Tag

funny motherhood

Turns Out My Kid is THAT Friend

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Every kid has that ONE friend. The “dumper” who goes into the playroom and just dumps. toys. everywhere.  The one that causes trouble, makes messes and encourages chaos.

My 4-year-old, Piper, is not that friend. But somehow she manages to turn all of her friends into THAT friend.

For years I’ve wondered why all her friends are so dang naughty! She’s not a toy dumper or a particularly bad mischief-maker but every single friend she has is horrible!

Her very first friend was her cousin, Michael, who is a year older than her. Those two are TROUBLE together.

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Once in a rented beach house they took every single board game and dumped out every piece and card into a giant pile and mixed them together.  They’ve dumped boxes of cereal on the ground and stomped in it, they went into my walk in closet and threw every single thing into a pile on the floor.

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But my favorite was when they got into a bag of nail polish, got naked (of course) and painted their entire bodies. Their “delicate areas” were meticulously covered. Super fun. My biggest regret in life is not getting pictures of the nail polish fiasco of 2016 but I was too busy calling the carpet cleaning company.

She has another friend Matthew who I adore but who I always told my husband was a serious trouble maker. These two once got into a potted houseplant, tore it apart and scattered the dirt EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t take my eyes off those two.

Recently she got a new friend, a sweet little three-year-old named Raygen.


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“Surely this friend won’t cause as much mischief as every other friend she’s had over,” I optimistically thought. NOPE. They constantly also get naked in the backyard, cover themselves with sand and paint on walls.

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Turns out when I left Raygen out of this picture I really was protecting the innocent.

“WHY IS MY DAUGHTER ATTRACTED TO THE NAUGHTIEST KIDS EVER?” I thought.

Then it hit me. Wait…who is the “common denominator” in all these situations? It’s PIPER!! She IS that friend! I’ve been living in denial!

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Piper is the youngest child and, by nature, lives to entertain. She thrives on making other people laugh. (Her favorite joke currently is to ask people how to spell I -Cup.) Well, what is funnier to any toddler than destruction of property? The answer is nothing. Nothing is funnier. It turns out Piper is creating havoc in order to make her friends laugh, and then they do it, in turn, to crack her up! Who doesn’t love making people laugh?

In fact, one time Matthew’s mom asked him why he did something particularly naughty and his response was “because Piper thought it was funny.”  I don’t know why I didn’t realize this sooner!

We had a new friend over for a play date this afternoon and I walked into the sweet little boy hysterically laughing. Piper had overturned about five toy bins and was walking around the room hitting everything with a hammer just for the sheer joy of entertaining.

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She’s basically all Three Stooges wrapped up into one tiny, adorable package.

So to every mother who I assumed had the naughty kid I say “I’m sorry.”  Sorry I always blamed them,  never assuming my sweet child was creating disaster in her wake.  And I’m sorry to every home Piper visits. Ever. For the rest of eternity.

I Tortilla-Bombed a Mexican’s House

tortillaIf you think that title sounds completely racist, you’d be right. But wait! It was all a misunderstanding, I promise!

Let’s back up a bit.

Last week I flew to Seattle to help my sister Heather move here to Boise. Yay!!! We spent days packing,  boxing and bubble wrapping while listening to early 2000’s R&B. It was glorious. Then the night before the move Heather’s husband declared that keeping anything from the fridge would be completely disgusting. So we gathered it all up to give or throw away.

Heather has a neighbor who is probably the sweetest person on planet Earth. She’s Mexican-American and from everything I’ve heard from Heather she couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. We decided we’d take all the non mystery-meat fridge food to this neighbor, Josi, to see if she wanted anything. There was good stuff in there! Salad dressings, cheese, olives…. tortillas.

“Josi was telling me how it drives her crazy when people assume she makes great Mexican food and asks her to bring it to parties,” Heather told me upon seeing the tortillas. “For a church function, the Relief Society president asked her to bring homemade tortillas and it really bugged her!”  Apparently Josi does make incredible homemade tortillas, but the assumption is still irritating/racist.  Then she told me a story how at a “favorite things” party at church Josi happened to open up a bag of tortillas that someone else brought and everyone (except Josi) thought it was hysterical.

So after hearing these stories I gather up two half gallons of milk, bags of cheese, some bottles and a bag of tortillas in my arms and we start walking down the street in the dark. We ring the doorbell and knock on the door but no one is home, so we head back to Heather’s. When we get close to Heather’s house I look down and my tortilla bag is upside-down and empty.

“What happened to the tortillas?!”- Me.

“Oh my gosh! I heard something fall on the doorstep but my arms were so full I couldn’t see anything and the bag of tortillas was still in your arms so I thought we were fine!”- Heather.

“You mean to tell me, we just dropped a bag of tortillas on your Mexican neighbor’s doorstep and ran?”- Me (through fits of horrified laughter.)

“Yes!” -Heather.

At this point we’re about to pee our pants from laughing so hard and our arms are still full of food.

We decide to go back into Heather’s house to unload our arms and then go back and get the tortillas off the doorstep.

We make it back to Josi’s house and upon seeing tortillas spread all over the front porch we erupt into more pee-inducing laughter. (We’ve both had 3 kids, laughing must be done cross-legged.) So we rush up to destroy the evidence and just as we’re bent over picking up the mess we see a car round the corner and suddenly we’re blinded by headlights.

We freeze.

“What are you guys doing?” – Sweet Josi.

I don’t know if I still thought it was funny or if I was so horrified I couldn’t control my emotions but I could still barely talk. I could see how this looked!

“We were bringing over armfuls of food from the fridge and we dropped tortillas on your doorstep!”- Heather.

(We had no armfuls of food.)

“You dropped tortillas on my doorstep?”- Sweet Josi asks doubtfully.

I finally compose myself enough to explain that we DID have armfuls of food and only noticed the tortillas were missing when we got back to Heather’s…. this is not looking good for us! Suddenly I feel like we’re on an episode of Seinfeld or Modern Family!

We could only explain ourselves and hope Sweet Josi bought our story but what are the odds people!?

I guess maybe it’s a good thing Heather moved? She might have potatoes hurled at her house next week.

Yep, I did that! #MOMFAIL

 

My youngest, Joe, turned 3 almost three weeks ago. One would think I would remember his age well. I vividly remember my pregnancy, and his birth. Who could forget getting themselves cut open and a doctor pulling another human out of your stomach? Yeah, I remember it well. Well, I apparently couldn’t remember that it all happened three years ago. Take a look:

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Yep! I told the baker Joe was turning 2. The best part of this whole thing? I didn’t even notice the error. I was too enthralled with how great the cake looked to notice there was anything wrong. It took the husband one second. He looked at the cake and instead of getting excited like I was (okay, he wouldn’t get that excited over a cute cake no matter what) he said, “Why does it say he’s 2?” I said, “What?” The husband then pointed out the number 2 on the cake. God bless the husband, he assumed the baker made the mistake. Nope, it was me. I checked the emails to the baker and right there in bold letters I said Joe was turning 2. It was all Mama’s fault. In fact, the baker offered to change it to a 3, but I told her no way, it will make for a great story someday, either around the dinner table or in the therapist’s office!

Reposted with permission from Boisenewsmom.com

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