It’s been a while since I’ve written. Maybe it’s because I’ve been really happy? I tend to only write in my diary/blog when I’m angry. Poor Talin. I have two short novels from the ten years we’ve been together filled with all the things he’s done to piss me off over the years. It’s gotten to the point where when he sees me writing in it, he just rolls his eyes and stomps off. But I feel like it’s better that, than the alternative…(What could she mean? Yelling? Fighting? Divorce? Strangling him in his sleep? I’ll let you decide how dark and deep the rabbit hole is.).
But yeah, it’s an unusual time in my life. I am very, very happy. I’m off my antidepressants for almost a year now. I’m back to work at a job I’ve grown to truly love (first one of those ever). I’m working up some new hobbies since I still can’t afford to ride horses — I’m doing projects for the house, working out in the yard, and party planning (Oh, how I love to plan a party. Luke’s birthday is coming up so that’s kept me pretty busy.).
What our yard looked like BEFORE.
What our yard looks like after installing french drains, laying sod, making a bed for Luke’s new play set, and building a shed. We’ve been busy…
And for the first time in a year, I don’t want to throttle my own child. That’s right, it appears as if Luke has emerged out of the terrible twos just in time for his third birthday. Praise Jesus.
Luke and Talin triumphant in front of their creation. Luke “helped” by throwing Talin’s tools across the yard so he couldn’t find them and running in and out of it during its construction.
A dark picture, but this is what it looks like at night with Luke’s play set all up.
I give you bookshelves made out of gutters. I say I do these projects, but really I just pin them on Pinterest and print them out and make Talin do my projects for me. I’m more of a project manager. I manage Talin.
I had a bad dream that I beat the crap out of someone one night and I woke up at like 1 a.m. and came downstairs and made this train buffet for the Luke’s birthday party. The food will go in the little cars. Wut wut.
Now I finally know what people meant when they said, “Kids drive you crazy, but then they say/do the cutest things and it makes it all worth it!” I used to think that was a crock of shit. Because for the past year, he was such a little asshole (Sorry, Luke, but it’s the truth. Just own it, man.), that even when he did do cute things, I was completely unimpressed. Saying/doing one funny thing after you’ve just tortured me for ten hours on a Saturday does not equal “all worth it.” It equals “I don’t hate you for one second in this moment, but as soon as you start screaming about cookies at 8:00 at night after you didn’t eat ANY OF YOUR DINNER I PREPARED FOR THE SOLE FACT THAT I FEEL RESPONSIBLE TO FEED YOU A NUTRITIONAL MEAL AND IF YOU WEREN’T HERE I WOULD HAVE HAD NUTTER-BUTTERS FOR DINNER AND P.S. I HATE COOKING AND CLEANING I’ll want to lock you in a little cage with a bowl of water again like the rabid animal you’ve been acting like for the past year.”
Side-note: Parents are so annoying. So many parents I know are just enamored with their little geniuses. They are the smartest, funniest, most well-behaved little angels. And they are just smitten. And they just brag and brag. And oh what great parents they are, right? God floated right down from heaven and waved his magical perfect parenting wand over their heads and they’re just doing everything right. Whenever parents go on and on about their kids being so awesome I just know that there is karma in the world and that what goes around comes around and their little babies will grow up and cook meth in the clubhouse they made for them off Pinterest. I just know it. Thank you Karma, thank you. You are a gift. And something to be feared.
That said, although I don’t claim Luke to be a genius or especially well-behaved, he’s recently gotten hilarious. I take credit for none of it. Half the time he’s funny just because he’s two and almost everything he says is just all messed up. The other half of the time, I’ve realized, he’s finally developing his own little personality and the kid is funny. And I’m proud of him. For him. Because he’s a moody little shit like me sometimes. And he’s temperamental. And demanding. And I take credit for all that. That comes straight from my gene pool, baby (You’re welcome Bub.). And even though those things will on one hand make him a total bad-ass, a total take-no-shit-go-out-and-snatch-the-world-right-outta-space kind of a man (And thank God for that. At least I don’t have to worry about him making his dreams come true.), in the long run the only thing that’s going to save him in this short life from isolating himself from everyone he loves with that crazy-town behavior is if he’s funny and has a good heart. Thank God he’s got both. Otherwise he’d be terribly unpopular later in life. And rather unfulfilled. I speak from personal experience.
