So recently hubster’s and I have had a couple of close calls with the Ankle biters, which just means that they are growing up (sigh).
Not so long ago, hubs and I were feeling a bit of the afternoon Sunday Friskiness and snuck up to our room while the kiddies were glued to their crack tube. If I have to hear the theme song to “H20” or “House of Anubis”, I am going to uzi those mother fucking Australian/British bitches like there is no tomorrow.
If I have to hear my 9 year old speak in a fake Australian accent I will jab my eye with a spork (while encouraging her creativity)
Anyway, back to the fornication…so hubby and I are getting in on and we are getting close to the good part, when there is furious banging on the door. This usually signals that one of two things have happened….(1) the little witches are in an all-out brawl that need our superb referee skills or (2) they have jacked up the remote control and still lack the memory skills on how to fix it from the last time.
While the furious banging and chorus of “Mom, why is your door locked, what are you doing, why can’t you open the door, I can see you under the door, can you see my fingers under your door, why is the door locked, I need to you to fix something, I am hungry, can we go to the yogurt store today, can we ride our bikes, why is your door locked, I need you, can you see my fingers….MOOOOOOMMMMMM” ….and in a fake Australian accent (just kidding, kind of..)
|I seeeee youuuu|
While all of this is going on, I am desperately trying to hold on to the sexy image and get my socks rocked off and tune out the voices……and done.
Now it’s time to do the dismount and open the door before the cattle herd stomps it down.
Did I tell you that I love my husband? If I didn’t, let’s get this out of the way…..I love my husband. He is the ying to my yang….the sun to my moon, the stars to my nights…the peanut butter to my jelly….the fuck to my you. He is also the most passive aggressive mother fucker who will run at the drop of the hat when the situation revolves around “girl stuff” or what he considers “indoor chores”.
That being said, that bastard opened the door and ran outside with an , “I’ll get that fixed right away for you baby” and left me holding the post-nookie bag.
And here we go, “why was your door locked? What were you doing? I was calling for you and you didn’t answer, why didn’t you answer, why were you making noises……”
During this time, I am making those non-committal noises and trying to wash my hands and clean myself up. It’s during my hand-washing that I see her over by my bed…..my heart is dropping into the pit of my stomach…..ohmotherfuckingshitdontgooverthereohmotherfuckinggoddidIcleaneverythingup…oh..fuck.
The small hand reaches over to the bed and takes a swipe at the bodily fluids on the sheet….I swear to the good Lord, you would think that I was in a time warp, I couldn’t move fast enough….The hand goes to her face and yep, it’s the ole Mary Katherine Gallagher (Superstar, bitches) move….and the hand goes right to the nose, inhaling deeply….”What is this smell? WHAT……IS……..THIS……….STUFF….?
|Ohhh, can't you smell that smell|
I have seconds…..my brain runs through all of the scenarios that don’t seem to end well…I have seconds…what the fuck am I going to say…PANIC……..seconds….do I over react…..PANIC….PANIC….(please don’t put it near your mouth)…..SECONDS….PANIC………..
Me: AB#2 – get over here and wash your hands!! Jeez, what do you think your Dad and I were doing? We were having a spit fight? Man, you sure are silly.
AB#2: AHHHH, gross Mom, I have spit on my hand!
Me: Yeah, let’s get it washed off and fix the TV ok.
AB#2: Ok, then can we ride our bikes to yogurt? OY, that sounds like a plan, right mate?
Me: Kill me now.
Mo’s and Ho’s
AB#1: Daddy what are Ho’s?
Hubby: They are people who live in Hotels
AB#1: Oh, that makes sense! So who lives in Motels?
Hubby: The Mo’s do.
AB#1: Daddy, you are so smart! I’m calling Grammie right now and tell her that Ho’s live in Hotels and Mo’s live in Motels…..