Today I’m a part of the Fly on the Wall group post with 14 other wonderbloggers where we show you a glimpse of what it would be like to be a fly on the wall in our home. It won’t surprise you that I’m a “writes at the last minute” type person. This works for me. Unless I come down with a stomach flu. I tried. I really did. I kept my laptop by my bed all night hoping I’d feel better and come up with something. Alas, I’m struggling to even sit up and type this. I’m not going to back down, though!
I’m going to rally!
Well, sort of. I’m going to recycle a Fly on the Wall from a few months ago. It’s still totally relevant and enjoyable. A lot of you haven’t seen it so it won’t make a hair’s difference. Some of you have. If you’re shaking your fist and saying, “dammit, I wanted something clever from Beth today! Something new and funny!” I can only pet your head and offer you this Lollipop. << go on. Press it. All your cares will fall away and we’ll be besties again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a porcelain throne to hug.
Don’t forget to check out my fellow Fly-ers and read their greatness. Their links are at the bottom of this post.
*A FLY ON THE WALL – TELIHO STYLE*
The actual conversation (if it indeed qualifies as such) that occurred on the way to school. Myself and my two boys. To makes things easier (and protect the obnoxious), I’ll use their nicknames, D-man (9yo) and Cheesy (6yo):
D-Man: I HATE school. I can’t believe I have to go back to that awful place. I HATE third grade.
ME: I know it’s tough, buddy, but you can do it. Just hang in there. Things will seem bet–
D-Man: –I talked to this older kid and he said he hated third grade the most. He said it sucked out of all the grades.
ME: What older kid?
Cheesy: Do rabbits have penises?
ME: What? Wait, D, what older kid did you talk to? How old?
ME: Where on Earth are you talking to thirteen year olds?
Cheesy: MOM! Do rabbits have penises?
D-man: On Xbox. Hey, did I tell you my dream about the robot?
D-man: I already told you about my dream?
ME: No. Rabbits have penises.
Cheesy: And balls? *lots of giggles from the back seat*
ME: *sigh* Yes, if they are boys.
D-Man: So this giant robot made of Minecraft brick comes crashing out of the ocean….
Cheesy: Does Milo have balls? (our dog)
ME: Well, uh, he did. I mean, yeah. But he’s neutered. *immediate regret* rewind rewind rewind
D-Man: ….and then he twirls this snowman monster thing over his head….
Cheesy: He’s noonered! What does THAT mean?!
ME: It’s an operation dogs have so they can’t make puppies. please Lord get me out of this
D-Man: …..smashes this grey pile of ash that sprays up and blows the robot’s head off……
Cheesy: I thought only girls made babies?
ME: Cheesy, I can’t do the birds and the bees right now. Let’s tal—
Cheesy: BEES HAVE PENISES TOO?!?!
I’m home alone about 10AM. Kids are in school. Hubs calls.
ME: Yes? How may I help you?
ME: On the computer. Whatareyoudoing?
HIM: I called to give you a couple reminders.
ME: Great. You know how much I like that.
HIM: I thought you might. I need you to be sure and take the ipad mini back today and see if they can replace it. The boys can’t be playing on it with that crack in the screen.
HIM: And it would be great if you returned that hat to the party store before someone ruins it.
ME: Yep. That would be great.
HIM: And while you’re out, you should take your car to that place I told you about and get the oil changed because they’ll also wash it for you and your car is disgusting.
ME: My car is fine.
HIM: Your car is awful, Beth. Are you going to do any of those things?
ME: I will only commit to putting them on my list.
HIM: Your list.
HIM: And you’re going to put oil change on your list?
ME: Probably not.
HIM: Why? I don’t understand what the problem is…
ME: You know I hate going to the oil change place. I designated that a man job long ago.
ME: I find it very sexy when you do man jobs.
HIM: Reeeealllly. Well, now we’re talkin’. (I can actually hear him smiling)
ME: *eye roll* it’s so damn easy
It’s past bedtime. The 6yo comes downstairs with what appears to be glitter and a piece of paper and approaches me at the couch. I’m limp with fatigue, and no longer care if anyone is in jammies or has brushed their teeth. I have deferred to daddy and am attempting to escape reality by engrossing myself in
Twitter and Facebook a book on orbital mechanics. Yet here is a child in my face with craft supplies.
6yo: Mommy. Mommy. You know that thing where you put glitter on the paper and shake it off and it makes dots?
6yo: Can we do that?
ME: Absolutely not.
ME: What do you mean why? You’re supposed to be in bed, young man. It’s late. And we don’t even have glue.
6yo: Yes we do. *disappears around corner*
He’s out of sight, therefore, officially out of my mind. This is a bad thing, because approximately 11 minutes later, Dad calls from upstairs wondering where the 6yo is. It’s about this time that I realize glitter boy is sweeping the kitchen.
You’re smart people. You know my child spilled glitter everywhere. But what I need to explain to you is this was not ordinary glitter. This was *special* fine-as-powder-fairy-dust glitter that I bought for a specific teacher craft last year, WHICH IS WHY IT WAS HIDDEN UPSTAIRS IN MY OFFICE WHERE HE GOT IT, THE LITTLE BURGLAR. You can’t even tell any is missing from the vial, yet it is every-fricken-where. No, really. You don’t understand. I can’t envision a scenario where this glitter will not be a part of our house for the rest of our lives.
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