Category Archives: small humans

October 15, 2013

She got that class from her mother.

By Steph

So my daughter is 4.  She occasionally does stuff and I’m like, What The Fuck?  Where did that come from?

Because, although you couldn’t tell it by my blog, we’re actually pretty strict parents.  Anyway.

She’s started doing this thing where she wiggles her butt and sings “shake it, baby.”  It’s a little disconcerting.  I could not think where she might have seen this.

Then I turned on my cleaning music today, and started shaking it.  Yep.

I think knowing all the words to California Love at just four years old shows great memorization and lyrical skills.  Not to mention all the exercise she gets “shakin it.”

For anyone unfortunate enough to not be hip to the 90s rap, here you are, and you’re welcome.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDZ961xhNEo

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October 15, 2013

Limit four.

By Steph

It turns out that the number of humans I am capable of keeping in some semblance of order is four.  That’s unfortunate, because after my three children and my husband, I make five.

This means that while my daughter went to school freshly bathed and brushed and wearing matching clothes, I worked in my pjs until about 15 minutes before I had to leave the house.

That was when I realized that although I had showered within the last week, I could not remember the last time I had attempted to brush my hair.  Which is long.  And thick.  And now partially in dreads.  Actually, that should be singular.  A dread.  I have one nappy snarled twisted mess right smack-ass in the middle of my hair.

My husband is now referring to me as Marley.  I’m not sure what the next step should be here, other than maybe hiding all his socks.  (Oh, wait, I already did that.  Ha.)

But seriously, I was under the impression that people cultivated dreadlocks, not that they just appeared if you maybe slacked off on personal hygiene for a few minutes months.

Clearly it is time for a new goal.   Actually, goals, while I’m at it.

1.  Stop eating so much damn pity pie.  Pity pie is NOT your friend.
2.  Brush your goddamn hair, you dirty hippie.
3.  Fuck it, that’s enough.  Those are pretty lofty goals; I’m worn out and a little hungry already.

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August 24, 2013

Back to school. *sigh*

By Steph

The kids went back to school today. I started freaking out about it Friday and proceeded to organize everything in my house, like it would somehow protect them from bullies, mean teachers, yucky food, and head lice.  If everything was in just the right spot, what could go wrong? (I realize this is nuts.  Thanks.)

I think I did pretty good at hiding my back-to-school and sending-my-baby-to-Pre-K anxiety from the children. I was all hearts and flowers and “It will be SO MUCH FUN! Aren’t you EXCITED?!” But inside I was like “Waaaaa! My babies.”

I’m not alone in this.  My husband has called me three times this morning, the last time to ask if he “should just go take a peek and see how she’s doing.”  No.  That’s frowned upon.  I know my limits, so I’m just staying away from that school. If any of the three kids even wrinkled a nose at me, I’d have ‘em packed in the car and the homeschool books ordered.

It’s not that I’m against public schools.  It’s not that I think my local school is a bad school.  It’s just that I love my kids the way they are.  I hate how rigid the schools are and how every child is expected to be just like every other child.  (My middle child is certainly well on his way to teaching them different.)  I mean, c’mon, do ALL the pencils have to be plain yellow #2 pencils? If my kid, who hates school with such a passion, wants a freaking green pencil, I’m fine with that.  My little one (who has been home with me since she first wiggled in my belly) was so excited to take her tiny little backpack today.  No.  No backpacks allowed.  Because Lord knows what a 4-year-old might smuggle into school in a 6-inch My Little Pony backpack.

I see the pros of school.  Interacting with peers, learning to follow rules, getting along with others, learning how to deal with assholes – these are all things children need to know.  But not every kid is a yellow #2 pencil.  I don’t want my purple-striped, glitter-covered, shiny-polka-dotted, maybe-chewed-a-little-bit pencils sharpened down until they match all the others.

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August 24, 2013

Crafting by the seat of my pants.

By Steph

So I like to get crafty.  In some areas of my life I’ve been told I can be a little OCD, but not when I’m making something.  I love using found items, because I’m super cheap.

Example:  I just took my son shopping.  He wouldn’t get out of the car.  I said, “I’m buying YOU clothes, come on.”  He looks around suspiciously and says, “Is this a thrift store?”  (It was not.  It was a going out of business sale.  Everything was 70% off!)

Right now my obsession is painting old, crappy furniture so that it looks like old, crappy furniture.  But I keep forgetting to take “before” pictures, so I show people and they’re like, “Great!  What are you going to do with that?”  and I’m all, “Um, I already did it.  Asshole.”

But don’t get excited.  This isn’t that kind of blog.  I’ll never be able to do one of those tutorials because:

a. I’m very forgetful (see above about the pictures.  Also, I was just repainting a bookshelf with only three shelves.  I’d paint, go to dip my brush, and forget which shelf I was on.)

b. I don’t do anything the right way.  For instance, I’m painting this bookshelf.  I’m using house paint, because I found it and therefore it was free.  I’m using tiny paint brushes my son got with an art set for Christmas approximately three years ago.  I don’t sand anything.  I barely even wiped it off before I got started.  I was ready to paint, dammit!

c.  I am currently in the middle of about 15 projects.  Seriously.  My tutorial would go something  like, “You will need 25 river rocks all the same size and shape, 5 skeins green yarn (used), some white vinegar, and….oh to hell with this, I can’t find my glue gun.”

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August 24, 2013

That’s just good parenting.

By Steph

We had family game night last night.  I didn’t want to, because I had a ton of work, as I explained to my ungrateful children.

Me:  Can’t.  I have a ton of work and I don’t want to be up all night trying to catch up.

Thing 2:  OMG ( actually saying Oh Em Gee), mom, why didn’t you get your work done this morning?

Me:   Oh Em Gee!  Because I was too busy twiddling my thumbs and smoking crack.   I have been working ALL DAY!

Thing 1:  Where are you going?  It’s time to play a game.  No.  If you don’t have time to play a game with us, then you don’t have time for that. (Physically blocking my speedy exit, because the little shit is bigger than me.  Uncool.)

Me:  Alright, fine, I’ll finish my work and then we’ll play.

After much debate between my husband and two sons, they picked Cranium, which is actually pretty fun.  Kind of like a Pictionary/word game/scavenger hunt/thing.  With kids.

It went pretty well. My oldest and I were on a team against my husband and Thing 2.  We totally stomped them.  So much so that during the second game, my husband started saying “nipple” when it was our turn, to distract us.  It worked.  A teenager cannot focus on the task at hand (or stop laughing) when he hears the word “nipple.”

Turns out, neither can I.

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