When in doubt, blame the sprout

It's not often that i'm in a rhyming mood. These moods typically arise when I am either completely delusional from lack of sleep, or feeling the intense urge to get stabbed in the face by everyone around me by turning everything I say into a stupid little poem (trust me, stupid). The latter doesn't happen but once every 10 or so years (i'm sure the people in my life thank me for that)- but the lack of sleep thing happens all the time. Y'know, kids and shit.

I don't know why i'm going on and on about rhyming, that's not even what this blog is about. See, there's that lack of sleep thing messing with my brain again. Lack of sleep and Mommy Juice Tuesday. Y'know, it always seems like a good idea until the next morning when my brain is clouded in fuzz and EVERY FUCKING THING IN THIS HOUSE annoys me.

Rum happens to be a friend of mine. I know how it effects me, I know where to cut myself off (usually)- unlike that bitch-ass Tequila, Rum typically doesn't do me wrong... IF I get enough sleep after I drink it. Which is like...never. I do have kids, remember? And they don't like it when Mommy sleeps in. I don't think they like it when Mommy sleeps at all. I think they'd prefer me never to sleep because they do not understand nor care about the consequences, but that's beside the point. The point is: while I do not get that typical "I feel like fucking puking from my mouth.. or my ass... or both" kind of morning-after- I am not quite myself. It's an icky feeling. A feeling I do not like to experience for long. And there is no way I will be partaking in "the hair of the dog"- C'mon, AGAIN, kids!- so i've had to resort to other things to make me feel human again.

This is where I resort to the tried and true tactic of "shifting the blame." - aka the dumb-ass rhyming title of this blog: When in doubt, blame the sprout! That's right- what the hell are kids good for if we can't blame them for some of the less kosher things in life? Harmless, innocent, but still embarrassing to US, not to them, so why the hell not?

I'd say it ALWAYS works, but that would be a slight- it did ALWAYS work until the children grew out of their love of claiming my farts as their own (I RUE that day!)... but alas, all is not lost- it still works for other things. Take this cloudy headed after rum parade i'm in for instance,and my insatiable craving for something greasy because I was convinced it would make me feel better, but me being a fat ass in 'need' of something horribly unhealthy is never excuse enough, because I will feel guilty. However, if I reward the KIDS for something THEY did with a meal out, well then, it's ok! Positive fucking reinforcement, right?

The only catch is that now they have to DO something good. They haven't done good things in a long time. Lots of bad things. BAD BAD THINGS! They are evil. I must create this good situation in order to reward myself guilt free under the guise of rewarding them. Fabulous plan if I do say so myself!

Let's see, how can I spin events of today in my their favor? Well, Parker got downgraded to two therapy sessions a month for speech instead of once a week. That shit SUCKS but that means he's making progress... that's something to reward! GOOD JOB ON THE SPEAKING AND SHIT!
Oh, and Holden- he forced me to sit through and assist him with reading a book, and by reading, I mean butchering the english language- but he TRIED and he FINISHED. Hell yeah! You get a SPECIAL TREAT!

Really? REALLY? This is not what I wanted.
At least this one has cheese. Old cheese.

And it's not like I wasn't rewarding them at all and being completely greedy. I let them pick- Burger King. Barf. I don't even LIKE Burger King (except the trusty #9, but fuck, we had a coupon for something else). And there's no cheese on a mother-effing Whopper? SERIOUSLY? Have it my way my ass.
But it was what I asked for: disgusting and greasy and completely unhealthy- so can I REALLY complain when I shouldn't have been eating it anyway? Probably not.



I guess this is a case of not being able to have your cake and eat it too. Or... maybe eating it, but realizing it's not all it's cracked up to be. Who the fuck knows, really. I just want to be able to go back to blaming my farts on the kids and all will be right with the world again. Oh, and also, I want Taco Bell.