The girl with a dragon tattoo. On her butt cheeks.

As of late, Scotty P has gotten a new tattoo. Now, as much as I'd love to get a tattoo, I don't want to sit through that pain. *yeah yeah yeah, sissy, I know* Also, I don't know where I would get my tattoo... I know what I want, I just don't know where. Slight problem. I also enjoy the fact I don't have tattoos, as to where it seems everyone else does.

Now, tattoos are always open for discussion in the house. If any of the kids ever came to us and said, they wanted a tattoo, depending on what it was and where it went, we would more than likely say yes, drive them down there, and help them pay for it. 

There is nothing wrong with tattoos and we don't want our kids to ever think there is. Growing up, I was always told tattoos and any piercings aside from the ear were wrong. This is not the mentality I want my children to have. Ever. 

Now, if I had to guess, Abi will be the first one to get a tattoo the minute she turns 18 and it's going to be bold and she will have no shame about it. Olivia will end up with one, a small one behind the ear or somewhere it's not noticeable. Freddie, I'm still on the fence about. Like me, he loves looking at them on other people, the idea of a needle freaks him out, so only time will tell on him. 

Abi asking questions about her Daddy's new tattoo and it's meaning, started coming up with her own ideas for her tattoo... in 12 years. 

Abi: I want a dragon like Daddy.
Me: Okay, that's fine. Do you know where you want it?
Abi: My stomach. So when I get fat it gets bigger.

/facepalm/

Me: Abi... you know, there is a possibility it will stretch out. And you're like Daddy, you're not going to gain any weight no matter how much we feed you.
Abi: Yeah, I guess you're right. What about on my butt? 
Me: Well... Daddy is going to have to approve that one, but if you want to sit through that pain, knock yourself out.

Sigh. You know, I didn't think she would ask that. Leave it to my kids.

Deflatable boobies!

This week has been an interesting one to say the least... as I work into my second month as a stay at home mom of three with two on Spring Break I have hit some interesting highs... and some lows. Not gonna lie.

It's been rough, but it's been fun. As I told my brother tonight, I always had a huge respect for stay at home moms, but now I have a whole different level of respect... especially those that have three or more kids... of girls. That talk. Non. Stop. ALL. DAY. 

With my girls I am learning there is nothing, nothing <-- I can't stress this enough, that is not subject to conversation. Anything is open to discussion. Which is fine, I always want my children to be open and be able to talk with me and with Scotty P. 

One of the things we stress in this house is we love everyone for who they are (even if they are jackasses) and no matter how they look. They are learning, and have learned, even mean people just need a little love and some times it takes simple little gestures to help people who are having a hard day. 

Yesterday, this sparked a conversation while the girls were playing with Barbie and how she looked. The girls have a couple of Barbies they play with which were presents for Christmas and they love taking in the car with them when we go places. Livie noted there were a lot of blonde women standing around and her Barbie was blonde too. 

This lead to me talking about how Barbie should probably pull down her skirt because her vajay was going to show to all the women and men walking by. So as the girls fell over laughing, they explained, she did have panties on and undressed her. Low and behold, she does have panties on, which got us onto the conversation of, what would we look like if we all looked like Barbie... AH. Now, they are thinking.

I start examining Barbie and talking to the girls.

A few things I notice:

1. Barbie does not have a vajay. 
2. They have made her legs thicker then when I was growing up.
3. They have shrunk her boobs.

So as we are discussing these things the following conclusions were made.

1. We would not be able to pee or poop, according to Abi.
2. It is probably easier for her to stand so she doesn't fall over with her boobs.
3. If she had bigger boobs she would fall over.

This then spurred us into the conversation to, how Barbie use to have bigger boobs and thinner legs, when I was growing up. And if she were real she would fall over because her boobs would be so big she wouldn't be able to stand. As I finished this statement, Abi looked at me in horror and said - OH. NO. Her boobs would deflate if she fell over and it would go pppfffffttttt..... 

Not exactly, but close enough. If my girls want to think fake boobs = air, for now, I'll let them.

Deep, deep, deep, deep BITCH

If anyone knows one thing about us, it's the fact we cuss in this household and we are not ashamed of it. We also allow our children to cuss (within reason) and as long as it's used properly. Look, they are going to learn it sooner or later, and it's going to be sooner, with the proper context and certain rules.

We had a good giggle tonight because as we were discussing dinner we were trying to figure out what would be had. Pizza was the end vote, which is fine, I'm over cooking for the week *yeah, shut it, it's only Tuesday, so what?* and the kids were discussing whether they liked regular or deep dish better.

