Something may be wrong with my children...

So one late night, we were having root beer floats, a special treat in my home, and this is what happens…

Middle One: Do you know what The Boy does? (she was completely going to tell me something bad he does)

The Old One: Milks cats.

(all laughs)

The Boy: For your information, I milk chickens.

I begin to cry from hysterical laughter

few minutes later

The Boy: I take each nipple...goes through the motion of milking chicken nipples, closely related to milking a cow

The Old One: Mom, do chickens even have nipples, because they have 'chicken breasts'?

Me: No

Children continue thinking

The Old One: Why do men have nipples then?

The Boy: Can you milk men?

The Middle One just shakes her head. She really wants to be normal. But the odds in this family are stacked against her.

The old one and clowns

So the old one is afraid of clowns. At 16 years old. Not anything really scary, like vampires, pit bulls, and fat men. Clowns. And spiders, but mostly clowns.

I think it started when we used to live on the fourth of July parade route. The different performers and such would line up our block and wait until their turn to get into their spot in line. One year the clowns waited on our street and lawn. I thought they were cute. Really. Cute. So, I packed up the old one and the middle one (the boy wasn't even born yet!) and we went outside. By the cute clowns.

The clowns really didn't talk, but as the old one stared at them, one stuck out his tongue at her. She looked at me horrified and said " MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY. IT HAS A HUMAN TONGUE". The clown and I laughed so hard, I nearly wet my pants. (that will be a common theme)

She has never really liked clowns ever since. HMMM. I could use this in the future. Could be fun. (for me) But it really comes down to saving for her college, or her therapy.

Happy Birthday to the Old One

The Boy and Chuck Norris

So I try to keep the kids involved in current events, whether it be conversations about asylum, the death penalty, or politics. I am left leaning (probably waaaay over), but I am thrilled even if the kids disagree with me, as long as they can defend their views. Until this.

I took The Boy with me to vote last year. I always take one child with me and let them read over the ballot, tell me what they would do and why, and then I vote however I want. (I am sure the people behind us in line hate me) I was explaining to The Boy why there are some spaces I left blank, such as cadidates without opponents. Especially if I don't agree with that candidate.

The Boy says "NO! Write in Chuck Norris".

I am puzzled. Didn't even know he knew who Chuck Norris was. I know he has never seen a Chuck Norris movie. I asked why.

The boy starts karate chopping the air and said "Chuck Norris can strangle a guy with a cordless phone"

I still don't see how that qualifies him to be the treasurer for our county. In 7 years, I bet Chuck Norris will be written in a lot, all by The Boy.

The kid ain't right, Part One

The old one is now old, sixteen on this coming Monday. But don't worry, I am not that old, had her when I was nine.

Oh, I may be ADHD, lose track alot. I will work on that at my next therapy appointment.

Back on track, when the old one was learning to read, I would have to say about 6, we were in a store, in the "unmentionables" section. I turn around and she was feeling up a bra. Pretty much, taking each cup, and pushing. I am not easily embarassed, but look around to make sure none of her teachers are around, and whisper "what are you DOING!?!?!". She looks at me puzzled, and says "it is not doing anything. Why not? It says PUSH UP BRA"

Why blog?

So first post, all this pressure. Really, I just don't know where to begin.

I have been told many times to get a dang blog already, but it took me a year and a half because I couldn't think of a name. True story.

I am not really a creative writer, but a good listener, and most of what you may read will be coversations overheard, whether it be the boy wondering if chickens have nipples, 85 year old grandmother yelling "teabagging" in a book store, or why the middle child wants a hat like the pope (and we are not even Catholic). Don't worry, eventually I will get to them all and more. Some of what you read may just be what I observe or tickles my fancy that day.

Pull up a chair, grab some wine, don't forget the xanax, and enjoy my musings.