P.S.
Don't you wish you had a monster this cute? He's trying to lure you in with those big monster eyes so he can eat you and steal your credit cards.

Monster + Lesco

My husband has ruined my life and for this he must bring me presents.

Last time Lesco was in town he decided to spoil my monster. I can't blame him, that monster has the cuteness of a creature that doesn't eat village people for lunch. And I totally mean the people that live in small, country towns, not those that spell out the names of fitness clubs with their limbs. He decided that instead of putting him back in his crib at 2 am he would cuddle with him on the couch until I woke up.

Maybe my lesco needs additional taming himself.

Now that he is gone again, Monster is not satisfied with a 2 am eat and sleep. He will scream and growl until I cuddle him for one thousand baby years. This equals to approximately 3 to 4 human hours. If I did not work, I might not mind. But I do. And I hate it.

And Lesco, if you're reading this, you can buy me pretty things and make me waffles to make me feel better.
.
These will do.

Sometimes I'm accidentally a liar

Last February when I was growing a monster and was tired and not the best wife ever I bought a miniature tin mailbox with the idea that I would spend the month of February putting little things in it each day for Lesco. He was pretty much the best husband ever while I was pregnant. I don't think I touched a dirty dish the whole time. Somehow they were always just clean and in the cupboard. MAGIC!

I totally sucked and never put a single thing in there. Even after I told him my plan and showed him where to check. Even after I saw him checking. Even after I saw him cry.

Ok, maybe not the last one, but still. I felt bad. Not totally, totally bad because I was growing a human child and he was growing nothing but some creeping thyme in the front yard and that has waayyyy less parts. (and that thyme is never going to get rich and take us on an Alaskan cruise.)

I blamed the monster. I packed away the mailbox.

Apparently lesco was not down. He pulled it out and stuck in on top of the fridge recently. Now he makes a point to come in while I'm in the kitchen.

Just checking to see if someone loves me.I wonder if there is anything for me in this little mailbox.
Guess not today.
Guess not ever.
tears.

Okay, again, not the last one, but I'm sure tears were imminent. I now try to put things in the mailbox. Like a Halloween card and not like three kernels of caramel corn. Like a coupon for a foot rub and not like an action figure that Liza chewed up.Like argyle socks. Stuff like that.

New kind of sick day

Dear Monster,


Despite mommy calling in sick no longer meaning jammies, the couch and a jersey shore marathon, we've had a very good day.


Instead of cuddling with my puppy dog Liza, I cuddled you.

We played while I changed your diaper. A risky move, but it paid off with lots of smiles.

I let you eat skulls. Monsters aren't scared of other monstery things. They just pick fights and lucky for you, the one with hands usually wins.

I have tried to make this place a bit more homey for you. Added some things from your natural habitat.

I love you monster. Even though you are probably the one who got me sick.

When it's you vs. a monster day in and day out, you need your strength. While 32 fun size snickers bars might seem like the obvious answer, don't believe the hype, it doesn't work. Instead you're up all night puking peanuts and wrestling candy wrappers from your demon puppy who's desperately trying to get a few licks of chocolate because she's hungry from the three day stretch of starvation you put her through while running around like a meth addict on a sugar high with a screaming baby.



Instead, go for the spaghetti squash. Martha makes it with turkey meatballs and spinach.


Popeye ate spinach and he fought Bluto.
http://www.wholeliving.com/recipe/spaghetti-squash-with-turkey-meatballs

How to spot a monster

I'm starting this blog to document the taming of monster Phineas. I should start by laying out the evidence that leads me to believe I should demand a blood test for my offspring to prove once and for all he is, in fact, a monster.

1) Monsters live in dangerous places. Monsters don't set up house in homes with white picket fences. That's why ours is black. We want to keep this monster happy. He has always chosen dark scary places. Like my uterus, full of fibroids and a little bit cramped. Kicking Mommy's bladder = normal rascally baby. Kicking Mommy's fibroid = monster.

2) Monster's plan surprise attacks. Phinny was supposed to be a Cinco de Mayo baby. Brilliant. I'll never have to search for a pinata on his birthday and I make a mean enchilada . Birthdays one through eighteen done. Don't try to tell me a 16 year old boy doesn't want to whack a sombrero and collect gobstoppers. Phin decided he wanted to start terrorizing the world in March. I hate March. I complained loudly about the month of March many times throughout my pregnancy, but monsters don't care. They don't care that their room isn't ready or that you had an appointment to meet potential pediatricians next week. Monsters plan on eating the doctor anyway. The whole time I was in labor I complained that I couldn't have a baby that day. I was on my lunch break. I left my computer on. There is no reasoning with monsters.

3)Monsters don't require sleep. If you think that monsters sleep during the day and hunt at night, you're wrong. Monsters hide among normal happy humans in the light and learn their ways. Then at night they stay up and use this knowledge to destroy everyone around them. My monster is an expert. He can tantalize everyone with his brilliant spit bubbles and happy squeals. No need to nap, he's got to much to do. Then night, then monster.

And he growls. First sound my baby learned to mimic. GRRRRRRRRR.