Sunday, October 1, 2006

Facts About Me!

1. As the mother of a 22-days-away-from-three-year-old, quite-recently-potty-trained little girl, I feel that I incessantly talk about poop. I don't think a day goes by that the word poop doesn't come out of my mouth at least three or four times a day.

2. I am a snob. An imagination snob. Boy lives and breathes Bionicals and wants to give us whole histories of them. Histories he read in Bionical books and on their website, and I have no tolerance for it. When he tells me stories that he made up or that he dreamed, I will listen intently for hours, but the minute he carries one of those damn things out of his room talking about the histories of the moo-laka-moo* mask my eyes cloud over and I don't hear a word he says. Also when he shows me Bionicles that he made based on instructions in a book, I say things like "neat" or "great job," but when he shows me Bionicles that he made on his own, I say things like "that's awesome" or "that's really cool!"

*I made that name up, as I said, I don't listen to bionical talk.

3. No matter how much fun Boy has with him, and no matter that he is Boy's "Best Friend", I will always hate Captain Obnoxious! He came over for a few hours today, and ever time Mr. Hobbitfeet came near me I was rolling my eyes and shaking my head. C.O. was terrified of our mini-dog so we put up the baby gate to keep Giles out of Boy's room while still having the door open to monitor play and C.O. kept taunting him from behind the gate. Then when Giles gave up and came to the family room to lay down, C.O. called him and freaked out when he ran to the gate. I finally had to say, "if you don't plan on playing with the dog, leave him alone." It took all the power on earth to not call him a little jerk as he shrieked and bossed his way around my house. I hate him, and hate the fact that I hate him., especially since Boy loved having him over.

4. I am stupid enough to accidentally spray cold Windex onto a hot lightbulb, causing that lightbulb to explode and also causing one of the red hot glass shards to land on my chest and burn me enough to give a blister. I am also stupid enough to pop that blister.

5. I have given my TBMITW crown to my mom. Because even though financial setbacks have made us rely too much on her, she doesn't hold it against us and still knows that with me nothing can trump PURPLE RUSSIAN NESTING DOLLS!

Check them out, keeping the ones from Lithuania company (also that's Mr. H.'s Pensive Jesus from Lithuania)

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