A whole bunch of random.

A whole bunch of random.


So my littlest “Pants” is 4 and some change. You’d think by now I’d be able to understand her. She has this high squeaky voice, that just gets higher and squeakier the more frustrated she gets. I can only imagine the discouragement raging in her little noggin as she is trying to communicate things I just don’t understand.

Mom – why are you such a buffoon? I’m clearly saying *insert any phrase at least once daily that I cannot decipher*

So last week, she chanted nice and loudly in one of her goofy voices (slow mo, and kind of grumbly) “I am an idiot! and blah blah blah (undecipherable gibberish)” and then would laugh and laugh. I assumed this was an attempt to give her siblings a chuckle, as she usually employs naughty words to do so.

I insisted that “idiot” was not a word we use in this house, especially to describe ourselves. She was having none of it, and would say it louder and slower. Like she was trying to explain it to me, or just be defiant.

Everyday for a solid 3 days we had this encounter. Chanting “I am an idiot” and then laughing. Followed by mom phrases, “No you are not!” and “We don’t use that word in this house!” and “You will have a timeout!” To which she would respond “YES. I AAAAAAMMMMMM!”

Heaven save me.

Then yesterday after dinner I heard both girls singing “I am an idiot!” and I about lost it. I threw down my kitchen towel and marched my stern face and wagging finger into the other room. Then I heard it, a bit more clearly thanks to her big sister…

“I am an INDIAN and I am brave!”

Oh.

An Indian.

Practicing for your school Thanksgiving Feast/Play, I see.

Your mom is a buffoon.

“Pants, did you tell your teacher that ‘Indian’ is a bad word? ”

“Nope.”

BIGGEST SIGH OF ALL TIME.

Any who. She wasn’t even an indian at school. She chose Pilgrim. And look at the cuteness!

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As opposed to the #TBT from 2014. Still cute, but….

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I die.

Oh Ells. You’re just the best.

Anywho, my cold was definitely conjured from the depths of hell. It’s probably because of my lack of sleep, but COME ON. This was me anytime I had to get out of bed today.

via GIPHY

It’s been a long week, mainly due to my cold of death and Dave living at the office. I’ve had discussions with many spouses about this. If one spouse says to the other “I’ll be home from work at such and such an hour…” YOU BEST BE HOME AT SUCH AND SUCH AN HOUR. I completely understand late nights, if I’m warned. Someone, Dave, who shall remain nameless is still at the office (its 9pm) and was supposed to be home a “little after dinner”. Which – let’s be honest, could be worse. But when you have a day where you legitimately wonder if you need to change out of your pajamas to pick up the kids at 3:30 in the afternoon, and if the devil himself has actually taken up residency in your body because everything hurts…you’re counting down to the moment help arrives.

I’m being a baby, I realize this AND he’s bringing me home dinner, which is a start. I told him I wanted homemade pie and tea for dinner. We’ll see what he comes up with.

*Update – he literally just called me whilst I was typing this and asked what I wanted from Wendy’s.

I answered with passive aggressive silence.

ANYWAY, blogosphere I need your help. My amazing printer is offering me a discount on my Christmas cards this year if he can use my designs as some samples, which YES, but he needs the files by THANKSGIVING. I can’t take the pressure. I have no idea what to do this year. I feel like I’ve maxed out my creativity. As I’ve narrowed it down – it’s  become clear that it’s really just deciding which Christmas pun is less offensive/blasphemous. So I’m warning all within the sound of my voice, don’t be offended. “You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”

Also, Indians are great and I welcome any and all discussions about them.

And now, back to my Pandora full of Christmas music while I make 1 million Thanksgiving pies.

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