For everyone that’s been asking for an update on the baby, here’s a video: baby in mirror
Archive for May 23, 2012
It started innocently enough.
My 9 year old step-son “E” came into my room and asked that I go to bed a little earlier than usual that night. Normally I would pry at him a bit. But I don’t like having conversations while I’m taking a shit, so I agreed on the condition that he gets the f*ck away from the bathroom door.
Fast forward to the next day. I let the baby sitter go and all was quiet for about three minutes.
Then, all of a sudden, the baby starts screaming as a visibly upset “E” enters the room. I notice that the baby is rubbing her ass back and forth on the floor while screaming, which is her favorite new thing to do upon completing a bowel movement. I’m not sure why she does it. What I am sure of is that the Ass-To-Floor-Scratch is THE most effective way of getting poop in your vagina.
I begin the diaper changing process while trying to pick poop out of the V, while trying to stop her from grabbing her V in the process, while E begins to talk to me:
“Remember when I asked you to go to bed early last night?” he said.
“Yeah” I replied while doing the strangest multitasking of my adult life.
“Well, I prayed to Santa to get my Christmas presents early and they didn’t come”.
“F*ck me sideways with a trashcan!” I thought.
“Santa doesn’t bring gifts early” I said.
“What did you ask for anyway?” I continued.
“Skyrim with no violence, so I can play it” he responded.
“That’s not even something that exists” I snapped.
“Santa is magic and he can do anything” he quipped.
“Not to change the subject from the Magical May Santa Claus, but bring me your notebook so I can check for homework” said myself.
Upon receipt of his homework notebook, I noticed a note from his teacher stating that he punched a girl in the arm. I explained to him that this was completely unacceptable and told him that he would write a paragraph explaining why he should never hit a classmate.
I sent him to work on it and watched TV until Lisa got home. Ethan was still visibly upset when she saw him. Apparently, he REALLY didn’t want to write the above mentioned paragraph. After about 15 minutes of asking E what was wrong, he finally mumbled that he “had a big decision to make”. After another 15 minutes of asking what the decision was about, he wrote on a sheet of paper “whether or not to runaway” and ran upstairs.
Now, I knew what was going on, and I was not going to be manipulated. I yelled upstairs to E that he had five minutes to come down stairs with either 1. a pencil and a sheet of paper, or 2. A survival kit. I’ll be honest, I was hoping for option 2. Not because I wanted him to runaway. Because I wanted to see what kind of survival skills this particular 9 year old had or thought he had.
Five minutes later, E comes down stairs with his survival kit, the contents of which did not disappoint. No canned goods, no toiletries, no phone, no knife, no sleeping bag, no matches, no money. He packed a baseball bat and a toy wooden sword. I blankly stared at him for about 30 seconds before he said “I guess I’ll go write that paragraph now”. Which was good, because the baby was doing another Ass-Floor-Poop-In-V-Butt-Wipe again.