Ok so I have been pretty busy
this week and therefore do not have time to write a blog entry. Between basketball practices, house cleaning,
scout meetings and dealing with the bullshit that is being a parent, I just
couldn’t possibly find the time. ‘What
bullshit is she talking about?’ you ask?
Where do I start…
Well, we ended off last week with
the Boy Scout Chili Supper and Cake Auction on Saturday. Evan and I made a killer KU cake.
The cake will be sold
to benefit the Boy Scout trip they will be taking this summer. Not exactly sure how I feel about that
yet. Sure, it’ll be great to do
something fun with Evan and have a trip that we only have to pay for by doing
different fund raisers, but then there’s the bus. Riding on a bus for however long to wherever
they decide we are going this year with a bunch of farting, loud mouthed
excited boys is not exactly what I would call a vacation. Vacations are when adults go somewhere and leave
the kids behind so they can get wasted and not get up at the ass crack of dawn
because the kids want the free yogurt, waffles and rubber eggs downstairs that
they call a “free breakfast.” I mean
sure, its free to eat it, but an ER visit from choking on rubber eggs or going
to the dentist because you broke a tooth on a rock hard bagel is not free…as it
turns out.
Anyways, so we helped with the
chili supper and I didn’t die so I guess it went well. Evan’s Dad (Rick) ended up buying our cake, but
it didn’t win anything. See, everyone
who had a ticket got the chance to vote for their favorite cake and the winner
got a prize. (Not sure what it was but I’m
sure it was fucking wonderful.) Before
the cake auction we invited Evan’s dad over to see his cake so that he would
know which one to vote for so maybe he would have a chance at winning whatever
ass kicking prize they were offering. My
mom, who we call Nan (and by ‘we’ I mean, anyone my brother or myself are
friends with, along with our kids of course) bought a ticket but she decided to
just go with the delivery option. Lucky
bitch. I can’t wait till I’m a
Grandma. Anyways, that meant I had my
ticket, Nan’s, and the other one that we had to buy because we didn’t sell enough
tickets to go on the free bus trip with a bunch of boys that smell like dogs
bathed in the sweat from dirty gym socks.
Evan’s cake was #6 so I put in all 3 tickets to vote for his cake. I figured ok, that’s 3, plus Evan’s dad, his
girlfriend, Aiden, and anyone else that Rick brings voting for Evan’s cake.
So I was serving drinks and in
walks Rick, his girlfriend, his friend, and Aiden. Yes!
There’s four more votes. Aiden
comes up to say hi and I told him to make sure to tell his Dad and everyone
they came with to vote for #6. He looked
up at me with the biggest smile and says, “Ya, we already voted! I voted for the cake with cars on it. That one’s cool.”
The fuck??? “Dude.
Evan’s cake was the KU one.
Remember? You kept eating the
little candy beads we were trying to put on there…remember?”
“Ya…” he says, “but I liked the
one with the cars on it.”
“Well fuuuuuck you, Aiden.”
Ok…that’s what I wanted to
say. But instead, through clenched teeth
I said, “It’s ok, Aiden. I’m just
kidding with you. You can vote for
whichever cake you want.” He smiled and
turned around to get in line for chili.
Then I flipped him off and muttered “thanks for nothing, jerk...” under my
breath. It’s ok, though. Nobody saw it.
Ya, Aiden’s definitely been on a
fuckin roll this week. A few days later
I was standing up mixing a red beer and he looks over at me all innocent and asks,
“Mom…are you gonna have a baby?”
“What??? No, Aiden. I’m not going to have a baby. Why are you asking me that?”
“Well, your stomach is getting really
big, Mom.”
Now, even though he’s too young
to understand that I had my tubes tied right after they cut him out of me, that
didn’t stop me from jumping over the recliner and tackling that little fucker
like a bowl of cheese dip. I sat on him
until he said, “Sorry, Mom. You’re so
skinny you could be a super model and you are prettier than any girl on the
planet.”
“Awww…thank you, Aiden. You’re so sweet.”
Ok, so that’s what I did in my
head. What I actually did was look him
right in the eye and say, “Shut up, Aiden,” took a gulp of my red beer and went
to the kitchen for a snack. Kill em with
fatness, that’s what I say.
Anyhow, it’s not my fault I’ve
let myself go. My husband tells me
constantly that I’m beautiful and that I am in fact, NOT FAT. He tells me that I’m prettier without makeup
and that I shouldn’t wear it unless I really want to and it’s something that
really makes me feel better about myself.
He tells me that he doesn’t care what I wear or what anyone else thinks
because he thinks I’m gorgeous and that’s all that matters. So to anyone who sees me lookin rough at the
store or picking up my kids from school and wonders ‘what the fuck happened to
her?’ …you can thank my husband for that.
Aiden got what was coming to him,
though. He and Camden were playing
outside with the basketball (Yes, I’m
smiling as I type this. Not because
Aiden got hit in the fuckin face with a basketball soon after he told me I was
a fat ass, but because…because…ok fine.
It’s because he got hit in the fuckin face with a basketball right after
calling me a fatass. Karma’s a bitch,
son. Deal with it.) So anyways, they were outside for a while
playing with the basketball and Aiden walks in crying with Camden. “What happened?” I asked, holding back a
smirk.
Camden shrugs his shoulders and
says, “Oh…I uh…accidentally hit Aiden in the eye with the basketball.” The fuck???
Ok, you might get hit in the eye with a golf ball or a ping pong ball or
even a damn light saber… but a basketball?
No, dude. You nailed him in the
fuckin face, somewhere around the eye area maybe, but in the fuckin face all
the same. After mentally high fiving
Camden and then consoling Aiden for a few minutes, he was good to go. Fat jokes and all.
Aiden and Camden are both doing
really well in school, though. Evan on
the other hand…not so much. I’ve gotten
used to him coming home and telling me about failed tests and worrying about
math homework. Which really sucks
because the fucked up way they have to teach them to do math now makes about as
much sense as smoking crack to lose weight. Sure, you’re probably gonna end up
losing weight, but why not just do it the normal way so that you don’t end up a
stupid fuckin weirdo that can’t add 2 + 2?
So anyways, he comes home the other day and tells me, “Mom, I had a test
again today…” Wonderful. “..aaaaaaannnnnnddddd
I did bad on it.”
“Oh really? How bad, Evan?”
“Kinda bad…” he says.
“Kinda bad? How bad is kinda bad? What did you get on it?”
“9.”
“9??? Wait…what do you mean 9?”
“Like…9. I got a 9.”
“9 percent? As in 9 out of 100? 9???
How does that even happen?”
Immediately he starts in with how
he tried and he doesn’t understand it and no one would help him and he couldn’t
remember any of it and he tried and he can’t help it and he was confused and he
tried his best and he couldn’t have tried any harder and, and, and…
“OMG. Whatever dude. You need to study. But not with me. I have no fuckin idea how to do the shit they
are asking you to do, in the fucked up way they are asking you to do it so you’re
on your own. Good luck with that.”
Ok so I didn’t say that
either. I just told him it would be ok
and we would work on it at home some more.
And when I say ‘more’ I mean more than none. Apparently none isn’t working out so
well. Who’da thunk?
Anyway, like I said, I really
haven’t had time to write a blog entry this week but I’ll definitely hit ya
with somethin super fuckin awesome next week!
Thanks for reading!
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