TB is a Jeff Dunham fan

Okay, so. We're watching crap on the DVR.  Real TV is still on ESPN because TWH watched LSU beat South Carolina last night.  Anyway, we are in between shows and ESPN is playing NASCAR.

TB looks up from whatever he's doing on his phone and says "Oooooooooo..... Racing". Then, in a true geeky moment he quotes Bubba J.  "They're making a left turrrrrrn!!"

Yep, we love us a grown man playing with puppets in this house.

TWH one day hopes to be as grumpy and assoholic as Walter one day.

He's dreaming big guys.  Dreaming. Big.

Yep. I'm THAT Mom.

Okay, so. I was just looking at my FB feed and I saw where my friend Marti posted the harrowing total she shelled out for school supplies for her 2 kids.  In the comment section, someone mentioned all the "Community" supplies you have to buy these days.  Wipes, I get. Kleenex, I get. Germ-X I will supply for the classroom by the GALLON.  The classroom is gonna go through those in no time flat and they're not cheap.  I'll happily send some around the first of the year just to help teachers replenish. God knows they have to buy enough crap for their classrooms out of their own pockets.  I have no problem helping with those expenses.

Having said that, when you ask me to buy 3 blue pocket folders, 3 red pocket folders, and 3 purple pocket folders and NOT put my kids mane on ANY of them??  I'm just gonna have to ignore your request, take my fattie Sharpie marker, and write TB's name right smack in the MIDDLE of every damn folder. I write it in the middle so the teacher can't cover his name with a label with some other kids name.  I'm sorry, but I bought my kid the GOOD, will-hold-up-all-year-a-dollar-a-pop folders. Why in the HELL would I want to send those to school just so they can go in the "Community" pile so some other kid can walk around with them and my kid can come home with the fall-apart-in-a-week-bought-for-a-quarter folders??  Not gonna happen.  Sorry Teachers.  I bought the awesome folders. My kid's gonna GET the awesome folders.

I'll buy some Ziploc bags to make up for it. M'kay??

My First Big Storm

Okay, so. I have a confession to make.  I have lived in SOLA for 14 years and this is my first Hurricane.  I know, I'm a weenie.

Katrina would have been my first real storm.  We lived & died by The Weather Channel that week and I had a pretty good idea of the SIZE of the storm, but had no idea what any of it meant. TWH, who was our resident Hurricane expert having gone through Hurricane Andrew, kept telling me it was no big deal and so I continued on with my life. I cleaned the bathrooms. I did laundry. I fielded phone calls from friends & family. The first one being from my friend Marti who lived in Japan at the time. I answered the phone to her yelling "WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU STILL THERE!?!?!".  I STILL didn't think it was a big deal.  TWH said everything was FINE.  I tend to take everything my husband says at face value so I thought everything was cool.

Until about 3 in the afternoon.  That's when TWH comes into the bedroom where I was folding clothes and sheepishly says "Y'know... I just got a good look at the storm...  It's a LOT bigger than I thought...  Maybe we should go to Mom & Dads".

I stood there staring at him for a few seconds before I yelled "Pack a bag!!  We have to leave!!"

In hindsight, I could have handled that better.  TB was 6 and kinda freaked out.  He packed his suitcase with nothing but shirts & underwear & I packed like we were never returning.  I checked TBs bag.  TWH checked MY bag.  We finally got everything we needed to leave and jumped into the van.

Out normally 4 hour drive took 8.  We arrived safely in Minden around midnight.  We watched the horror of Katrina on the news.  We swam in the pool when we weren't riveted to the television. We were safe. We were lucky.

Now we're facing down Issac.  We're not going anywhere.  Again, TWH says it's no biggie.  Again I am taking him at his word.  Because that's what I do.  I'm kinda nervous though.

I hope I have enough alcohol...

Things I Should NOT Have to Say.

Okay, so.  Things I should NOT have to say.

To The Crackhaid Dawg: No, I am NOT scratching your ass.

To The Little Dawg: Dammit, stop biting me on my ass.

To TB: I put "Do Laundry" on today's chore list like you asked me to.

I love TB and the Dawgs, but really... Enough already.

I'm considering hiding in my closet with a pie and some vodka.

Except I'm on a diet because I'm at Full-Term Pregnancy weight AND I'M NOT PREGNANT.

And neither of those things is on my diet.

Somehow hiding in the closet with a six pack of sugar free Jell-o and a bottle of water doesn't have the same comforting ring to it.

