Category Archives: Storytime

Stories from the past or present that I get to force upon you. You’re welcome.

Bathrooms & Bare Bottoms

It’s an absolute FACT that as a parent, any time you have to use the bathroom, your child will have the sudden urge to pee the moment you sit on the toilet. Whether this effect is multiplied by the amount of children in your family, I have yet to experience. I am sure there are parents out there with 2 or more who wouldn’t mind chiming in in the comments.

One of the most exciting features in our new place was the addition of a second bathroom next to my son’s room.
G doesn’t use this bathroom though. He prefers my bathroom completely and was excited when the toilet upstairs was out of commission for a few months.

Last week my landlord fixed the bathroom, and I was so excited to have my bathroom back to myself!

The following happened moments ago.
I was washing my hands afterwards when the door opens, HARD, right into my side.
“OW! What the fudges?”
I try very hard not to swear, as my kiddo is at the age of dropping fowl language into everyday conversation. I am absolutely OK with using words to enhance your vocabulary and using swears correctly. Drop something super heavy on your foot or slam your hand in the car door? Go ahead and swear!
However lately G has been dropping Fucks and Shits in normal everyday conversation. Last night I took a picture of my little almost 10 year old sitting on the couch while I was completely lost in thoughts of how quickly he has grown when my kiddo decided to flip the camera the bird.
That behavior awarded him emptying and filling the dishwasher and unloading a stack of wood from the wheelbarrow himself.

“Sorry!” G said through the crack in the door, dancing around “I really have to pee!!”
Usually I would have opened the door and let him sneak by, but we have a perfectly good bathroom upstairs!
“We have a second bathroom!” I yelled.
“Oh, yeah!” G exclaimed running away.

I washed the soap bubbles from my hands and scrubbed my face.
I left the bathroom and entered the living room…. To see my son’s bare butt sticking through the sliding glass doors to the backyard.
G turned around and made eye contact with me, clearly busted.
“Don’t judge.” He said, pulled up his sweatpants and walked away.

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Celebrity Face Blindness

My boyfriend suffers from Celebrity face blindness. He does. And he is in denial.
For those of you who haven’t heard of face blindness, made popular by Arrested Development( Amazing show if you haven’t seen it, I highly reccommend.) Sufferers are unable to tell one face from another.
Now, my boyfriend’s face blindness is an unusual version, because he is unable to tell celebrities and people on tv or in movies apart from one another. He can’t tell at all! This might not sound like a big deal, but after 4 years together it bothers me it. It unnerves me. It grinds me down to the core!

I will be sitting on the couch, watching a movie all cuddled up with my son. My boyfriend will stick his head in and go “Is that Whoopi Goldberg?”
No, it’s not, that’s Bill Cosby. This is Ghost Dad. We told you we were watching Ghost Dad. What would Whoopi be doing in Ghost Dad?

Ooh, or Hell’s Kitchen! I will be watching Gordon Rhamsay, and my boyfriend will lean over my shoulder, whisper into my ear, and say “Is that Anothony Hopkins?”
Why. Why. WHY would Anthony Hopkins be a contestant on Hell’s kitchen?
Although it would make for an interesting season.
“Hanibal, that liver was cooked perfectly!”

One day we were driving down the road, past the co-op, the museum, and my boyfriend looks out the window and excitedly turns to me, taps on my shoulder. “Oh my god, it’s Willie Nelson!”
And I lost it. I just exploded.
“Now you listen to me, that is not Willie Nelson, that’s an old homeless lady. What would Willie Nelson be doing in our town?!? Why would he be outside the homeless shelter? Why would he be dressed like a bag lady?!?!”
I felt bad for yelling. But I had had it.

A few days later, I am at work. Like all of you, I’m sure, I’m a professional medium and Tarot Reader in my spare time. In walks this tiny kid with black hair with his family. And I recognize him instantly. It’s Atticus Shafer from The Middle. And I have the priveledge of doing a tarot reading for them. What really nice people. I will not go in to details, because confidentiality about readings is very important to me.
I am excited when I get home. I rush up the stairs, jump on to the bed, vibrating with excitement, I get a picture of Atticus up on my phone, and say “Guess who I met at work today?!?”
My boyfriend looks at the screen, his face lites up.
“You did a reading for Macauly Culkin!!!!”

Letter to Parents Magazine

This letter is about 6 1/2 years too late. That is what happens when you are a parent. You mean to write that angry review about a defective product and bam! 6 1/2 years have passed. This does not however take away from severity of the complaint. This is not a complaint of a defective nature or warning of injury. This comes from a more “You should have known better!” nature. The target? The magazine/company Parents.

My son turned 8 on Saturday May 3rd. It was a very emotional weekend for the both of us. We shared stories about his birth, talked about his daddy and how badly we wish he was still with us. G had a sleepover with his buddy R who he met after G had open heart surgery for the second time. R is the kind of child who just loves everyone and everything so much that he tends to forget about personal space and boundaries. G is goofy now, but was very serious as a toddler. So when we first introduced G and R, and R instantly climbed into G’s bed, and pulled up the covers. This threw G off. He looked to me questioningly, and slowly scooted away towards the edge of the bed. If we hadn’t warned R before hand about not hugging G as his chest was still incredibly sore he probably would have thrown his arms around G.

