Evil Filler

This is the face of evil, folks.

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.

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.

This is why I have anger management issues

There 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?

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.

Layla: "I want to eat!"

Me: " Awesome. What do you want to eat?"

Layla: "I don't want to eat!"

Me: "Ok then."

Layla: "I'm huunnngggrrryyy!"

Me: "Alright! What would you like?"

Layla: "I want chocolate cereal!"

Me: *takes chocolate cereal out of cabinet*

Layla: "Noooooooooo, I don't waaaannntttt thhaaaattttt!"

Me: "You said you did! OMG! So, what DO you want?"

Layla: "I want chocolate ceeerreeaaallll"

Me: *bangs head against cabinet repeatedly* *pours cereal*

Layla: "Noooooooooooo!" *whines and screams like I'm setting her on fire. Which isn't a BAD idea*

Me: "You're going to eat it, or I'm going to take all your teddy bears and build a bonfire with them!"

Layla: *wwwhiinnnneeesssss some more*

Me: *violently pours milk into cereal, slams it down on table and throws Layla in chair* Eat! For the love of jlksjdf*&%#( JESUS, eat!"

Layla: *pushes cereal away* "I don't WANNA EAT!"

Me: "You'll eat that cereal, or I'll dump it over your head and throw the bowl at you repeatedly! EAATTTT! NOOWWWWW!!!!"

Layla: *grumbles, throws me murderous glares, eats the fucking cereal*

Me: *overdoses on nerve pills*

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.

It sort of happens likes this:





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*

Kind of like the "post trip madness" drawing, but with more drool and screaming.

At any rate, the teddy bear bonfire threat was an empty one, because she already started the teddy bear torture without me:



Well, on to plan B, I guess.

My child is a kleptomaniac

In 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.

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.

For example, here is what she packed into her bag:





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.)

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."

This is how the scenario plays out:





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!

After this Academy Award winning performance, I commence a search of her room.



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.

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.

Filler

I'll be making a post this evening. You can be assured that it will be fucking hilarious. Until then, here's a pic:





The doll deserved it.

Take 2

Hello. First post after renovation. If you're in any doubt about what this blog is now about, I shall clarify for you. This blog is about motherhood. REAL motherhood. Not the kind you see in paper towel commercials, where little Timmy makes a hideous mess, and the mom smiles indulgently about it, as if she's saying "Oh, you little TYKE. Now you clean that mess up. Hehe." *shoots her in the face*

Real motherhood is not blissful. And if that kid in the commercials were my kid, I'd be yelling and throwing paper towels at him until he cried. Real motherhood will make you feel like you're going fucking insane. And then your little cherub will turn around and do something sweet. And then you turn around again and there are M&Ms in the VCR, and there's shit in the hallway, and there's a brand new crayon mural in the kid's room, and there's toys strewn all over the house, and the phone is ringing, and someone's at the door, and your kid is currently trying to bathe in the toilet. And then the day ends, and you start all over again the next day.

Real motherhood will make you cry, scream, pull your hair out, and wish your child had a mute button.

I'm not one of those moms that acts like their kid was shat out of god's ass, and is the perfect little angel. Nor am I one of those mothers who feels "fulfilled" and "rewarded" by being a stay-at-home mom. I'm real. I fully admit my kid is a pain in the fucking ass. And being a stay-at-home mom is slowly sucking out my soul. So, if your another June Cleaver, you should probably leave. This blog isn't for you.

And now, to introduce you to the little princess.



This is Layla. She may look cute and sweet and innocent, but it's just a clever disguise to lull you into a false sense of security before she punches you in the eye, and runs your foot over with her bike.

Now, just to be clear, I love my daughter more than anything, but some days I want to loan her out to some unhappy, barren couple, so they won't feel so bad about not having kids. She'll cure you of that unhappiness in less than five minutes.

So I'll be bitching, ranting, sharing advice, drawing stupid pictures, and other stuff. And that's all I've got for now.