tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-342713209144961572024-03-14T12:32:51.526-04:00Sugar and Spice, My AssBrutally honest motherhoodskin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-29736406215725468332013-09-08T15:34:00.001-04:002013-09-08T15:39:50.998-04:00Back and ready to blog like a motherfuckerI know. It's been two years since I last wrote for this blog. Well, a lot of awful shit has happened in those two years. This blog is going to be taking on a whole new purpose. See, THREE years ago, I was diagnosed with an incurable, rare autoimmune disease called Behcet's (look it up, fuckers). This disease has turned my world upside down, almost killed me, gave me a vast knowledge of my local ER, and changed me in positive ways that I never could have expected. <br />
<br />
Well, I'm now going to share that experience with you. You're welcome.<br />
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I'm going to share hospital experiences, doctor visits, daily struggles, not only with being sick, but being a sick mother. All in a completely hilarious and sarcastic way, of course. I'll also being sharing notorious Layla incidents. She's the first kid I've ever know to get suspended in Kindergarten, but we'll get to that story later.<br />
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This is my way to see my illness in a whole new light, and to make fun of it, myself, life, and my kid as much as possible. :D<br />
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I'll be changing the subheading of the blog "Brutally honest motherhood" to possibly "Brutally honest motherhood; without a cure." If anyone has a better suggestion, please share.<br />
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Now Share the shit out of this entry, so I can get the word out that SASMA is back! (Well, I'm excited about it.)<br />
skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-33665816172089373892011-07-13T13:49:00.002-04:002011-07-13T14:04:57.323-04:00The Demon Mouse Saga continues!Today, Dear Readers of Wonderous Magicalness, I bring you...GUEST ART from JRose from <a href="http://cheeseblarg.blogspot.com">Da Cheeseblarg!</a> OMG! <br />
<br />
I know I know, you admire me for knowing her personally (for ten years), and now you want to worship me and have my babies and have hot sex with me. But really, you should already want to do all that. What's wrong with you?<br />
<br />
Sorry. Moving on.<br />
<br />
Today, I also bring you the next installment in the Demon Mouse saga. Sadly, since my last post, I think the mouse either moved out of my walls, deciding they really weren't all that tasty after all, or died a horrible death of suffocation and starvation. Either way, I'm not being woken up anymore by the little bastard having his midnight snack. Why yes, I AM heartless, thanks for noticing. :D<br />
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Anyway....<br />
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One night, after watching the Green Hornet, I was just about to go to sleep, when suddenly, I heard the loudest, most violent scratching and chewing yet. It sounded like Demon Mouse was trying to claw its way out of my closet. It SOUNDED like he was just on the other side of the closet door, waiting for me to open the door so he could launch himself onto my face and begin devouring my eyeballs. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/mousewithtext.jpg"><br />
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Upon hearing this disturbing noise, first I peed myself, then after cleaning that up, I went in search of a weapon. This "weapon" turned out to be my broom. Hey, what would you choose when facing a closet-dwelling mouse with evil intentions? The gun was INSIDE the closet with the mouse, and my landlord would have serious problems if I shot holes in the closet. (Stupid bitch)And all the sharp knives that were bigger than a steak knife were ALSO inside the closet with the mouse. Hmmm. Seems The Mouse has more than just claws and fangs for weapons. I've now armed it with a gun and several large, sharp daggers. Way to go, self. Why not just give it a damn flamethrower while you're at it?<br />
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So, armed with my broom, I stood in front of the closet door in my granny panties (totally mouse-defeating armor. If it doesn't scare him to death, he'll laugh himself to death instead) and tried to work up the courage to open the door. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/traceymouse1resized.jpg"><br />
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This is when I realized that I had shit for courage, and needed back up. Since my three year old was asleep, I decided to go in search of my brave and totally-going-to-eat-the-mouse-and avenge-my-closet dog. <br />
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Once I found her, we both stood in front of the closet. Me with my trusty broom, her with her fucked up teeth. She's a shih tzu, you see. But once the mouse started clawing and chewing again, it became apparent very quickly that my dog wasn't going to do shit to back me up or avenge my closet. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/traceymouse2withtext.jpg"><br />
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Upon uttering this, she took one look at me, eyed a "fuck this shit" look at me, and crawled under the bed.<br />
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This is when I realized that I wasn't about to open that closet door. Not in this lifetime anyway, and set aside my broom. Then, for the next 5 minutes I tried convincing my pussy dog to come out from under the bed. But after uttering 80293842 profanities, including things like "You're in the room WITH IT, you stupid fuck!" and "Fine! Stay here with the demon mouse! I'll collect your remains in the morning!' and she STILL wouldn't emerge, I gave up, closed the bedroom door, and camped out on the couch. <br />
