OK, so there’s this “What would I look like as a dude” generator going around. I ain’t doin’ it. I’m terrified that 1) I’ll look like my dad and or any one of my three brothers. (Which is so bizarre) and 2) I’ll look better as a dude than I do as a girl. The fear is real. I ain’t doin’ it. #nomeansno
How’s my morning going? I caught my two year old sitting on the toilet eating a whole stick of butter.
Josh: “Hey mom, I got an idea.”
Me: “What?”
Him: “You fix me dinner while I play with my toys.”
Me: “I will counter your offer. You play with your toys up in your room and entertain TJ so I can make some dinner.”
Him: “Yep, that works.”
Guys, I just broke my own rule and I NEGOTIATED WITH A TERRORIST. Not just any terrorist, the littlest dictator in all of Chrisendom.
Also, I don’t think he realizes he’s just been had.
Dear random mom at the park: thanks for not looking at me with crazy eyes as I ran after the older two kids, pushing a stroller in one hand and wolfing down an old half of doughnut I found in the car in the other hand. And then I felt the need to tell you between bites that I was sorry I was eating food in front of you while trying to have a conversation. My social awkwardness is only magnified by raging hunger. I sling food at kids all day and sometimes forget to eat it myself. Thanks for not hovering over the kids and letting my tiny kids play with your bigger kids. They felt important. Thanks for the five minutes of real talk in between my gulps of doughnut. And most of all, thanks for not making me ask what your name is. I wouldn’t remember it anyway. You’re the best and maybe I’ll see you at the park again. And next time I’ll bring a doughnut for you. A fresh one. That hasn’t been licked by a child.
Me: Sam, would you like more raspberries?
Him: No.
Him: Mom, can I have more raspberries?
Me: Sure. We have plenty for you and the other you.