Blame it on the Chickens

We were in the car the other day when the subject of mothers came up. Specifically why mothers had to be so bossy and mean. Like me. "Well, on the bright side, you only have one mother to deal with." I told the girls. "I had two."
"TWO mothers bossing you around!?!" they exclaimed in horror.
"Yep. But then again, I also get twice the love, so that's good."
"Tutu and Mimi are your mothers, right mommy?" asked Ava "How can they both be your mother?"
"Well, Tutu and Poppy were my mother and father when I was born, and then they stopped being married. Then Poppy married Mimi and she became my mother too."
"But why did Tutu and Poppy stop being married?" asked Cate

****Danger! Danger! Danger!******Back away from topic!****Danger! Danger! Danger!****

"Weellllll...." I began, silently cursing myself for going down this particular conversational road....

"It was because of the chickens, right mommy?" says Ava.
"The chickens?"
"Yes. Because Tutu had all those chickens and Poppy didn't like them. So he married Mimi instead because she only has dogs and cats and he liked dogs and cats".

"Yes. That's just it. It was because of those darn chickens."

See? Someone needs to tell the Republicans it's not the gays that are threatening marriage - it's the chickens they need to be keeping an eye on......

Marriage = man + woman NOT Marriage = man + woman + chickens

Dyslexia? I wish.

For our visit to Chicago I packed the tops I had embroidered for the girls so as to show them to their grandma. Ava, of course, happily put hers on and showed grandma how she had helped pick the colors, etc. etc. Cathryn, on the other hand, took one look at the top and proceeded to have a nuclear-power-plant-worthy meltdown.

How could I possibly ask her to wear this horrific monstrosity? Didn't I know that she hated it? HATED! IT! and would NEVER wear it, not in a million billion infinity years! EVER!

Just in case I was not sure if she liked it or not.

Fine. Got it. You don't like the shirt. BUT, and this is a big BUT, let's take a moment to talk about civility. And how, if someone spends a great deal of effort making you something, you need to be grateful. Even if you don't like it. Even if that person gave birth to you.

NOOOOOOO!!!! I will not EVER like it! I *HATE* grateful! NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!

So I told her that she did not have to wear the shirt, I wasn't going to force her, but I thought she was behaving very rudely, she had hurt my feelings and I didn't want to talk to her for a while. And I left the room and went to read a magazine full of young, single, childless women, clearly enjoying their young, single, childless lives. A few minutes later Cate comes up and yells "Fine! I'm SORRY!". To which I reply: Cathryn, you are old enough to understand that when you are rude and hurt someone's feelings, yelling "I'm sorry" at them isn't enough to make things right. I am still angry with you. Please leave me alone. She throws herself to the ground in mortal agony; my words have wounded her to the quick! When she sees that I am ignoring her she huffs off dramatically. (Probably going to tell on me to grandma)

She comes back about 5 minutes later and thrusts a piece of paper into my face. "I made this for you" she snots. It is a drawing of a woman (presumably me) and a little girl (presumably her) standing together. Both are smiling. On it she has scrawled LOVE MOMMY, although the "love" part is backwards (E-V-O-L; isn't that precious?). My heart softens. "Are you telling me you love me?"

"No. It says 'Evil Mommy'."

Of course. Thanks, kid. Have I told you lately that you are NOT my favorite?

Friendship

I went walking with Michelle this morning, around the track at Mt. SAC. As we were heading up one of the more killer hills I was suddenly attacked by a bee. I say ATTACKED. I have never witnessed this type of behavior in Apoidea, and let me tell you it was quite unsettling. The thing lodged itself in my hair, at which point it became entangled in my -ahem- glorious mane. Seriously, I could not get this thing out, and I could hear it buzzing around, close to my ear, just trying to get into my brain. I'm jumping all over the trail, hair flying wildly around me, yelling BEE! BEE! BEE! at the top of my lungs. Michelle finally stops laughing and attempts to help me by combing her fingers through my hair, saying "I don't feel anything. Are you sure it's still in there?" YES! YES! DON'T YOU HEAR IT BUZZING?!? She continues to comb through my hair, all the while yelling at me to keep still dammit! This goes on for a few minutes: her combing, me wailing, the bee getting angrier and angrier, at which point Michelle proclaims "I just want you to know I AM NOT CHANGING YOUR DIAPERS. You are on your own." At which point the bee is finally extracted from my hair and promptly goes after Michelle, because it senses her evilness.
Now who's a whiny bitch, huh? HUH?
In the end the bee flew off, probably disgusted with us both. And while Shell may not ever change my diapers she was there for me when I needed her today, and really what more can you ask of a friend?