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Yeah, so I'm not willing to face an evil, face-eating mouse. But if zombies ever attacked or vampires, I'd be SO kicking some ass then. Or hiding under the bed with my dog. Whichever.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-53660947099087469012011-07-09T00:15:00.000-04:002011-07-09T00:15:55.592-04:00I know you were worried. You WERE worried, right?Hi! I'm not dead! *cheering ensues* <br />
<br />
The reason for my long absence is twofold:<br />
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1. I'm poorer than shit and lost the internet at home. There's a reason why I'm poor, but if I start talking about that, I may have to go and murder something, set it on fire, and piss on its still smoking ashes. *ahem*<br />
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2. Life has been kicking the holy shit out of my ass. This is too depressing to talk about. Especially since this blog is all about teh funny. And stuff.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY<br />
<br />
Right now, I'm staying at my parental's house. So, I plan to make a post very soon. And it shall be awesome. (duh) And you'll laugh until you pee, shit, or spontaneously give birth. :D<br />
<br />
Until then, I have absolutely no filler. I know I suck. You better love me anyway. OkGoodbye.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-63925250758139543512011-06-18T12:51:00.000-04:002011-06-18T12:51:42.833-04:00Lots of FillerHello. I am currently not at home. This means I don't have Photoshop to draw stupid pictures with. And MS Paint sucks a hairy ass. So, here's a few things to keep you occupied:<br />
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First, here is my dog, Gizmo, chasing the cursor:<br />
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<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/dfaWmwUnka0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
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Next, here are some old posts. You need to read them. Or I'll cut you.<br />
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<a href="http://sugarandspicemyass.blogspot.com/2011/05/real-mom-dress-up.html?spref=fb">Real Mom Dress Up.</a> And then post them on the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/sugarandspicemyass">SASMA Facebook wall.</a> I'm serious, man, I'll cut you. Or punch you in the taint. Whichever I'm in the mood for.<br />
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<a href="http://sugarandspicemyass.blogspot.com/2011/05/if-mom-and-kid-commercials-told-truth-2.html">If Mom and Kid commercials told the truth 2.</a><br />
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<a href="http://sugarandspicemyass.blogspot.com/2011/05/ah-memories.html">Ah, Memories.</a><br />
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Are you reading this shit yet?<br />
<br />
And one more:<br />
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<a href="http://sugarandspicemyass.blogspot.com/2011/04/this-is-why-i-have-anger-management.html">This is why I have anger management issues.</a> Also, I like ludicrously long titles.<br />
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My work here is done. You're welcome.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-9911128233606427452011-06-12T10:47:00.003-04:002011-06-12T18:26:22.442-04:00Demon Mouse, or A break from our regularly scheduled maternal angstI know it's been a week since I last posted. I suck. But I was sick with bronchitis, and the copious amounts of albuterol I've been inhaling has killed a few million brain cells, and rendered me retarded.<br />
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And today, I don't bring you a woeful tale of motherhood, or a f-word riddled post about another Layla misadventure. In fact, this post has nothing to do with being a mother at all.<br />
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See, I have a mouse living in my bedroom walls. At least, that's what we ASSUME it is. For the past week, I have woken up in the middle of the night to the sound of chewing and scratching. In my sleep-deprived stupor, upon hearing this sound, my brain does not make the obvious and logical statement of: "Awww, a cute little mouse living in my walls. Hope it doesn't chew my shit up." It doesn't imagine an innocent little rodent, trying to free itself.<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/normalmouse.jpg"><br />
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No, it immediately jumps to images of a demon mouse, fangs slathered in blood and the remains of its former victims, furiously trying to claw its way out of my wall so it can come and eat me alive. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/demonmouse.jpg"><br />
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I know it's not REALLY the Freddy Kruger of rodents living in my wall. But the fucking thing is so loud, my neurotic brain immediately imagines torture and death and maiming at the claws of a mutant mouse.<br />
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I'm perfectly stable, really.<br />
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So, my lovely and illustrious readers, I have a question for you. Would you like me to post MORE stories of random shit that goes on in my life/house/vagina (not really), or would you rather I stick to tales of Layla's destruction and other observations of cynical motherhood?<br />
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This certainly does not mean there will be no more posts making fun of my child. But having a random post everyone once in a while about something completely off-topic would be amusing, and my brain might cooperate more if I have a wider range of possible subjects. (That crack I smoked in the 90s is coming back to haunt me)<br />
