Monday, January 24, 2011

9 kids + Photo session = Agonizing Form of Torture

One of my Macaroni Kid partners, Wendy, came up with what she thought was a fabulous idea.

"Wouldn't it be awesome if we could get a huge portrait of all our kids together with our Macaroni Kid banner...we could use it on our website!" she exclaimed to me and our other partner, Ann, one day.

Awesome?  Well, not exactly the word I would've chosen for such an occasion. 

Crazy?  Oh yeah.  An agonizing form of torture?  Most definitely.

You see, between the 3 of us, we have 9 kids ranging in age from 2 years old to 7 years old.  

Okay, stop laughing hysterically and try to compose yourself.  We haven't even gotten to the funny part yet.

So being the go-getter that she is, Wendy partnered with one of the most well-known photographers in our area.  After the holidays had passed, she immediately contacted the photographer and set up an appointment to have the portrait done.

In the meantime, Wendy kept saying things like, "I was up all night, envisioning how it will look.  I was thinking we could have the kids all laying together on their bellies across the banner.  They can all wear matching shirts!"

I tried to share her enthusiasm.  Really, I did.  But I know my spawn...and I knew we were headed for disaster. 

The day arrived and we had arranged to meet at the photographer's studio and then head out to the beautiful grounds of the local university just down the street. 

When I arrived at the studio, Wendy was already there with her 2 kids.  I opened the door, sprung the spawn loose and the photographer looked at me and asked, "You have 4 kids?!"

I nodded my head as I noted the sparkle in his eye began to fade.  The noise level in the studio was quickly rising and Ann still hadn't arrived with her 3 kids.

The photographer asked, "Is this everyone?"

Wendy answered, "Uh, no....Ann has 3 kids".  He then excused himself and went into the back of the studio, probably to toss an entire bottle of Advil down his throat and to desperately search for some ear plugs.

After Ann got there, the photographer had one of his partners and her assistant join us and he explained that she would be taking our picture.  She didn't seem nervous though as she watched our kids fight over a pack of gum, while 2 of my spawn spit at one another and 1 was crying for no obvious reason other than to annoy me.

It took only a few minutes to get down the street to the college campus and once the kids were released from their carseats, they happily ran across the grass....and into a courtyard full of rose bushes, where one of my kids got stabbed in the arm by a bunch of thorns.

Just as I said, "Watch...it'll be one of my kids who falls and gets their shirt dirty", one of my kids fell and got his shirt dirty.  Could this get any better?!

So, my friends, in case you're ever wondering what it's like to do a photo session with 9 young children (4 of which are the spawn of the devil himself), let me give you the breakdown in the form of numbers.

5 - the number of times I asked my kids if they had to go potty before we left the studio after lying to them that there would be no bathroom where we were going

4 - the number of children who insisted they didn't have to go

1 - the number of children who came up to me with a sad look on their face AFTER we had already arrived on campus and said, "Mommy, don't be mad at me but I might have pooped a little in my pants".   

10 - the number of minutes we had to hold up the photo session for the 1 kid who had to finish pinching one off, preferably in the toilet this time

3 - the number of times I was told by 1 of my spawn that he hated me because I was mean

6  - the number of times Wendy threatened to spank her son if he didn't stop doing what he was doing

8 - the number of times Wendy and I demanded to know what Ann puts in her kids' juice to make them so quiet and well behaved.

0 - the number of times Ann's kids talked back to her

11 - the number of times my kids talked back to me

25 - the number of minutes one of my kids cried

7 - the number of times I threatened to remove the crying child from the photo session

2 - the number of times I actually followed through on that threat

13 - the number of times I told my kids to keep their hands to themselves


17 - the number of times they hit one another anyway

1 - the number of trees which were watered by a child who had to pee desperately

26 - the number of times all the kids complained that they were cold

28 - the number of times we told them that if they would just stop fooling around and do what they were told, we could get into our warm cars and leave


5 - the number of unopened wine bottles we have in our house, which kept dancing through my head

2000 - the number of calories I wanted to consume after the torture....I mean, photo session

30- the number of seconds it took me to tell Tim, once I got home, that I was getting the hell outta there and he was on his own with the spawn to figure out what to do for dinner

But wait...it's not over.  The next day the photographer posted on our Facebook wall, "Give me a call.  I have some other ideas if you're up for it".

After viewing the pictures online (and laughing our asses off), we came to the sad conclusion that the photo session had not been successful.  No shit, right?

