We have a winner! Pixie Mama was oh-so-correct in her guess that these shitacular specimens were my gift from the fecking mother-in-law. One for my birthday and one for Christmas.

The scariest part of all? Bitch paid $99 for the bracelet and $129 for the necklace. No. Fecking. Shit. Peeps. I’m pretty sure that she should be sent to hell immediately just for having such bad taste. I mean, really? Really??!!!

So Pixie Mama will get her prize when I decide what it is. How many of you think that I should send her the shitastic jewelry?

(Insert evil laugh and just a touch of hand-wringing.)

How about we discuss the depression and woe that appears to be rampant in my little bloggy circle? That sounds like fun, no? Shit. I think it makes me extra fecked up that I kind of take pleasure in knowing that everybody else is just as miserable as I am, doesn’t it? Very well then.

Little Man celebrated his 6th birthday on January 2nd. We’re having his party this Saturday at the Tae Kwon Do club. He’s totes excited. He’ll apparently get to cut his cake with a real. live. samurai. sword. Like, totally wow. Seriously, he jumps up and down and oozes jubilation whenever he talks about it. Actually, it’s kind of amazing that he can be so ornery and disgruntled so much of the time (Who fecking knows where he gets that from?) and yet so over-the-top excited just 30 seconds after ranting about the injustices in his world. No, I’m not kidding.

I’ve started a diet (Yes, again, but who’s keeping track?) today and let’s see, it’s 2pm and I haven’t cheated yet. New record, chicklets and doooooodettes. This time I’ve asked my doc to hold me accountable. If I go back to him and I haven’t lost at least 4 pounds in a month, I have to write a cheque to the charity of my choice. So, really, if one were to look at this completely logically, it’d be better if I didn’t lose the weight because a charity would benefit. This said, I would be doing the world a favour by continuiing my life as a beached whale. You know, logically and all…

Little Man’s doing mostly well at school. He’s excelling academically (no surprise, really) and adjusting as well as can be expected in every other way. No, he doesn’t eat a lot, but he eats enough so that I’m not worried that he’s writhing in agony all day from the hunger pains (food obsessed much, Kia?). He pees now, so that’s a plus. He has even made a couple of new little friends who seem quite wonderful. His teacher is truly a godsend and she seems to be handling his perfectionism (that I didn’t even notice, MOTHER OF THE FECKING YEAR!!), well, um, perfectly.

Tae Kwon Do is still going fantabulously and Little Man is due to get his third belt in about 2 weeks. I still can’t believe just how fecking amazing this sport has been for my boy. Wonderful.

So my life, aside from the shitty jewelry from the Joan Rivers home shopping channel collection (No, I’m not fecking yanking your chain. Get it? Chain?), is pretty faboosh, right? Isn’t it? I really have nothing to complain about, right?

Well, let’s just say I’m pretty creative. I’m good at finding things to be miserable about. I’m also very good at making those around me aware of my misery. Poor Hubs. Poor, poor Hubs.

I must go. Little Man has just fired me. Again. I must escape the house before I am re-hired. And yes, unfortunately, that happens. The re-hiring bit. Shit.

Kia

Alternate Title: Why The Feck Isn’t Kia Blogging Anymore?

Ahem.

Update: Yes, the pic is of a necklace and bracelet. I need more details, though. Whose are they? Where did they come from?

It appears that I am not dead. I am not dying. I am not even (atthisverymoment) sick. Hallefeckinglujah.

It also appears that I’m just insanely boring, lazy and disinterested in almost everything that life has to offer. How very cliche of me, non?

Sigh. (It’d be extra-dramatical if you imagined me lounging on a loungy thing and resting my arm across my brow right now.)

It’s true.

Ok, Ok. I’ve got it. Let’s get the ball rolling around here again. I’ve got a new game for us to play. It’s called,

WHAT THE FECK IS THAT, ANYWAY??!!!!

Are you ready? Here’s how it’s going down: I take a pic. You get to see it. The first one who guesses (in proper detail) what the feck it’s a pic of, wins. We’ll decide on the prize later.

So, without further bee ess, here’s your first pic:

Go ahead, guess what it is. You know you want to…

I wish I were kidding but sadly I’m not.

