Throw Another Bird on the Barbie
on second thought...
It was a nice relaxing weekend until my son's let loose this shriek of horror/excitement (that's the same thing from little boys, isn't it?) from their Dad's backyard. It turned out the cats left a "present" by the backdoor. Little did the kitties know that dead birds were NOT on their wish list.
"It's a dead bird!" Reece yells, his big blue eyes looking ready to fall right out.
"What did you do with it?" we ask.
"I put it on the barbecue," he tells us.
We go look and sure enough, it's on the barbecue...not like ON THE GRILL (mmmm, pass me a nugget - we're weird, but not THAT weird), but on the sideboard. But still, gross.
"Can we bury it?" he asks.
"I think we'll give him a Viking send off," his Dad tells him.
"Put him in the fire pit," he explains.
THEN we did not have a fire right away (because it was early in the day) and I TOTALLY FORGOT.
Much later (after we had supper and I had CHICKEN) Reece comes up to me and asks "So, did Dad 'Burn the Bird'?"
And I actually thought he was talking about SUPPER.
Being a smartass, I respond "Around here we call it 'Squeezing the Cheeze' dude."
Their Dad hears me and lets out this snort of laughter.
"Okay. Did Dad 'Squeeze the Cheeze'?" he asks seriously.
"I have no idea," I tell him (thinking to myself, shouldn't he know? Wouldn't it smell?).
"Well, did you guys have a fire in the backyard yet?" he asks.
Then I get it. Shit!
Oh my God...I just taught my kid that a funeral for a bird was called a fart. I am so going to Hell.
I'll Encourage You...
but keep the licking to a minimum
"Mommy, if I was a cat I would just lick myself," Kaelan informs me.
I'm not even going to pretend to be pro-good-luck-with-that here.
"Heh, heh, yah. Then I'd poop in my litter," he tells me.
WTF Marketing Gurus?
My youngest son looses his boxers like there is some mysterious undies gnome snatching them from the house. Fucking gnomes, I knew those little buggers were evil.
It's hard to keep up with the loss of undies - where do they go? We're constantly on the Boxer Replacement Program.
The BRP must be pretty fucking popular because Boys Large boxer briefs are in short bloody supply in the stores. It's a gnome-o-demic. Maybe there's a garden spray for this.
I go shopping and raid all the frigging stores looking for the rare underpants when I finally find TWO DAMN PACKAGES - not that I'm getting bitter by this point (bitter, no - pissy, yes).
I check out the undies and they have the typical picture stuff that little boy undies have. But then I notice something on one of them... What the fuck?
I get encouraging READING for children, but who writes SCORE on boys undies? They're not even SPORT undies (no soccer balls...just a CROSSWORD). Seriously!
Bad news... I bought them. We're low on undies! Fucking gnomes.
If you Don't Want to Know - Don't Ask
My oldest son loves vans. Love isn't even a big enough word...obsess maybe? Somebody make me up a new word even bigger than that. I hear HUGE diatribes on how he needs one, how I should have one (someone poke my eyes out first because I ALREADY RODE THAT - YUCK). They are THE most fan-ta-bulous vehicles in the universe.
After I was just grilled on the reasoning behind square doors and why each door has locks on vans, Kaelan yells:
"Do I look crazy to you?"
Now you're NEVER Getting my Keys
"If I had your keys I'd just say you've done enough trouble, Mom," Kaelan informs me.
Thanks...thanks a lot.