless to say, it took a little work to get back in the mood after that, but the comedic value was priceless.

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

J* (my daughter): Milk? Milk?

Hubby:  You want milk???

Me: We don’t have any milk

Hubby: (rolls eyes)

Me: I told you we needed to go to the store!

Hubby: (turns and points at me): Make it so, number one…

Me: Uh… I’m the Captain up in this Bitch!

J* pipes up:  bitch! bitch!

Yes, this conversation just happened.

Our family...full of WIN!

Our family…full of WIN!

Saturday Morning First World Problems

Nothing to improve a Saturday morning like stepping in a steaming pile of cat puke.

This after virtually a whole night spent feeling like Donald Duck in one of those old Merry Melody cartoons.  You know, the one where Donald is trying in vain to sleep but one thing after another seems to confound his efforts?

My first mistake was eating a snack too late.  I’ve discovered, much to my dismay, that if I eat much later than 8:30 or nine at night, I will invariably wake in the middle of the night even hungrier.  It must kick-start my metabolism, kind of like a second wind for my appetite.  And in case you’re not a regular reader, I have a very low tolerance for being hungry.  It makes me cranky and miserable, especially when I’m trying to sleep.  So then I eat a little “mid-night” snack, which is really nothing more than me grabbing something as I make a small circuit from the bedroom, to the kitchen, to the bathroom to pee, and then back to the bedroom.  And since I usually wake up multiple times a night, catalyzing this routine usually results in several repetitions of this routine, as the more I eat in the middle of the night, the hungrier I am each time I wake up.  I’m usually okay if I can fall right back to sleep; I can take a sip or two of juice and be fine. I try to drink juice or milk or even water in place of eating, but sometimes that just aggravates my bladder and then I can’t sleep because I keep having to pee…  And then when I get up for good in the morning, I already have five hundred calories under my belt (pardon the pun) to try to work off for the day.

And then the damn cats– Methos, specifically.  He’s always doing irritating shit, like butting into the black out curtains and letting in light from the lamp outside my window.  He’s learned that he doesn’t have to run away unless I actually get out of the bed, so after like the fifth time he opened my blinds, I finally got up to lock him in the laundry room.  Chloe hears the door shut, knew she was next (cuz that’s where the litter boxes are), so she led me a merry chase around the coffee table trying to evade capture.

It sounds ridiculous even as I type it.

So, last night was spent in a semi-comatose swirl of eating, drinking, peeing, tossing, and turning.  All of J*’s stirrings made me anxious, as I dreaded her waking early and me having to get up and stay up.

Hubby had a headache this morning, but I managed to beg him into getting up with J* so I could at least get a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep.

So I get up around ten AM and, as I make my coffee in the kitchen…squish…