The swine flu, he has it. The swine flu he’s got.

Yes, my boy has a fever of one hundred and three(s).

He’s achy and breaky from his head to his knees (ok, ankles, but ankles doesn’t rhyme with three(s)).

We got him a ’script for the meds, Tamiflu.

They’ve run out of liquid. What shall we do?

We open the capsules and pour out the powder.

We stir it up well and make iced-tea-swine chowder.

I’m kicking myself for avoiding the vaccine.

I feel like an idiot…do you know what I mean?

I’m sure that some family members are tut-tut-ing and sighing.

I think I’ll substitute drinking for crying.

We’re stuck in the house for a week, if not more.

For feck’s fecking sake, I need to go to the stores.

So here we two sit in our germ-house, all bored with each other.

On days like this, I wish Little Man had a  brother (with whom to play endless rounds of Monopoly).

 

Kia

 

 

I’ll save you the boring shit that has been my life for the past several weeks. After Jenn emailed me a few days (ok, if we’re going to be truthful and shit, it was more like a week) ago asking if I was alive or dead, I realized that it’s been a shitload of time (again) since I bloooooogged.

Honestly? I’m feeling shit-ish and depressed and bitchier-than-thou lately. I’m healthy now, but my house looks like fecking animals took over and my Hubs looks at me like I’ve grown a pair of antennae from my nostrils when I ask him to lift a fecking finger and help out. Gads. I’m seriously considering getting a job just for the purpose of paying someone else to clean this shit hole.

Case in point? There are wrappers from Halloween chocolates under a table in my family room. Little Man doesn’t eat Halloween chocolate (it may have been contaminated, you see) and I am more than capable of putting my wrappers in the gar-baw-ge.

This leaves but one culprit. The Hubs. Fecker.

I mean, gaw-wed. The guy is a gem in so many ways, but he’s a pig’s arse when it comes to cleaning up after himself. I almost went postal on him yesterday. He looked at me with the “Are you pms’ing again?”  question in his eyes. KILL. KILL. KILL. Oh, and yes. I am. Whose business is that exactly, anyway? Postal. Epic-ly postal.

Fecker.

Anyway, I’m buying a new dishwasher as a result of my rants yesterday. So see? It does  pay to whine and bitch and throw shit around complain.

Or something.

Tae Kwon Do. We read in several places over the past couple of years that martial arts are very good for kids like Little Man (i.e. with Sensory Processing Disorder and/or OCD). Who knew? Sometimes “they” are right. We had Little Man try out a couple of classes at a local club in July and he’s loved it (Perhaps obsessively, but who’s counting? Or checking? Get it? Counting? Checking? OCD? Oh, never mind.) ever since! In fact, we’re at the club 4-5 days every week. He loves it that  much.

Seriassly, doooooods. If you’ve read that it might be good for your kid, it probably would be good. We can’t get over the change in LM’s confidence and physically fitness and coordination since he started. He’s already advanced in rank and just today his instructor told us he would like LM to try the class with slightly older kids in it. It’s that  good for him.

Anyhoo, I’m off to bitch at Hubs some more. I’m on a bit of a roll here. Does anyone know how many calories I can burn if I throw approximately 3 dinner plates, 2 water glasses and a pair of mislaid sunglasses, all at the speed of light and one right after the other? You know, just for the sake of conversation???

Kia

P.S. Remind me to call my doc. I think I need my meds adjusted. Just a thought.

P.P.S. Here’s a Little Man-ism for you. In the car, driving home from school one day last week, LM made a suggestion: “Mommy, I think we should put a big sign up on the outside of our house that says, “(Insert LM’s real name) lives here.”" I asked why. Duh. He replied, “so that when I’m rich and famous people will know where to come when they want my autograph.” Bah. Dum. Dum.

I have bronchitis. I also have an inhaler and codeine. Colour me sleepy and yet high.

Little Man has a snotty nose today. Colour me a shitty weekend.

Well, kinda. Sorta.

Dooooods and doooooodettes, I’ve missed you. Not enough to, well, you know, like, pay attention to any of you or anything, but enough to wish that I had something new and exciting to say.