I could care less, Livie voted on original and Abi apparently wanted deep bitch.

As Abi expressed her love for deep dish pizza her words got jumbled after many "deep, deep, deep, deep" words, she came out with bitch for dish.

So it may be a few days before we end up with a "deep bitch" but tonight's dinner will be a deep dish instead. It will just have to suffice.  

Now and Then

Today when I picked up Freddie from school he proudly announced they did Social Studies in class today. When I asked what this entailed, he said, nothing.

Okay... let's try this again. 

Me: So, social studies taught you nothing today?
Freddie: It taught me about Now and Then. 
Me: Now and Then, interesting.
Freddie: Yeah, do you know what that is?
Me: I do.
Freddie: I am 'Now' and you are 'Then'. 

Uh... that's not exactly how I was planning on that conversation to go.

Freddie: Grandma is Then Then. When I have kids, I'll be Then and you'll be Then Then...

Anyone want a child? He's cute. 

Look what I made, everyone!

One of Freddie's favorite things is helping around the house and helping me out. Before he was 2, his father and I separated, he's always been my "man of the house" and any time he sees I'm doing something, he stops and asks if I need help. Most of the time, I let him, if it's not involving a hot stove, this way I keep the balance of letting him know he's still welcome to be my helping hand and showing him positive reinforcement with helping around the house. 

This weekend we attended a family get-together and decided to make a dessert for our potluck dish. Behold, Irish Dirt Cake (all credits go to a collaboration of people on Pinterest and my childhood)

While making this dessert I learned two things: 

1. Instant pudding really is instant.
2. Your child will take all your credit even though he did only 2 things.

The first two batches of pudding I cooked over the stove and it took forever. Okay, maybe 10 minutes, but I don't have the patience for pudding and making it, by the 2nd minute, I'm already going, why did I choose this dessert, I don't have the attention for this....

Pudding. Done. 

About the time I'm done with the pudding, Freddie is waltzing into the kitchen asking to help. I need him to set up the cups. He says okay, he sets up the cups and asks, what's next? I give him some Oreo cookies and a plastic bag and ask him to crush the Oreo cookies.

Cookie Crushing done and Freddie is over it.

Lesson 1 of the day:

Fast forward to the part where I need two more large boxes of pudding. I send Scotty P to the store and he comes back with the pudding. He asks if he can help, and I'm like HELL YES! He can make the pudding because it bores me and I don't want to stand over the stove for another 10 minutes... 

My back is turned to the kitchen, and I hear the pudding open and the milk pour into the pot, hear the stirring, but don't hear the stove turn on (it's gas, there was no clicking) and I see Scotty P walk away and upstairs. I'm thinking - Oooookay, maybe he forgot something, he'll be right back. 5 minutes goes by and he comes downstairs in one of the new shirts we bought earlier the day, shows it to me, and goes back upstairs.... By now I'm thinking - Alright, fine, I'll do it myself. I go to the stove to turn on the gas and notice the pudding is made. This man is a fucking magician.

One thing you should know about Scotty P is he's a genius. And I'm not saying this because he's reading it and I have to ;) but he really is. I go to the stairs and I call him and I ask how the hell did he make pudding without fire. He says, it's instant. Milk, Pudding, Mix, Done. WHAT. THE. FUCK. For me, instant is 10 minutes ON THE STOVE. Had I known this shit EARLIER, I would have gotten this instant pudding the first time.... 

I obviously don't cook pudding often. 

Lesson 2 of the day:

Fast forwarding again... all cups are done and prepped the finishing touches needed are the worms. Bring in Freddie, who has been waiting FOREVER (because you know that's how long it took for us to make this) for this part because he knows he can eat a couple of these worms while helping. All worm are on cups and we are done. We get to the pot luck and as people start arriving I'm sitting in the living room, and I over hear Freddie greet some of the guests (he was apparently part of the welcoming committee). As he is talking to the guest, I hear him say, "Look, what I made for everyone..." He goes over to the fridge, opens it, and shows them the desserts we made.

That's nice. The desserts he made. He's lucky he's cute.

E-I-E-I-O

Dear marketing team at Gieco,

You have succeeded in this household. Not with me, not with Scotty P, but with my three children.

Every Wednesday we work on spelling with the younger two. On this particular Wednesday COW was our first spelling word.

Let me set the scene for you...

I'm in the kitchen cooking, spelling list in hand waiting for the younger two to get their paper and pencils and find a spot to sit.

