Mush-Mouths

As I was busy drinking coffee and reading emails this morning, I heard Tootie behind me saying, "Daisy is no in there" to Moggie. I cursed the mush-mouths under my breath and corrected Tootie and asked her to speak proper English. She told me that Moggie can't understand proper English, which is a load of crap. Moggie is 3 and brilliant, if I do say so myself. When Tootie sets upon one of her favorite noise-making endeavors, counting loudly to 100, she often has to ask Moggie for help. "What comes after 29? What comes after 39?" Moggie always has the answers. If Fidel allowed me to balance the checkbook I'd delegate that to Moggie because I have a pretty strong feeling that she would bounce less checks than I would, and that's no lie. I'm very forgetful and lazy. I have a bad case of mommy-brain and I'm too easily distracted.

ANYWAY, my whole point is, I wish my kids would stop hanging out with the mush-mouths because they are picking up their bad grammar. I grew up in rural SC so I don't have the best grammar myself, but there are people way more educated than I am allowing their kids to run around speaking like cavemen. The main MM kid also curses like a sailor in multiple languages and talks about his peen to my kids every chance he gets, so every phrase that my kids pick up from him grates on my nerves in the worst way.

I'm quickly realizing that the spectacular parenting I've done in between my internet and shopping hobbies over the past 5 years is being undone by a gaggle of 5-year old mushmouths. If I had known that when I first started this mommy gig I would have saved myself a lot of trouble by scattering goldfish and sippy cups around the house, tuning the tv to Noggin and disappearing with my laptop and phone.

I'm Not Ready!

I thought I was ready. Now I'm not.

Tootie is five. I am not ready for Tootie to be 5. Tootie's last day of preschool was Hell for me because I knew that after the summer, she would be boarding a big yellow bus and puttering off to K-K-K- *you can type it, you can type it* kindergarten. You would think that I'd be cheering as that bus drives away, and I know that I should be but it's just another sign that my baby is growing up.

Of course, Tootie is thrilled about going to kindergarten. Mama is nervous as a cat about it. I think I'm putting way too much thought into this situation. For two days, I've thought about which bookbag to buy for her. Now I don't even know if kindergarteners need bookbags. I pulled up Gymboree's bags and she loves the pink and leopard-skin bag. Bookbag problem solved. Crazy Mama's new obsession is lunch, since Tootie is a very picky eater. Should I buy a matching lunchbag and pack her lunch every day? I pulled up the lunch menu, putting on my snootiest face to look down my nose at the menu, but damn, she will eat a lot of that stuff and they have tons of choices. Shit!!

I'm running out of dumb crap to keep my mind off of the real issue at hand, which is being without my Tootie for 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. I don't know what to do with myself. Blog? Scrapbook? I don't want to cook because thanks to freaking Pioneer Woman, I'm living in stretchy pants as it is. Hopefully Weight Watchers has an exorcist on staff to get the evilness of PW out of my brain.