Worst blogger ever

After one too many creeptastic search terms that generated views to my blog, I took a hiatus. I continued to post the daily exploits of Stumps and Beans, but on the much less threatening facebook, where I know all 500ish people who have access to read about my children in real life.  I will backward blog the highlights into the archives to fill in the past three months soon. In the meantime, nothing motivates me to de-lurk out of blog sabbatical more enthusiastically than a ridiculously age-inappropriate Biblical-themed picture colored by one of my tiny daughters at their church preschool.

Don’t worry sweetie. Very few of our nightmares actually come true. And in truth, I hear that being violently impaled by a spear is actually a surprisingly peaceful way to die.

stumpsgiant

 

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Unfortunately I can’t unremember any of this

One of my children has been throwing up all afternoon and the other has a 102 degree fever. Pretty certain the one who has thus far not started vomiting just has not started yet.

Alarmingly, cleaning up multiple episodes of The Pukes off of all of our belongings is only the second most disturbing reality of my Monday evening.

Having one of my children ask to have her “bottom temperature” taken (repeatedly) this evening unquestionably topped the list.

What. The. Hell. Kid.

For very special occasions, such as her 60th birthday…

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…they sometimes let Mother Catlady out of the institution.

(pretty certain this couple is featured in the first few minutes of Mullholland Drive, dropping Naomi Watts off in Hollywood after she wins a jitterbug contest.)

If only I had the rudimentary photoshop skills necessary to superimpose sharp knives or chainsaws into their hands.

In case you are wondering if MC is deserving of her blog nickname, note the litter box beside the kitchen table.

Happy birthday mom. Love you :)

“I’m two. Don’t f*** with me.”

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My now four-year-old Stumps was a high-strung newborn who would routinely scream from 4-7 pm every afternoon for the first four months of her life. So when the Jellybean came along nearly two-and-a-half years later, we didn’t know what hit us. Beanie was such an easy, happy, laid back baby that it was uncanny. No amount of antagonization was going to provoke Beans into fussing. I remember asking Husband more than a few times in those early months, “She’s so chill. She never cries. Do you think there’s something, you know, wrong with her?”

Beanie’s amiable and easygoing temperament was quite fortunate, all things considered, since I am pretty certain I said “Leave the baby’s head alone!” to Stumps at least twice a day that entire first year.

Fast forward to now, and in hindsight, we now know Beans was just stockpiling rage to unleash upon the pitiful creatures of this world throughout her toddler years.

In other news, they are eating a meal at an actual table (see Items #3-5) , so we can consider that progress.

If anyone would like to propose a caption for what the comic strip thought-bubble above my twenty-two-month-old’s withering glare might read, I welcome submissions!

{Edited to add: When you click on the picture, it is not at all blurry, so not sure why it is blurry embedded in the post?}

To mistreat a child. The nerve.

Within the House of Stumps and Beans, a full-fledged theatrical tantrum is occurring at this very moment.

The words being tearfully, hysterically, and repeatedly screamed are “Nooooo!!! I don’t want it cut in sliiices..!!! I don’t want you to slice it!!!” 

From the sheer severity of this episode, one might think the “it” to which she refers is a prized posession. A treasured lovey. The family pet. Perhaps one of her fingers.

In the interest of full disclosure, the subject of this particular tantrum is an apple.

How can you just stand by and witness such tragedy?? Get off your duff, stop reading this blog, and alert the authorities!!

Callous people of this world – have you no souls?! Due to your apathy, ambivalence, and inactivity, a child is suffering!

So today I was the subject of the following heartfelt sentiment…

“I don’t want this mommy anymore! I want a new mommy!”

Not sure about anyone else, but on this brisk and blustery March afternoon, I for one am feeling quite warm and fuzzy and entirely affirmed that my decision to procreate five years ago was a good one.