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I'll most likely do whatever the fuck I want, no matter what you answer. But I may stop being an asshole long enough to consider your opinions. :D<br />
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**ETA: There shall be a part 2 to this story, because I totally forgot about what happened the other night. Ooooh! Suspenseful!skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-18774001967917173792011-06-04T13:10:00.000-04:002011-06-04T13:10:55.323-04:00Special Superhero editionLook! Standing over there! It's a zombie! It's a hobo! No! It's...WONDER MOM!!<br />
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Faster than projectile vomit! More powerful than a screaming offspring! Able to leap piles of shit and toys in a single bound!<br />
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The powers of Wonder Mom never cease!<br />
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Able to detect wrongdoing from 100 yards!<br />
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See out the back of her head!<br />
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Identify what the fuck that smell is!<br />
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She can clean the house, answer the phone, save her child from drowning in the toilet! All at the same time!<br />
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Can hear the slightest indication that her spawn is about to fuck some shit up!<br />
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With her tool belt of paper towels and Hammer of Reality, Wonder Mom can do ANYTHING!<br />
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Woooonnndddeeerrr Mooooommmm!!<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/wondermom.jpg" />skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-78910689164538086332011-05-26T17:10:00.002-04:002011-05-27T12:08:46.083-04:00"So, you're gonna suffer, but you'll be happy about it."So, this August, Layla will be starting preschool through the Head Start program. I enrolled her today. Her starting school will mean that I'll have to get up EVERY DAY around 5:30am. But, of course, I am willing to do this, because Layla needs to go to school, and I can come back home and sleep my ass off.<br />
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But this also means, that this is the first phase of Letting Go. Every parent faces this dreaded time when little Jr. starts school. Part of you wants to rejoice and praise Jesus. You make ridiculous promises, and almost get high on your new-found freedom. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/praisejesusmother.jpg"><br />
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But the other part of you wants to break down and sob and wonder why God hates you so much as to let your child grow up. <br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/cryingmother.jpg"><br />
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But then you come to your senses again, and realize you'll have 5 and a half hours of completely child-free time. You could...sleep, or shave your legs, or clean the house (yeah fucking right) or run around the house naked. Or shave your legs while cleaning naked. The possibilities are endless!<br />
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I'll probably just sleep and fuck around on the intranets. Because my fat ass needs a break.<br />
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**ETA: If Blogger is being a douchebag and not letting you comment, email me your comment at the email address on the very bottom of the page, or head on over to the SASMA Facebook page and comment there.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-63563534109393672232011-05-22T20:42:00.006-04:002011-05-23T11:29:37.343-04:00Real Mom Dress Up!Look! Now you can dress up the Real Mom! OMG!<br />
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Now, I want to see your creations. So get her dressed by dragging and dropping the different clothing onto the Real Mom. Once you've gotten her all dressed, hold down alt and prt scr at the same time. Then open up a photo editing program (Paint, Photoshop, etc.), make a new file, and paste your Real Mom into that file. <br />
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THEN upload your creations to the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sugar-and-Spice-My-Ass/115160375234783?sk=wall">Sugar and Spice, My Ass facebook page!</a><br />
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<embed align="middle" allowscriptaccess="always" height="900" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" src="http://omnienterprises2004.com/realmomdressupgame.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="600"></embed><br />
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Enjoy!<br />
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Thanks to: <a href="http://hestiashelper.blogspot.com">Stacie</a> for hosting the file, and <a href="http://cheeseblarg.blogspot.com">Jodee</a> for all the patient assistance.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-51607413033622422782011-05-17T12:05:00.002-04:002011-05-17T22:13:38.517-04:00If mom and kid commercials told the truth 2Continuing on the TV commercial moms vs Real moms thread, today I bring you: What TV commercial moms look like vs What REAL mothers look like. Moms on commercials all look so put together. Their hair is brushed and styled. They have on a cute, conservative sweater outfit. Their makeup is flawless. They're actually wearing socks and/or shoes. What a load of shit. Unless you're the type of mother that lives in Suburban heaven, and thinks her children are angels of joy and rainbows, you're probably not going to look like you just stepped out of a JC Penney's catalog. Sort of like this:<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/tvcommercialmom.jpg" /><br />
