It's always something, right? The Boy requested to speak with his father the other nite. I roll my eyes while I dig out his inconvient long distance Las Vegas number. When I hear his voice, I shove the phone at The Boy not wanting to speak to this nigga anymore than I'm required to.
His father hasn't called much lately. I don't speculate; it is what it is. It makes no difference to me but matters so much to this boy. Frankly, if he's not calling bout anything useful to my son, ie, child support, I have nothing to say to him.
Fast forward to this afternoon. I stumble out the room for my afternoon piss. While partaking the porcelin, The Boy brings me the phone telling me his stepmomma wants to talk to me. I'm confused cause she normally doesn't call me and I no longer hold conversations with her. She's not a problem actually; it's her husband I can't stand. At any rate, the fewer attachments I have the easier life is for me.
Anyway, she informs me that her husband is a schlupp which I knew already, and has taken over the task of sending The Boy the uniforms he needs for school. During some idle chit chat she also informs me that this nigga has become a minster. A. MINISTER. Even the turd I was ready to drop had to pause for a minute. That heathen ass nigga...a minster? I still don't believe her. I guess all that dirt he did done drove him to the pulpit. Guess what though....he still aint shit to me and aint neva gon' be shit till he do right by his first born.
Let him thump his bible with that. Word.« ... now bounce.
This is one of those gigs where I really shoulda read the fine print a little more closely. My 9 year old has hit puberty....and I am ready to hurl. No, really, I can't take this shit. Growing hair in place only grown ups should be able to sprout folicles...I can't deal. Bras, pads, monistat....this is really too much for me at this point in my life.
Just five minutes ago I had to slather Nair all over her hairy armpits cause they were just gross. A child that young has no business sprouting hair like a grown man. Yuck. Heaven help me when she starts her cycle. I'll send her to my mom.
My son is 6 years old and has finally discovered his balls. He will grab, scracth and massage said balls at any given moment. No really, he doesn't care where he is...the grocery store...camp...I'm trying to teach this child some ball etiquitte but damn if he's paying me any mind. Should I really expect much from a child that can't aim his penis into the toilet without splashing the damn counter? Drives me insane.
I'm nesting. Actually, I nest in spurts. Being that I work sporadically, I have actually designed a cleaning schedule, one room at a time. Started the living room yesterday by flipping up the couch, cutting out the bottom lining and making the kids clean out the grossness inside. OMG, those heathens had a damn chicken bone in my couch. I was furious. A chicken bone??? Nevermind they have no business eating in the living room, let a lone stashing bones in my damn couch.« ... now bounce.