I may have to burn the crib…


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Today is a war zone in The Land of the Giant. I put a baby to sleep this morning and when I did one of my routine checks on the sleeping Little, I found a nightmare.

Nuclear Explosion

A poop nightmare.

So there’s the Tiny Little, just wailing away as I wake her up to lift her out. I’ve got my hazmat suit on (it’s an apron in case you were wondering) and I am gloved up and ready to go.

As I peel this onesie off the Little it drips poop.

Fuck it, I quit.

Okay, obviously I can’t quit while the Little is a mess, but as soon as I’m done cleaning her up I am officially closing my daycare.

I fight the Little to give her a baby wipe bath, sadly a real bath is out of the question in daycare. I get her loaded into a spare crib. A spare crib that will eventually smell like poop since the baby is oozing poop smell through her skin.

It’s time to tackle the crib which was defiled. And it’s not pretty.

God, please take my sense of smell, this shit is literally burning my eyes.

I decide to clean it up as best I can and as soon as daycare is done for the day I will rip it apart and hose it down.

With bleach. And acid. And maybe some heavily concentrated odor neutralizer.

It might work.

The white flag is up…


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Lola and the Littles typically get along together in daycare. Every so often Lola will need a nap without things being stuck up her nose or in her mouth so I’ll have to put her in the back. But for the most part, she tolerates the Littles and all their stickiness.

But not during bubbles.

During bubbles those Littles better back the hell up. The Lola is coming through and nothing, nothing, will stop her.

Bubble Lola

And this picture was the start of the horror fest we call The Great Bubble Disaster of 2014. 

That’s Lola in blurry, full speed action with her tongue out and a bubble in her sights. What you can’t see is that there is a Little directly in front of Lola just outside the frame of the photograph.

And The Giant was so busy laughing, I failed to realize how badly this would all end.

The Big Little basically got punted by Lola and flew a good 18 inches. Feet were off the ground, arms were waving and nothing was going to stop his body from hitting the ground.

Luckily, the Big Little is resilient (and used to playing bubbles with Lola) so he got back up and only cried for about 2 minutes. But in the two minutes of crying it all continued to spiral out of control.

Bubbles were everywhere thanks to a machine that pumps them out even when you have a crisis to deal with. Lola was losing her crap completely and the Tiny Little was hysterical with happiness at all the commotion. Until a bubble landed on her face.

Now, I know where your brain just went, you think Lola attacked the Tiny Little’s face, don’t you? Well you’d be wrong. The The Great Bubble Disaster of 2014 was much, much worse than that.

The bubble popped right on the Tiny Little’s eyes.

And the screaming curses started. Be warned, this Little has a foul mouth.

“Motherf_ker, what the f_k just happened?!?!?! MY EYES ARE BURNING OUT OF MY SOCKETS!!!!! I am going to kick someone’s ass! What the f_k happened?!?!? It’s like acid! It burns so bad! Someone call an ambulance!!!!”

At this point I have the Tiny Little at the sink and I am rinsing her face. The cursing continued.

“Why the f_k is she drowning me?!?! I have goddamn acid in my face and she’s taking this moment to give me a bath?!?! F_k the Giant, I demand a new daycare! My mom is going to hear about this. Get your f_king lawyer on speed dial Giant, I am suing your for breach of trust. WHY ARE YOU BATHING ME, I NEED AN AMBULANCE?!?!?!?!

I finally got the Tiny Little to allow me to dry her off and cuddle her. And as she hiccupped on my chest and desperately sought sleep to forget about The Great Bubble Disaster of 2014 she whispered “Giant, no more acid balls flying at my face please…”




Dragon, the other white meat…


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The Big Little is not thrilled with the developments that the Tiny (name given due to age, NOT weight since she is huge) Little made this weekend.

