Mi Casa

Arvind: Mamma, why are you staring at me? Stop staring at me.

MGM: *wistfully* I’m trying to remember you forever this way. Your last day as a first grader. I’m taking pictures in my mind.

Arvind: Mamma, you know you’re a bit wierd?

MGM: No baby. I’m WAY wierd. I’m plenty wierd.

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The Viking is co-building/assisting in re-building our garden patio. It promises to be a Beauty of the Burbs. I’m thrilled to death about this, but most of all I am thrilled because suddenly my dirty and totally infantile mind seized upon all the fun I can have with my “decent” lad and bejeezuz – the number of permutations and variations of lame-ass one liners with the words “nail”, “screw” “hammering” and “bending over”?

5899 at last count.

The man is hapless in the face of his insane wife calling him YET again with her latest pervy giggly.

He is SO hot for me, peeps.

The Polish workers are probably rolling their eyeballs like GET LAID ALREADY.

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The World Cup has been the perfect time to a) nurture an interest in football and b) pull out our Flags of the World book.Β  Now that school is out and we can geek without school interference, homework and such excrement, its all about flags, countries, capitals, nationalities and currencies.

I am mostly alarmed by how much I have forgotten over the years. Time for Mamma to brush up on her ejukayshun, dudes.

Now that we have ONE pedagogical activity in place, I can serve him beer for the rest of the vacation and we can laugh ourselves silly everytime we say Pyongyang.

Like PYOOONNNGYANNG.

Yeah, you had to be there.

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We are trying to teach Armaan numbers. Since he went all DIY with his potty training, our hopes were high and the magnetic board was dug out.

“Here’s the number 2, Armaan”

“No. It’s blue (B-noo).

“Yes, its a blue number 2”

“Not two. B-noo”

“Yes yes. Blue. But a number 2. Like One. Two.” I can hear my voice rising a pitch in the midly hysterical way a parent’s voice is raised when they suspect their child might be shtoopid. Less gifted. Whatever.

Luckily for Armaan, he could not give a sod. He cheerfully swipes the board clean and delights over the magnetic pieces lying strewn around.

So delighted that he breaks into an impromptu Michael Jackson dance.

“It’s all good,” I sigh, “We just have to give him more beer is all.”

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15 Comments

Filed under Armaan, Arvind, holidays, Self

15 responses to “Mi Casa

  1. While you’re at it, have a swig yourself. πŸ™‚

  2. Staring photography is good. Keep at it babe. See what happened with chocolate boy….he grew up!! That’s what happened. Sigh!! And what is it with the younger ones….they never seem to give a rats arse. Shades, solid ones of Tam is what I see in Armaan. See even their names match!!

  3. I love b-noo, and the rest of it:)

  4. I know the Bnoo boy would luv you too:-)

  5. It must be very hard for the Viking to blush(or sigh exasperatedly) 5899 times πŸ˜€

    and i take pics like that too! πŸ™‚

  6. Chooch

    Oh the mind-pics last forever..those baby hands and feet and these very manly ones:*(
    Oh and we’re in the midst of the World Cup fever and is it exciting or what!
    Oh and hugs to the baby attached to bnoo and the other men in in your life…they provide us with so much entertainment:)

  7. my daughter is the same, I asked in spanish if she wanted (uvas) and she said, uvas? I switched to english (grapes!) she said, (quieres uvas No grapes).

  8. haha! thanks for the laughs!

    cheers!

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