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I’m sitting here trying to get inspired as often happens when you try to come up with something funny and interesting every day.  As I’m pondering and being interrupted by my son standing on the coffee table with both hands down his pajama bottoms scratching everything in reach with a leering grin on his face, I have to roll my eyes and laugh at how this kid can get to me.  We have chatted numerous times about keeping our hands out of our underwear.  I’ve even gone so far as to tell him to go in his room if he feels compelled to “soothe” himself (aka: diddle).  For anyone reading this, I hope you understand I don’t mean “diddling” in the adult sense.  Naturally, being of like mind, he likes to irritate me by doing it in front of me and grinning like he’s really funny. 

Here’s the flip side of my little perve:  He’s an excellent mother!  Nummy, his little lamb, gets regular doctor’s appointments, lot’s of soothing, covering with blankets, and tons of hugs.  A few minutes ago he brought out his Spinosaurus and told me that he was cold so he needed to be covered up.  Well, cold angry Spiny got all tucked in on the coffee table, snoozing under the throw with just his head sticking out.   Sort of funny seeing this menacing creäture all snuggled down and no change in its terrible countenance!  He just goes from angry to angrier as he is standing (sans blanky) after a short convalescence, poised, jaws agape and ready kill!  He’s back to normal—Mother Mikey’s job is finished, here.

Then there’s the backhanded compliment side of Mother Perve.  Yesterday evening I took Mikey and Pierce over to Grammy and Papa’s for Friday night dinner and drinks with my Auntie Donut and my sister “Auntie Good Times.”  As we were getting out of the truck, Michael sees Grammy’s Christmas tree through the front windows.  Her tree is wider than mine (which I actually prefer, but those take up more space.)  My smooth five-year-old proceeds to tell me how much he likes my tree and Grammy’s.  Now let me clarify what I heard, “But, mommy, your tree is the prettiest.”  That’s right, son…that’s right—I’ll pay you later.  Then he asks me whose tree I think is the prettiest—MINE OFCOURSE!  Now, with total clarity, he tells me “Mommy, your tree is really beautiful, but Grammy’s is the best.”  What?  Do you want a ride home?  I try to respond like I’m NOT crushed, “So you like Grammy’s tree better?”  These are his exact words, “OHHH yeah!”  (With a somewhat condescending and somewhat perverted type of enthusiasm.)  It was hilarious!  Mr. Expert on Christmas trees…  I’m going to post another picture of my tree and surely you’ll vote for me (especially since I won’t be posting pictures of anyone else’s tree.)

 

 

 

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