So we will be going back for yet another session but, this time, in the studio where the photographer says we'll have more control.

Her words, not mine. 

Lord help us all.







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Monday, January 17, 2011

Interview with the Experts: Part Two

1)  Shortmama at Family of Shorts:

For Bella...do you wish all your siblings were sisters and how do you think things would be different if they were

Bella:  Yeah, then we could play house and games all day long.  One brother would be okay but definitely not three.  The the house wouldn't smell as bad.

2)  Donna at The Wild Adventures of Austin and Logan:

Do you ever wish you guys could be the "baby twins" and not the "big twins"?

Cole:  I'd rather be the baby twins because I don't want to go to college for a long time.
Bella:  Me too.  I'd rather be a baby twin.  Cuz then I wouldn't have to do homework. 

If you could visit Washington, DC (only 1.5 hours away from ME), what would you like to SEE and DO there?

Cole:  I don't know what that is.
Me:   It's the capital of the United States, near where Donna lives with her twins, Austin and Logan.  You guys would like them!
Cole:  I know Austin.  He's in my class.
Me:  No, it's a different Austin
Cole:  Oh, okay.  Well, sure I'll go visit them.  Do they got a pool?

3)  Karen at A Peek at Karen's World:

When are you coming to hang out with me again? 

Bella:  When we come to Disneyland again and we can ride Space Mountain.   But I don't know if I want to ride it again because I almost puked.  We went down really fast and my belly started hurting.  I almost puked in the picture. 
Me:  What picture? 
Bella:  That picture we took with Amy, Mike and Jackson.
Me:  But Karen wasn't at Disneyland when we took that picture.
Bella:  Yeah, but I thought I was going to puke in the picture.
Cole:  We'll see Karen when we go to Disneyland and we'll ride Space Mountain again, like we do everytime. 

What is mommy's job? And what is daddy's job?

Bella:  Mommy's job is doing Macaroni Kid and she brings her computer to the jumpy house place. And my daddy's job is to work.  He sits in his chair and says he's working.
Me:  Do you really think he's working?
Bella:  No, I think he watches movies all day long on his computer.
Me:  You're probably right.
Cole:  Mommy's job is to clean the house when we're at Oma and Opa's house.  Daddy's job is take care of us.
Me:  So Daddy takes care of you?  Not me?
Cole:  Yep.  You take care of us sometimes, Mom. 
Me:  Geez, motherhood is a thankless job.
Cole:  I say thank you sometimes, like when you make me french toast for dinner.

4)  Debi at Who Says 8 Is Enough? :

Me:  This next question is from Debi.  She has nine kids.
Bella:  Oh My God.  She's crazy.  So that means there's 11 people in their family?  Hey, Cole, this lady has NINE kids.
Cole:  Holy cow.  She must really like kids.  I bet their house is more noisy than ours.
Me:  Yes, I'm sure it is.  But I'll be her kids listen to her.
Cole:  I doubt it.

What is the most disgusting thing you have ever eaten and why?

Bella:  Grapes and strawberries are disgusting for me.  They taste gross and the strawberries are too sweet.
Cole:  Nothing's disgusting to me.  Except maybe boogers.  Yeah, definitely boogers.

What is the funniest thing you have ever seen your mom or dad do?

Cole:  When we were doing a pillow fight and my mom and dad throwed pillows at me at the same time and I fell down.  Actually I twisted and then fell down.  We were all laughing.  It was a good time.
Bella:  I would say the same thing.  That was a bunch of fun. 

5)  Megan at Twinsomnia:

If you could have any kind of pet, what would it be? And dead lizards don't count.

Bella:   Hey, how'd she know we had a dead lizard for a pet?
Me:  Cuz I wrote about it in my blog.
Bella:  You did?!  You put everything in your blog.
Me:  That's right.  All the better to haunt you with someday, my dear.
Bella:  Okay, well I'd have three things for a pet if I could have anything...bunnies, butterflies, a cat and a dog.
Me:  That's more than three things....and we already have a cat
Bella:  Another cat...a different one.
Me:  Another cat to torture?
Bella:  No, I'd be nice to that cat.

Cole:  A turtle in a tank, some fish in the same tank, no cat, a dog and a chameleon in a tank.  The chameleons will change colors so they'll blend in.
Bella:  Chameleons can blend in?  Wait, I don't even know what those are.
Cole:  They're like lizards but not really.  They have a twisty tail and big eyes.  It's hard to explain.  They stick their tongue out and it's really long.  They climb like lizards and eat insects I think.

