Kids do that.
They make people tired. As a friend said at one of our many social outings (we're big and important), "It's hard keeping something alive."
This is true.
Other than the keeping-my-kids-alive part, the only other thing I have to complain about are the 3 flies that are landing on my laptop like it's a rotting carcass. Which, is really pretty gross, because then I just imagine that I'm click-clacking on a bloated Montauk Monster, which doesn't mesh well with my morning coffee.
Oh, and the fruit flies. Where the FUCK do they come from?!
But that's REALLY it.
The GOOD NEWS is that Plus One has taken to a new phrase, and considering my predilection for complaint and pity, I'm going to take advantage of his new verbiage. It all started kind of like this:
Me: Hey, Plus One? Want to come help Momma clean up your toys?
Plus One: [Excited]. Great idea, Momma! GREAT IDEA.
...and then, later...
Me: Hey, Plus One? Want to come eat your breakfast?
Plus One: [Like a concerned, elderly newsman.] Okay. Great idea. Great. I. Dea.
Our future conversations, therefore, will be spent trying to boost my self-esteem and justify some of the more poorly thought-out decisions of my past. Observe:
Me: Hey, Plus One! How about I go to the tattoo parlor and pick something out of the book just because I'm spontaneous, OH, and how about we put it on MY LOWER BACK?!
Plus One: [With furrowed, you'll-regret-this-when-you're-30 brow.] GREAT IDEA MOMMY!
Me: Hey, Plus One! While we're at it, Momma has a tiny tattoo on her foot that she doesn't like anymore. I'm thinking of covering it with a 6-foot long one that I'll also pick out of a book without much further consideration!
Plus One: [With large, don't-you-ever-learn eyes.] GREAT IDEA, MOMMY!
Me: Hey, Plus One! Momma can't get rid of these flies, so I'm thinking of just throwing out my laptop. What do you think?
Plus One: [With catatonic, I'm-screwed-in-the-motherhood-department, stare.] GREAT IDEA, MOMMY.
Love that kid. He'll forgive me my bad tattoos, right?