Holy Terrors' Journal|
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
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|Sunday, November 16th, 2003|
|Monday, October 13th, 2003|
Crime and Punishment
Guess who finger-painted on the wall with poo?
...First offense, so he got off with a summary "You are grounded from everything for the rest of today!" (it was two hours before bedtime), and the promise that if he ever tried that again, there would be more in store.
|Monday, September 29th, 2003|
Fun all around.
Somebody was grouchy today. May have been lack of sleep, lack of Mommy, or something like that -- but Little Fayoumis and M. were yelling at each other today, and LF wound up being sent to bed early.
<sarcasm>Wow, I love days like these... </sarcasm>
|Monday, September 22nd, 2003|
“Would you like to try Ralph Lauren’s Glamorous?” she says.
“It has a sweet, musky fragrance,” she continues.
“Vagina!” Elise says, pointing between the lady’s legs.
“No, honey, that’s perfume,” I say, trying not to discourage her from using the word.
I was one of *those* kids.
My parents were big on vocabulary. At one point, they explained that something-or-other was a bad idea (I think it was playing with poop) because it was unsanitary
This became one of my new favorite words.
Shortly thereafter, I was taken over to my parents' friends' house, and got to meet my parents' friend Terry.
"Unsanitary!" I crowed, or tried to. My parents knew what I was saying. Thankfully, Terry didn't.
And just when we thought things were going well...
Little Fayoumis has a Darth Maul lunch bag. He also gets school lunch.
Today, he begged marxdarx
to be allowed to take his lunch bag to school; Marx said OK, provided that he had it as a snack AFTER lunch.
He told Teacher that it was
He is in TROUBLE.
|Saturday, September 20th, 2003|
Little Fayoumis has little friends.
He just spent five minutes lecturing the little girl through the closed glass door, trying to tell her to go home. She wasn't listening.
|Friday, August 29th, 2003|
You'd think, that when he's at school, he'd have plenty of time to do his schoolwork, no?
No. Little booger sits and plays at school, and doesn't stay on-task...
|Saturday, August 23rd, 2003|
Kids say the fucking damndest things...
Little Fayoumis brought something new home from school, vocabulary-wise, the other week.
At dinner, I got treated to the following display of maturity:
"Smell my pee-pee!"
Evidently Eli's been teaching him some new phrases.
|Friday, July 4th, 2003|
Yowling, yowling, more yowling.
These days it seems like anything will set off the Little Fayoumis. He doesn't get his way? He yowls. He gets reprimanded? He yowls. He gets hurt? He yowls in that way that makes mothers jump towards the sound lest there be blood, broken bones, or something else like that.
When he's actually heartbroken about something, he cries quietly.
But right now, he's into crying over stuff just to make noise.
|Monday, June 9th, 2003|
It's hard, sometimes, when you've got a kid strong-willed enough to be an utter brat, to remember that you're trying to train them to be a good grown-up later.
Because sometimes you wish they'd shut up and quit being the worst of Gryffindor & Slytherin put together, and be a nice biddable Hufflepuff.
But you don't want to break
them... you just want some peace and quiet every now and then.
|Thursday, May 22nd, 2003|
Crossposted: Ph34r him. He will be 1337.
Guess who started studying algebra today?
None other than our Little Fayoumis.
He tried to add numbers and sharks, you see.
So we played with this for a while. One shark plus one is one shark and one! One shark plus two sharks and one is three sharks and one!!
One shark plus a shark and an octopus is two sharks and an octopus.
I told him that he was learning a really cool kind of math, and its name was algebra, and furthermore, that he was learning it a lot sooner than I was, since I had started learning it at twelve.
He rocks. He really does.
|Wednesday, May 21st, 2003|
|Saturday, May 17th, 2003|
When my little sister was 4 she wielded a (thankfully ) plastic knife at my mother and said "i go kill you." My mom got it away from her and replied, "not today."