Le SIGH....

Awards Day

Okay, so. Today was Awards Day at TB's school. He's in the 7th grade. His school is 6th 7th and 8th grade. Your basic Jr. High. (This is relevant later, I promise).  The ceremony is by invitation only. If your kid is getting something, you get an invitation. I guess this is because space is limited and having the parents of non-recipients attend isn't really feasible. That, and it'd be kinda mean.
The ceremony (ALL things really) is held in the cafeteria. The tables fold up to make a bench with a back. Now while this sounds pretty nifty, let me add that the tables fold up to make the most uncomfortable damn seat you will ever have the misfortune to sit your ass on for several hours at a clip. The bench that goes with the table is made for early teenager ass. Not 40 year old have had multiple kids so it's spread a little since I was 13 ass. Dear God, deliver me from this fucking bench!!
So we sit there growing increasingly MORE uncomfortable while the assistant principal calls names for everydamnthing. Sports, Art, Perfect Attendance.
Let me address Perfect Attendance for a moment. This/these kids(s) are the educational scourge we all dread. THIS is the kid that will show up with the lung they coughed up on the bus IN THEIR BACKPACK and a case of Tylenol so they don't break their 'record'. Their parents can kiss my ass. And start paying my insurance deductible. I have those little fuckers names now.  I'm calling Mommas.
This one kid got perfect attendance for the third year running. He's in the 7th grade. Remember the little factoid I threw out there at the beginning of this pointless babble?? Go back and re-read it. Yeah, you're laughing now. Poor lil' Bastid.
Anyways the Assistant Principal Lady FINALLY calls TB's name. TWH & I smile giant smiles. Smiles of pride (TB made the A-B Honor Roll) and relief (Our time of Abject Misery is coming to an end).  We make it to the end of the Ceremony, grab our kid, and get the hell outta dodge. My ass is now flatter and not the good "Have you lost weight" kind of way.
I have to repeat this torture next Tuesday when we attend TB's Spring Concert for Band. God help me.
Me AND my ass.

TB Is a Colossal Smartass

Okay, so. I may (or may not) have said before that my general approach to child rearing is "Raising My Kids With Love & Sarcasm".  My children, obviously, have learned their lessons well.
Take for example THIS conversation I had in the car earlier. Part of it was me on the phone with TWH. Part of it was TB, who was in the car with me.
*Phone rings*
Me: Hey Baby!!  Are you almost home??
(TWH has been away on business for a few days)
TWH: Leaving the airport now. What're you doing??
Me: Just dropped off the Dawgs at the groomers for the weekend. You're coming home to a Dawg-free house.
TB: So what?? You're leaving too??
Me: What the hell?? No. You. Didn't!! (To TWH on phone) Your son just called me a DOG!!
TB: No I didn't!! I... Uh... Just meant... I Love You?? (As he leans over to try to hug my arm)
Me: Get. Off. Me.
TWH: Let me let you go. You and TB obviously have some things to discuss.
Me: You just don't want to be a witness.
TWH: And THAT

Yeah. Remember a couple of weeks ago when I posted all gushy-like about my Little Boy growing up and becoming a Young Man??

Forget that.

He's a Cretin.

*Gasp* *Choke* *Sob*

Okay, so.  I just watched TB get on the bus. Nothing out of the ordinary there except he had to catch it on its second pass this morning because he missed it the first time. This allowed me the opportunity to crack open the blinds and watch him. These are becoming rare.
The Mommy sobbing comes into play BEFORE my peeking on him. I'm leaving today. For four days. I didn't get my typical "Bye Mom. I love you. I'll miss you". I got a cursory "Bye. See ya Sunday." and he was out the door.
This is my BABY. This is TWH's only child. This is the child that was not supposed to be according to my doctors, who kept telling me to expect a miscarriage any day for FOUR MONTHS because my hormone levels were half what they were supposed to be. This is the only child that lives under my roof for reasons I won't/can't go into right now.
But he's not my Baby anymore. He's 13. He's a young man now. He spends more time in his room than he used to. He can do his own laundry. Apparently, he also needs less reassurance about things than he used to.  He's growing up. He's growing away, like he's supposed to. Not in a negative way. Just in a maturity way.
I'm proud of the person he's becoming. He's sweet, loving, thoughtful, funny, smart, and insightful. TWH & I did that, I like to think. Some of it anyway.
Despite the Man he's becoming, he's still my Baby and when these moments hit me, that he's doing EXACTLY what kids are supposed to do, GROW UP, they hit me HARD.
I have to stop.
I have to take a breath.
I cry a few tears for the child that he no longer is.
I look forward to the man he is becoming.
And I smile.
Because he's going to be WONDERFUL.

