I have to say, there are probably a handful of people you will meet in your life who will absolutely get you. And I am not talking about the friends who just accept you for all your quirks, hang-ups, short comings. Not that. I mean the kind that totally GET YOU, and there is nothing more comforting than this type of friend. The friend who isn’t afraid to tell you your rear end has never looked bigger in those jeans, so take them off or we aren’t going to be seen together. Or, did you mean for your makeup to look like Hatchet Face’s? Ya know, the honest friends who never silence their voice. We don’t have to put a filter on our thoughts, we can say what we want and know there will be no judgment or eye rolling going on. The inappropriateness, social awkwardness that dribbles out of my mouth is truly accepted by this friend and I am grateful for it. I can’t divulge details of our typical conversations, because quite frankly, you will judge us, and probably have some sort of eye spasm from rolling them so much. I will spare you the ER bill and eye doctor visit.
Moving on to the only topic I seem to talk about in this rarely viewed blog. The kids. I’m gonna start calling them the Rascals, because the anxiety I feel whenever I see that movie mirrors the way my rascals tend to make me feel on a nightly basis. Which, I hear is normal. An.E.Way, I picked the rascals up from daycare and greeted with “Logan has been really fussy today.” Magic words any mother loves to hear after a 10 hour day. But there is hope for me yet. It is the Ex’s night with them so I just have to survive the next hour as opposed to the next 4 hours. I did not anticipate what the next hour had in store for me. Logan transformed into some red faced villain baby from hell. Kylee and I instantaneously look at each other and just knew we were in for it. Remember that game at Putt-Putt where you throw balls into the big clown’s mouth and anytime you missed she taunted you with threats and insults? That is usually how Logan is. FEED ME! FEED ME! So Kylee tried to help by getting him fruit snacks, crackers, fruit roll ups,
wine, milk, nothing worked. Step 1: I picked him up and he slapped me like a pimp slaps his employees. Step 2: I put him down; he wails at me and reaches his arms to be picked up. Repeat step 1. Step 3: He goes to the time out corner, and leaves the time out corner. He wins. Step 4: Mommy goes to the time out corner, Kylee joins me. Step 5: Logan follows us to the time out corner – still crying FOR.NO.REASON. Repeat step 1 (again). My face hurts. Mommy is about to put her head in the oven. ICarly music playing loudly. Kylee please turn that down. But I can’t hear over my little BOTHER. - Thanks Olivia. (And if you don’t understand that last part, you are lucky) Just turn it down, it is over stimulating mommy. I’m over steamy too! –Kylee.
75 deep breaths later, the crying has not stopped and neither has ICarly or the non-stop Justin Beiber commercials at which Kylee is dancing, singing and whipping her hair to. Yes, whipping her hair back and forth. Thanks Willow Smith for teaching her this. I am crunched down in a corner, knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Thoughts in my head: Where is the Ex? It’s only been 15 minutes?? Crappity Crap Crap!, 45 minutes left….I am totally gonna buy that Bieber movie – wait no, I will not be brainwashed! Ok, yes I will. No I won’t! Dang she whips her hair like a pro. Note to self: Get Kylee to quit whipping her hair. Where is the Ex already? Dang it’s only been 18 minutes now. 42 minutes left. What is that smell? Where are ICarly’s parents? What did I just step in? How much longer now? GAHHHH!
Finally, the Ex shows up to get the rascals, I have already warned him that something has crawled up Logan’s caboose, and exploded. However, the second he shows up, Logan stops crying and is hunky flippin’ dory. The evil spirit that took over my precious son’s body fled the moment I opened the door. I guess that was an exclusive performance just for me and Kylee. Thanks son. Have a good weekend with your dad; mommy needs a cocktail and a hot bath.
I plan on having a love affair with comet, bleach and Pin-sol this weekend. I realize there is something wrong with the level of excitement I get from putting my hands in toilets. But knowing that the rascals won’t be standing over me while I do it, trying to eat the toxic cleansers, or offering to “help” is just exciting to me. I can’t explain it and I don’t have to. So there.
Enjoy your weekend peeps!