Are You My Daddy?

Yesterday’s post began like this:

“I take every opportunity possible to embarrass Sissy et. al. She’s nine and I’ve earned this with each eye I’ve tolerated.”

Today at the grocery store while passing the homliest male human carved by the hands of God, Baby et. al calls out at the top of her 3 year old lungs to this man while he is a mere 9 millimeters from us, “are you my daddy?”

Has she said this before? Yes. I have no idea why, but occasionally she asks me if random men are her dad. Backstory: I’m married to her dad. We conceived her within the marriage. It’s all the legit with this one.

He was alarmingly tickled to have been asked this question so we got nada from the chip isle (BOO!) 

Karma’s a bitch. So I didn’t embarrassed Sissey et. al again, right? It strengthens her character, right?

Yep. I doubled downed. Had to pick something up in the office when picking up Sissey et. al from school and on the way out (with the entire rest of the school) she asks, “what’s for dinner tonight?”

And I replied the same way every other mom in American is going to respond tonight when they pick up with kids tonight.  

“Don’t talk to me. I’m famous.” And Her et. al kept on walking.

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Water Bottle, Water Bottle. Wherefore Art Thou Water Bottle

I take every opportunity possible to embarrass Sissy et. al. She’s nine and I’ve earned this with each eye I’ve tolerated. 

She’s in dance and she’s one of “those” girls. Like those girls who goes four days a week ten+ hours, who knows, I don’t care. I wasn’t born with the dance mom gene, I’ve had to try and develop it. Which is tough with the zero fucks I give.

Where am I going with this?

Ah yes. So this years she’s stopped competing and I thought, “Hells yes!” What am I going to do with all this extra money and time? Time to take up heroine or something else fancy like that! I kid.

But Nooooooooo. There’s this new thing called “performance company”. And it’s worse than compeition. Like waaaaaay worse. Like the first day the director schedules head shots.

She’s 9! I wanted to be a mermaid when I was 9!

Ok so when she’s in these rehearsals she’s with high schoolers and girls she has looked up to for years (because shits getting real people) and she warns me….”don’t embarrass me mom!”

Embarrass you?! The girl who just told me that ALL of the food I cook in the crockpot taste like LITERAL dirty socks? Why on earth would I do that?

*5 minutes into class in my best sing songy voice*

“OH SISSY ET. AL! YOU FORGOT YOUR SNOWMAN BLOOD IN THE CAR!!”

Privileged 

9 year old-“Mom, I caught a Pikachu!”  *holds up iPhone 6, neon pink, blinged out Hello Kitty case.*


3
year old-“Mom, I caught a Wookie!”   *holds up the reciever of a 1980’s Garfield the cat landline phone complete with permanently tangled cord.*

Bang, Bang

Some people killed some people. 

Some people who shared similarities with the people who were killed got mad that those people were killed because it really seemed senseless. 

And then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And you see where this is going. Well each time this happened, the people who shared those similarities got mad.

Duh. Of course. Their similarities made then different from the people who shot the gun who killed the people, but it didn’t make them ‘bad’. 

DIFFERENT DOESN’T = BAD

And they got scared. Because if they shared those similarities….could they be next? Is it just a case of wrong place, wrong time? It needs to stop. How do we stop it? We ALL know it needs to stop!

But when it comes to these police officer shootings, perhaps the media shouldn’t be looking to black community to see how they are going to fix this problem. This is a primarily white person problem. (I know the office in Minnesota was of Asian descent, but that is an outlier.) 

WE need to fix this. It’s not up to the black community to educate us. To stop us. 

Just like it isn’t up to the LGBT community to educate us.

Just like it wasn’t up to children of Sandy Hook to educate us.

Media-focus your camera here, to see what we are going to do, what I am going to do. And not on the grieving black community.

The Dab

Alright kids. I’m going to give it to you straight.  You’re right, The Dab is not a sneeze.  But it’s close to a sneeze.  Us moms out there who are also nurses, strongly suggested the rappers in the ATL (I’m immensly cool for using that abbreviation correctly) via mind control to created this style of dance as a way of making hygenic sneezing cool again.

So go ahead kids, Dab away….Particularly durin cold and flu season.