I. Am. The. Worst. Mom. EVER. (Part Two)

Okay, so. In another epic parenting fail I forgot my son at school today. See, he's in the school band. He plays the Trombone for the Concert Band (7th grade). The school is participating in a Band Festival next week and his teacher has asked him to play the percussion for the Symphonic Band (8th grade). This means that his practices went from a couple of times a week to EVERY DAY.  Last night TWH & I were discussing who picked up TB when and we came to the conclusion that TWH was going to pick him up. Except we didn't, apparently.
I'm with a client today when my phone rings. I answer it to hear TB on the other end piteously asking me if anyone was picking him up today. Oh. My. God!!!  I HAVE FORGOTTEN MY CHILD AT SCHOOL!! More accurately, TWH forgot TB at school. I frantically phoned TWH asking him Where. In. The. Hell. He. Was.  TWH seemed to be under the impression that I was picking TB up from school.
Once I ascertained that TWH was, in fact, on his way to retrieve our child, I got back on the phone to reassure TB that a parental type person was on the way.  TB at that point wanted to know what HE was supposed to do in the interim, how long it was gonna take, and what would happen if his teacher had to leave.  Now he's just starting to milk it.  I tell him to see if his teacher could bring him home. TB turns away from the phone and I hear him ask, in the best "Oliver" impression in the last decade, if his teacher could PLEASE bring him home because his PARENTS forgot him.  At this point, his teacher gets on the phone and I have to explain that TWH & I are both big ol' dumbasses who can't remember when in the hell we're supposed to get our kid and could he PLEASE do us a solid and give our kid a ride home. He agreed (Thankfully) and TB made it home in one piece.
My only consolation in all of this is that we only forgot OUR child. Some days we give TB's bestie a ride home too. Thankfully, this was NOT one of those days.

Sunday Funday

Okay, so.  Today the Fellas & I went out for a hike. It was a balmy 85 degrees and virtually no humidity. This is rare for South LA as we are Hell Adjacent. By the beginning of May most of us will have retreated into our houses and air conditioning. We get outside while we can.

Me on a rock in the creek. The brace is because my knees are 100.

My knee held up pretty well.  I was climbing up to leave one of the waterfalls and tweaked my OTHER knee. I gasped in shock and I swear, my first thought was "Oh HELL NO!!  I did NOT blow out my knee 4 days before SPQ weekend!!  My ass will be on crutches & driving a handi-cart!!" Turns out, it was fine, it just popped & wobbled.

TWH, TB & Me at one of the waterfalls.

We probably hiked 3& 1/2 to 4(ish) miles. TB didn't even complain!!  If we weren't living in a rain forest, we might do more of this stuff.

TB Takes Control

Okay, so.  TB has always been a "Helper". Sometimes we ask. Sometimes we don't.  Tonight, when he took control of the remote, we didn't.  This was somewhat problematic for two reasons. 1: It's the end of the day so his ADHD meds are wearing/have worn off.  2: He was trying to access the On Demand channels. This is not something he's accustomed to doing & requires listening skills. If you're confused as to why this was problematic, see problem 1.

TB taking the control went something like this.

TB: What button do I press??

Me: On Demand.

TB: What channel am I looking for??

TWH: SyFy

TB: What show??

Me: Being Human.

TB begins pushing buttons.  Up. Down. Sideways.  My eye begins to twitch.

Me: No..  Go...  Back... Uh... Stop...   Just. Bring. Me. The. FlippingFlarkingFlooking REMOTE!!
(This was better than what was going through my mind at the time. THAT went something like "Will you just give me the motherfucking remote and let me do it!!"  You're admiring my restraint right now, aren't you??)

TB: I don't know WHY I can't do it.  I almost had it!!

Me: Because, you're not listening well & it's making me CRAZY. It's just easier & less painful for everyone if Dad or I do it.

My sweet boy. He tries. He doesn't always succeed, but he tries.