The Tiny Little has learned to push her chunky body across the floor to get where she needs to go. It’s a scene to watch as she uses her knees to push and doesn’t put her hands down to keep her face out of the carpet. I better take some video of her doing this before people accuse me of dragging infants across the ground for fun.

So the Tiny Little decided she wanted toys today. Not her silly little baby toys on her play mat. Nope, she determined all the good toys existed in the realm called The Other Side of the Play Area. So with determination and a bit of luck she made it over to the Big Little and his toys.

Where she promptly grabbed onto the dragon’s tail and started chewing.


I bet the Big Little is regretting taking the dragon from its lair, if he had climbed in the tent the Tiny one would have never found him.

The Big Little was displeased. He started with a bellow that sounded like “hey, motherf_ker, get your own damn dragon!” and then waited for his Tiny friend to respond.

Obviously, the 4 month old didn’t know she needed to respond.

So the Big Little gave it another shot. He yelled out and pulled the dragon’s tail away from her. The Tiny Little proceeded to rub her face raw to get that tail back.

So the Big Little decided he had enough of that and he rolled the Tiny Little over until she was facing the glass sliding door. The Tiny Little was instantly distracted by all the photographs of the previous Big Little to realize she had no dragon tail.

The Big Little for the win!


I’ve gone and done it now…


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So I was reading a Slate article online yesterday and I made the mistake of clicking on a link in the article. I wasn’t paying attention and as I read the page my hand drifted and I clicked.

I was immediately diverted to Amazon which was fortunate since I love the shit out of them.

But then I actually looked at what page I was on and it was a page where I could buy a sex toy and if I applied for the Amazon credit card I’d save $50 on this thing.

Wow, what a steal!


Now I have received an email asking me if I liked that sex toy would I like to browse other ones on their site? And then I went onto Amazon to do some Christmas shopping and there it is, listed with my recently viewed items; a dildo next to the deep freezer.

My “things you may be interested in” section just got scary.

I hate you internet. And stop putting so many links everywhere, it’s like a minefield trying to read the news!!!

My house has a shank list…


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And I’m apparently on it.

I have an outdoor staircase that it attempting to murder not only myself, but two other people. So far. I have a gutter at the bottom of said stairwell that decided to add a little more pizazz to the falls and pour water in a huge geyser at the bottom of the stairs. You know, so you can get cleaned up from the fall that got you all dirty. I was electrocuted by the house last month. And my heat basically works when it feels like it.

But that isn’t the worst thing the house has done to me in the past month. No, it just got vicious and I want to shank the house right in an electrical socket and watch it burn to the ground. (But I won’t because then my fat kid self would have to get a new house and buy all new stuff with the insurance money that I had to pull out of the insurance company’s fist like a fat kid guarding a Twinkie. And I’d be tired from the fight and have no bed to sleep on unless I went to the store and walked around for years trying to replace all the stuff. I’d become a tent dweller. Or I’d live in my car with Lola.) But back to the worst thing the house has done to me to date.

My ice tastes like broccoli.

That’s right. The ice maker is making ice that tastes exactly like broccoli.

And there’s no broccoli in my freezer.


Sorry, I had to shank my keyboard to stop from shanking the house.

I decided that someone else had to share in my pain of the ice broccoli. I put a cube in Lola’s bowl since she loves ice.

She told me to go get f_ked and walked away without touching it.

Chuck Norris

The living room is about to get crowded…

This week I have a new deep freezer being delivered. And I have nowhere to put it. And no Hubster home to move the big stuff out of my way to put that big freezer somewhere that has other big stuff in it currently.

Did you get that last part?!? No? Me either.

I don’t know how I thought this gigantic upright freezer was going to fit where I wanted it. I may have to put it in the man room and the Hubster will need X-ray vision to see his television from the couch.

I am going to try a last-ditch effort to clear some space for it by utilizing the Goodwill tool. I will load my vehicle with anything I can get my hands on and donate it. There’s only one problem with my plan.

Anytime you purge while under duress, you end up purging stuff you need 3 days later.