6)  Cameon at The Girl of Many Hats:

What is your favorite thing about being a twin? What is your least favorite thing?

Bella:  I can't answer that.  I don't have anything for it.  My brothers always fight with me and they never stop.  And my mom asks me to help them with their homework and they don't know how to do it and it's frustrating.  I have a lot of least favorite things.  Not a lot of favorite things.
Cole:  Nothing favorite.  I think my twin's gonna keep being mean to me so I'd rather have a boy twin instead of a girl twin.  When I see Bella at lunch at school, she always hits me and sticks her tongue out at me.
Bella:  Do not.
Cole:  You do, too.  I'm still mad about being in the belly at the same time as you.  You should've just been born AFTER  me.  Like, way after me.  Like, at a different time and a different day.  You should've just been someone else's twin.
Me:  Be nice.
Cole:  I am being nice.  I was going to say she should've just been born in a whole 'nother family but I didn't cuz I'm trying to be nice.

7)    Holly at Tropic of Mom:

How do you tell the difference between the truth and a lie?

Cole:  A truth is a real thing and a lie is like you're not telling the truth.  Like if your dad's mad at you when you do something wrong and you lie to him, you get spanked.  You always have to tell the real truth or you'll get on time out.
Bella:  I don't know.  If you lie, it means you're faking.  Like if something's dead like your butterfly and you tell someone, then you're telling the truth.  I never lie.  I always tell the truth.
Me:  Really?
Bella:  Yeah, I think so.  Someone can lie about lying.
Me:  Are you lying about lying?
Bella:  Huh?  You're not making any sense.
Me:  Avoiding the question, I see.

8)  Mercy at Days, Life, Dreams:

What do you want to be when you grow up and why?

Cole:  I wanna be an artist or a paleontologist.  Because it sounds like fun and I like dinosaurs and my mom calls me an artist because I draw really good.  It makes her happy, especially when it looks like a picture.
Bella:  I have a lot of things but I'll try to be short.  A famous singer and a teacher.  Hey, maybe I could be a famous singer who teaches! 
Me:  You could do that!  Do you have Bieber Fever?
Bella:  No, I just got a tummy ache.

9)  Allison at Life in a Pink Fibro:

I'd really like to know why snails are off limits.

Cole: (sighing)  Well, first of all, they're really gross.  They leave slime all over the driveway and they eat my mom's flowers in the front yard.  We scooped them all up one day and put them in a bucket.  Then we poured salt on them and their guts started fizzling and they kind of exploded.  We showed them who was boss and they've never tried to come back again.
Bella:  DUH, because they're dead!
Cole:  Well, no new snails have come back.  That's what I meant.  I like earthworms, though.  When it rains, we have a lot of them, like about a hundred or a thousand earthworms all over our driveway.  My little brothers try to step on them but my mom yells at them.  I really want an earthworm farm someday.  We have earthworms in our garden in the backyard.  When it's summertime, we plant vegetables and fruit and we always find a ton of earthworms.  Do you know that earthworms are really good for the soil in a garden?  Yup, they are.
Bella:  You sure say "earthworms" a lot.

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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Do you think she might want a fried egg? I can't tell...

Mothers can be so cruel.  Poor Bella...




I took this video back in April of last year and totally forgot about it until now. 

And, nope, I don't think she ever got her fried egg.


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Dear Jersey Shore Cast...guest post courtesy of The Literal Mom

Today's entertaining guest post comes to you from the beautiful and talented Missy at Literal Mom.

You know how when you stumble upon a blog for the first time and after reading merely a few paragraphs of one of the posts, you feel instantly drawn in?  Kind of like coming home after a long vacation?   You feel an overwhelming connection to this blogger, as if you've been lifelong friends, and you just know if you were to get together in person, your friendship would be the kind where you finish each other's sentences.

That's how I feel about Missy.  I ran across her blog one day and have not stopped reading since.

She is a devoted wife to her loving husband and the mother of two precious daughters, as well as an active community volunteer, an advocate for childhood education and a leader in several community organizations.

Not only is Missy witty, funny and incredibly sweet, she writes with such purpose and honesty. She's not afraid to put her thoughts and experiences on parenting out there for the world to read.  Missy writes about things that some of us are afraid to admit, such as when our kids get hurt and we get more caught up in what others think of our parenting skills rather than our injured child.

