Last night Matt told me very seriously that he wishes he could use a taser on the boys. I am not sure I disagree.
It was after we took them out to dinner and they each cried seven times. Rex yelled “What the hell?!” and Rocky spilled two chocolate milks, took his shoes off, and ran directly into a busy street during our post-dinner parking lot races. But honestly, who parents Rocky and thinks parking lot races on a main road are a good idea?! I told Matt that was his bad.
Rex is behind the eight ball on a lot of shit, but when it comes to emotional sensitivity and articulation of his feelings, the kid is Lebron James. Lately he’s been getting a little embarrassed, and we are paying the price. Rewind to last week when my dude got a (very small) splinter on our deck in the middle of a playdate. We rushed inside for a not-so-quick extraction filled with tears and screams and “No! No! Don’t!”s. When we got back outside my friend was confused. “Where were you??” “Oh, ya know, just a little splinter drama!” I mistakenly thought it was back to business as usual until I caught Rex’s eye. “Mom. Can you please come with me in the basement for a minute?” Fuck.
"Sit next to me please, Mom.” I follow. “So you walk out and say SPLINTER DRAMA in front of my friends?! You just say, SPLINTER DRAMA, HUH?!?! How do you think that makes me feel? How would you like that?!” Uhhhhhh. I folded. He was right. I was reprimanded for ten minutes and apologized. Boy did he feel good.
And then last night at the restaurant (with Matt’s best friend also at the table—who gets a BIG kick out of Rex’s crazy) Rex started to cry about sharing his ipad (shut up) with Rocky. Matt started to give him a little tough love, “Rex, come on, You are six, stop crying and pull it together!” Well, big man did NOT wanna be called out on his crying. “Oh yeah, DAD?!?! You wanna tell everyone that I am crying?! (Sobbing) How about I tell everyone that you pooped your pants that day on the way to work?! How about THAT?!!" Poor Poopypant was speechless. Another point for the offspring.
Then after we finally got all three to bed and took a breath, we heard a huge thud followed by a blood curdling scream and found Bizzy on the floor of her room after propelling herself out of the crib. I got really scared and cried because I thought she might have a brain bleed. But don’t worry, she doesn’t. She’s fine and normal and still looks like a Hanson brother. And she’s already slapped me in the face three times this morning and it’s not even 8am. Reflexes and sass still fully in tact.
And for everyone looking for an update on my chest acne (no one)—it is still there and in a real winning turn of events has now spread to my face. I actually have no idea what is happening. But I did just order some new facial razors that the gals are raving about. I guess it’s acceptable for us girls to shave our faces now and I am here for it. Oh, and you can consider this a formal request for suggestions on how to shave the back of my thighs…and actually my inner thighs, now that I think about it. I don’t understand these women who look hairless and smooth. I lather up with shaving cream and shave up and down and in and out with very little regard for my own safety and I am still left with large patches of thick black hair that catch me by surprise in very inopportune moments. And ya gotta love that pool moment where ya notice the one thick black lower belly hair just staring you in the face. AMIRIGHT?! I don’t get it. Whatever, I give up.