Which I don’t.

At all.

Really.

Well, except for the fact that Little Man is doing mostly well at school except, except, for not eating, like, anything, and for erasing his written work over and over and over again (totally NOT prepared for that one, by the fecking way – thankyouverylittle) and he’s an absolute ((bi)-polar) bear when I pick him up at 3:30 on M,W and F’s.

Fun fecking wow, chicks and chicklets.

Oh, and I have been coughing up brain matter for going on a month now and the only response I get from the doc is an ever-so-mind-numbing – settling “It’s a virus. Get lots of rest and take cough syrup.”

Really? Really? Why didn’t I think of that. Oh, right. I did. Feckers. Just give me the gee dee antibiotics and wash your bloody hands of me for feck’s sake. Zeus.

Sidebar anyone? Taking a dose and a half of Nyquil after consuming copious amounts of red wine will knock one out sufficiently to secure almost an entire night’s sleep. Or so I’ve heard.

Little Man is ok. He’s ok. He’s going to be just fine. He’s good. He’s ok. I’m not. He’s ok. (Picture Kia rocking back and forth slowly, eyes almost closed, legs crossed Koom-bye-fecking-yah style while she repeats this mantra.) (Laugh.)

I’m loving the fact that LM’s teacher is so openly communicative with me. LOVING. IT.  As I said, he’s apparently used up the entire class’ supply of rubber erasers for the whole school year (that bill shall be lovely, no doubt – I kid) already and it’s only the middle of October. I find this fact somewhat amusing because why the FECK can’t he be that way about his room?! Whatev’s, it means he’s spending way longer than he needs to on his worksheets and the teach wants to know what to do about it.

Cue Dr.Psych.

Incoming!

See? I told you she’s wonderful. Dr.Psych, that is. She is. Wonderful.

She is also coming to visit Little Man at school on Friday of this week to observe and hopefully offer some suggestions to help him get through his days with less perfectionism and more lunch. We shall see. I’m actually doing surprisingly well with NOT stressing to the max about Little Man’s school happenings. (Pssst! Lean in close. Closer. Ok. Shhhhh….The reason I’m not stressing to the max about his school day? It’s because I’m enjoying the HELL out of my time to myself. Ahem. Or something like that.)

So there we be. We’re ok. He’s ok. We’re going to be fine.

Doooood lost another tooth on the weekend. Wah. My baby doth grow up too much. Oh, he protests quite a bit too (much).

I’ve missed you, my loverlings. Truly. I’ll try to drop by and visit this week. Pinky swear (with my toes crossed behind my back). (Quite the visual, non?)

Out!

Kia

Little Man lost his first tooth at dinner tonight. I gagged a bit at the sight of the blood and the tooth with a bit of flesh still attached  got all excited and took pictures of the gaping hole in his mouth. I made him call Hubs (who was out with the boys – arg!) and then my dad to spread the exciting news!

Little Man took it all in carefully. He didn’t cry, he didn’t jump for joy. He held a (white! ack!) dishtowel to sop up the few drops of blood. He talked calmly about it to his daddy and to his papa. He wrote a letter to the Tooth Fairy asking her to leave his money and  his tooth. (“Mommy, is the Tooth Fairy a boy or a girl? Is it even real? Oh yeah? Well how does she get into our house without setting off the alarm then?!”)

After the phone calls, I sat with him and (gaw-wed, I’m such a geek) spewed on and on and on (for the love of God!) about how proud of him I am and how he’s growing up and this is an important part of life.

He looked up at me, his eyes full of woe and worry…

“Mommy?”

“Yes, bud?”

“I don’t want to lose any more teeth.”

“Why not, sweetie? They are  going to fall out eventually, you know.”

He sniffed and played with his fingers. I put my arm on his shoulders and pulled him close. I pushed ahead carefully.

“Little Man, what’s worrying you?” (Loaded question, idiot Kia.)

“Mommy, I don’t want to lose more teeth and I don’t want to grow up because then I’ll die. And so will you.” Real  tears now, peeps.

Feck.

Feck.

The death topic. It’s been coming up regularly for the past couple of months. He wants to know everything about it; when it will happen for each person he loves, what happens to the bodies, where do we go, why do we die?