She has helped me to become a better mother....a THINKING mother, which is the whole point behind Literal Mom. 

I hope you enjoy this hilarious guest post from her!  And after reading it, please leave Missy some comment love and then go to Literal Mom and be sure to subscribe! 
======================================================

Dear Jersey Shore Cast 

The-jersey-shore-cast-strikes-a-poseI want  to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for what you've done to change pop culture and how our yutes today view their role in society and, more specifically, drinking establishments.

My husband and I recently went out on New Year's Eve with some good friends of ours.  Good friends whom we've had copious amounts of alcohol in public places  socialized with before.  So we know each other and like to "have each other's backs," much like you do when you go out to find out who's DTF for the evening.

And that raises my first "thank you" of this letter.

The DTF What a witty way to describe a woman who's willing to engage in what we used to call a "one-night-stand."  I think it's really quite ingenious of you to incorporate it not only into your lingo with each other, but to use it as a pick up line!  What better way to learn if a woman is "DTF - down to fuck" than by asking her!

I understand how a man wants to know the end result of his evening's work.

Being a married woman myself, I'm sure my husband greatly appreciates that I'm a sure bet on our nights out.  Or DTF, as you would say. I think, though, if I have one bit of advice, it would be to recognize that I am not DTF to YOU.  I am DTF to my HUSBAND.  Therefore, if you come up and start the DTF dance on me (see below) and my husband taps you on the shoulder and says, "That's my wife," your response should not be "I don't see a ring on her finger."

And when he takes said ringed finger and shoves it in your face so that you do indeed see it, your next response should not be, "Yeah, well, she's dancing. It looks like she likes it to me."

That kind of thing doesn't go over well with a married man of 14 years whose wife drank too much and is now dancing like it's still the 80s enjoying a night out with his wife.

To the ladies in regard to DTF, how nice it is for YOU to not have to worry about the mixed signals you may send through the evening.  Now, thanks to the Jersey Shore men, you have the chance to answer yes, no, or maybe later when asked if you are DTF.

Which brings me to my second reason to thank you:

DTF Dancing.  I really like how you've taken dancing to the next level.  I love how you double team drunk girls (I'm quite sure it's to help them stand up from massive alcohol consumption and has nothing to do with an animalistic desire to have a 3-way with her) and I love how you've taken things that used to be left for the bedroom and exposed them for public consumption!

How I would have loved to be in college and have a guy I barely knew come up behind me, grasp my hips and start rubbing his money maker all over my booty.  Really, really a boost in confidence that most girls need.  

And to the girls, I love the outfits you wear to both encourage booty dancing and make it easier to booty dance effectively.

Which brings me to my next reason to thank you.

The Booty Dress.  Your dresses!  My have they shortened in the past several years!  That must be so helpful to the men who want to DTF with you.  And that's so nice of you.  Recently I saw a particularly stunning booty dress.  It was so high and so tight, the wearer could show "crack" from the bottom, NOT the top.  Isn't that neat?  So she didn't have plumber's crack, she had booty dress crack.
And let me tell you, the men were loving it.

After 4 drinks too many Because I am a mother, I felt it only right to go and remind them that she is someone's daughter and maybe her parents wouldn't want to see you men reaching up under her dress and patting her crack-showing bottom.  But I didn't have to, because after it rode up even higher, arguably over her entire bottom, she must have felt the breeze, so she pulled it right back down where it belonged, just under the bottom of her bottom.  With a teensy little bit of crack hanging out.

Finally, my 4th reason to thank you.

The TMT.  Oddly, this acronym is close to TNT - dynamite.  The TMT is what I like to think of as Too Much Testosterone.  But I imagine it can also be the TME - Too Much Estrogen.

And you guys haven't even coined this acronym yet!  This one's all me.  You are welcome.  Just don't try to sue Abercrombie if they put it on a t-shirt - that's my job, K?

Anyway.  Back to TMT.  I really like how you, all of you, will fight with anyone, anytime, anywhere when alcohol, DTFs and Booty Dresses are in play.  And I got to see this phenomenon you've created first hand on New Year's Eve!

And that was so nice, because we didn't go out on New Year's Eve to have fun with friends, dance and ring in the new year together.  We actually did go out to see if we could re-create a Jersey Shore moment. And when so many of your proteges were on-location with us, our evening became a fait accompli.
All thanks to you.  The DTF.  The Booty Dress.  And testosterone.

