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Finn and I spend a good portion of our time together frustrated.  He says something.  I can’t understand it.  He says it again.  I get it wrong.  He screams in frustration.  I scream in frustration.  And if Rowan isn’t home to interpret, we return to our respective corners and sulkily eat chocolate.

Yesterday we had a moment.  Finn found me in the kitchen and said, “Me robbed the ligger.”

I made a mad dash to the bathroom hamper, dug under the stinky towels to find the vodka was still where it belonged and in tact. I asked Finn to try again.

“Me ropped the ligger.”

“Dropped?  You dropped something?”

“Yes.  The ligger.”

“What’s a ligger?”

And here is where my two-year old proved he is brilliant.  Hands on hips, eyes rolled to the ceiling because he has the thickest broad in the world for a mommy, Finn yelled:

“THE REMOTE!”

A synonym.  My brilliant kid found a synonym. 

Damn, that gene pool is good.

WARNING: very addictive!

Or so my friend Greeblemonkey says. What kind of blogger are you? I’m clearly a non-poster.

I have value!

I’m a goddamn niche!

I’m a maven, hear me roar!

The Motrin ad didn’t offend me and I’m a major baby wearer. The Febreze ad however that suggests I can’t play tennis or go out to lunch unless my house is spotless really pisses me off!

Beware. Auditory cursing involved.

Finn is having issues with sharing his toys, as is evident by the following conversation:

Finn:  What dis, Mommy?

NM:   That’s your scrotum?

Finn:  It mine?

NM:  Yes, Finn.  It’s yours.

Finn:  Me touch it?

NM:  You bet!

Finn:  Rowan take it?

NM:  No, Finn.  Rowan can’t take it.

Finn: It duck on me?

NM:  Yup.  It’s stuck on you.  For life.

Finn:  Oh, good.  Tank -u, Mommy!

Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia has decided to ring a large cow bell whenever a Nutmeg child shows up at the door.  Or maybe I got it wrong and they said they’re going to call Child Services the next freaking time we spend an entire day with them. 

We got room twenty.  AGAIN!

This time Finnian took the extra large BJs bulk bottle of gummy vitamins behind the couch and ate a few more than his day’s requirements.  In fact we think he’s good until sometime in August.

Why in hell are very bad people marketing toxic things to look exactly like Finnian’s favorite bloody candy?

And why are very bad mothers buying them?

Oh, and a question to the experts:  If your two-year-old figures out how to open a CHILD SAFE bottle cap, does that automatically qualify him as Gifted and Talented?

For the record, even two-year-olds will think you’re full of shit if you try to pass charcoal off as chocolate milk.

On our discharge papers under further treatment it said: “Keep all medications out of Finnian’s reach.”

Brilliant!  Why didn’t we think of that?