Like Sailors....

Besides sarcasm, our family is first in line to perfect the art of cussing. I can remember uttering the word 'fuck' for the first time. After that initial shock of, 'Whoa, Mom didn't hear that!' I proceded to try them all and learned a few new ones at the school yard. The level of profanity on the school yard was only excelled by the level of depraved stories we told each other before we called, "Bullshit!" Ah, Catholic school....

Anyway, I was reminded of this skill when my son, Pottymouth, declared that his chores sucked ass. I agreed, chores do suck but we do them or else we'd be on a guest episode of Hoarders and I really don't have time for that. We giggled when (yeah,yeah, bad mommy) he said 'ass' but that kid has a gift for putting in the right sentence and making it funny. It's probably not the best thing to teach him, but I've done just about everything in my power short of sewing his mouth shut to get him to stop. Currently, my plan is to get him to use it in the right moment. If nothing else, he won't sound like a total moron and maybe he'll be on Comedy Central someday.

I remember not too long ago when my two oldest were 7 and 4, riding bikes outside my sisters' house one fine family Thanksgiving. They were screaming, laughing and having a great old time, when I actually stopped to listen to what they were yelling.

"Cocksucker! Cocksucker!"

I ran out there, asked them to stop, that word is not polite and, more importantly, where did you learn it?

Their innocent voices answered. "Grandma."

They still think this is funny. They love hanging out with Grandma - she curses up a storm and the children find this hysterical.

Now, my niece Gianna, when she was three was hanging with me because my sister had some stuff to do and it was nice to have some girl power in the house. The kids were all hanging out in their room and Pottymouth came out with a half of a Christmas ornament and a smirk.

"I told Gianna not to eat the ornament and that I was gonna tell on her. She called me a douchebag."

I panicked, pulled the rest of the glass ornament from her mouth, however most of it was on the carpet.

She discovered it wasn't that tasty, but the glitter made her lips look pretty.

Douchbag was the favorite word at that time. And after that episode we decided to refrain from using it because when Gianna starts kindergarten we didn't want her calling her classmates that. We'd at least wait until she could spell it first.

Ah...yes, the satisfaction of a new creepy family  - I love nothing more than painting a surly teenager who is mortally embarrassed by her family..or a child that crop dusts his family (that would be farting and running to you - stop feeding that kid beans!).
I'm doing a lot of this work so I can pay for my son's braces. Unfortunately, he was born with his mother's teeth. I was fortunate enough that after enough cringing from strangers, my mother chose to get me braces. I want to do the same for him. If you'd like a portrait, contact me via email, phone or bat....

My Morning - Boy Smell & the Coffee Crisis

Rolled out of bed, scurried to the kitchen, briefly gagged at the boy funkitude emitting from my oldest son's room - only to discover that there was no coffee made!
Does my Beefsteak have a death wish? I wonder, then feel guilty because my poor hubby has to go in early. Searched the cabinets - woohoo! Instant espresso!
Properly caffeinated, I get ready - vaguely wondering of those are old chick spots on my hands and maybe I need to get my eyes checked. I sprint through the house plaguing my children with the light switch and a "Get up! Brush Your Teeth!"
Grumbling, smelly beings crawl from their rooms and beat each other senseless over who get the bathroom first. Type A, Pottymouth and Dramaqueen argue about toothbrush usage and who the hell hid the toilet paper?!?  I walk blissfully by because I have to go wake the Baby Beefy. He is a cute little fart and a total cock blocker. This is what happens when you let the baby sleep with you. He used to smell like baby, now he's starting to smell like the rest of those midgets who live with me. As I convince him he needs to get up, I then remember the name of the baby mama from a conversation from three days ago at work. Bridgett Monahan!
I load the monsters in the van and proceed to drop everyone off - three separate stops! Of course Type A is
laughing at Pottymouth (whose mouth is off and running with colorful language! Fucking A!) and Dramaqueen is busy dancing like a mad person in the back seat to that hooker nut job, Britney Spears. Beefy screams as his BBq chip hook-up, Pottymouth has exited the car and left him high and dry.
Baby Beefy being last - I get flipped off by a school bus driver. Yeah, you want me to run over those kids in the cross walk? Who pissed in your cheerios this morning? If you don't like the big bus, get the small one, jerk face.
I race to work while trying to talk to my hubby and then race to the time clock. Only to discover this little fucker needs to be warmed up to clock in. No joke. It doesn't like our Tea Fairy's time card at all. I told the maintenance guy to knit it a sweater so we could clock in on time. After only three tries today, it spits my card out like 90 year old cigarette smoker.
Whew...