So thanks again for all you've done for popular culture.  I CAN'T WAIT until my girls are old enough to learn from you first hand!

Signed,

The Literal Mom

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Sunday, January 9, 2011

10 things I have learned from my kids...

1)  When I hold them, their little hands will always gravitate to my boobs...it happens so often that I've stopped noticing.  But, of course, my husband notices it every single time because he NEVER gets to feel me up anymore.

2)  Wearing shoes without socks will result in the worst smell EVER, like death warmed over...times 20.

3)  Any time someone farts, the polite thing to do is laugh hysterically and give the farter a high-5.  It's a sign of respect and appreciation for the greater things in life. 

4)  It doesn't matter how loudly I yell, they still won't listen.  However, they'll hear me every single time I mumble "shit" under my breath.

5)  If they can get away with peeing in the tub without anyone noticing while bathing with their siblings, it's almost as if they've just committed the crime of the century and got off scott-free.  Too bad they won't be able to contain their excitement for too long because we all know kids can't keep secrets (another thing I learned along the way).

6)  The highlight of their day is wearing out my cell phone battery by playing 50 games in a row of Angry Birds....and the lowest part of the day is when I get lost in a strange neighborhood but can't call for help or look at the Google Map because...HELLO...my friggin' cell phone is dead!

7)  Turning in their homework to the teacher at the very last minute isn't the end of the world.  In fact, it's actually a wonderful lesson for the TEACHER....you know, good things come to those who wait and all that crap.

8)  Cats can be violently bent into approximately 32 various positions without breaking their backbone.  Don't mind the fact that it cost the cat roughly 5.7 lives.

9)  The most vicious thing a parent can do to their child is hand him the very first cracker in the package and expect him to accept it happily.  And it's completely unacceptable to eat the rainbow-sprinkled chocolate glazed donut, even though there are 6 others just like it....because that's the EXACT one he wanted.

10)  There's no need to worry about missing out on anything because they'll always point things out to me (in their loudest voice, of course)...like the older gentleman at the store who's carelessly scratching his nuts or the woman sitting next to me at the park who clearly wears an overabundance of makeup.


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Tuesday, January 4, 2011

It sucks to be The Family Cat...

Hey peeps...or should I say "fellow cat haters"...I am The Family Cat.

This is me....the one with the stripes. 
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Are you thinking I look pretty damn uncomfortable?  

You'd be right.  Did my stiff arms give it away?  Perhaps the scared shitless look on my face might have clued you in?  Or maybe just the sight of this child's hands squeezing my poor little chest in a death grip made you grimace even just a little bit...

Let me introduce you to my living nightmare....

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I know, I know.  They look so adorable...all happy and cuddly on Christmas morning.  Smiles so bright and cheery, as if they couldn't harm a fly, right?

Take a look at this next picture of me and tell me your opinion hasn't changed.

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Yeah, I thought you'd see my side of things. 

So let me just tell you what life was like BEFORE the nightmare began. 

Picture it...it was August 2000 when I was adopted by a super sweet young lady and her fiancee (at the time).  They saved me from an untimely demise and brought me home to their tiny, yet cozy, 2-bedroom condo. 

Upon arrival at my new home, I was introduced to my 2 roommates, Maggie and Brady.  The family rabbits. 

I was cool with them....as long as they didn't get in my way.  Any time they'd scurry by me, I'd quickly reach out one of my paws and attack them.  I never really meant any harm...cats can't resist mice...I mean, rabbits.

So, yeah....karma's a bitch and all that crap.  Yadda, yadda, yadda.  Trust me, folks, I knew my fate was sealed, 4 years later, as soon as the sweet young lady's belly began to grow at an alarmingly fast pace. 

Pretty stupid of me to think they'd be happy with just the 3 of us cuddly animals...eventually, all good things must come to an end.

As lame as those rabbits were, they must have been smarter than they appeared because they both decided to kick the bucket before the kids were born. 

Fricken rabbits...now, they were all up in rabbit heaven, hopping around and enjoying their new digs....while I was stuck in hell, basically crossing my days off on a calendar and eating stale cat chow. 

The lady and the man adopted another rabbit, in the meantime, so I at least had someone else to take my anger out on.   What more could a cat want but her very own personal scratching post...in the form of a harmless, unsuspecting furry bunny.

Then the spawn were born....the first set, anyway.  Cole and Bella.  Bella and Cole.  Go ahead and do your collective sighs...and then I'll fill you in on the real deal.

