It Only Looks Like I'm In Charge i

Okay, Fine. No More Vocab Lessons.

Driving to the chiropractor...
Me:
Can you say "chiropractor"?
Dictator:
No. Can YOU say... "road"?
May 26, 2012 @ 11:09 AM 32 notes

Sheesh. Forget Your Wallet One Time…

I promised Dictator a donut on the way home the other day. We pulled up to the drive-thru, settled on a vanilla dip with rainbow sprinkles, and pulled forward to pay. Which is approximately when I realized that I didn’t have my wallet. 

Do you know how hard it is to explain to a three-year-old that she can’t have her donut because of something as silly as money? 

She cried all the way home, and I promised that we would go the next day, which resulted in the following reminders:

Upon waking: “Mama? We go get donuts today? And you bring your wallet, okay?”

When we left for the sitter’s: “Mama? Your wallet in your purse?”

When I dropped her off at the sitter’s: “Mama? You got your wallet? For donuts?”

When I picked her up at the sitter’s: “Mama? You bring your wallet wif money for donuts?” 

In line at the drive-thru: “Mama? You have your wallet for pay the money for my donut?” 

Cripes, kid. I said I was sorry. 

May 24, 2012 @ 8:14 AM 42 notes

Apologies to Sascha Baron Cohen fans who have stumbled upon my Tumblr by accident. 
There’s a lot of penis talk here lately… It’s just probably not the kind you’re looking for.  View Larger

Apologies to Sascha Baron Cohen fans who have stumbled upon my Tumblr by accident. 

There’s a lot of penis talk here lately… It’s just probably not the kind you’re looking for. 

May 19, 2012 @ 8:59 AM 12 notes

Overheard:

Husband:
Dictator, what are you doing?
Dictator:
Playing wif my 'gina.
Husband:
Well, if you want to do that, you need to do it in your room when you're by yourself.
Dictator:
No, thank you. I just want to play wif my 'gina right here.
May 14, 2012 @ 8:38 PM 36 notes

“Grandma, you’re OLD!”

What every grandmother wants to hear (repeatedly) when being greeted by her granddaughter
May 14, 2012 @ 10:49 AM 16 notes

It's Hard to Drive with Laughter-Induced Tears in Your Eyes

On the way to the sitter's this morning, apropos of nothing...
Dictator:
Mama, you not touch the penis.
Me:
...
Dictator:
You not touch the penis, Mama.
Me:
I... pardon?
Dictator:
Only look at the penis, Mama. And smell them. But not touch the penis.
Me:
Do you mean the peonies? In the garden?
Dictator:
Yes! No touching the penis. Just smelling and looking.
Me:
Peonies, bebe. Can you say pee-ah-nees?
Dictator:
Is what I said! Penis!
May 8, 2012 @ 10:33 PM 50 notes

Fine. Goddammit.

I’m pretty sure you’re all tagging me because you’re running out of folks who haven’t done this yet, and I’ll have you know I’m answering under duress because I just want the insanity to stop! 

Rule 1: Post the rules.

Rule 2: Answer the questions the tagger set for you in their post and then make 11 new ones.

Rule 3: Tag 11 people and link them to your post.

Rule 4: Let them know you’ve tagged them

Here goes: 

Read More

May 8, 2012 @ 10:18 PM 13 notes

Yo Mama

Our house sounds like a test-facility for “your mom” jokes lately.

We’ve been teaching Dictator that the Husband and I have parents just like she does. She seems to have grasped that Grandma is also my mother, but whenever we talk about Grandma’s upcoming visit, she asks, “Oh, your mom?”

She’s also been throwing out completely random references to my mother, and this morning, the first words out of her mouth were “Where your mom?” (Grandma doesn’t arrive for a few more days.)

The best, though, was earlier today: I was grumbling that the yogurt in the fridge was old, and Dictator said, “Oh. Like your mom?”* 

Poor Grandma. 

