Party Hearty
We went to a birthday party today. One of those really good birthday parties, complete with food, games, Korean chicken and pork, prizes, lots of fruit, songs, noodles and kimbob, goody bags, cake, a balloon man making balloon animals, and, did I mention the food? Anyway, it was quite the shindig.
The parents went all out with the games. The jovial father played MC with his delightful wife as the playful assistant. Their adorable son was gracious and well mannered. The whole thing was perfect.
Naturally, my kids didn't play along. Well, actually, Reilly Kate was fine except that she needed to go potty and flatly refused. So she danced around, crossed her legs, and did the girl squat with her heel shoved up her vagina (which, if you didn't know, is called the Vincent's Curtsey in the Urology field). Her face was red and her eyes crossed for the better part of the party simply because she didn't want to use the toilet. But, hey. She didn't piss herself or the floor. So that was good.
But Roman spent the majority of that magical party trying to run away from home. I'm not sure who or what the source of his displeasure is, exactly. I suspect it might be me. You see, he was once again attempting to run away and when I saw him sneaking off I said, "You run away and you'll have to get a new mommy. You won't see me again." This trick always worked on Reilly Kate. Perhaps because she knew finding a new mommy willing to take her back talk would be more difficult than living with me.
This trick did not work with Roman. He just put his head down and continued on his way. Finally, when he'd gone far enough, I ran after him.
"What's up, bub?" I asked. "You don't want to get a new mommy, do you?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you do?" I refused to believe it.
"Yes," he told me as I picked him up, curling my arms around his tiny little body.
"Well, what kind of mommy will you get?" I can play a two year old game as well as they can. Or so I thought.
"Nice mommy," was his reply.
"You want a nice mommy? Well what am I?"
"You big mommy," he told me, he head buried in my shoulder as I carried him back to the party.
"I'm a big mommy?" I couldn't believe it. I sucked in my jelly belly just a bit more.
"You big and dirty mommy," he said with a nod.
I am a big and dirty mommy. Well, fuck me.
The parents went all out with the games. The jovial father played MC with his delightful wife as the playful assistant. Their adorable son was gracious and well mannered. The whole thing was perfect.
Naturally, my kids didn't play along. Well, actually, Reilly Kate was fine except that she needed to go potty and flatly refused. So she danced around, crossed her legs, and did the girl squat with her heel shoved up her vagina (which, if you didn't know, is called the Vincent's Curtsey in the Urology field). Her face was red and her eyes crossed for the better part of the party simply because she didn't want to use the toilet. But, hey. She didn't piss herself or the floor. So that was good.
But Roman spent the majority of that magical party trying to run away from home. I'm not sure who or what the source of his displeasure is, exactly. I suspect it might be me. You see, he was once again attempting to run away and when I saw him sneaking off I said, "You run away and you'll have to get a new mommy. You won't see me again." This trick always worked on Reilly Kate. Perhaps because she knew finding a new mommy willing to take her back talk would be more difficult than living with me.
This trick did not work with Roman. He just put his head down and continued on his way. Finally, when he'd gone far enough, I ran after him.
"What's up, bub?" I asked. "You don't want to get a new mommy, do you?"
"Yes."
"Yes, you do?" I refused to believe it.
"Yes," he told me as I picked him up, curling my arms around his tiny little body.
"Well, what kind of mommy will you get?" I can play a two year old game as well as they can. Or so I thought.
"Nice mommy," was his reply.
"You want a nice mommy? Well what am I?"
"You big mommy," he told me, he head buried in my shoulder as I carried him back to the party.
"I'm a big mommy?" I couldn't believe it. I sucked in my jelly belly just a bit more.
"You big and dirty mommy," he said with a nod.
I am a big and dirty mommy. Well, fuck me.
posted by The Histrionics of a Fat Housewife at 3:43 AM
6 Comments:
Out of the mouths of babes, right?
Just take it with a grain of salt. He's little and doesn't know any better. My 8 year old still comes out with things like that...
Ahhhhh .... poor little tyke .... and poor mommy! They say what they think and sometimes it can be brutal. But you know you are a good mommy .... and he will too!
By the way ... thanks for stopping at my blog ... and I LOVE this line in your profile: "Lactator, Gestator, Nurturer"!! That is so funny!!!
LMAO! I don't even know what to say to that! Tell us more about the food, yummmmmmmmmm!
Interesting website with a lot of resources and detailed explanations.
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Great site loved it alot, will come back and visit again.
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