But I have no other solution and I’m just hoping that I don’t purge anything the Hubster will immediately notice. He hates purge time, every PCS the Navy sends us on makes him die a little inside. He starts to use stuff for any purpose he can so that when I ask the dreaded “have you used this in the last six months” question he can answer yes.

My favorite time was when the Hubster was using his ammunitions case as a coffee table in the guest room and said we needed it desperately. I asked him to please get rid of the giant case and I’d buy him another when we stopped moving around for the Navy.

He got away on a technicality, he was actively using it. Fucking guy, he’s gotten good at this game and he uses his big, blue eyes to plead his case.

But he’s not here to stop me so I’m going to go a little crazy, cross my fingers and pray the new freezer has somewhere to go.


I was Goliath, or David, oh who the hell knows….


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Yesterday I decided to mow my lawn since it’s been about 3 months since I did so. Since housing planted a weed/moss combo, it’s not like it was actually tall but there were a lot of leaves on the ground and mowing seemed easier than raking.

So I turn the mower on and head towards a patch when all of a sudden a swarm of spiders went running.

There were easily 1,000 spiders running in mass panic. So Lola runs straight for the back door and smacks into the glass. I run after her and get us both inside as we watch these things run everywhere. You could tell they were babies, each one was only about the size of a dime.

There were so many spiders I had 911 cued up in my phone in case things got even worse.

After about 10 minutes all the babies has scattered and I decided to risk opening the door to continue mowing.

And then onto the patio I see the big mother come walking towards me.

She was huge. She was hairy. And she didn’t give one fuck that I was bigger than her. She just headed at me with a deliberate slow pace. Like the one a serial killer uses when he knows your dumbass is trapped since you ran up the stairs instead of out the back door.

Lola came and stood right behind me and she was eyeballing the spider making its way towards us. After about two minutes the spider was within 3 feet of me and Lola decided she’d had enough.

She sprinted back into the safety of the house. Little traitor.

The spider stood still at the 3 foot mark and just looked at me while I stared back at it. And then it happened.

The fucker sprinted straight at me and I freaked the hell out. I stomped that thing with so much force that I broke my slipper (that’s a flip-flop for you folks not from Hawaii)  strap.

I calmly went inside to change underwear before finishing the lawn.

And there’s the Hubster, lying on the couch, snoring.


Get the goat ready…


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So my Tiny Little is defined as tiny due to her age. Physically, she’s quite the little chunkster. I mean, she’s three months old and she’s bigger than her six month old playmates.

She’s chunky and my back knows it daily.

This weekend she learned how to roll from her back to her front. And she promptly realized that this is why chunky kids don’t roll over.

It hurts.

Her ribs are all smushed, her belly is squished to the point where her precious milk comes out and she gets so exhausted it’s all she can do to keep breathing. But she wants to sleep on her belly now that she figured out how to roll.

So the first nap of the day came and the Little rolled onto her belly and started squirming in discomfort. I went over and pulled her rear end up so she could get her knees underneath her.

She slept for a few hours but awoke with the reddest nose and wrinkled face I’ve ever seen on a baby. So at nap time number two we tried to get her sleeping with her face on its side and her butt in the air. That way we could avoid that pug faced look from earlier and any dislocated ribs due to her weight pressing down in ways it never has before.

I’m telling you, none of my skinny Littles have ever had the kind of problems my chunky Littles all seem to have.

So during the nap, every time her face would turn into the mattress she’d start snorting and fighting like a wildebeest. Finally she managed to fall into a deep sleep with her butt up in the air and her face out of the mattress.

And then it all went wrong.

Her butt fell with a huge thud. It may have even caused a small earthquake that resulted in a Tsunami heading towards my hometown in Hawaii. It was just that loud and violent sounding.

Screaming ensued, great big bellows of outrage came out of the crib and her chunky little majesty demanded someone be beheaded for the crimes committed against her.

