overheard, or, good on ya, mate!

As he climbed into his daddy's lap to cuddle:

Daddy, my pe.nis is bigger as it ever was.

Boys.

and then he was three.

Our darling surprise, HB, turned three this week.

how cute is that face?

His choice for a special birthday dinner?

Grilled cheese and tomato soup.

You know you're raising them right when they

choose your favorite foods for their birthday dinner.

And he made his own cake.

Because he wanted to be the one who got to lick the sticks.

Yes, I measured out the ingredients and

stood there the entire time,

and did hold the mixer once or twice,

but he did it all. by. himself.

And it was really, really good.

We bought him a drum.

It's quite possible he squeed when he opened it.

And The Mister and I made him a felt board.

We celebrated with family and friends, and it was just wonderful. One of these days, I will post a little video of HB laughing. Because that kid? Has the BEST. LAUGH. EVER. Everybody says so, and if everybody says it, it must be true, right?

i have so many things to tell you, mah peeps

But I have neither the energy nor the brain power to recount all of the fabulousness that was last week.

Here are the things that will happen this week:

1. ERGObaby review. Here. On this little bit of the blogoslovakia.
2. Sleepy Wrap review and coupon code. Also here.
3. Guest post at The Hotfessional. Link forthcoming.
4. Pics of my new three year-old.
5. Pics of my former maple trees.

Oh-- we got our pig today. HB calls it our Pig-Gi-Let. I call it DINNER. And it came to my house the only acceptable way: chopped up and wrapped in butcher paper. Our bacon and hams are in the smoker, and we'll get them as soon as they're done.

Fresh. Bacon. There's nothing like it.

And now I'm all distracted thinking about bacon.

this is how today went.

Miss O's stupid evil God-awful black cat, Sully, slept on my head last night. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't just acquired THE FLEAS, and if I didn't have a hair appointment this afternoon. Thanks, cat.

Wee Man's preschool class celebrated Thanksgiving today, which involved short people sitting in three rows of 10 chairs, and sometimes singing a variety of preschool songs. It was exactly the same program we saw two years ago when Miss O was in preschool cute. Wee Man has been having a growth spurt of late, and is either eating, sleeping, or acting like a wackadoo. Naturally, during the "celebration", he chose wackadoo. Good work, kid.

The Electric Company sent the Asplundh Tree Service to our house today to remove the two enormous maples in our front yard. This is a happy/sad thing. I'm happy the trees won't fall on our house or vehicles, and The Mister is sad because he's a sentimental fella, and those trees have been there forever. Sorry, babe.

Sweets has discovered The Art of The Head Butt. And I think the bridge of my nose is broken. No, really. He performed the kind of move with his head that the fancy karate people use on boards when they want to bash them in half. I am in SO MUCH FACE PAIN right now that not even the lortabs help. You're advanced, karate-headed babeh.

I got a haircut tonight, because I was looking like some crazy, frizzed out, poorly dyed, bastard child of a mushroom and a loaf of bread. Now I'm looking nicey. Thanks, Tiff.

Whist sitting in the chair at the salon, because SALON is so much fabber than HAIRDRESSER, which makes me sound like an old lady or something, the junior salon girl pointed the hair dryer at my right ear drum and fired away for an hour, burnt both of my ears with the flat iron, also burnt my forehead with the flat iron, and sprayed me in the eyes with the spritzy stuff at least half a dozen times. You rock, junior salon girl.

But... I did get the diapers all washed and dried, the house is mostly cleaned, I remembered to make my contribution to the MOPS breakfast tomorrow, also baked a batch of bread, and The Mister and I made a grand pot of some seriously bad-ass bean soup.

And by BAD-ASS, I do not mean the kind of bean soup that gives you a bad ass.

Much.

in which i refer to glee, church, gays, and love. and no, you don't need to brace yourselves. i think.

So I turned on the television and watched Glee. And meh, or not-so-meh, it was okay. Some of the singing is amazing, but really, the auto-tune is over.kill. The people are all very clean, and pretty, and even the bad boy with the poser mohawk is clean and pretty. So meh.

Obviously, I am going somewhere with this. Because I ALWAYS go somewhere with my intensely clever posts.

Der.

Pretty blonde cheerleader girly's parents found out she was knocked up. And being the good, happy, always chipper Christian family, cheerleader girly's daddy kicked her out of the house after saying kind words like, WHO ARE YOU, and I DON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE YOU, and walking away from her when she said she needed her daddy to hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

We have a little portion of our church service where we share our joys and also things we would like people to pray about. For example, one time when Auntie Teff was visiting, someone asked for prayer for a man who had been kicked by a cow for the second time, and she just about wet her pants laughing. You can never tell when those cows are going to go all rogue...just look at the former governor of Alaska. That cow went ALL KINDS OF ROGUE, and got a book deal.*

Mooooo-ving on. Yes, people, that is one smoooooth segue there.

