I dunno about your kids, but mine do not react well when they switch from eating fruits, vegetables, and meat at each meal (er, mostly) to having an IV drip of liquid chocolate for 48 straight motherfucking hours. We chose to celebrate Easter at my parent’s house on Saturday evening, to celebrate at home Sunday morning and to celebrate at the in-law’s on Easter afternoon. Which meant that there were THREE egg hunts, THREE baskets full of candy each, and TWO very hyper, very annoying children.

Would you like to hear what my children had for breakfast? Jelly beans. And Reese’s eggs. Also? Big chocolate bunny ears.

I never thought I would say this, but CHOCOLATE? We are through. I break up.

(I’ll call you.)

So, what did the Easter Bunny bring you? I would tell you what he brought me, but you’d just get all jealous and tell me how much you hate me. No, really. You would. I know you.

While I’m thinking about it, am I the only one in the world that did not know the origins of the Easter Bunny and the eggs and all that jazz? I mean, seriously, the biggest Christian holiday EVAH and yet we celebrate with Pagan traditions? That makes me laugh.

Hope y’all had fun hunting eggs.

PS- He brought me a new laptop! Don’t hate me!

PPS-That’s not entirely true. He just ordered me one! It’ll be here soon!

PPPS-Peace out.

Last night I was sitting on the couch reading blogs when my son came running in to the living room.

“Mom! Cindy-Lu’s got a big booger on her face!”

Lovely. As the mother it is my job to wipe the boogers and snot from the faces of my beautiful little children so I dutifully headed to the bathroom to grab some toilet paper. Cindy-Lu was sitting on my bed watching cartoons when I walked in and asked her if she had a booger.

“No. I just have some yogurt.”

Hmm. Yogurt. Whatever. Kids are known for mispronouncing things or calling them by the wrong name. No biggie!

I walked closer and inspected her face. No boogers. BUT! She was chewing on something.

“What are you eating, Cindy-Lu?”

“Yogurt!”

“Is that your booger? ARE YOU EATING YOUR BOOGER?” I felt a little faint at that point. Poop doesn’t gross me out. Pee doesn’t gross me out. Snot? Grosses me the fuck out. Especially snot with CHUNKS, aka boogers.

“Yes. I just meed eat my yogurt.”

“Open your mouth. Let me see what you’re eating.” Why? Why do I torture myself in this way?

She opened her mouth wide and I looked around. There it was. Stuck to the front of her bottom teeth. The biggest, chunkiest, greenest booger you could imagine. STUCK IN HER TEETH LIKE A PIECE OF LEFT OVER SPINACH.

“Retch. Gag. Puke.” No, really. I gagged out loud. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from vomiting all over my precious booger eater child. It was at this point in the story that I did something I am slightly ashamed of. I left the room and hid from her. I couldn’t dig the booger out of her mouth because I would vomit. I couldn’t watch her chewing it or I would vomit. The only sensible course of action was to hide from her until she had swallowed the booger.

A few minutes later I hesitantly walked back in to the bedroom. “Cindy-Lu? Is your booger all gone?”

“Yes! I just eat it!”

“Oh. Um, okay. Was it yummy?” Yes, I am going to hell, I know.

She nodded her sweet little head at me. And then she pointed at her Daddy’s pillow and said “I just put my yogurt on the pillow.”

I approached the pillow and lo, there was the booger. A big, green, chewed up booger on her Daddy’s pillow.

This morning I told Cindy-Lu to tell her Daddy what she ate last night.

“My booger,” she said. Apparently the lecture I gave her about putting boogers in the garbage and not in our mouths taught her one lesson. That boogers are called boogers and not yogurt.

“Thats right, Cindy-Lu. You ate a booger! But, we don’t eat boogers anymore because they are yucky and they’ll make you sick!”

“No! My booger not yucky! It was NUMMY!”

Lord help me.

I am like a totally professional writer and stuff, dudes.

