electric boogaloo

Today was one of those days that spoiled suburbanites like myself refer to as hellish, which I know is stupid considering that many people around the world suffer things like mud volcanoes, but luckily mud volcano victims don’t have internet access on account of all the mud and even if they did somehow read this website on their cell phones or whatever, it’s not like they have the resources they would need to drive through all that mud to get over here and give my ass the appropriate kicking for whining about my two kids fighting while I drive my miniature van – which is a bit of a misnomer really. It’s quite roomy. It’s more of a slightly-less-ridiculously-enormous-than-some-of-the-vehicles-out-there van.

But: Hell. Absolute hell.

Sometimes it’s almost like the boys don’t care one bit whether I eat or shower or surf the internet or clean house. They DO care that I provide food, although they’ve both requested that I stick to only giving them those little mini muffins from the grocery store bakery. They adore those tiny banana muffins. I go back and forth on the tiny muffin issue. Yes, the first ingredient is sugar but you know, they are like really tiny, so how much sugar could it be? Besides, there’s all kinds of fiber and vitamins and things in there. But still, on principle alone I insist on varying their diet to include the other food groups – fruit, dairy, and whatever peanut butter is.

I keep wandering from the point, which is so, so simple really: my children are jerks.

Graham is teething like unto a mofo, and this set has brought out a side of him that contrasts nicely with his usual good-natured attitude. This week he is being demanding, needy, clingy, overdramatic, and is refusing to share anything.

In other words, he’s acting like his brother.

Nicolaus, meanwhile, is suffering from:

• Allergies
• Possibly a sinus infection
• Being picked on by an angry baby
• Being asked to stop doing fun things by a mother who is mysteriously frazzled this week
• Being told by a girl on the playground that he is not strong even though he IS STRONG, YOU KNOW?

So he’s responding to the stress by spinning into parallel dimensions of hyperactivity and naughtiness and rude demandingness and naggingness. In other words, acting like MY brother James, who is wonderful and smart and talented and tall and everything but dude – shut UUUUUP.

Although to be fair about Nicolaus’ nagging, I really have been spacing out and not catching the first 15 times he tells me he wants whatever thing he wants because I’m too busy thinking that what I really need is one of those dogs like those people have in all the Carl books. That dog kicks so much ass. Mouse would never fucking babysit like that, unless we maybe covered the baby’s hair in peanut butter. But that’s not really babysitting, right?

OR IS IT.

“MaaaaMAAaaa!! You’re not ‘istening. I! Want! Some! MILK.”

“Oh right. Carl, would you mind getting Nicolaus some milk please?”

“Fuck off, I’m not fucking Carl, get your own kid his milk. And refill my feeder while you’re at it. It’s only an infinite feeder if you refill it every day, dumbshit.”

“Oh my, Mouse – such language. What a shame, what a shame.”

“MAMA! What are you thinking about now? I WANT SOME MILK I WANT SOME MILK I WANT SOME MILK I WANT SOME MILK.”

There are no more words left in me. In fact, I’m exhausted so this was going to be a picture only post. But then I started writing words and I was too tired to delete them, or even read them so if the entire post is all John Lennon In His Own Writish, please forgive me. And/or give me a publishing contract and label me the writing Beatle.

Shut up, Tiffany. Post pictures and go to bed.

Inspired by the devoted bento ladies (Ben-to, from Japanese for “Shit-together”), I made Kevin a lunch yesterday.

Packed in a walmart grocery store bag. That’s Cambell’s soup, trail mix, and a plum. Not pictured: Two cans of Dr.Thunder soda.

And here are two pictures which capture the antagonizing nature of my kids this week. First we have the elder. You know how right before a cobra strikes they get all up on their hind – um, tail and fan out and get all Ooooooh I’m about to striiiiike? Nicolaus does a similar thing, a warning of sorts to let you know that some serious naughtiness is about to go down. It’s this look on his face right here:


And then we have punk numero dos. That’s his finger on the right. Jerk.


And unrelated to the week sucking, here’s a picture from today of my brother Tony who – I swear to you is not a stoner. In fact, he looks like Jesus in this picture. Or! Whichever saint is in charge of helping sisters do their yardwork… Which one was that again? Saint Awesome.