Why we need a three-bedroom house is beyond me, considering everyone, including the dog, ends up sleeping in our room every night.
I know. I will one day look back and pine for these "special" days when my sons did not recoil in disgust at the mere site of me, but HOT FREAKING DAMN the little people like to trot on the nerves, don't they?
Trot trot trot.
Wait, stop. That's my very last nerve your about to--
TROT!
In addition to sleeping in our room, Patrick has upgraded his whining (formerly activated only by fevers and/or prolonged torment from Gus) to the Everyday Premium Gold Package.
I'll bring him the yogurt he asked for.
--Eggggggggghhhhhhhhh.
--What's wrong, Patrick?
--(Throws spoon.) Eggggghhhhhh.
--Use words please, Patrick. What is wrong with the yogurt?
--Egh. Eggghhhhhh!
--I'll be happy to talk to you when you want to use words.
--EGHHHHHHHHH! (Bursts into tears.)
--You know, Patrick, you are supposed to be the "good son." It's one thing for Gus to get angry and whine whenever he feels the urge, because we've already labeled him as "headstrong and demanding." But the beat we've designated for you is "laidback and easygoing." What a huge disappointment you're turning out to be.
--(Silence)
You can always reason with that kid. I'll give him that.
Gus has become quite the hypochondriac, with medical conditions ranging anywhere from "Code Eyeglasses" to "Code Wheelchair" on any given day. He limped for ten hours straight last Saturday, angling for a pair of crutches from the Salvation Army, until it was time to go see Larry's band play, and he was MIRACULOUSLY cured right there on the dance floor! Hosanna!
You would never know his mother carried a large Ace bandage in her backpack every day of first and second grade JUST IN CASE.
In other news, Larry's laptop is still broken! You can read about my love affair with the "techsperts" online in this month's issue of Her. Or, get your cute paws on the real deal (It's another great cover illustration, and it's (shhhh) in the pink bins (!)
I know. I will one day look back and pine for these "special" days when my sons did not recoil in disgust at the mere site of me, but HOT FREAKING DAMN the little people like to trot on the nerves, don't they?
Trot trot trot.
Wait, stop. That's my very last nerve your about to--
TROT!
In addition to sleeping in our room, Patrick has upgraded his whining (formerly activated only by fevers and/or prolonged torment from Gus) to the Everyday Premium Gold Package.
I'll bring him the yogurt he asked for.
--Eggggggggghhhhhhhhh.
--What's wrong, Patrick?
--(Throws spoon.) Eggggghhhhhh.
--Use words please, Patrick. What is wrong with the yogurt?
--Egh. Eggghhhhhh!
--I'll be happy to talk to you when you want to use words.
--EGHHHHHHHHH! (Bursts into tears.)
--You know, Patrick, you are supposed to be the "good son." It's one thing for Gus to get angry and whine whenever he feels the urge, because we've already labeled him as "headstrong and demanding." But the beat we've designated for you is "laidback and easygoing." What a huge disappointment you're turning out to be.
--(Silence)
You can always reason with that kid. I'll give him that.
Gus has become quite the hypochondriac, with medical conditions ranging anywhere from "Code Eyeglasses" to "Code Wheelchair" on any given day. He limped for ten hours straight last Saturday, angling for a pair of crutches from the Salvation Army, until it was time to go see Larry's band play, and he was MIRACULOUSLY cured right there on the dance floor! Hosanna!
You would never know his mother carried a large Ace bandage in her backpack every day of first and second grade JUST IN CASE.
In other news, Larry's laptop is still broken! You can read about my love affair with the "techsperts" online in this month's issue of Her. Or, get your cute paws on the real deal (It's another great cover illustration, and it's (shhhh) in the pink bins (!)
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