Raising Kids With Love & Sarcasm

Okay, so.  We're in the car discussing what we want for dinner.  I'm dying for a burger but I don't want a fast food burger. TWH says "If we don't want fast..." and trails off because he's thinking. TB picks up with "Then we want FURIOUS".  We ignore him. Mainly because we're trying to have a serious conversation.  After a few more minutes of discussion, I hear TB muttering under his breath "Seriously?". This is the conversation that followed:
Me: What son??
TB: No. Nothing...
Me: No, really. If you have an opinion on dinner, let us know.
TB: It's not that...
Me: Well then what is it??
TB: Did you even hear what I said??
Me: Yeah. We heard. Why??  Did you make a suggestion for dinner & we missed it??
TB: NO. The OTHER thing.
Me: Oh. The furious thing??
TB: Yeah. THAT
Me: So you expect me to respond to your Jackassery??
TB:...
Me: If you insist on a response to your Jackassery, I will happily respond with one of the following comments:
       1) Wil Wheaton says "Don't be a Dick!!"
       2) Don't be a Jackass
       3) You're being a Jerkface. Stop it.
       Do You find these responses agreeable son??
TB: .....   Uuuuuhhhhhh....  I guess.
Me: Then it's agreed. I'm glad we've come to an understanding.

I don't think TB really appreciates everything we do to accommodate him.  We're bending over backward here people. Bending. Over. Backward.

Lazy Parenting Fail

Okay, so.  THIS conversation is happening in my living room RIGHT NOW.

TB: Mom, why do we have to smell good??  (An obvious ploy to skip a shower)
Me: So girls will want to kiss on you.  (An obvious slackass parenting answer)
TB: No really. Why do we all have to smell good??  Why can't we all just smell bad??
ME: You mean why can't we all smell like ass??
TB: NO... Just... what if we all smelled bad?? Like, everybody. Then nobody would notice if you stunk.
ME: Because it would be nasty. And we would notice. There would be someone who smelled worse than everybody else. It would be asspocalypse. It would be cat-ass-trophic. It would be awful beyond imagining.
TWH: (Tiring of my slackass answers) It has almost NOTHING to do with whether or not you smell nice and EVERYTHING to do with health. If you're a disgusting, filthy, smelly pig and you get a cut, it will get INFECTED. You could DIE. THAT'S why we bathe. Now go finish folding your clothes & go get a shower.

TWH is always so damn reasonable.

The Universe Loves Me....

Okay, so.  I have mentioned before that the Universe loves me.  I occasionally get a free coffee at the drive thru "Just because" and it happens to be my favorite flavor.  Or, I'm stumbling through the Walgreens looking for some holiday Ziploc baggies and leave with a Leg Lamp.  Well, today was another exapmle. I went to the Post Office (which was, as usual, crowded as hell) to pick up a package. I see the loooonnnggg line, sigh in resignation, and take my place.  About a minute later, someone walks out of the back and asks if anyone has any certified mail they need to pick up. I start waving my little slip of paper around yelling "ME!! ME!!".  I got my package, and happily left.

On to the pediatrician to pick up TB's prescription. I walk in and there are NO cootie ridden children piled up in the waiting room.  Woo-Hoo!!  I only have to use half the amount of germ-x when I leave.

I go drop TB's prescription off at the pharmacy and on my way home I see the WEENIE Mobile!!

I need to run errands more often.  This shit is awesome!!

I come home to open my package. Giggling all the way inside.  (Because in this package lives my AWESOME Parade Shoes)  I rip off the packaging, kick off my sandals...

And step in a puddle of dog pee.

Because while the Universe loves me, It also doesn't want me getting too big for my britches.

P.S. I can't get the photo of my AWESOME shoes to upload. Because I'm a techno-dork. I'll upload one as soon as I can get TWH to help me.

Why Is..?? Where Does....??

Okay, so.  There are things that are just NOT in my realm of question answering ability when it comes to TB. Either because I can't keep a straight face or because I refuse to answer.

Tonight's gem was brought on by my request that he do his laundry. He's almost thirteen. He can start doing this shit.

"Do pajama pants count as regular clothes or underwear??  Speaking of underwear, why do they call it 'Going Commando' if you're not wearing any??"

Can you tell TB may have a touch of ADHD??

That's something that falls into TWH's realm of expertise. Just like when TB asked about getting a stiffie.  I fled that one too.