First off, I don’tfeckingknow!

Secondly, Idon’tfeckingknow!

Thirdly, ask your father.

So this is one of the topics of conversation between Little Man and myself, at least 2 or 3 times per day lately. I don’t have any answers. I lie a lot and pretend that I have the answers. I tell him that neither he nor I nor daddy will die for a very long time. I tell him that he doesn’t need to worry about dying because it won’t happen until he’s an old man. Do I know this for certain? Of course not. None of us knows when our day will come. It’s just so wrong, though, that my five-year-old spends so much of his time worrying about his death and the deaths of those he loves.

More and more, I am noticing just how sensitive Little Man is. About almost everything. My father has always said that he’s an “old soul,” and that he’s “been here before.” I’m starting to believe it. Little Man is like a wizened old man, knowledgeable beyond his years, sensitive beyond reason.

This concern about death…is it “normal?”  Do your children ask about it daily? I just don’t know how to help him not worry about dying.

Because I don’t feel like delving into the deets about Little Man’s school yet, I’m going to share some of his wonderfulness with you, my boiz and gerllzzzz in the bloggyhood. He really is very entertaining even when I’m plotting ways to escape the grips of hell’s half acres. Or is it the loony bin? Whatev’s. The doooooood’s awesomely awesome. Truly.

Case in Points (Or is it Cases in Point? Or Cases in Points?):

1. We’ll call it Gah-Welf:

“Mommy, I’m scared!”

“Of what?”

“The gah-welf.”

“The gah-welf? What (the feck) is a gah-welf?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a frigger of speech.”

“Ah, I see. I should have known that. My bad.”

 

2. This one shall go down in hizzz-tory as Getting Laid:

Little Man comes running to me, large stuffed dog in one hand, small in the other…

“Mommy, mommy! Look!”

“What’s up, bud?”

“Look!!! A dog just got laid!”

(Snort. Deep breath.) “Wow! That’s awesome, Little Man. I’ve never seen a dog get laid before!”

Let’s leave it at that for today. For those who are wondering, school is somewhat fine and somewhat feckered up the arsehole. Last week, we had 1 good day and 1 feckered day. This week, we’re at 1 good one so far. Any wagers on tomorrow? Anyone?

Love you all, (Ok, not really. I’m just not that friendly. Or loving. Actually, I dislike more than half of the people I know. Hmmm…)

Kia

P.S. Anyone want to make bets on how many Googles I get about humping dogs this week?

 

Uniform? Check.

Cocky attitude? Check.

“Aw, Mom, I look stupid in these clothes…” comments?  Check.

Loose front tooth? Check.

Meeting with psychologist, principal and teacher all present? Check.

I guess we’re ready for school next week.

Kia

P.S. WTFeck?!! Really? In this pic my kid totally looks like he had a rough day at the office and just stopped into the pub for a pint or two.

P.P.S. Let’s have a Caption This contest. Prize to be announced when I decide who the winner is. Go for it. Caption my kid.

P.P.P.S. Little Man’s latest obsession is the clock. Minutes. Seconds. Seconds in minutes. Hours in days. Etc. Fecking exhausting. His teacher is going to LURRRVV it. Ba hahahahahahaha!!!

From Little Man’s psychologist today, after a discussion about school,

“The good news is, kids with OCD very often are able to ‘hide’ it all day at school. The bad news is, when you get him home at the end of the day, it’ll be concentrated and wicked bad.”

Oh gooooooodie! I’m so fecking lucky. And so fecking blessed.

 

**********

Thankfully, Little Man seems to have recovered from his latest Sicks. He did manage to pass it on to me before he was completely done with it, though. I’m thinking I should take out a 900 phone number while it lasts, as I have a great phone sex voice today.

Ach.

Who am I kidding? Talking about sex would require thinkingabout sex, wouldn’t it? Sigh. Also, I think that, in order to be a phone sex mistress, I would have to take up smoking cheap ciggies and wearing stretchy shorts with Crocs, no?

Wow. I can only imagine the Google list I’ll get from this post…

So what do you think my Phone Sex Mistress name should be? What’s yours?