Okay, so these spawn....these horrible demonic babies....made my life a living hell.  They pawed at me, they grabbed my tail, they tugged at my ears...they made me wish that cats had only 1 life, instead of 9.

And you know what....no one came to my rescue.  NO ONE.  They would watch the kids terrorize me and say, "Awww, look at how much the babies love the cat".  If that was love, I'd hate to see how they treated someone they despised.

So, yeah...pretty much hating my life at that point.  I decided to join forces with the skanky rabbit, where we spent most of our days plotting our takeover...misery loves company and all that shit. 

Before our plan could come to fruition, something devastating happened.  The man and the lady had ANOTHER pair of spawn.

Really?!  Two kids at a time....TWICE?  Who the hell does that?!   It was like a huge cosmic joke or something.

From there, I tried to spend as much time as possible outdoors...standing in the middle of the street, praying for a high-speed vehicle to put me out of my misery.  I sought out other cats in the neighborhood, picking fights with even the meanest of the mean...in the hopes of knocking off 1 or 2 (or 6) of my lives in one shot.  No such luck.

So I spend most of my days now pretty much in a catatonic state, just waiting to meet my maker at Rainbow Bridge and cursing out those damn rabbits for leaving me here all alone in Cat Hell (the 3rd one eventually died, as well...of a broken heart, I'm sure).

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And, no...that is not a smile on my face in the above picture.  Merely just trying to savor whatever oxygen I have left in my lungs as the child squeezes my rib cage so hard that it literally forces my stiff arms to cross in front of me. 

Oh good God....we're on the move now.  That's why the picture below is so blurry.  The lady had a hard time keeping up, as the child kept whisking me off here and there.  I'm nothing but a puppet to her....an unwilling playmate of sorts.

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Here I am trying to escape from her clutches.  I'm fully aware that I'm high up on a staircase but....do I really care, people? 

You know they say that, if you're ever kidnapped (or catnapped), you should never let your assailant take you to a 2nd location.  Let's just say I've watched Oprah a few times in my life, when I've been fortunate enough to have the house to myself. 

I knew if this child got me in her room....you know, behind closed doors, it would mean hours of pure torture for me.  She'll make me sleep with her...holding me hostage for hours under her bedsheets.  Sure, it may sound like a cat's dream but I can assure you that it is NOT.
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Oh yeah, and here's the part where the child remembered that her beloved Blues Clues stuffed animal was still downstairs so we had to turn around and go back to the family room. 

Just look at how she's grasping me...by the freakin' neck with just ONE hand, folks.  And the whole time, the lady is snapping pictures.  At one point, the lady did say, as weakly as possible, "Bella, please use two hands when you're holding the cat". 

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Uh, how about, "Put the fucking cat down"!?  That would've been MY preference.  I'da been the lady's friend for life had she come to my rescue.  But no....after all, I'm just a lowly animal and they are humans. 

Apparently, humans are higher up on the food chain, so they say.  However, I dare you to ask any random cheetah out there next time you see one and I'm sure he'll disagree. 

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Now, I know most of you are probably thinking..."So what....you're wishing for death anyway...why not just let the child take you upstairs and snuff the life outta you?"

Like everyone else in this world, I want my death to be on MY own terms, not the child's terms.  Besides, I'd rather endure a quick death...one that doesn't leave me suffering and begging for help.  Makes sense, right?

So now you all know why it sucks to be The Family Cat.  If any of you parents out there who are reading this have a cat (or 3), do me a favor. 

Take a minute and open a can of tuna, empty the contents out onto your best china and serve it to your humble, constant companion, the one who loves you unconditionally even though you gave birth to the devil's spawn and forced us to go along with your evil plan.

What....you don't have any tuna?  That's okay, we also enjoy shrimp and other fine seafoods....or prime rib.  Cats aren't picky....we lick our own asses, remember?

After the kids are in bed, we sure would appreciate it if you'd cuddle with us on the sofa while you watch tv...as you pour an entire bag of chips down your throat, like you do every single night. 

Another thing I learned from watching Oprah is that pets are man's best friend...we're a huge source of comfort to our owners. 

Which begs the question....when's the last time you heard of a child being described as man's best friend and a huge source of comfort? 

Yeah, let that one roll around in your brain for the rest of the day....

Peace out.

I figure that if the children are alive when my husband gets home at the end of the day, I've done my job.

----Roseanne Barr



 
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