And Then The Boy Said "Shit"

Okay, so.  This afternoon I had to drive to Jackson, MS to pick up Miss A.  As we were heading back to the interstate, we passed a horse trailer with an honest-to-God CAMEL in it.  I immediately jumped on Twitter and posted "Jackson, Mississippi. Where you can see a guy pulling a horse trailer with a CAMEL in it. I am NOT making this shit up...". Let's face it, it's not everyday you see a camel outside a zoo.  Now, recently, TB created a Twitter account and started following me. He saw my post and read it ALOUD. Verbatim.  TWH & I began laughing like crazy. Mostly because TB swore. TB is vehemently opposed to swearing. He tells me this often as he chastises me about my language.  TB was mortified. He SWEARS he said SHUT.  I of course, jumped on twitter to tell everyone my son said "Shit".  Then to tell everyone he was mortified and SWORE he said SHUT.  Then he saw the Tweets about the language "snafu" and was DOUBLY mortified.  He usually begs to be Tweeted about. I didn't realize he wanted to approve the Tweets about him first.  Little freakin' diva.

The Pants Rule

Okay, so.  Last night I get TB's laundry from his room so he can clean school pants for today. I begin sorting his clothes when I notice that in addition to the school uniforms (3) he only has 2 shirts and 3 pairs of shorts in the laundry. I know for a FACT that he wore 2 of the shorts weekend before last and the other shorts last Wednesday when we tried to go to north Louisiana. He was home for a week people. SEVEN DAYS. This means he spent an entire week in his underpants. Clean underpants (we made him bathe) but underpants nonetheless. I'm considering instating a Pants Rule. If you're out of bed, you WILL be wearing pants. This way, maybe he'll at least take the dog out...  Little lazyass...

UPDATED:

The Pants Rule was hit or miss until a few weeks ago. I was fussing at TB AGAIN about not wearing pants.  He finally asked in exasperation "WHY are you so worried about whether or not I'm wearing PANTS?!?!"

So I told him.

"Because when you're wearing just your boxers and you sit a certain way, I can see your ball sac.  It looks kinda like that naked mole rat offa Kim Possible and quite honestly, it freaks me the hell out.  Does that answer your question??"

Both he AND TWH were just staring at me like I'd grown a second head.

TB wears pants ALL the time now though.

Win for me!!

Thanksgiving ..... Tomorrow.

Okay, so.  We did not have Thanksgiving today. As I type this, TWH & TB are in the kitchen cutting up cheese & sausage for dinner while our last-minute Thanksgiving dinner sits uncooked in the fridge & pantry.  It's a last-minute dinner because we hadn't even planned on being here. We were supposed to be in North Louisiana with my in-laws and working out how to see my bestie from high school while she was in town. What we ended up doing was turning around & coming home because I got sick. (Just another perk of working with the public folks.)  I didn't just get sick, I got Omigod-this-would-be-the-best-diet-ever-if-I-didn't-think-I-was-gonna-die kind of sick. Yep, I get to have all the fun!!  Sooooooooooooo, Thanksgiving will be tomorrow. We will cook our Turkey breast, make the dressing, and have pie TOMORROW.  After we decorate the house for Christmas.  For now, I will be thankful that I feel like I'm gonna live, that TWH & TB took such wonderful care of me, and that I'm now 5 pounds lighter. Jump start on my diet y'all!!

I'm Amazed

Okay so. I don't brag about my kids on here much. I don't brag about my kids nearly enough. I don't want to be THAT MOM. Having said that, I'm amazed at their artistic talents.  Miss A is 15 and her talents fall into the visual arts. She can draw. She can work with colored paper & make pictures (I have no idea what that's called) and she can even make art with FOOD.  Here's a sample of my beautiful girl's work:



It's different colored tissue paper and maybe some construction paper. It went up immediately in my bedroom so I can see it every morning. I also have a massive collection of things drawn by Miss A in a box. There's just not enough wall space...

TB is 12 and has his own talents. He can draw a little but his gift lies in his words. He is a storyteller, and obviously, a poet. Here's something he did for a school assignment:

 The poem is entitled "I Am From"

I am from the cassette player with my hand inside of it
the soft fur of my stuffed monkey
and the slight feeling of claustrophobia in my pillow fort
From wiffle ball in the backyard
I am from my first bike, the unexpected meeting with the ground on my first turn
From scars made by my cousins steel toed boots
I am from crepe myrtle and the stab of stickers in my bare feet
and the sweet nectar of honeysuckle
I am from the occasional trip to Minden
to visit Grandma and Grandpa
I am from hot bacon and boudin
and the steaming taste of melted chocolate in waffles
I am from "No No" and "Catch"
I am from "T is for tookie and tookie is for me"
and "I would've gotten away with it if it weren't for those meddling kids"
I am from the little red locker on top of my dresser that holds all my trinkets
I am from the south, the Gulf, the Mississippi River, and the tallest state capitol
I am from home

I am so lucky to be the caretaker of these two Smart, Funny, Wise, Beautiful children.  I almost never feel worthy.  They love me anyway.