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Real mothers, the kind that actually realize their children aren't little cherubs of butterflies and sunshine, who think June Cleaver was a simple-minded, subservient idiot, usually look like they've just stepped out of a Hobos R US catalog. At least I do. As we speak, this is my ensemble: A stained purple tank top, and maroon panties. That's it. And my hair is 7 degrees of fucked up, and my legs are so hairy, I could shave them and use the hair to knit a blanket . For example:<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/realmom.jpg" /><br />
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Real mothers usually don't give two fucks about what they look like as they change shitty diapers, and clean vomit off the walls. My first priority is not my hairstyle when I'm elbow-deep in a sink full of two week old dishes, and Layla is in the next room screaming or trying to use our dog as transporation. But can you imagine what commercials would be like if they featured the above image of a real mother? Either people would think it was genius and buy the shit out of the product, or they'd start boycotting the product for scarring their target audience for life.<br />
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Now, I have to go wash the dishes, in my underwear. Have a good day, my lovely readers.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-49006066282232249192011-05-15T12:57:00.002-04:002011-05-15T18:23:31.352-04:00Like it. You know you want to.Hello. Just thought I'd let everyone know that <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Sugar-and-Spice-My-Ass/115160375234783">Sugar and Spice, My Ass is now on Facebook! <br />
</a><br />
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Go there and Like the shit out of it! :D<br />
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**ETA: The comments on the post below are now fixed, and anyone can comment again. I got a little over zealous when changing settings and accidentally made it so no one could comment and tell me how awesome I am. And that's just not right. :D So, feel free to comment to your heart's content.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-19258219794681596142011-05-14T11:21:00.002-04:002011-05-15T18:29:12.517-04:00If mom and kid commercials told the truthWe've all seen them. Those hideous, deceptive, sugary-sweet commercials where mothers are portrayed. Little Timmy makes a godawful mess? Smile and hand him a roll of ultra-obsorbent paper towels. The paper towels's absorbency should totally make up for the ant infestation that will result from Timmy doing a shitty job of cleaning up the mess. Sweet little Susie coughs and hacks all over her sister? Hand her a tissue and some disinfectant. Who knows? Maybe having the ebola virus is fun!<br />
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The reactions of these "mothers" is complete fucking bullshit. Unless those bitches are high, there is no way they would react the way they do. Any sane mother would throw a roll of paper towels at motor skill deficient Timmy and tell him to clean up the mess until he can see his face in the linoleum. Or until he starts college. Whichever. And if Layla hacked all over some other kid, first I'd make sure the kid wasn't a little asshole, and then if he wasn't, I'd tell her to stop being a disgusting pig, and pour cough syrup down her throat. Because that's what loving mothers do.<br />
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So, here is my version of how a REAL mother would react in these situations:<br />
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Made a godawful mess<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/madeamesspanel.jpg" /><br />
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Mom's reaction<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/realmomreaction.jpg" /><br />
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Being a disgusting pig and coughing all over your sister<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/coughingonsister.jpg" /><br />
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Mom's reaction<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/realmomreaction2.jpg" /><br />
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Now I have to go spill something all over the kitchen floor and make Layla clean it up, and then cough in her face. Have a good afternoon, folks.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">And no, I wouldn't actually hit my kid in the face with a hammer. Unless she really deserved it, and then I might consider it. :p</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
**ETA: If you have a commercial that just irritates the holy fuck out of you, and you'd like an illustration of the REAL version of that commercial, send me an email at sugarandspicemyass @ gmail . com (without the spaces, of course), with a link to a video of that commercial, and a description of what you'd like portrayed in the illustration. Or you can just leave it up to my creative genius. Whichever you prefer.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-19756717169909066082011-05-13T13:52:00.000-04:002011-05-13T13:52:04.478-04:00Oooh! Shiny! AGAIN (damn it)So, blogger did maintenance last night. And now the last post I made about the new, sparkly banner was deleted. Thanks Blogger!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> (fucking assholes)</span> So here's a brand new version of that post.<br />
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As you may have noticed, the blog has a new, sparkly banner! Yay! You should totally comment and tell me how awesome it is. Or how you're astounded by my creative abilities. Or how you want to have, like, 10,000,000 of my babies. Whatever. I'd like to customize other things on the blog, but my patience has run out for the day. To customize anything on blogger you have to give a pint of blood, sacrifice a virgin, chant for 20 minutes, and stand naked in a field covered in peanut butter under a full moon. Jesus.<br />
