Sam, why does it smell weird down here...

Sam: Because I sprayed your stuff.

Me: What stuff

Sam: Your perfume.

Me: Awesome, that is a 75 dollar bottle of perfume. What did you spray it on?

Sam: The cats

Me: What!? Why would you do that, that can make them very sick.

Sam: Because they smelled like cats.

Me: Well, I Hope you know that cats are very sensitive, and they might die now.

Sam: Well, you said God protects everyone I love, and I love the cats so if they die, it means you lied.

Me: Crap

Where the F!@# is my hair tie!?

In motherhood I have found that it is truly the little things. Not that make you happy, but that keep you from completely having a nervous breakdown. One of these things is a hair tie.
For some reason, all of my horrible moments in motherhood always feature me, sweating with my hair falling and sticking to my face because I cannot find a hair tie. Shitty things always piggy back on top of each other to make an annoying moment 100 times worse than it has to be. For example, here is the list of things that separately are not that bad, but when they all occurred at the same time one hot day in July at a gas station..became one of the worst days of my life.

1. 95 Degrees with 120 thousand percent humidity
2. Very cranky baby in baby carrier than he outgrew 50 pounds ago
3. sticky lip gloss
5. Pants that are too loose and constantly falling down
6. Random intense back pain (probably from carrying ridiculously heavy car seat)
7. Broken air conditioner
8. Tons of people
9. Really windy
10. NO HAIR TIE

FUCK

All of that put together with a hair tie would have maybe been do-able. But I was SANS HAIR TIE and it was horrific. I called my sister hysterically crying like I had just survived some sort of vicious attack. Robbers? No, no my lip gloss kept sticking to my face..it was horrible...

Changing a diaper, doing the dishes, bringing in groceries, vacuuming, putting wet laundry in the dryer...all of these things are plain ordinary occurrences in the home, but can absolutely ruin your day when done without a hair tie...any hair tie.

On a side note, is it just me or does every girl keep one really ugly, stretched out hair tie that is reminiscent of something you would wear to a roller rink in 4th grade as a back up? I always want to throw this giant red fringy thing in my bathroom away, but it never fails, once a year I'm having a hot face attack with no hair ties around and that ugly ass thing saves me.

So, take my advice and every time you are at Target, by that huge long sleeve thing of hair ties. Because I'd rather be swimming in hair ties, then be "Captain hair stuck to face" at a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party.

Look what I found...

Sam: Awww mommy, I didn't know you used to work here. Oh the memories, the great memories you have here.

Me: (obviously laughing) how do you know what that is?

Sam: it's a name tag from a store.

Me: Yes, it is. Do know what it says?

Sam: No

Me: Good.

Sam: did you work there when you were a baby?

Me: Not exactly, but I was a lot younger. A LOT YOUNGER.

Sam: If I work there, can my name tag say turd Sam?

Me: Sure

Sam: Does your heart hurt because you can't work there?

Me: Ahhhhh no, now let's put that back in Mommy's shame bin.

The bridge to nowhere

2 months. For 2 months Sam has been doing this. When he goes #2, he wipes his butt with one end, then rolls he toilet paper out across the bathroom into the bathtub. He told me it was so his turds could escape. I'm not buying it..

Mom, who sings this song?

Me: Phil Collins

Sam: (pauses for a second) Sounds like a nice guy.

Me: Why do you say that?

Sam: Because his last name rhymes with nice.

Me: Umm, no it doesn't.

Sam: It does in my brain language.

Me: good point.

Hey bug, are you excited to fly today?

"Mom listen, when I have my eyes exploded and my butt-hole is wide open and farting, then you'll know I'm excited."

Oh for the love of god...

Today my new pet sitter came over. She is watching my zoo for 6 days, and I am extremely nervous. I think Sam picked up on my anxiety, and because of it wanted to "help". With Sam, "help" almost always means doing something that is going to finally push me over the edge into nervous breakdown canyon. I was downstairs finishing the dishes, because for some reason I was convinced that a pet sitter would look down on me for having dirty dishes. About 5 minutes into dishes, baby rope (Sam named this cat) came downstairs, with what looked like giant side parts in her fur. When I got a better look I realized that chunks of her hair were missing all over. I went upstairs and found Sam holding my other cat Sponge (he also named her) laying on the bed, peaceful as can be, while Sam chopped off her hair with play dough scissors. First of all, how in the fuck do play dough scissors cut cat hair? Anyway, I screamed at him, because I was already anxious about a stranger watching my pets and this was the last thing I needed. He explained to me, that the cats needed to look beautiful, because if they were too ugly, the lady would not feed them and they would die.

How do you argue with that? I mean, he makes sense. He is completely wrong, but he wasn't doing it to be mean. Wonderful, another time that I cannot punish my 4 year old, because he makes too good of an argument. Should be a blast when he's 14.