I. Am. Amazed.

Bloodletting

Okay, so.  TWH & I went to the blood drive at TB's school tonight.  We get there and (thankfully) there was almost NO line. We waited for a few minutes then went back to answer all the standard questions before getting our blood taken. Now, as I'm sitting there within earshot of TWH, and the nice nurse lady is asking me all the prostitute & bisexual partner questions, all I could think about was "I wonder how many folks answer these questions with a 'Yes' where their spouse can hear them then get the ever loving shit beaten out of them??" Then came the thought "I bet it would be straight-up Jerry Springer in this cafeteria if that happened. then they would shut the cafeteria down until the crime scene clean up was done & I'd have to make TB a lunch every day. THAT would suck because he hates sandwiches."  Anyways, I answered all the questions and sat down next to TWH to get my arm poked & my blood sucked out.  We opted to give just red blood cells instead of whole blood. (I say WE. What I mean is, I yelled over to TWH "Are you doing that??" and he said "Yes" so I did it too.) I learned three things about giving red blood cells:

1) It takes approximately FOREVER to give red blood cells. They separate your red blood cells from your plasma then give you your plasma BACK. This takes time. They said ten minutes more. Ten. Minutes. My. Ass.

2) When they give you your plasma back, it's room temperature. Around here (South Louisiana, Hell Adjacent) room temperature is 70-75 degrees. Or less. Considerably LESS than your average body temperature. You. Will. Freeze.  By the time I was done, my teeth were chattering so hard, I was afraid I was going to crack one.

3) For the love of God, EAT SOMETHING. This should go without saying, but I forgot I was donating blood and I just ate a salad for lunch. I remembered to stick some cookies in my purse because a friend of ours DID pass out last year. I just refused to eat them because I was afraid I'd ruin my dinner. The drive-thru, no veggies anywhere, fried chicken strips & fries dinner. I don't know what in the hell I was thinking. Anyways, I look at TWH about halfway through my bloodletting and say "My face feels funny" which is a sign of great distress in our house. (It's a TB-ism that resulted in an ambulance ride to the ER & another story). TWH called the nurse lady who reclined me and brought me peanut butter crackers and an ice pack.  I ate the pb crackers, which did NOT ruin my dinner, and felt infinitely better.  I finished and TWH escorted me to the car so we could go home.  I walked all the way to the car on my own two feet and didn't so much as trip. However, I was so fuzzy headed that this post took two tries to write

No good deed goes unpunished.

P.S. I know I should be writing about Flat Gwenyth and our trip to Montana but I have a GAZILLION pictures and absolutely no idea where to start. I'll get there, just not right now.

My Son Is About To Be A Teenager. His Days Are Numbered

Okay, so. My son (TB) is about to be a teenager. I'm finding that the closer he gets to being a teenager, the less cute I find him. Don't get me wrong, I still adore him all day every day. He is my youngest child and the only one living with me. He's just getting to be a bigger pain in the ass than he was when he was three. Take personal hygiene for example. I stuck my head in his room to tell him he needed to get a shower. Here's about how that conversation went.
Me: Hey, when you get done making your bed, you need to get a shower
TB: What!?!?!  Why!?!?!  I barely did anything anything today!!
This, sadly, is true.  His Dad and I were outside working while he stayed in his room playing a video game he picked up yesterday. I'm not complaining. He typically does chores with the minimal whining, he's an Honor Roll student, and he busts his ass on the soccer field. He deserves a lazy day every now and again. The Shower Argument, however, is NIGHTLY. As in Every. Fucking. Night. It's not like this is a surprise. I expect him to get in the shower and wash his ass every night no matter WHAT he did all day. I'm funny that way. Go figure.  After I took a breath and closed my eyes, I responded with the only thing I KNEW would make him quit arguing.  My response is as follows:
Me: Son, YOU CAN SMELL LIKE ASS WHETHER YOU DID ANYTHING OR NOT!!  Yep, I told my kid he smelled like ass. What can I say??  I have no filter...