You can’t reason with these Littles. I tried to tell her that her butt just fell, but she didn’t believe me.

I tried cuddling her but she pushed me away.

I finally put her in the bouncy and as I buckled her in she demanded a Twinkie and a Coke Zero if I valued my life.

Don't touch my fucking cake

I will make a sacrifice to appease the gods of fat kids.

 P.S. I’ll mail a cookie to the first person to leave the correct answer of why the title made sense even though the post wasn’t about goats.


I inhaled a hot dog…


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I was eating those tiny pretzel hot dogs and watching a scary movie with a friend this weekend. It wasn’t supposed to be a scary movie so I thought I was safe to eat. I have a rule, no scary movies while the Hubster is gone and no scary movies while eating foods on the choking list for kids under 3.

But it turned out to be a scary movie and my friend just forgot how much she hated it when she said we should watch it. I think she made it all up and wanted me to suffer how she had to suffer when she was tricked into watching it. So during one particularly tense moment I happened to suck in some air sharply while eating and it all went wrong.

I immediately started coughing and trying not to die. My friend had a mild panic attack before managing to thrust some Coke Zero at me. She was screaming “You have to be ok!!!” like that was going to make the choking stop.

All it did was make me choke harder because I started laughing.

So there I am, trying to hack up hot dog out of my lung, take a breath and drink some soda. At the same time.

And then all of a sudden, the coughing stops. I’m so relieved. My throat is on fire, my voice is hoarse. But I can breathe again.

So I take a deep breath.

And freak out screaming, “What’s going to happen to me?!?! What can happen?!?!” Just like when George Costanza swallowed that fly in Seinfeld.

With every deep breath in and out I could feel this little rattle in my lung from a piece of hot dog. So my friend, being the diligent Heather tamer that she is, googled what happens when you inhale a hot dog in your lungs.

Google said you could develop bacterial pneumonia and die.

FUCK YOU GOOGLE!!!! I didn’t need to hear that shit! I’m already freaked out!

It’s a damn good thing George Constanza didn’t have the internet available to him, he would’ve went insane with worry.

I ended up deciding to sleep and see how that went. Obviously, it went poorly since hot dogs shouldn’t be sitting in your lungs.

So first thing in the morning I called the hospital and they tell me I’m probably good. I’m a healthy individual and have no lung issues that would likely lead this to develop into pneumonia. I ask the nurse about the pain and what to do if it continues. She tells me I can come in but that they will have to “retrieve the hot dog.”

I know what that means. I have a friend whose one year old choked on a popcorn kernel that went into her lung. She had to be put to sleep and they went in to get it out.

I’ll wait to try that until the pneumonia develops. Breathe through the pain.

hot dog

Hot dogs and I are officially on a break.

P.S. It’s been two and a half days since this happened. I am completely congested and am hacking my lungs up. I’m a little worried. I’ll let you know if they need to retrieve the hot dog. And you can bet your ass I’ll ask to take it home as a souvenir. 

The redcoats are coming…


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I recently read an article about food in America versus food in the UK. Apparently, many of our packaged food is sold there, but with vastly different ingredients. The UK has banned many of our ingredients due to health concerns and the American companies obviously want to keep the money flowing, so they adapt their products accordingly.

But only for the countries where the laws prohibit the ingredients.

Meanwhile, in America, we are getting served all the crap that everyone else knows is bad and has banned.

Now, to avoid a whole debate about American politics and campaign dollars on a blog where that shit is not discussed, let’s just skip to the real reason that I think this is happening.

The Brit’s are still pissed about the civil war we wrought on them to become America as we know it today. So they have made a deal with the companies to poison us slowly and make sure that within the next century we once again fall under the rule of Britain because we are so weak from the toxins that we cannot carry on.

Well played Britain, well played.


I’m going to go eat a Twinkie to shore up my strength for the upcoming battle for world dominance.



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