Livie is in the dining room working on her math homework.

Abi settles down at Scotty P's desk.

Freddie settles down at my desk.

Everyone is ready...

Me: Okay - the first word is COW.

In unison - ALL THREE CHILDREN: C-O-W E-I-E-I-O. Dag Nabbit. (or Rabbit if you are Freddie)

*giggling uncontrollably*

Me: Okay you three, you know in the spelling test you can not throw in that last part, RIGHT?

Three little people: Yes Mommy... *still giggling*

It was like I had been set up for that one and I walked straight into it.

So thank you, Gieco.

I'm sure the teachers world wide thank you too.

Mommy, how much does it cost to make you?

Freddie is putting together the concept of money and addition. If you have this many pennies then you have a nickel. Two nickels is equal to a dime and so on and so forth. 

He also seems to think if you pull out two four hundred dollars (because in his mind this exists) you can take in the Kia and come out with a Toyota.

So take it for what it's worth.

With his love for addition, money, and my age we came across one of the most random conversations known to man. And we have some pretty random conversations.

Freddie: Mommy?

Me: Yes?

Freddie: Do you know my Daddy is old and you're young.

Me: Yes. (This statement always makes me happy.)

*a moment of silence*

Freddie: Mommy?

Me: Yes, buddy.

Freddie: How much does it cost to make you?

Me: Uh. Come again?

Freddie. How much does it cost to make you?

*sitting quietly*

Now this can go one of two ways....

1. I can be completely sarcastic and talk to him about the price of condoms back in 1982, but that would involve a whole other conversation and also the repercussion of the ex demanding to know why our 6 year old knows about the birds and the bees. 
2. I can ask what the hell he is talking about. 

I'm choosing the safe route.

Me: What do you mean?

Freddie: How many nickles or dimes would I need to make 31?

Me: *whew*

Freddie: We can make you 14 today if you want.

Me: How about we keep me 21 or older so I can drink, I don't want to lose those privileges. 

Freddie: Okay, between 21 and 30. Done.

And this, my friends, is why I love my son. And anyone who knows me, knows he's just like me. 

I wouldn't trade his heart, soul, or humor for the world (esp since he's my mini me). We have such good laughs and he's such a trooper. Thank you Freddie. Any by the way, Mommy is worth a lot more then three dimes and a penny. JUST SAYING.

Dag Rabbit.

Just one of those sayings, you know, Dag Rabbit...

As the kids sat outside this weekend playing Trouble, we overheard this conversation as we drank our coffee:

Livie: I'm coming to get you.... 
Freddie: Yes! You missed me.
Livie: Game isn't over yet, boy.
Abi: Bring it on, sister. Go again, you got a six.

*Pop*

Livie: YES!
Freddie: DAG RABBIT!
Livie: *laughing* It's NABBIT.
Freddie: Oh, whatever.

I love Freddie and his sayings whether they are completely wrong on purpose or he doesn't even know he's saying them wrong, but from here on out any time I hear it I know I'm going to mentally say, Rabbit instead of Nabbit.

Pooping out the letter "N"

In the midst of all the chaos we decided our monster, the dog, not one of the kids *hardy har har snort* needed to have someone else around the house to play with and help ease her (and our) transition into her older life and eventually into doggy heaven since dogs her breed tend to live 9-10 years at best and we are on year 8.

Insert Petra, the puppy. I say puppy even though she's 2 years old, so she's not a totally puppy. I still call the Monster a puppy.

This is Petra, she's sitting in Kiki Monster's bed kinda as a fuck you. Petra tried to get into the bed with Kiki and I. Kiki growled at her so Petra went and sat in Kiki's bed.

Even though Petra is two, she still has some of those puppy "tendencies". One being, chewing or eating things that may, or may not, (and she thinks they do) belong to her. This did not exclude the letter "N" sticker which Freddie was using earlier today.

Since the little people have been asking for allowances, I figured since we had time, Freddie could make his piggy bank for his allowance since he didn't want to use his regular one. As he decorated his box with colors and stickers he noticed we had some foam letters.

As I sit on the couch talking to him, Petra lays between him and I, asleep (so we thought) and he starts spelling B-A-N-K. He puts his letters in order and starts peeling the backs off to stick to his box. B-A.... Uh. PETRA. That's my N! 

*sigh*

Mommy. Petra's going to be pooping out an N later.

Thanks Freddie, thanks for the heads up, BUT I'm not looking for it later. You're gonna have to just find another one in your bag of 300 pcs. Pretty sure they put more than one "N" in there.