life with all these girls

My husband doesn’t have any sisters – only a brother. So him growing up in a male majority household didn’t exactly prepare him for what life would be like with a wife and two daughters. Hell, even the dog is a girl. Or…was a girl. Whatever.

Sidenote: Here’s Paisley. It’s been awhile since she’s graced the pages of the blog.

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Adorable Muppet

ANYWAY.

When the girls were little, there were very few instances when being the only dude in the house was uncomfortable. Sure, there was a lot of pink and sparkles and Polly Pockets, but very rarely did he feel like the odd man out. Up until recently, it was pretty simple. Dare I say, he had it pretty damn easy. And really, he still does . NONE of us are prissy, drama attracted females. We’re pretty easy going.

Except when we’re not, of course. PMS is a tricky bitch.

Dealing with PMS-ing daughters and wife is hard enough. But I don’t think he was fully prepared to be quite so involved in ‘female’ conversations on a regular basis. Once Ramona joined the ranks of…well, the ranks of women who fight the monthly battle, he was doomed. Talk of feminine products and cramps and other such female maladies, my husband is now realizing what living with three women is about. If you’ve ever seen a sitcom that featured a dad and teenage daughters, you have a very good glimpse of what life is like for my husband. It’s difficult to see his little girls are grown up. And he really doesn’t know how to handle our frank conversations. He is severely outnumbered and is trying to find a way to rent out an apartment during certain times of the month.

The other day, Ramona had already made her way to bed but Beezus and I were watching a Buzzfeed spoof on Frozen. There was mention of the songwriters, who also happened to write songs for The Book of Mormon musical. One song in particular was referenced and I busted out laughing. My husband was trying to ignore us both as he searched for something on the computer but my child was understandably curious what I found so funny. (The song-name is Swahili. Her confusion was understandable.)

As I began to try to (delicately) explain this particular song, she mentioned that she wanted to see it. And, being the mother that I am, told her that she should wait until she’s older.

“Mom. I’ve seen Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

“I know, I know…but just…”

“Mom. Please. I’m sure it’s not even as bad.”

At this point, my husband is trying desperately to ignore us both. I should also point out that while I am very protective of my kids, I am also pretty open with them. We have rules about bad words, but…we also talk about how they’re just words. However, even as a surprise to myself I found myself saying:

“Kid. That song? The lyrics are straight up saying ‘f*** you in the eye’” (Plus…other things.)

And I kid you not, without missing a beat or even caring that her dad was listening, my kid responds with:

 “Yeah. And Priscilla shoots ping pong balls out of her vag.”

The two of us look at each other and immediately start laughing so hard, I nearly fell off my chair. Beezus had to hold onto the counter for support.

My husband? Well, my husband died twice from the shock of what his wife and teenage daughter just said. He came back to life only to pretend to keep his cool and just shake his head.

We knew better.

Which only made Beezus and I laugh harder.

I’m pretty sure my husband would’ve recovered a lot more successfully if he could’ve caught a break. But the next night, Ramona gave the entire explanation about periods and cramps and also dealing with all the things that are periods and cramps. All right as we were getting ready to sit down to dinner.

I looked at my husband lovingly.

“You. Are so. Screwed.”

He knows.

no rest for the insane

midnightmadness

There’s something about an “all hours of the day/night” Labor Day weekend softball tournament that makes you question everything about letting your child play competitive sports. Because I’m not joking. I really meant ALL. HOURS. OF THE NIGHT. And it’s the reason why I’m not sure that I’ll ever catch up on sleep or ever feel human again. It’s also the reason I just found 17 typos in just this first paragraph alone.

For the record, I love my children. I love to support them in all that they do. But since even Beezus hates this tournament, I don’t feel bad telling you how much I hate it, too.

Just to give you a visual that you don’t want, the tournament starts Friday night. Beezus’ first game wasn’t until 10:30 Saturday morning. The next game? Not until 2am Sunday morning. And then another game at 5:30 am. The next game times depend on brackets and game scores, so we didn’t find out until later Sunday afternoon that the next games would be at 10:30pm…and then the winner of that game (which was my kid’s team) would advance to the next round. That particular game would start sometime around 12:30 or 1 in the morning. (And? Let’s be honest…we were a little glad they didn’t win that game because the Championship game was scheduled to START at 5am Monday morning. Ugh.)

Sounds fun, right?

After that first game Saturday morning, I spent most of the afternoon getting a few things done while making sure that Beezus gets enough rest. I also made arrangements for Ramona to stay the night somewhere so that I could go to the Saturday night/Sunday morning games. There wasn’t really time for me to sleep because, well, because that’s part of being a parent. There are still things that have to be done even if I know I won’t be getting much sleep.

And I didn’t.

At all.

All weekend.

But I will tell you that there are some benefits of being sleep deprived. Well, there are benefits to choosing to hang out with your kid instead of catching a few hours of sleep.

After the (very early) Sunday morning games, Beezus and I head out in search of waffles. And…probably Eggs Benedict. Because DUH EGGS BENEDICT. I had no idea how I was going to stay awake for this breakfast, but it was one of those times where there was no way in hell I was saying no. Sleep deprived hilarity ensued, but it was so much fun to have an early morning date with this kid. We may have been laughing so hard that nearly the entire restaurant turned to look, but that might’ve been my imagination.

my early morning breakfast date
my early morning breakfast date

Now, because my kid burns thousands of calories a day with water polo and softball…and just regular life, I don’t mind telling your that she pretty much hoovered all the food in front of her. I’ve never, ever seen her be the boss of breakfast. But that’s a title she now has. She took no prisoners and showed no mercy. But the best part was as she took the last bite, she embraced her inner rock star diva.

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But not only does she drop her fork like a boss, she says out loud:

“And THAT’S how you do it.”

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I almost expected her to add “bitches” to the end of that sentence. But she refrained.

Clearly she’s a better person than I am.