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Hopefully I'll have a new post to go under the new banner in a few days. My brain is currently not cooperating with me, and my artistic abilities have gone retarded. So, please be patient and don't start leaving me in droves. I promise there shall be a new post very soon.<br />
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And tell your motherfucking friends about my blog. I need more followers to feed my ego. :Dskin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-26948656079585114562011-05-09T15:45:00.000-04:002011-05-09T15:45:20.871-04:00Beheaded FillerI have stuff to do today, like cook dinner, vacuum, solve world hunger, cure cancer, play with my kid. Ya know, all that domestic shit. So, here's a pic to keep you occupied:<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/severedbarbieheads.jpg"><br />
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I'm not sure what her deal is with ripping the head off her dolls. Maybe they did her a very grave personal wrong. Or maybe she's just evil and sadistic. Naaah.<br />
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Have a good afternoon, folks.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-80071428044326582652011-05-08T13:23:00.001-04:002011-05-08T13:28:51.958-04:00Happy Mother's Day!Today, as most of you should know (unless you're awful and don't love your mother, or your mother is a raging hosebeast) is Mother's Day. Today we buy cheap flowers for our mom, or a sappy card, or a steak dinner at Logans. But, for those of us with small <strike>demon spawn</strike> children, we receive homemade cards. So, without further ado, I bring you...<br />
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Sugar and Spice, My Ass MOTHER'S DAY CARDS! *applause ensues*<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/mothersdaycard1.jpg"><br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/mothersdaycard2.jpg"><br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/mothersdaycard3.jpg"><br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/mothersdaycard4.jpg"><br />
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And for those of you who just HAVE to be different, here's a normal one:<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/normalmothersdaycard.jpg"><br />
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So, to all my fellow mothers out there:<br />
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<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/happymomdayfrom.jpg">skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-68434705878299134792011-05-06T23:53:00.000-04:002011-05-06T23:53:38.971-04:00Dance, monkey, dance!So, Layla has this little "dance" she does whenever she's not getting her way. I have no idea why she does this, but it's fucking hilarious. And I decided to share it with you. You're welcome. And yes, that's me snorting in the background. The deep, manly voice belongs to my Big Burly Man-Beast (TM). Enjoy. :D<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-WOaVkDwCl0" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
And yes, we were totally baiting her. And she fell for it. Mwhahahahaha!skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-76332439049930370282011-05-04T14:06:00.000-04:002011-05-04T14:06:52.062-04:00Ah, memoriesDid I ever tell you about that one time, at band camp...<br />
<br />
Wait, start over.<br />
<br />
As Layla's fourth birthday approaches, I'm starting to catch myself being a little nostalgic. Remember the days when she couldn't walk? Everything stayed where I put it, more or less. Remember when she couldn't talk? When she didn't tell me to shut up, or that she didn't care? Ahhh, bliss. Remember the days when the only things you had to deal with were dirty diapers, mixing formula, and waking up in the middle of the night? It was like a vacation!<br />
<br />
One thing I definitely remember, maybe not so fondly, was the first time Layla and I were home alone together. My hetero-lifemate was off doing something. Wrestling trolls, ripping trees up by their roots, slaying dragons, whatever. I was sitting on the couch, rocking Layla, when I felt a distinctly warm sensation somewhere in the vicinity of my stomach. "Hmmmm" says I, "something seems amiss." Damn fucking right something was amiss. She had shit all over me. I don't know how a baby that only weighed a little over 7 pounds could hold that much shit. Or how the force of that much shit didn't manage to blow her diaper completely off. Sort of like this:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/poopexplosion.jpg" /><br />
<br />
This was my face when I discovered that I had been shat upon: <br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/ivebeenshatupon.jpg" /><br />
<br />
I leaped off the couch, in a single bound noless, and rushed my almost newborn infant to the nearest bathroom. All the while screaming, and flailing (in a completely safe way, of course), and uttering profanities. I turned the water on at the sink, testing the temperature on my wrist of course (what do you take me for, a bad mother?...Don't answer that.), ripped the shitty diaper off my baby's ass (in a completely gentle...you get the idea) and began bathing her in the sink. She did not like this. Not even a little. She screamed her tiny head off. We both stood there (ok, so SHE didn't stand) crying and wailing and wondering why God hated us so much. Ok, so maybe only I was wondering that. After this fun adventure, I took her back to the couch, dried her and diapered her again. <br />