This afternoon Eeyore had an arts and crafts class at the local library. I decided to take Cindy-Lu and her cousin along (only because it’s considered neglect to leave them home alone) and let them play with the toys in the children’s library while I WORKED. You know, because I have this job? As a writer? And I get paid in comments and love from the internets? I take my work very seriously you know.

I got the children ready and we were only going to be ten minutes late, which I consider to be SUCCESS! SWEET SUCCESS!, but then I realized that I hadn’t eaten lunch and I was hungry so I ran through McDonalds (Did you know they sell SWEET TEA now? Honest to goodness, southern sweet tea. Or at least, the McDonalds version of honest to goodness southern sweet tea.) which put us closer to fifteen minutes late. I didn’t mind. At least the children were all wearing clothes that matched and I remembered to bring my laptop.

Here I am, at the library. I had planned on doing some research for a post I wanted to write. Because anytime the laptop leaves the vicinity of my couch I feel like a professional and my surfing the net can suddenly be called research. I have some burning questions for the internets about sleep, but first I wanted to read a few studies and find a few links to send your way. Because I am dedicated. And I read studies and whatnot. I am a writer. Who writes about sleep. Because THAT is interesting.

So, I am at the library and I go to connect to the internet. And, huh, that’s odd, I have really good signal strength but I keep getting this weird error telling me to…WHAT? TO PAY? I keep getting a page telling me to sign in or sign up and oh, hahaha, did you know that to sign up they’re gonna charge you $24.95 a month! The library wants me to pay for their service, which I will use maybe once or twice a month or, you know, maybe never again. They want me to pay for THEIR internet when I could just use the internet that I have at home. From my couch. Where I can wear sweat pants and drink sweet tea and drop cookie crumbs all over the floor.

I’ve said it before (in high school) and I’ll say it again: THE LIBRARY IS DUMB. (Not just because they make you pay for the internet, but because there are other people here. People with children. People with children who have shit their pants. People who do not seem to smell the shitty pants. Even though said people is sitting right next to the child and I am twenty feet away and can smell it even though I have my shirt up over my nose, because MY GOD CHILD WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN EATING?)

So, now I am at the library writing, which still makes me feel cool, but I’m writing in Word because I can’t log on to my damn blog. I can’t do “research” for my sleep post and my battery is just about to die. Damn it. I guess this means that I’m going to have to play with the kids. I hate when I have to do that.

But, seriously, y’all. I hate your children. They are horrible little creatures with zero manners and the most annoying little voices and THOSE CLOTHES! Where the hell do you find those horrible clothes? And do you dress them in the dark? If you must buy ugly clothes then you should, AT THE VERY LEAST, be sure that they match.

I took my kids to Open Gym today (something our local homeschool group does once a week) and we were the only ones in the gym. All was well. Eeyore was bored, but he decided to build an obstacle course and was having fun.

AND THEN.

The little heathens spawn of the devil fuckers brats other kids showed up. A seven year old girl and a three old boy. I knew the minute they walked in and I saw their ugly clothes (seriously, red leggings with a navy blue stripe up the side and a big white USA on the ass paired with a long sleeve, too short, baby blue shirt with a panda bear wearing a pink scarf? Not cool, dude. Not cool at all.) and heard the mom yelling at them to stop fighting, that this Open Gym thing was about to go downhill.

And downhill it went.

The three year old chased his mom and sister around punching them. And yes, the mom actually ran from him. Instead of, oh, I don’t know, knocking his ass to the ground and stepping on his ugly little face. The girl kept GROWLING about things not going her way. Growling. Like a fucking dog.

I was sitting on one of the play mats, one of the MANY play mats, and the girl walked over, THE SEVEN YEAR OLD GIRL, and tried to pull it out from under me. Seriously, little bitch, back the fuck up.

The mom just watched. She didn’t tell the girl to get the OTHER play mat that was two fucking inches from me. She didn’t apologize for the girl. She just watched.

Does this mother not have a hair dryer or what?