So while I detest bragging parents, I will now join them. And brag about a few of the hilarious things Luke has been doing/saying lately. He’s due, afterall. All I’ve done is complain about him for a while now.
Funny shit Luke says:
1. The kids in the house behind us standing in their clubhouse yelling over the fence to Luke, “Hey, dude, what’s your dog’s name?”
Luke, standing in his clubhouse on the other side of the fence yelling back, “Phoenix!” (Sounds like Penis).
Neighborhood kids, “What?“
Luke “Phoenix!” (read: Penis)
Neighborhood kids, “WHAT?!”
Luke, “PHOENIX! (Penis)”
Neighborhood kids to each other, “I don’t think he’s speaking English.”
Luke, “I SAID PHOENIX! Phoenix! Phoenix! Phoenix!” (Penis! Penis! Penis!) … LMFAO…
2. Talin and I have switched parenting duties and now he is waking up with Luke and taking him to school in the mornings and I am picking him up in the evenings and putting him to bed. As such, I have changed the bed-time routine and we are now praying to God (because if we don’t we are TOTALLY going to Hell) each night. Luke calls prayers “Dear Gods” or “Amens.” As in, “Mommy lets do Dear Gods.” And then he slaps his hands together and rubs them like Mr. Miagi. The other night during “Amens”:
Me: “Dear God, Thank you for the stars…”
Luke: “Thank you for stars…”
Me: “Thank you for the sky…”
Luke: “Thank you for sky…”
Me: “Thank you for…(I can’t think of anything, so there is a pause)”
Luke: “For apples.”
Me: “Oh yes. Thank God for apples.”
Luke: “And for bananas.”
Me: “Yes, what would we do without them.”
Luke: “And ants.”
Me: “And ants?”
Luke sits up in bed. We are in the dark and I can barely see, but I can see how big his eyes have gotten. “But Mommy the ants bite me.”
Me: “Well it wasn’t my idea to thank God for them.”
Luke: “But they bite me Mommy.”
Me: “Probably shouldn’t pray for them then.”
Luke: “They’re gonna bite me Mommy.”
Me: “Well not right now though because we are inside and they are outside.”
Luke: “Thank God.”
3. Each night, when I get home from work, there is complete chaos. Luke is freaking out because he’s starving (and no, a snack will not do, he wants to sit down and grub immediately). Phoenix is crying because she wants to go out and then she wants attention. I am trying to make dinner just like Martie back in the day: I have my coat and purse on because I don’t even have a moment to put them down and I am browning ground beef for tacos in a skillet on the stove. Luke is standing at my feet screaming for food even though he can see with his sweet little eyes that I am trying my best to cook him something. Phoenix trots back inside from going out to pee and I run over and kick the door shut, Luke following me every step of the way FREAKING OUT. I dump Goldfish in a ziplock baggy, pour him some juice and shove it in his face and so he is now standing beside me sobbing and shoving Goldfish in his mouth and choking on apple juice and now we have Phoenix sitting on the other side crying to be pet. They are battling for who can cry the loudest. I swear to God they egg each other on. I just try to ignore them even though I think my head might pop off and I feel like I’m going to explode from sheer stress (I cannot handle too much auditory stimulation and in this way I know that I have fucking WRONGED someone in my past because God gave me these loud ass motherfucking family members).
At some point, Luke surrenders and stops freaking out for a moment, but Phoenix is still whining and moaning. I could stop and pet her, but my rationale is that the kid is the priority and I gotta hurry up and get food on the table. She cries cries cries. Luke stands there by the stove eating his goldfish and watching her, a look of utter disgust on his face.
Luke: “Phoenix crying.”
Me: “Yes, she wants some attention. Why don’t you pet her?”
Luke: “No Mommy.”
Me: “Ok, fine. Don’t pet her.”
Luke: “I not pet her Mommy. Phoenix is a big baby.”
Me: “Seriously? I know you didn’t…”