<br />
When hetero-lifemate came home, he had had a perfectly wonderful, magical day. And I hated him with every fiber of my stumpy (I'm 5'2") being for it. <br />
<br />
Hetero-lifemate: "How was your day, baby?"<br />
<br />
Me: "Fuck off and die."<br />
<br />
Him: "Alright then. What's for dinner?"<br />
<br />
This is when I jumped off the couch, laid Layla down, and beat him to death. Ok, not really.<br />
<br />
And that, my faithful readers, is the Tale of the First Time I was Home Alone with Layla. (TM)<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">some parts of this story may have been embellished a tiny bit, or a complete lie.</span>skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-10556669967404254532011-05-03T19:20:00.000-04:002011-05-03T19:20:07.372-04:00Evil FillerThis is the face of evil, folks.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGlTdFAldUX51-2OU483TJg1vVNBb8pNL6-NEdQZbggwb_l0R_0TeX8zGn4M70D2-8_O_yVprYO19MVm7S8KbS9lqgtyxK4aBg8CkS29oOR_jPb9d749Jyyd-z_O6RusglqCo_4KSK2I/s1600/faceofevil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTGlTdFAldUX51-2OU483TJg1vVNBb8pNL6-NEdQZbggwb_l0R_0TeX8zGn4M70D2-8_O_yVprYO19MVm7S8KbS9lqgtyxK4aBg8CkS29oOR_jPb9d749Jyyd-z_O6RusglqCo_4KSK2I/s400/faceofevil.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I've got a post in the works, but my brain is currently not functioning at normal speed, so here's a little distraction. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
Now I'm going to go duct tape my child and throw her in the closet. She has spent this ENTIRE day irritating the holy fuck out of me. On purpose. She has screamed, scratched my arm repeatedly, hit me repeatedly with the shitty computer chair that is right next to me at this very moment. She has squealed, called my name repeatedly, only to ask me the SAME FUCKING QUESTION 209832094820398 TIMES. From the BATHROOM. (Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! MOMMY! *now screaming* MOMMY!!!!!! Me: WHAT?!?! Her: What you doin? AND repeat. *bangs head repeatedly into wall*) And of course, she's played the game of the previous entry. Getting completely shit-faced is looking pretty inviting right about now.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-42875746128633248702011-04-27T13:36:00.000-04:002011-04-27T13:36:12.367-04:00This is why I have anger management issuesThere is an aggravating, rage-inducing trend beginning in my house. Granted, this trend started as soon as she could talk, but it's steadily gotten worse. It's so bad now, that I have actually contemplated hitting her repeatedly with a blunt object. What is this trend?<br />
<br />
The "I want that, no I don't want that" trend. This is how it goes: Layla says she wants something, say...cereal. Then when I make it for her, she suddenly, and very firmly does not want it anymore.<br />
<br />
Layla: "I want to eat!"<br />
<br />
Me: " Awesome. What do you want to eat?"<br />
<br />
Layla: "I don't want to eat!" <br />
<br />
Me: "Ok then."<br />
<br />
Layla: "I'm huunnngggrrryyy!"<br />
<br />
Me: "Alright! What would you like?"<br />
<br />
Layla: "I want chocolate cereal!"<br />
<br />
Me: *takes chocolate cereal out of cabinet*<br />
<br />
Layla: "Noooooooooo, I don't waaaannntttt thhaaaattttt!"<br />
<br />
Me: "You said you did! OMG! So, what DO you want?"<br />
<br />
Layla: "I want chocolate ceeerreeaaallll"<br />
<br />
Me: *bangs head against cabinet repeatedly* *pours cereal*<br />
<br />
Layla: "Noooooooooooo!" *whines and screams like I'm setting her on fire. Which isn't a BAD idea*<br />
<br />
Me: "You're going to eat it, or I'm going to take all your teddy bears and build a bonfire with them!"<br />
<br />
Layla: *wwwhiinnnneeesssss some more*<br />
<br />
Me: *violently pours milk into cereal, slams it down on table and throws Layla in chair* Eat! For the love of jlksjdf*&%#( JESUS, eat!"<br />
<br />
Layla: *pushes cereal away* "I don't WANNA EAT!"<br />
<br />
Me: "You'll eat that cereal, or I'll dump it over your head and throw the bowl at you repeatedly! EAATTTT! NOOWWWWW!!!!"<br />
<br />
Layla: *grumbles, throws me murderous glares, eats the fucking cereal*<br />
<br />
Me: *overdoses on nerve pills*<br />
<br />
So. Yeah. I think she finds some sadistic pleasure in doing this to me. And everyone else in the house. There have been times when she's actually had a horrible, violent temper tantrum because I MADE HER WHAT SHE FUCKING WANTED. Why?! She is the only child I know (so far) that actually has a tantrum when she gets what she wants. <br />
<br />
It sort of happens likes this:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/beforerequest.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/afterrequest.jpg" /><br />
<br />
This trend will, inevitably, lead to me drooling and throwing myself against a wall repeatedly. All while screaming "But she WANTED it! Why wouldn't she eat it? WHY??!?!?! *screams hysterically*<br />
<br />
Kind of like the "post trip madness" drawing, but with more drool and screaming. <br />
<br />
At any rate, the teddy bear bonfire threat was an empty one, because she already started the teddy bear torture without me:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/BLOG/teddybeartorture.jpg" /><br />
<br />
Well, on to plan B, I guess.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-83953233567806416242011-04-23T15:42:00.001-04:002011-04-23T15:58:13.106-04:00My child is a kleptomaniacIn our house, if anything goes missing, you can be pretty sure Layla took it. Now, there are times when she's completely innocent, and the alleged item has just fell in between the couch cushions, or been carried off by a pack of hungry antelope. But for the most part, it's all Layla's fault.<br />
<br />
