When the realization finally occurred to me that I am the lone vagina in this household, I could have cried. I could have screamed- maybe I SHOULD have screamed. Thinking about how disgusting the toilets get and that I’m the only one who cleans them makes me want to scream on a daily basis- but I didn’t.
What I did instead was try to see the bright side. I know, right? That’s awfully optimistic! I figured that I didn’t have any voodoo magic to magically turn a house of peen into a beef curtain factory so I was going to have to make the best of what my uterus decided to pump out. Plus, I simply couldn’t imagine either of my little wieners being females. They have ridiculously nice hair but they would make a couple of funky looking girls.
|Froo-froo HELL NO!|
The benefits of boys, once I started to really think about it, weren’t all that hard to come up with. No frilly pink froo-froo bullshit. I hate the color pink. And it washes out my skin. Can’t have baby making me looking bad! Dolls freak me the fuck OUT. Seriously- I had one doll I locked in a cabinet when I was little because I swore the thing was possessed and even as an adult 20-some odd years later I cannot sleep in the same
room with them. I don’t like dirt or mud or sports… but I do like to burp and curse and make fart jokes!
Even better- I would have protectors. Big strong men. Unafraid of anything! Bug destroyers!
So what if I get a little wigged out about being home alone when I’m nearly *gulp* 30? So what if I, to this day, refuse to enter a bathroom if it doesn’t have a light on and I will NOT look at a mirror in the dark! I may understand that (DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING WORD ALOUD) Candyman is a fictional character in an incredibly cheesy movie from the 90s- but I DO believe there is scary shit out there that is just waiting for the right opportunity to come through the damn mirror or pull you under the bed. It might not sound rational to you- but hey, I’ve had a lot of experiences that no one can explain in any other way, I’ve done years upon years of research, and whether anyone agrees or not- I believe in the paranormal. I’m not ashamed of that. And at times it scares the SHIT out of me. BOYS would protect me from this! They wouldn’t be the idiots in the spooky ghost movies to go running up the stairs instead of out the front door. They would karate kick a ghost fucker into oblivion (I know that REALLY doesn’t make sense.) More seriously, I knew that I would just feel safer with boys around. Bug killing ghost scaring bad-asses that don’t play with creepy ass dolls. It doesn’t get much better than that!
There are not “experts” in parenthood- no matter how many people try to claim to be- because there are some things that jsut take time and experience (and maybe being wrong over and over and over again) to learn. One of those things is that just because you have the opposite gender from you doesn’t mean the child isn’t going to be anything like you. I may have gotten “stuck” with two penises (lordy that sounds wrong when I repeat it back to myself)- but these penises are exactly. like. me.
MOSTLY- I find that this is awesome. It gives me a little twinge of excitement every time someone says they look like me or act like me or make the same facial expressions- like MUAHAHAHA your man genes could not overcome the pure awesome that is ME! Booyah! I know parenthood isn’t a competition, but what would marriage be without ribbing our spouses every now and then?
I hate to say it- but since we are ALWAYS honest here, I have to tell you that these boys who are supposed to be my knights in shining armor (even if that shiny substance is a thin film of snot, as it usually is) being just like me also works AGAINST me.
I’m now going to tell you a story. You might call it a ghost story… you might call it ridiculousness. Either way- I’m telling it.
This house is haunted. I won’t go into the entire story (but you can read a little of the background here) – but it is. It has active times and dormant times. I had just been saying not long ago that it’s been quiet for TOO long. That’ll teach me to open my big fat mouth.
Last week, I once again found the upstairs bathroom window open. Not the kind of open where it can just jostle the top window down from little anklebiters running around the house like maniacs. We occasionally find the window opened UPWARD. And no matter how many different ways we try to debunk this by recreating it through different methods- we can’t. And every time this window being open means a new start of an active period.
The next day, after putting the kids to bed, I came down the stairs and went into the kitchen to get myself some water when I stepped into something VERY very wet. Not just wet, but SOAKING wet. And the ONE time I decided to put stupid foot condoms (aka socks) on. Drenched. The kitchen floor was drenched. I’m thinking- SHIT, the pipes under the sink are leaking! But then I see that the right side of the counter by the sink is also DRENCHED. So at that point I think- okay, this has to be the sink overflowing or a leak behind the faucet or maybe the window.
Behind the sink was dry. In the sink was dry. The left side of the sink and the counter beside it was dry. The window was closed and the sil was dry.
I call Thomas downstairs, as he is usually the voice of reason when I hear things go bump in the night or can’t explain something away- and I trade places with him to read the boys a nighttime story. When I came back down about 10 minutes later- the water was cleaned up but there stood Thomas, in the same place, completely puzzled.
Just as I had thought- there was no leak. No dripping pipe or overflowing sink or open window. There was no leak through the ceiling or the walls or the cabinets. Everything else that could have caused this water to be on the right side of the sink and the floor was dry as a bone. He could not explain it.
By that point I was feeling pretty secure in my decision that the strange happenings were yet again happening- but what can you do? My whole life has been full of this stuff- so I went about my way- and the house became quiet again. TOO quiet if you ask me. Until today.
After lunch, I took Parker upstairs to brush his teeth before nap time. For the past two days he has been carrying around this stupid little flashlight which I swear the sole purpose of is to blind me- but I digress. It goes everywhere with him- including up the stairs to the bathroom to brush his teeth. As I was putting
toothpaste on his toothbrush, he decided it would be a grand idea to shine his flashlight down the sink’s drain.
Let me just stop right here and tell you that I do NOT like that sink. It is weird, has NO stopper, and is very black and deep and it ALWAYS wreaks no matter how many different home and store remedies I have tried. It’s a weird sink, and it gives me the creeps- and although I had NO desire to look down this drain as Parker was shining the light into it I guess I’m a glutton for punishment because I just couldn’t help myself.
Over the sink I leaned, it felt like slow motion- and the instant I peered down the drain I saw something illuminated by the flashlight coming back up at me. I know it sounds like I’m being dramatic but it looked like fingers. Human fingers. I gasped and jumped backwards and my throat made this weird EEUURRGGHHAAAA sound (seriously- do it out loud. you’ll understand then)- scaring the shit out of Parker- “MOMMY WHAT?? WHAT IS IT???”
I told him that I didn’t know, but I would NOT be looking down there again, and NEVER to shine a light into a drain again.
“Mommy, was it a pider? I afwaid of piders!”
So… no ghost protection and no spider protection. There goes my penis protection theory.
I may never know what lurks down that sink besides hair, old mouth funk and toothpaste deposits- and what I saw today was likely a figment of my freaky imagination- and I will NOT be attempting to find out. I dare say it might be even worse if it is a spider living down that thing.
Brushing my teeth downstairs where the drain is COVERED and doesn’t smell like death FROM NOW ON!
@wildblueME I just don't tell them what I'm making anymore
Winning Advice from an 8-year old goo.gl/fb/MmhfYU
Y'know what's awesome? I don't even have to waste time trying new recipes because my kids will tell me they hate it before I start cooking.
@Julieannefiu I still sing WRAPPED UP LIKE A DOUCHE. I think they're lying about the "real" lyrics
I sang SO many embarrassingly wrong song lyrics with such confidence. pic.twitter.com/Ww5TaAxY3r
@AndreaPerez0217 Not that I'm biased, but I highly recommend ;) Hope you enjoy!
Parenthood: you think it's gonna be all hugs & booboo kisses, but it's really cooking food everyone hates & scraping boogers off of walls.