*When asked to clarify, Dictator said, “Like your mom like yogurt like you like yogurt?” Nice cover, kid.

May 8, 2012 @ 5:24 PM 35 notes

Gro-Clock

Dictator has two wake-up modes: Rooster (5am on days I’m to get up with her) and comatose teenager (9:30am on days the Husband is to get up with her). 

In an effort to keep the rooster in bed until a decent hour, we bought this clock:

I love this clock. You set it at bedtime, and it displays stars until whatever time you’ve deemed appropriate for wakeup in the morning, at which point the sun “rises”. There’s an alarm option if you’re crazy, but it doesn’t have to be set to wake your child - you just teach them to stay in bed until the sun comes up. Genius. 

We’ve had it for about a week, but this morning is the first real test of the whole “stay put until the sun is up” thing. I’ve been up since 6:30, but her clock isn’t set to change until 7:15, and the current dialogue from Dictator’s room is this: 

“Mama awake. But I not awake. I sleeping until the sun come up.” 

“Go away stars!”

“Where the sun? Suuuh-uuuhn? Where arrrrrrre you?”

May 8, 2012 @ 7:16 AM 39 notes

Teaching Them Early

Dictator joined a mini soccer program that’s sponsored by Tim Horton’s (I guess? All I know is that her little yellow jersey says “Tim Horton’s” across the front. And that she’s bloody adorable in it). 

The words “I just played. I’m thirsty” are printed upside down on the inside front of the jersey. Apparently, if you take your mini soccer phenom into Tim Horton’s after practice, and she flips up the bottom of her little yellow jersey, Tim Horton’s will give her some apple juice.

I don’t know about you, but I, for one, recognize the value in learning the art of lifting one’s shirt in pursuit of free drinks. So thanks, Tim Horton’s, for ensuring that Dictator and her teammates will have 15 years of practice before they ever set foot in a bar!

May 6, 2012 @ 1:12 PM 37 notes

Damn You, No Name, and Your Identically-Packaged Products!

Dictator asked for some apple juice. I just poured her a big ol’ glass of chicken stock. 

I think it’s safe to say we’ve hit Health Canada’s recommended maximum sodium intake for the day.

May 5, 2012 @ 12:47 PM 26 notes

Sometimes, I’m a yelly parent, and while that’s always been the case on occasion, this has been happening more and more of late - Dictator does something that under normal circumstances, I’d respond to in a perfectly reasonable, here-are-the-consequences-for-your-actions way, but more recently have taken to just yelling, “No!” or “What are you doing??” or something equally reactive and not at all constructive. All this does is reduce her (and just as frequently, me) to tears. 

So I’m working on it.

Tonight, she and I were making cards, and she was happily stamping her little star stamp all over her star-stamped card, when she reached over and stamped her little star smack in the middle of my card, which was (until that point) star-free. I had a rough day and was really disproportionately upset about that little star in the middle of my otherwise starless card, but I bit my tongue, took a deep breath, and told her that she was only to stamp on her projects, not anyone else’s, unless she was told it was okay. 

“Okay, Mama,” she said. And then her little lip started to tremble, and she said, “Mama, you scared me,” and then she started to cry. 

You guys, I scared my kid because I didn’t yell. She is so used to the yelling that it scared her when I was controlled and reasonable. That crushed my heart. Crushed it. 

Worst mother ever. 

April 30, 2012 @ 9:09 PM 34 notes

Axl Must Be Really Hard Up for Cash

Sitting outside Dictator’s “ballet” class and listening to the techno version of Sweet Child of Mine coming from the step aerobics class next door.

My ears are bleeding.

April 28, 2012 @ 10:25 AM 11 notes
I’m actually really impressed, even I can’t do this.

Only one of our cats is smart enough to run when Dictator’s around. 

This is not the smart one.

April 26, 2012 @ 8:14 PM 4 notes

So this happened while I was in the bathroom. View Larger

So this happened while I was in the bathroom.

April 26, 2012 @ 7:46 PM 28 notes