Her most favorite things to do in all the world is to play with random household shit. She has TONS of toys. She has a lifesize Rapunzel doll. She has big legos, she has barbies, hot wheels, elmo, coloring books, and the list goes on. But instead of playing with her plethora of wonderous toys, she instead plays with old TV remotes, or bread ties, or empty pill bottles. It astounds me, but I never expected her to be normal.<br />
<br />
For example, here is what she packed into her bag:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/randomshitinlaylasbag1smaller.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/randomshitinlaylasbag2smaller.jpg" /><br />
<br />
I can only assume that these items hold SOME importance for her. I mean, who wouldn't want to carry around a bunch of shredded cigarettes, and a straw? (Yes, I smoke. Bite me.)<br />
<br />
So, when a crucial item goes missing, say...a Netflix DVD, or a tube of medicine, or a very important paper, or half the fucking house, my first thought is "Check Layla's room."<br />
<br />
This is how the scenario plays out:<br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/whereisit1.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/panel2laylainnocent.jpg" /><br />
<br />
Awwww. Look at that innocent face. She couldn't POSSIBLY have stolen my shit! Yeah right. She'll steal your shit, spit on you, slap you, and tell you to fuck off. That's my girl!<br />
<br />
After this Academy Award winning performance, I commence a search of her room. <br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/whereisit3.jpg" /><br />
<br />
After standing on my head, and baring my ass, I usually find the stolen item in the most unlikely place ever. Like in an oven mitt, filled with bread ties, being kept fresh in her toy refrigerator. Or in her underwear drawer along with a ball of string and a clothes pin. <br />
<br />
We even had a block of CHEESE go missing once. I assumed that my fiance ate it. He assumed I ate it. But when it became clear that neither of us had consumed a cheese product, our gaze turned to Layla. Instead of denying that she took the alleged cheese, like usual, she led us into her room, pulled open the freezer part of her fake refrigerator, and presented us with the missing block of cheese. Ah. Well, at least she was keeping it fresh. Hell, it may even still be in there, reproducing little cheese minions that will eventually try to eat my daughter in her sleep. Good luck, cheese minions. She's a tricky one.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-79006134210677715182011-04-18T19:57:00.001-04:002011-04-18T21:32:28.429-04:00....and I'm backWell everyone, I'm back way sooner than was planned. Why, you ask? Was Layla trying to set things on fire? Were YOU trying to set things on fire? Did the car spontaneously start losing parts on the way out of town? OMG, did you kill your child and you're now a fugitive from justice?<br />
<br />
No, none of these. Granted, the 14-hour car ride was pretty interesting. And nervous-breakdown-inducing. And being jammed in the back of a two door car with a three year old who thinks poking mommy to wake her up every time she falls asleep just to amuse herself was pretty fucking hilarious. And let's not forget her constant insistence that she needed to pee, upon which we'd try to get her out of her car seat and she'd scream like we were trying to feed her to a pack of ravenous bears: "I already pee peeeeeeeeeeeedddd", and then screaming AGAIN that she had to fucking pee as soon as we got her all buckled in again. *twitch*<br />
<br />
But none of that is why we're back early. I got REALLY sick. The third day we were there. I was puking up everything like the damn exorcist. I ran a fever off and on. My whole body felt like it was being beaten with a sockful of marbles. There's a reason for this, but it's way too depressing and not nearly as amusing as making fun of my child, and inundating you all with her various escapades. Just wait until I tell you about our experience of trying to get her to pee outside. Fun times. <br />
<br />
I have a few entries planned. And I'm going to respond to all your comments, for which I love you long time. But for now, I'm still trying to get over being struck with the plague. I just wanted to let you all know I was back early, so you can rejoice or run screaming or cry or stab me in the face. Whichever you prefer. But for now, here's a pointless post to distract you. You're welcome.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-8467471350183594922011-04-08T14:34:00.001-04:002011-04-08T14:37:51.943-04:00Post-trip MadnessI'm pretty sure this is what I'm going to look like by the time I get back from PA.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIj71RDThOevobVNlfJsvOOjQbPt3yYT2R-gKjGSe5bWzn8dQQVCCxQU2byu-1P_c3q8BlFYXmjx3LQfn3cX4eisPUxf2LECn5Y5vtI_HjAGFpWyLMni_PG-Qn6iZsx-MTE01ehyZHuk0/s1600/post+trip+madness+bordered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIj71RDThOevobVNlfJsvOOjQbPt3yYT2R-gKjGSe5bWzn8dQQVCCxQU2byu-1P_c3q8BlFYXmjx3LQfn3cX4eisPUxf2LECn5Y5vtI_HjAGFpWyLMni_PG-Qn6iZsx-MTE01ehyZHuk0/s400/post+trip+madness+bordered.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Gibbering and mumbling something about <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qfSAcVq6s9c">a stapler, and setting things on fire.</a> Good thing I packed nerve pills.<br />
<br />
