Night and day

Man, what a morning I had. I won't even bitch about yesterday, let's just say I had a rough day. So this morning Lis woke up about 7 am and demands breakfast and a movie. Shit, I've slept with men for two years before I got a meal AND a movie, but, whatever. She had to have the movie because Sesame street is now stupid and dumb and she hates it. (Hate is her word this week.) So I pop in Willy The Sparrow for the 700th time and ask her what she wants to eat. There was only one pack of instant oatmeal left. She said "O-mee" is stupid and she hates it and wants "Cee-wall." I asked her THREE times if she was sure. She got all pissy and finally settled on some snap, crackle and pop. So I figured I'd eat the oatmeal. I'm grossed by breakfast, but, I've learned I have to eat it. My blood sugar was going wackydoodle and I needed my meds. So I fixed it and sat down with a cuppa coffee to pretend I still like friggin' Willy and his friggin' sparrows. No sooner did I start eating did Lissa come over and stick her crusty little nose in my bowl. "You gotted O-meeee! I want O-meee. I HATE Cee-wall!" Well, damn, usually I just give her anything she wants because if you have kids, you know..it's just never ending, why fark with yourself? But, I'd eaten out of it and I have a cold, so she wasn't getting it. Tough beanie babies.

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Oh, gawd..she threw herself backwards without even looking, smacking her head on the floor right where her incision scars are (where the doctors told us never to let her get hurt..yeah, right) and proceeded to kick the wall with her snowboots. She's always wearing those damn boots now. I ignored her. Then she upped the hissy anti by hurling a stuffed dog at her table and knocking over a glass of milk onto the carpet. Have you ever smelled milk in a carpet?? Fuck, it makes you wish someone had just pooped in your living room instead. It's that bad. So I'm down on my hands and knees, soaking and scrubbing, and repeating. I got mad and told her off good, complete with pointing wagging finger. She was not impressed. Or the least bit intimidated. So just for good measure I took the stuffed dog and put it way up in the top of the linen closet where she can't reach it. The shit hit the fan.

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Then she starts kicking the wall harder. She knows I have one thing in this shithole I paid too much for, but, love. It's a huge Van Gough print. I paid nearly a 1000 bucks just to custom frame the cocksucker. It started to shake on the wall and she went to town with those snowboots and also decided her fake crying wasn't cutting it. She yells (screams) "YOU BAD DAMAW! YOU MEAN BAD DAMAW! YOU NAWDYEST BAD MEAN DAMN DAMAW! YOU DOG STEALER!"

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Dog thief? Dang, that's a low blow. My oatmeal is congealed and disgusting now, but, I eat it anyway. My head hurts. Now she adds..."I DON'T WIKE YOU. YOU STINKS. YOU HEAR ME? DO-YOU-HEAR-MEEEEE?" Umm, yeah, the deaf old man five blocks down heard you, you little...person. Just when I thought I'd lose my marbles, she stopped, sat up and smiled. Then she says she loves me and is going to be a good "grill". What? She goes marching in her room, dresses herself, brushes her teeth and sits down and eats her Cee-Wall singing along with Wille. All cheerful and happy. She even put all her books away and picked up half the crap she strews around the house. She was "hepin" me. I'm like, okay, ummm, okay. She's singing and chattering about all her boyfriends at "skoo" and her kitty Tippy who scratched her just because she tried to make the cat wear a hat and sunglasses and how "grill's" are dumb and boys are good and, you know, all that cute sweet stuff kids talk about. It was great until I asked her to throw her pudding cup in the trash and she went all dark, just for a second, and screamed "YOU WORKIN ME A DEFF!"

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I think someone slipped some Toddler Midol in her second glass of milk. It's all good. Before she left she told me I was a nice good Damaw. I asked her why and she said because I cook "beast-aroni. Yep, that's me. The genius who invented the microwave just so I could heat up my homemade Chef Boyardee. A good beast recipe is hard to come by. So is a peaceful Sunday morning.