So a guy stood up and said he would like prayer for a member of his family who "has decided to go and join the gay community" and he then went on and on about his views of homosexuality, and on and on... and on and on... and he said a number of things that were not really very nice.

My stomach was in a knot, because sitting right behind me were the parents of one of our openly gay church members. Every comment about "the gays" felt like the stab of a knife, and he wasn't even talking about my child. I can't even imagine how it would have felt to listen to him talk if my child was one of "the gays". I was hurt when that stupid old man said my kids were bad last weekend. And that stupid old man wasn't slamming my kids, he was attacking my parenting. I can't imagine how it would feel to listen to someone bash my child.

The gold star goes to me, for making this about me!!!

It is so incredibly frustrating to be around people who claim to love the God who teaches that we should love our neighbors, and with their next breath preach rejection to people who are different from them. I am reading a book by Philip Yancey called What's So Amazing About Grace?, and one of the chapters is about his relationship with a friend who is gay. It's actually about way more, and way deeper points and ideas and stuff, but just try to stick with me on this one. Some Christian media outlet is interviewing the friend's mother, and asks her a question (totally paraphrasing here): You're a Christian, don't you find your son to be an abomination? She replied, He might be an abomination, but he's still our pride and joy.

We all are some sort of abomination, yet each of us is someone's pride and joy. Everyone has some sort of failure going on in their lives, and I'd wager that more often than not? We all suck in way more ways than we're willing to let on. I'm not sure when the free passes to overlook our own abominationosity were handed out, but there's a certain group who received too many.

If we did nothing but treat every person as a person of great value, this world would be a completely different place. Each of us is important. Each of us has worth. Each of us is someone's pride and joy. Never forget that, not even for a second. Act and speak accordingly.**

*In light of my own position in this post, I apologize for mocking the former governor of Alaska. I'm sure she's someone's pride and joy.

**You know I love a healthy debate, but so help me, if any of you are rude, I will delete your asses and close the comments so fast your heads will spin. Even if you are someone's pride and joy.

kids are not at all like a box of chocolates.

Because when I buy chocolate, I get exactly the kind of chocolate I want. Every. Single. Time.

With short people?

Sometimes they crap their pants and hide the evidence. Sometimes you find them cuddled in a heap with their siblings, each proclaiming the others' bestness.

And that is not at *ALL* like chocolate.

i yelled at an old man.

My favorite shopping event of the year was Saturday, the World-Wide Christmas Fair at a local church.

Let me 'splain... no, that take too long. Let me sum up.

Amazing artisans from third world countries, fairly-traded gorgeous things. And also, egg-salad sandwiches and yummy soup for lunch.

I was there with the three boys, and we had successfully navigated the fair, and had successfully consumed our lunches, and Wee Man and HB had very nearly successfully put their booster seats away. You see, they were eating soup, and boosters are essential for cleanliness in soup eatestry. And by VERY NEARLY SUCCESSFUL in putting their booster seats away, I mean that the seats were pretty much where I asked for them to be put, and the boys only sounded like one 2 year-old and one 4 year-old, not a bazillion.

I call that a win.

The old man at the adjacent table? Want to know what he said?

You're absolutely right I'm going to tell you anyway.

He said to me, looking me straight in the face:

Did you happen to notice that little girl sitting next to you is just eating her lunch and being quiet and so good, and well, your boys are not being good. I shouldn't say NOT GOOD, but well, they're not.

I looked back at him. I believe my eyes were as wide open as they have ever been, and a lady from the kitchen ran out to give me a spatula to SCRAPE MY JAW UP OFF THE FLOOR.

He was looking for an answer, and also, I'm guessing his version of THE ANSWER did not have the word asshole in it. Also probably not fucker. So I took a moment, gathered my thoughts, and translated them into the vulgarity-free version.

There are some things that you should just never say out loud. And THAT WAS ONE OF THEM. My boys are two and four. They are acting like 2 and 4 year-old boys. Do you think I haven't noticed their behavior? Here's a little suggestion for you: THE NEXT TIME YOU WANT TO TELL A MOTHER WITH THREE LITTLE BOYS ABOUT THEIR BEHAVIOR? BITE. YOUR. TONGUE. SIR.

I admit, I said SIR in the calling-him-an-asshole-voice.

Oh, well, I was just teasing, don't take it so seriously, he said, clearly uncomfortable. AS WAS APPROPRIATE FOR HIS SITUATION.

No, you weren't teasing, nobody says things like that and is really, honestly kidding. You were being mean, and I don't appreciate it. My children are acting their age. There was no need for you to say mean things about them, and infer that I'm a bad parent.

I gathered up my sweet boys who were looking more than a little surprised that I had just chewed out Mr. Curmudgeon Pants McGee, and we left.

I think he got the message.