Playdates became frequent. As the parent of any toddler will tell you, children at 2ish don’t tend to play with each other, but play adjacent to each other. G would play with a toy in the yard or in the house, R would instantly find the toy in G’s hands as the best toy in the world and want it badly. G wouldn’t care, he was happy with any toy as long as he wasn’t disturbed. Taking turns was difficult, but not impossible. R would get his turn with the amazing, incredible toy that G just handed over but within minutes he would decide that his toy was crap and yet again G had the absolute best toy ever and instantly want it. G would get upset because we interrupted his playtime once again for another round of “share the toy.” And the cycle repeats!

Toddler arguments are stressful, but not impossible to handle.
A little wine, a nice dinner with friends and you can laugh it off as a funny story about life and parenting or a silly quirk.

The fight over this toy would become a legend. I still shudder at the sight of it. Hell, I got off my butt and wrote a post about it!  The devil toy in question is this:

Parents Magazine Bee Bop Band Play & Learn Drum & Instruments

Got a good look? Did you catch the design flaw in this drum kit? What did Parents Magazine miss?
The drum sticks are two different colors. The f#$king drumsticks on a toy for toddlers are two f$#cking different colors.

Both toddlers decided that the yellow drumstick was the holy grail and that us adults asking them to share it would mean the end of all humanity.
For 6 hours G and R fought, and cried, and whined, and sobbed, and screeched, and hit each other and shrieked that the orange drumstick was inferior and no other toy or instrument would suffice. Eventually R’s mom stashed the drum stick on stop of a bookcase. R walked away eventually but G’s eyes did not move from that bookshelf.
By the end of the night I was near tears myself. R’s mom and I actually popped open a bottle of wine (After much struggling. Those babies are hard to open if you aren’t experienced.) But neither of us are really drinkers and two 1/4 filled glasses of wine was sacrificed to the kitchen Gods in the sink.

It took about 5 months for G to stop standing next to the bookshelf each visit. Neither of us adults dared to risk bringing that drum stick back down.

A few years later, R’s mom told me she was cleaning the house and found it. It took her a moment to remember what the heck a yellow drumstick was doing on top of the shelf in the first place. I am not sure what happened to old yellow. Maybe it was handed down to another family where it can cause outragous fights between siblings. Maybe it vanished in to the abyss it originally rolled from. Or just maybe it is just waiting at some garage sale, waiting to curse the first family that comes in contact with the yellow stick from hell.

It Was Doomed The Moment I Laughed.

I have been with the man I am dating for 3 years. Like all relationships it is riddled with puzzles and complications that no one outside of us would give a sh#t about. I love him dearly, but everyone around me thinks he’s an ass. The problem with N is that he tries super hard, but rarely is the project, job, situation, cleaning, cooking, washing, scrubbing, and all other things handled or done correctly. The first few times I picked up a still dirty dish or stepped in a dribble of coffee on the floor, or a priceless object was dropped or accidentally destroyed it was sad or annoying, but I was able to look past it. Then it escalated. Slipping and shredding my knees on the floor because of a water spill that wasn’t cleaned up, multiple large egg shells in my breakfast food, my indoor cat escapes and never returns because of doors being left opened. Suddenly, the carelessness isn’t endearing. But you are in love, so you ignore the faults, point mistakes out gently and sometimes just clean up after him.

Now we are at 3 years. 3 years of accidental injuries, shards of metal in your food, two pairs of broken glasses, a nook broken on Valentines day, a whole set of broken dishes and thrown out silverware, and mounds of important paperwork destroyed, moved, lost etc.

So when I was spending the day at this beautiful river called Stickney Brook, my son in his boxers sliding down the flat rocks like a water slide, and the peaceful sound of birds chirping and the river babbling, I wasn’t exactly expecting N to turn to me while I am stacking rocks and ask me to marry him.

He was probably not expecting me to explode with laughter.

I laughed and laughed, for quite some time before I finally said “No. No, no, no, ha aha! No.”

We continued to jump on the rocks, and look around at all the beautiful trees, and watched G come screaming down the small water fall side for the 15th time until his lips turned blue and his skin became covered in little goose bumps.

On the drive home I explained my answer to N.
As much as I love him, N is not ready to be a husband, to be a father to my son. I need to see him take charge, and grow up a lot. And I will know when he is ready for that step. I have to wait until the time is right.

He asked me “When will you know when the time is right?”

I told him “When you have a ring. When you put me first, save up money,  or find a family heirloom, find one in the ground, whatever! Either way, when there is an actual ring I will know you are serious.”

Where was I going with this? I’m not sure exactly. Maybe there is no point, and all I am leaving you with is a story.
Enjoy it. And, men? When you are going to propose, make sure that the woman in your life is on the same path. You might get an answer worse than laughter.