What I am Thinking...

What I am Thinking...

What I am Reading...

What I am Reading...

What I am Listening To...

What I am Listening To...

What I am Drinking...

What I am Drinking...

Are you sure the postman didn't stop by...


OK, I saw her head pop out of my v_g_ina (again, didn't spell it out for you dad). Well I didn't see her actually pop out- I don't think anything really "pops" out well maybe your husband's eyes. OK we'll go with slides out...well I actually didn't see that either. I looked down there once with a mirror when I had my first child and it was nauseatingly freaky. I could have gone my whole life without seeing THAT... So really the Big Cheese, he saw our bundle of joy slither out and so did Grandma.. She is my child, I guess she is OUR child. That is unless the postman slipped a mickey in my wine in one of my afternoon wine binges and delivered his own package. Becuase it would be the only way I could explain how two children from the SAME parents can be exist as such opposites.

Mac, my angel. She is my laid back, easy going, has to go to bed on time, "good one". Sure she is messy, leaves her clothes all over the place and we don't think she has any feeling in the area around her mouth because she always has leftover lunch on it. But she is a great kid and awesome one. Yes, one day she will skip class and get caught drinking Gin straight out of the bottle behind the local movie theater. It will be the one bad thing she ever tries, she will hate every minute, and of course, she will get caught. And she will have to explain to the Principal "I am the good one, I never do things like this, my mom always told me I am the good one. My sister she is the bad one, and she tells her that all the time."

And so therapy begins...

Sure I know I shouldn't tell Cheese, my 5 (almost 6 year old), self- proclaimed "devious genius" that she is naughty or has a bad attitude or is behaviorally challenged, but I just can't help myself. The terrible twos and even threes were a cake walk with this kid. I mean sure she had some throw does, exit out the back door of the restaurant, hissy fits but most times I would show her something shiny or give her a bag of cheerios and she would move past pretty quickly.

Now she is five and can actually articulate her laundry list of grievances, we have actually built a boxing ring in our living room. Each morning before school and each afternoon after we step in for a couple of rounds. I mean what the hell should she be complaining about anyway? It is all barbies and ponies and breakfast, lunch and dinner cooked to order around here. How did Debbie Downer, get so unsatisfied, whann, wannn.

This morning for instance we fought about the 1) color of her pony tail rubber bands, 2) the length of the sleeves of her sweater(she refused to roll them up) and 3) the actual "size" of the tied bows her tennis shoes, they were of course too big. I was this close to going into the "lucky you have shoes" speech. I stopped myself because I remembered this speech is completely wasted on her. And she would mostly likely retort with something like..."well mom we do have shoes and we do have money and we are not really poor and I don't know any poor people but if you find a poor person and want to give them my shoes than that is OK with me, I REALLY DON'T LIKE THEM ANYWAY."

So unfortunately this morning's round went to Cheese. She wore no sweater, mismatched pony tails and triple knotted shoe laces. Maybe I have to brush up on my street fighting skills. Seriously, why can't I?