Want to know a little secret?
I don't care if he got an ear infection earlier this month and held a full-fledged scream-a-thon until he started feeling better.
I don't care that he got a second, double ear infection right on the heels of the first one and is now on another 10 day treatment of even stronger, scarier antibiotics.
I don't mind that he and I had to stay home this weekend while Geekster and the other two gremlins went to visit family and that he gave me a whole new appreciation for single parents.
It's alright that he drew on my freshly painted wall today with a pencil. That's what those white scrubby block things I got a sample of in the mail are for (they're almost gone, my samples).
It's okay that he threw the change I painstakingly sorted all over my once-clean master bedroom, into laundry baskets, jewelry boxes and crevices I can't reach into. I can pick that up just in time for him to do it again because I know damn well that I'm too mom-stupid to remember to put things like change and jewelry boxes somewhere unreachable by little hands.
I don't even mind that he keeps calling a bag of carrots a whore, as well as one of our cats, the colour pink, the guy walking his dog outside this morning, my friend's husband, and my mom. Yes, grandma is now a whore as well. Even after he degraded her she still had us over for dinner last night.
She doesn't mind and I don't mind. Why?
Because he looks like this. That's why. And he shall get away with murder (or at least tagging my walls) because of it.
He must know he looks kind of like Zoolander. A male model in the making, perhaps? Maybe he's just trying to figure out if there's more to life than being really, really, really, really, incredibly good looking.
I don't care if he got an ear infection earlier this month and held a full-fledged scream-a-thon until he started feeling better.
I don't care that he got a second, double ear infection right on the heels of the first one and is now on another 10 day treatment of even stronger, scarier antibiotics.
I don't mind that he and I had to stay home this weekend while Geekster and the other two gremlins went to visit family and that he gave me a whole new appreciation for single parents.
It's alright that he drew on my freshly painted wall today with a pencil. That's what those white scrubby block things I got a sample of in the mail are for (they're almost gone, my samples).
It's okay that he threw the change I painstakingly sorted all over my once-clean master bedroom, into laundry baskets, jewelry boxes and crevices I can't reach into. I can pick that up just in time for him to do it again because I know damn well that I'm too mom-stupid to remember to put things like change and jewelry boxes somewhere unreachable by little hands.
I don't even mind that he keeps calling a bag of carrots a whore, as well as one of our cats, the colour pink, the guy walking his dog outside this morning, my friend's husband, and my mom. Yes, grandma is now a whore as well. Even after he degraded her she still had us over for dinner last night.
She doesn't mind and I don't mind. Why?
Because he looks like this. That's why. And he shall get away with murder (or at least tagging my walls) because of it.
He must know he looks kind of like Zoolander. A male model in the making, perhaps? Maybe he's just trying to figure out if there's more to life than being really, really, really, really, incredibly good looking.