I have a scar on the back of my hand where I tried to take a Bic disposable razor away from her when she was 5. She also tried to flush the family cat down the toilet and had a fit to end all fits when she realized she couldn't get to Candyland just by jumping on her gameboard. She cried for weeks. She even used a kitten as a golf ball with a real club. Broke the poor kitten's neck :( That's the only spanking she has ever gotten. She's 17 and to this day she still has fits when she dosen't get her way. I recommended boot camp to my parents....
My friend has a little brother. When he was six he lit the couch on fire with their other sister's lighter. He also dumped nail polish remover into the aquarium killing all the fish.
Sometimes, you really wish you could spank other people's kids.
Sometimes, you really wish you could spank other people's kids. Not because you're mad at them, though there is a certain amount of frustration, but because a light swat on the butt often does wonders for the attention span of a kid who thinks they can get away with disobeying.
In this case, I was babysitting two kids: boy, ten, and girl, four. She was being an absolute brat about getting dressed. She was lying on the floor, giggling, and refusing to get dressed.
I so wished that I had the authority to stand her abruptly on her feet, and give her a swat on the seat of the lack-of-pants. I didn't. I was irritated with her. I was 16.
Nonviolent way of getting her attention? I thought about it for a moment, then disappeared to the kitchen, and reappeared with a glass of water.
A sudden lack of giggling.
She got dressed, after that.
|Friday, May 16th, 2003|
So what does he try to do today? Tell us that he doesn't have to brush his teeth. This time, one of the excuses involved, "Because I'm cold."
Which he hadn't been for the past hour sitting in the identical outfit watching Marx play console games.
The pronouncement, "Brush. Your. Teeth." was met with tears. He thinks he can get away with that with marxdarx
|Saturday, May 10th, 2003|
Why, hi there.
My name is Grifyn. I am the mother to a Holy Terror. We'll call this Holy Terror: Uberkid. Uberkid is 6. Uberkid is blond and blue-eyed and fair-skinned. He's very intelligent, flirtacious, charming and funnier than hell. He does several humorous things a day, usually while you're trying to reprimand him for some naughty thing he did not two seconds before. He talks like a small adult, and we're only hoping we can put the fear of gods into him now so that when he's taller than the two of us (evenbiggerdog
and I), we still have some leverage.
Translation: We are doomed when he hits his teens if this pulchtritude continues. We're at a loss already.
Watch this space. Current Mood: amused
One of Little Fayoumis' latest things is being a cat. When he gets raisins for snack, he puts the plate down, stands on all fours, and eats his raisins with his face, because he's being a cat.
Cute, but if he ever tries that with ice cream over the carpet, he's not going to enjoy the consequences. Have informed him that this is ONLY for non-messy foods, such as raisins.
Added the RSS feed calnhobbes
to the friends list of this community because Calvin is a prime example of a holy terror.
|Friday, May 9th, 2003|
So my soulsister and her boyfriend decided that they were going to have some undisturbed quality time together today.
Marx and Votania disappeared into their room and locked the door. I hadn't been keeping too close an eye on them, but figured when I heard the door shut like that, that they weren't coming out any time soon. Little Fayoumis was playing cars, so I hadn't much to do.
Little Fayoumis played for a few minutes with his bucket of cars, then made the proverbial beeline for the door, and was frustrated to find it locked. "Why is it not opening?!?!?!" He knocked. He hung out by the door and waited. He knocked some more. He rattled the knob. All of this looking fairly angry.
I advised him that if the door was locked, it probably wasn't going to have this situation come undone at any near point, and he should probably go and sit on the couch and wait or something. Many long minutes later, he does. I ask him whether he should get mad about a locked door, or wait. "Wait about it," he sighed, and asked for a snack.
The door opens, some many minutes later, and votania
emerge. I mention that perhaps they should have told Little Fayoumis that the door was going to be locked before disappearing in there.
Evidently, they had. They had made sure that he had his whole bucket of toy cars, and that he knew that they were going to be spending quality time together with the door locked, and that he was supposed to be playing without disturbing them, and definitely without trying to open the door.
Kaboom. Guess who is the one who got in trouble? Guess whose entire toy box is parked in my room, for the remainder of today and all of tomorrow?