Midwestern Mommy

Last week Rude Cactus (link is listed) decided to do a contest. The goal was to tell him something really interesting about one’s self. The person with the most outrageous or interesting tidbit of info won.

He picked a good winner. But one of the people that got a mention was a women who posted that she could lick her own boob. I read through the comments. Apparently many, many women possess this uh, talent(?).

Ok. I have never heard of doing this. Honestly, the thought to even TRY to do this has never even entered my mind. So I tell my husband. Here’s how that conversation went.

Me: You know I was reading Rude Cactus. Remember I’ve told you how much he reminds me of you…
Hubs: Yup. I remember.
Me: He had this contest… (I fill him in on the contest)
Me: One of the girls that got a mention stated she could lick her own boob. And there were tons of women saying, “Big deal. I can do that too.”
Hubs: (Giving me a “what’s your point” look.)
Me: So that’s not something I would have ever thought to do. Why would a woman do it?
Hubs: Because its hot.
Me: REALLY? That? Why?
Hubs: (Smiling at me like I’m a complete rube.) Apparently you know nothing about what turns men on.
Me: Apparently I don’t. Because how would that turn a guy on?
Hubs: Because its naughty.
Me: It IS? What’s so naughty about it. Its a boob. Big deal! From the way the comments were sounding, its not like women are getting that much out of it.
Hubs: Well, probably not. But its more for the benefit of the guy.
Me: Has a women ever done this for YOU before?
Hubs: (Looks uncomfortable but smiles sheepishly and nods.)
Me: (wondering if I should even ask who it was but not.) Was it really that big of a deal?
Hubs: Not really. I mean if you “wanted some” and I was really, really tired, this wouldn’t make me want to automatically jump up and do it.
Me: I still don’t get WHY a guy would find this arousing.
Hubs: Lisa, you need to go rent yourself some porn.

Its not that I’m uptight or a prude. (But apparently, I’m not all that creative. heehee.) So someone please explain to me WHY licking one’s own boob is that big of a turn on? Because, really, I just don’t get it.

Most little boys LOVE Thomas the Tank Engine. Our dear friends Amy and Nelson have an adoreable little boy named Fletcher who is no exception.

Apparently Fletcher also really loves Percy. But being the typical 2 year-old, he has a difficult time pronouncing “Percy.” Instead, it comes out sounding like “Pussy.” This makes his daddy laugh hysterically. According to Amy, Fletcher doesn’t have the Percy engine, but talks about getting Percy all the time.

He says, “Look Daddy! It’s pussy! Daddy, I want pussy.” Daddy I want the pussy train.”

To which Nelson responds, “I know buddy, so do I.”

Right now there’s probably someone out there reading this, and with a laugh, thinking the same thing.

I think we’ve probably been spending a little too much time at Target the last few years.

A few weeks ago, as Seth and I went into Target, he fussed about getting into the shopping cart. He wanted to walk. So in order to keep him focused, I asked him to lead me to the pharmacy. He doesn’t know what the pharmacy is really for, but he knows that they give out lollipops there. He was more than happy to lead me there and promptly asked for a sucker. From there, I told him to take me to the cards. He found the card isles. Then I told him we needed paper towels. He led. I would recite something off of my list (which I knew to be at an opposite end of the store) and he would take the lead. We spent an hour in that store to get about 8 items. But he knew where everything was.

Some kids at his age can play the piano. Some kids at his age can print their names. Seth? He can navigate his way around Target.

The other day in the kitchen, while making brownies, I dropped the spoon. Brownie mix went everywhere. I had dropped a few things that day in a sleep-deprived haze and at this point was really frustrated with myself.

Not thinking I said, “Oh SHIT!”

Then I realized that duh, little ears in the next room. I looked over at Seth. He was totally engrossed in Bob the Builder. So I thought maybe that word had escaped his attention. But no. In a second, he was at my side wearing a very grave expression.

“Mommy. We don’t use words like that in our house. Remember?,” he said.

“Yeah, sweetie. I do. That slipped out. I’m sorry.”

After pausing to consider this he said, “Ok. Now I won’t make you stand in the corner THIS time but if you do it again, I will.”

I tried hard to stifle a smile. As he walked back to the Tv he added, “And I’m not sweetie! My name is SETH!”

Seth’s favorite thing to do these days:

He pulls his pants and underwear down (Either Bob the Builder or Thomas the Tank Engine ones, natch) around his ankles. Then he shuffles around saying, “Look Mom. I’m a penguin!”

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If his likes and dislikes are any indication of the kind of jobs he will have, he will grow up to become a stripper/protestor/mechanic/doctor — hopefully not all at the same time.

I remember seeing these ugly-ass shoes last summer and thinking, “Who would buy these stupid things?” I figured they wouldn’t be around for long.

Alas, I was wrong. I saw them on all sorts of people. I even saw someone wearing them while walking into a store this past Christmas eve to buy a last-minute gift. Two days ago? While walking past a shoe store, mine eyes beheld a rainbow array of these stupid, horrid creatures.

I just don’t get the appeal. Am I alone? They aren’t flattering. They aren’t cute. Are they so comfy, the wearer is blinded by love and doesn’t mind wearing the ugliest shoes on earth? Do they have special powers? Do they make your teeth whiter, your hair shinier, or your bank account fatter? Do they make people like you? Do they make your children behave better? Do they make your hubby less gassy?

Whenever I saw these things last year, for some inexplicable reason, I used to get a flash of anger. I would have this compulsion to knock the wearer of such shoes over, then take the shoes off of their feet, and finally beat the wearer in the head using these shoes. Am I alone here?

Looks like I’ll have to quelch such compulsions for another year, as apparently, these damn shoes are here to stay. But if I get pregnant anytime soon, I won’t be in such control of my hormones or my reactions. So all of you people in West County who possess such atrocious footwear — you’d better watch out. Consider this your warning.

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