My kid’s birthday is tomorrow. I told her I’ll rename her Batman.

So Munchkin’s 12th birthday is tomorrow.

I teasingly told her I’d rename her Batman for her birthday instead of getting her presents, because she’s getting older and she can handle that kind of responsibility now.

Her response?

This.

It reminds me once again that becoming a mom, especially to someone so hilarious, is one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Happy birthday, Munchkin Batman. You’re awesome.

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The bell

This is not funny. If you’re here for the funny, please feel free to check out the ridiculousness in the archives.

I have had a rough time with the Christmas season for my entire adult life. Sure, there were sometimes deployments scheduled for just after Christmas, or I had to work, or I was six months pregnant with complications and morning sickness that didn’t know it was supposed to vanish after the first trimester or a million other things, but it was always both more and less than that.

Christmas, with all the joy that is supposed to happen, is stressful. There is more cleaning, more food to prepare, more food to eat, more social obligations, more decorating, more shopping, more more more. And of course, more more more also refers to the smiling that is required through the entire thing.

By mid-December, I have usually become a fruitcake scented, festively striped powderkeg, because of how short I fall of the impossible expectations of perfection that I place on myself.

Several years ago, I was trying once again to outdo Martha Stewart, and once again, I was failing miserably. I guess Munchkin was in first grade around then, or maybe she was even a little younger. I was trying so hard to be Merry! And Festive! And Perfect! but I think it was pretty obvious that I was one burnt cookie away from a week long crying jag.

She scurried over to the tree, and pulled out a little tiny box that she had proudly gotten me from Santa Store at school, and insisted I open it.

Guys, no one in the history of any holiday ever wanted to open a present less than I did right then. There was work to do and joy to be forced. Still, she hounded me. Five year olds who insist on things are rather…..tenacious. I opened the clumsily wrapped little box.

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In it was a little keychain, blue with a simple yellow butterfly on it. It jingled softly as I rolled it in my hand.

“It’s like Polar Express”, she said. “Only people who hear the bell can like Christmas. You hear it, right?”

I did hear it.  She beamed. She hugged me.

And things were all better.

Today, I am sick. I had a million things to accomplish before I even get started on my regular tasks.

I was walking to the market by my house to pick up a few stocking stuffers, tripped in a pothole in the road, dropped my purse and rolled my ankle. I wanted to call the whole thing off. Yes, again. Just like I do every year.

I picked up my purse from the middle of the street. Somewhere, between a grocery list and a lipgloss with dog hair stuck to the cap and a half eaten bag of Skittles, the bell on on the keychain jingled just loud enough for me to hear. 

And again, things are all better.

Making a video for the grandparents, and why they’ll have to be satisfied with still images forevermore.

I have wrestled with posting this. I really have. One on hand, I don’t want to humiliate my kid. On the other hand, oh my God, you guys! You’ll never believe what just happened at my house!

As it happens though, my kid is almost completely humiliation proof. If you confront her about something embarrassing, she’ll merely raise an eyebrow and say “So?”, like you are the one who should be embarrassed for even bringing such trivial nonsense up. I’d say this was a new part of her life since she entered tweenhood, but nope. I remember being called to her school because she had mooned someone in first grade, and was completely unrepentant.

Anyway.

I had been talking to my mom about the gloriousness that is Just Dance 4, and being that she lives thousands of miles away, she asked for a video of the kids playing one of the songs.

I was stoked. I miss my parents, and anything to feel closer to them is a good thing. I really want them to be a part of my kids’ lives, and I want my kids to be a bigger part of theirs too. So, I set everything up to make a video. I had the kids choose a good song –The Final Countdown–and got them started.

Everyone was doing great. The gold moves were being hit, the kids were being natural, no one was cursing at the game in creative or mundane ways. It was good.

Three minutes into a four minute video, I was really impressed with everyone. It looked like all we needed was one take, and it would be a cute little video to send to grandma and grandpa.

You know how I have told you all about how my ideas and expectations and how they seem great but they end up failing in rather spectacular ways? Yeah. It shouldn’t come as any big surprise that karma bushwhacked my ass again.

No sooner than I thought about how well it was going, Manchild crashed into his sister, who fell on the floor with a very respectable thud. He kept dancing, or “dancing”. If you saw it, you’d say “dancing” with air quotes and side-eye too.

She just sat on the floor looking at him. He urged her to get up. She said she couldn’t. He danced over her. Literally, over her. He was leaping over her like a gawky teenage Barishnikov as Europe played. She continued to sit on the floor.

“Get up! We have to finish!”, he kept saying. She finally replied, instead of sitting there staring at him. “I need a towel”, she giggled. “You hit me so hard that I just peed myself.”

And that’s when I turned off the camera. Wow, yeah. One take, huh? Grandma is going to be so impressed by this.

Jesus. Christ.

Sunday short and shout: And that’s why I named her “Munchkin”

Munchkin asked why I chose her given name for her.

I told her it was because “Butthead” was already taken. Uh-huh. Uh-huh-huh-huh.

I’d never name her Butthead. She’s much more like Beavis’ alter-ego, Cornholio. (via Fanpop)

Honesty: it’s what brings mothers and tween daughters closer together.

I just realized there will be people scandalized by this, and they shouldn’t be. It’s not like I was going to name her ‘Butthead ‘for real. ‘Beavis’ would have been way classier. Also, My Aunt Becky would probably approve of this, because she’s a  totally rad bloggerina, one of the CoolKids, and– keep in mind I am yelling this like an emokid–“she understands me, not like YOU!”

You should go visit her over at Mommy Wants Vodka .

If reading things aren’t your style (and who can blame you? You’ve already read, like, 100 words here!) and you want to look at pretties instead, you really ought to go check out this shirt by cubik, because, well,  you should. Winnie the Pooh plus Tardis equals more win than you are ready for. Brace yourself. Winter is coming (and you’ll probably want to cover your torso, no? I hear nipple frostbite is a bitch.)

Disclaimer: I’m not paid for recommending these links to you in anything other than warm fuzzy feelings. I just think they’re both awesome.