See you all in two weeks!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Don't leave me.</span>skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-72343154643884942312011-04-07T13:09:00.000-04:002011-04-07T13:09:17.052-04:00You can't catch me!Yesterday afternoon, as I took a break to check facebook, Layla thought it'd be fun to torment me. I drew an illustration so you could share in the fun. You're welcome. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WZn9qORLbbOypeWVs4RAUScqSgQEcjr7YRYoA7QD-M-bi4Jiy0GZ_ZhO4DBbkd4FAVDZkasdlLt0qI745Dm8XQmt_NB8qOaJf52Wk_MljD5TbaTh8p8LtxTxtEDZBPHW0dkS7kiStt8/s1600/panel+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2WZn9qORLbbOypeWVs4RAUScqSgQEcjr7YRYoA7QD-M-bi4Jiy0GZ_ZhO4DBbkd4FAVDZkasdlLt0qI745Dm8XQmt_NB8qOaJf52Wk_MljD5TbaTh8p8LtxTxtEDZBPHW0dkS7kiStt8/s400/panel+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxucfz36ePbeDSVX5T8l9MxZu1eJwmAZUGH5sb1c8UwtOqjO3TpsKkkclIK_GVvglBWVhe42PAtHtbD9pf5hCzkeU3Bq-GcqUaWJDtmQL4fVf_je_UmY0IiPO7fP-FgVw8RvItYDR6LVc/s1600/panel+2+and+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxucfz36ePbeDSVX5T8l9MxZu1eJwmAZUGH5sb1c8UwtOqjO3TpsKkkclIK_GVvglBWVhe42PAtHtbD9pf5hCzkeU3Bq-GcqUaWJDtmQL4fVf_je_UmY0IiPO7fP-FgVw8RvItYDR6LVc/s400/panel+2+and+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ500qQHYG4fd5ckw88admRyDmStpz9gVScryIGZQKeHLRdB4_PnGWaHxclNrdJ1trJv-UYgYR1F49-FLw0CwWBZud6EH1H5okEjxUUG3KVKyDnVkfxXfULSoa8z5HPYjB5jSAvm1YIiA/s1600/panel+3+and+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ500qQHYG4fd5ckw88admRyDmStpz9gVScryIGZQKeHLRdB4_PnGWaHxclNrdJ1trJv-UYgYR1F49-FLw0CwWBZud6EH1H5okEjxUUG3KVKyDnVkfxXfULSoa8z5HPYjB5jSAvm1YIiA/s400/panel+3+and+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02tkf7C1yUJTDkgDhxsYekP-vHJ2JoNAPpc7lcAKU3LisWoggU6iQ2SoOIBryVxolaOGEW8nxaHzqfXAbe4kQYBU02lWlN3TUCmK8BZY2EdhET6xrJi35zut4k99it_awZpxon99-LJY/s1600/panel+2+and+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh02tkf7C1yUJTDkgDhxsYekP-vHJ2JoNAPpc7lcAKU3LisWoggU6iQ2SoOIBryVxolaOGEW8nxaHzqfXAbe4kQYBU02lWlN3TUCmK8BZY2EdhET6xrJi35zut4k99it_awZpxon99-LJY/s400/panel+2+and+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO-0GUopjyMW1wpaI_hDKMzu0bHMFxRwnkXHFObvFJcjZEJy2zv6joRy6BSm2a9kpoBnk3aK_IwEMElGPRmGD5wZY3DBNAhT2VkEZY27lLhZfj63RiiRiid3v7npuj5tMhWT9MHiZ7eI/s1600/panel+3+and+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNO-0GUopjyMW1wpaI_hDKMzu0bHMFxRwnkXHFObvFJcjZEJy2zv6joRy6BSm2a9kpoBnk3aK_IwEMElGPRmGD5wZY3DBNAhT2VkEZY27lLhZfj63RiiRiid3v7npuj5tMhWT9MHiZ7eI/s400/panel+3+and+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7ehMGUCC8TfV2SFqt1YDZIT6XhCjc9WZCg_PbtYXDrIfyiWuNKRrs1NlOL4U9jvhpkJFsZmxKnBTS_WZGQSSpg33YR0FBANSDwTWlGEATILHwW_Rm41dlbhIfKxqfEouWWZ4MosqgrM/s1600/panel+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7ehMGUCC8TfV2SFqt1YDZIT6XhCjc9WZCg_PbtYXDrIfyiWuNKRrs1NlOL4U9jvhpkJFsZmxKnBTS_WZGQSSpg33YR0FBANSDwTWlGEATILHwW_Rm41dlbhIfKxqfEouWWZ4MosqgrM/s400/panel+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
This went on for about 10 minutes until I finally got tired of her making disgusting tongue noises in my ear and yelled at her to go do something else. I'm sure she couldn't think of an alternative activity, because tormenting me is one of her favorite things to do.<br />
<br />
In other news:<br />
<br />
I'll be leaving tomorrow night to go visit my relatives in PA. I'll be gone for about 2 weeks. I'll TRY to post SOMETHING while I'm gone, but there's no guarantee I'll be able to. So please, to all my new followers, don't give up on me. I shall return! :D And probably with lots of stories, because I'll be stuck in a tiny car with her for 14 hours as we drive to PA. If I don't hurl myself out of the moving car, you can be assured I'll return to make fun of my child once more. <br />
<br />
And please, don't be afraid to comment. I promise I won't fling paper towels at you, or yell at you until you cry.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-35808733670755086892011-04-05T12:56:00.000-04:002011-04-05T12:56:43.883-04:00Expected vs Reality 3Well, I know it's been a few days, but here I am! Today's milestone is potty training:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Xpb-3xP4-Rre3lduWgUxvX3SoiqbLqgmuEJbLuSMtokYHXT0FbZLU-M1O9gZpNoVTnRzaklshtDF4rvi28rRBx6QKLZ1S0hqiaJDVZi6SxX0qoDLbWxoQtvOjnwPFAOsYJkPEIAQ69M/s1600/potty+training+expected+bordered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Xpb-3xP4-Rre3lduWgUxvX3SoiqbLqgmuEJbLuSMtokYHXT0FbZLU-M1O9gZpNoVTnRzaklshtDF4rvi28rRBx6QKLZ1S0hqiaJDVZi6SxX0qoDLbWxoQtvOjnwPFAOsYJkPEIAQ69M/s400/potty+training+expected+bordered.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/?action=view&current=pottytrainingrealitybordered.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/pottytrainingrealitybordered.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br />
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That last few days I've felt like ripping my hair out by the handfuls. She has spilled medicated powder all over the dining room and living room. She's constantly whined, so I feel like bludgeoning her into unconsciousness. And she will NOT take a fucking nap! I need a vacation. And a hysterectomy.skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-82415468200794834502011-04-01T19:44:00.000-04:002011-04-01T19:44:26.514-04:00More fillerLook! I drew a crappy picture of Demon Layla! Hooray! I'm too lazy to put together an actual post. I'm sure all 5 of my followers will cry tears of disappointment.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBBzHWcSRF5RYnbuu5Bdl4nbjL8wCsMAtSD36tMHBEvGgJrWswA3scKXd-pbTISEz-DCFyFFu0WieWwhnTxeTgGK86yQq1hktF-VxkpbHmurGeHyox8bw0N03GNvvLi1tHFuw1hPTywc/s1600/demon+layla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBBzHWcSRF5RYnbuu5Bdl4nbjL8wCsMAtSD36tMHBEvGgJrWswA3scKXd-pbTISEz-DCFyFFu0WieWwhnTxeTgGK86yQq1hktF-VxkpbHmurGeHyox8bw0N03GNvvLi1tHFuw1hPTywc/s400/demon+layla.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34271320914496157.post-31656109233636485422011-03-31T23:08:00.000-04:002011-03-31T23:08:43.662-04:00Expected vs Reality 2Today's milestone is...<br />
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<b>Learning to Talk</b><br />
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<a href="http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/?action=view&current=talking.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/1003/skinartjunkie/talking.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>skin_art_junkiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01073119093920249852noreply@blogger.com2