flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

July 03, 2006

My Son The Perv

Stinky is going through a bad phase. He keeps trying to look up my skirt or down my shirt. I'm feeling all Jocasta* like - and skeevy with it. So I keep telling him to cut it out. Tonight was the last straw. I was playing with the boyz, and Stinky started with the skirt jerks, so I said, "Come on, Moth Man, let's go play. I don't want to play with a little boy who won't listen."

So Stinky says, "I never wanna see you again."

Stinky is also going through a phase of ultimatums. I'm sick of it.

me: "Go upstairs then. And don't come down til supper."

Stinky: "I hate supper."

me: "Ok, then go upstairs and wait for Daddy to come get you ready for bed."

First he started with the "Supper Supper I want Supper" screams. Then it was cries that he was starving. Then it was heart-broken cries. I kept saying to John "He'll be ok, right?" How is it that I can be such a hard-ass and then completely want to cave when he really sounds like he's hurt? He ought to bottle that cry.

John convinced me to stand firm.

Stinky got a slice of bread, a sippy-cup of water (a SIPPY cup. What an insult.) and a lecture from dad that: "Words have Power. And stop looking up your mother's skirt."

We'll see if he caught on tomorrow.


* - I had to look it up, too. That's Oedipus's mommy.



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