Not Me! Monday

I do NOT have a son who thinks he is a super hero.

NOT Spiderman.

NOT Superman.

NOT Batman.

NOT Ben-10. Whoever the heck THAT guy is.

At one time, our little NON-Spiderman had a pair of Spiderman pajamas with webs for wings!

He was NOT a little overzealous in his imitation of his Super hero.

We did NOT have to make a series of signs for the home that said:

NO FLYING IN THE HOUSE!!!

NOPE.

NOT in our house.

Not Me! Monday - or....Did I Dooooooo THAT?

At a recent Easter dinner on the Golfa Mexico,

Captain Jake Sparrow

would NOT

eat his oh-so-fresh-and-fried Golfa Mexico grouper.

Not YUMMY!

We did NOT try and try again to NOT convince him that the Grouper cheeks were NOT fish sticks.

That did NOT sound reasonable, did it NOT?

NOPE.

So, once again, I was NOT faced with yet another Sparrow v. Rojo quagmire.

NOPE.

Those NEVER happen.

I did NOT admit defeat.

I did NOT very convincingly tell my five year old pirate that the NOT oh-so-freshly-fried grouper cheeks

were

NOT

fried

chicken

nuggets

just like McDonalds.

Upon hearing this UNtruth, the Sparrow did NOT shove every Grouper cheek he could find into his mouth like a "chinkmunk"

Nope.

And, no.

No he did NOT.

Don't you even think it!

He did NOT.....

ask for..........

ketchup.....

to accompany his (NOT) fresh Grouper.

My son is NOT growing up on the Golfa Mexico.

He does NOT live on a gorgeous chain of lakes.

He is NOT the pirate of his own ship.

And he most certainly does NOT dip his grouper into ketchup, proclaiming them to be chicken!

NO WAY!

He sure did love his favorite Aunt Mermaidelicious' homemade hush puppies though!

Or did he?

~

The Rant of the Listening Dreamer

~

Ah.........

The allure of a quiet evening.

Ah.........

NOT!

One kid, with the PP&P virus.

(Poop, Puke, and Pain).

The other kid, the one they call "the Captain", oblivious to the goings-on of the rest of the world, catching up on the Sprout Network's "Happy Birthday to every four year old in the entire universe" party.

That kid, trying to convince me that it is one o'clock in the morning, when it is in fact 8:00 P.M.

I told him, no, kiddo, it's 8 o'clock.

And of course, he failed at his debate response of "You're wrong, Mom! Cause this show that I'm watching only comes on at TWELVE ONE CENTRAL."

He has been cracking us up lately, this Captain of ours, with his 'TWELVE ONE CENTRAL'. He will ask us if he can watch something, and we will ask what time it comes on, and he will ALWAYS respond with the CENTRAL time zone as well as the Eastern one. It's quite funny, actutally.

So, I opted to NOT debate this Captain of ours, and rightly chose to tend to his PP&P sister. Which was the absolute correct choice to make, as one of the P's was flying EVERYWHERE. Ugh. Interestingly enough, our glorious Aunt Mermaidelicious declared that we Florida Pirates had fulfilled our yearly quota of P&P, and we have just barely finished the first QUARTER of the year, when more PP&P jumps out of the second quarter turnstile!

Regardless, I get my baby girl all settled down, cleaned up, freshly clothed, and tucked in, and she falls asleep as soon as she is calm.

I return to The Twilight Zone of our home, which basically is any zone in our home in which one can find the Captain. Because, THAT kid, he in himself constitutes a Twilight Zone. A Bizarro World. The Sixth Dimension. The Bermuda Triangle. Menudo. All of those weird places that you've heard about, you've wondered about, but you never really wanted to go there. And if you did want to go there (Menudo), you darn sure never told anybody about it!

Alas, I find the Captain in the kitchen, filling up a Tervis Tumbler to the rim with ice. Then he opts to pour Gatorade to the rim of the rim.

I casually mention, "Hey buddy, do you really think you are going to drink ALL of THAT right NOW? Because you have to go to bed in about two minutes."

Thus the ranting commences:

He slams his overfilled Tervis on the table, doesn't even turn my way, and unleashes the following, completely unedited RANT:

MAN! You made me PISSED OFF!

(Whoa! - Jake, do you even know what that means?)

Ya, I know what it means? Do YOU? Do YOU know what it means, because YOU are making me PISSED OFF!

YOU are making me FREAK out and REALLY sad.

I said, I AM PISSED OFF!

(Jake, honestly, do you know what you are saying, because I'm not quite sure what you are saying.)

Ya, well, I don't know what it means EITHER! But I am SERIOUSLY PISSED OFF!

And my brain!

He's an idiot!

He needs new tires!

My brain needs new tires to go to the listening dream egg bowl.

(HUH? What the heck is the listening dream egg bowl, Jake?)

It is where my brain will get the right answers.

Through the egg bowl, and then the pirate bowl,

blah, blah, blah,

WHAT-ever,

Stuff like that,

Yada Yada Yada

I'm done.



Like I said before, it was definitely a rant.

I can vouch for the contents of his food, but I may have to contact the Sprout Network to inquire as to the possibility that they are sending subliminal messages through their Universal Happy Birthday Party messages.

Whoa.

~

Pecker, er, I mean PENCILhead

~
Oh, the Three Dot Wonder has been at it again.

It seems like it's every single day that he reports the three dot offenses.

'Cept, he just reports, "I got 3 Dots today and I don't EVEN want to tell you why."

He usually can tell us one or two of the three crimes, but conveniently gets Richard Nixon Disease and can't remember the third felony.

Some of his crimes and misdemeanors are boring.

Like, talking too much.

Or not listening.

Now, punching Kayla in the face because she walks too slow, now that is an AWESOME reason to obtain a dot. AWESOME. If only he weighed 53 pounds instead of 35, he might have been able to have an illustrious career as an MMA dude. But no. Not my little dwarf of a son.

So today, the Dwarf Sparrow came home and reported his 3 dots.

He didn't confess the reason for #1.

Or #2.

But he HAD to confess #3, because and Incident Report went along with it.

An Incident Report means either he hurt HIMself, he hurt SOMEONE ELSE, or he WAS HURT by someone ELSE.

Today, the Dwarf Sparrow became a Pencil Head.

Yep.

He stuck a pencil in his ear, until it hurt, and until it bled.

Why?

Cause Shelby told him to.

You know Shelby, right?

His fiancee?

Who is eight feet taller than he is, and who does weigh 53 pounds, and who has been his betrothed since they were both 10 weeks old, and flirted with each other from between the crib slats!

Yep.

Shelby told him to stick his pencil in his ears.

Don't know why.

But I'm pretty sure he has a punctured ear drum.

I looked in there with my awesomely cool Coal Miner's headlight, and I saw this huge blood bubble, and a torn piece of opaque looking flesh. (this isn't our first time at the torn ear drum rodeo, in case you were wondering, how does she know what a torn ear drum looks like, POSER???)

And, I'm pretty sure he won't ever do this again.

Just a hunch.

I'll be sure to let you know!