'Sup boo thangs.

Ok so check it. The other day I woke up extra super early, like nine in the morning, and I've learned enough in my four short years not to wake the beast, so I tiptoed downstairs, quiet as a mouse and made myself a bowl of cereal: one bag of M&Ms I mean two and a half bags of M&Ms plus a little splash of milk and there you have it a breakfast of champions.

After I eated all my cereal, I decided I had to pee. So I went outside and let her fly off the deck patio. It was a nice morning, relaxing, the view was a'ight and for once, the neighbors weren't staring at me like I was some reject boxcar child or somefing. 

After I did my bidness, I decided I wanted to watch some cartoons, so I turned on South Park. Cartman is my fave, obviously, because of this episode, but also because he's extremely politically incorrect. I'm not even sure what that means, I've just heard mommy say it's what pays the bills around here and I love me some dolla dolla bills -- holla! -- so by default he's my favoritist.

After my morning slash afternoon cartoons, I decided I wanted a mommy, so I reluctantly shimmied the padlock on her bedroom door, bracing myself with my plastic Batman shield and face mask. I slowly pandered up to her bed, shaking like a leaf, thinking, "damn Gina! If something goes wrong, I can claim 'child prop!' and hopefully get sent to a non-mommy blogger home."

Except, no. Mommies who don't blog are weird. They are like, ashamed of their kids or somefing. I pooped three times today and wiped my own butt. And you better believe that is newsworthy!

But what happened next is the clincher. See, as I was inching closer and closer to mommy's side of the bed, I was just about to wang chung her ass when I spotted it.

It.

The cheetos. 

The cheetos!?! Under mommy's bed?! But! But! She said they were all gone! Blasphemy! The shame! The lies, all the lies, and the hurt and anger and disappointment that is now my life.

All those times I asked if I could have some cheetos with my flamin' hot cheeto puffs…

My life

has

been

one

big

lie.

That's it, I'm moving to grannies.

Me: Gunner you need to stop eating so much crap. It will make you throw up. Remember that one time on the boat when you ate too much crap and threw up all over daddy?

Gunner: No. Can you show me a picture of me throwing up all over daddy?

Me: I didn't take a picture of that.

Gunner: What?!?! You take pictures of everything!!

::After I picked Gunner up from school, and his teacher took me aside and said how Gunner had declared he was "going to work" and then walked over to her and...ahem...popped her ass.::

Me: Gunner. It is very inappropriate to pop your teachers ass. You can pop ass at home, but that's it. Everywhere else is off limits. Do you understand?

Gunner: Well what if teacher comes to our house? Can I pop her ass then?

Me: No.

Colt: Mom I want to play a game on your phone.

Me: No, not right now.

Colt: But mom I want to. You're playing a game on your phone.

Me: It's not a game it's Candy Crush and if you make me lose one more time I will orphan you.

Me: So Gunner tell me, what did you learn in school today?

Gunner: Nothing.

Me: Oh. Wow. Sounds pretty interesting.

Gunner: It wasn't interesting! I hate school!

Me: Ok then.

Gunner: I didn't learn about the planets and the earth and the solar system and teacher would only let me have one snack and I'm mad!

Me: I'm mad too. Starbucks was out of their spinach feta wraps. 

Colt: Mom I want some juice-y.

Me: No honey you've had enough juice-y for today.

Colt: Mommy I! Said! I! Want! Some! JUICE-Y!!!

Me: Then get a job and go buy your own juice-y!

Colt: No mom! I can't get a job 'cause I'm still a baby... {whimpers}

Me: Yes my little angel, you're right. Here. Drink the whole juice-y.

Gunner: Sometimes I don't like sharing my toys.

Me: Well, then you won't have many friends in life.

{short silence}

Gunner: Is that why-

Me: Go to your room! You're in timeout.

::When I was in a pinch to get Gunner dressed and out the door as we were way late for school::
Gunner: I hate this shirt! This is a girl shirt.
Me: No it's not, it's a unisex shirt.
Gunner: What is a unisex shirt?
Me: It means it's appropriate for both girls and boys.
Gunner: But it has a princess on it.
Me: That's not a princess. It's just a really pretty boy who grew his hair out long.
Gunner: He has boobs.

So after Gunner guest posted last week, and after all the positive comments he received, he has been walking around the house with his chest out and nose upturned, kinda like he owns the place. Of course, he has been incessantly bragging to his brother about how "all mommys friends like him best" and how "better" he is now that he has a book deal in the works.

So Colt came to me and demanded to write a guest post of his own.

Apparently, second children have something to say also...

******************************************************

Hi. My name is Colt.


As you can see, I have no pants on, and I'm soooooo cold right now. Someone call CPS!

You may recognize my little legs in the above picture, seeing as how mommy tweets and instagrams a billion pictures of me without clothes on. She says I like being naked. Let me ask: do you like being naked? Outside? In the cold? It's not the best feeling in the world. I can't talk much yet, but if I could, I would say "the hell, woman? Put some damn pants on me!"

I mean, really. Too much to ask?

It probably is. Considering the social status I currently hold in the house. Talk about being second rate. It's always "Gunner this" and Gunner that," and then when or if she does remember that she birthed a second child, I might get a few leftover scraps of macaroni and cheese.

I loooooooooooove macaroni and cheese.

Back to my brother.

Why does the oldest have to act like that? Like he's all high and mighty, and that his shit don't stink. I've smelt it, and trust me, it stanks. It doesn't matter what toy I had first, if he wants it, he's gonna get it. It has to be alllllllll about him or he will make my life hell. His way or the highway. Selfish, that's what firstborns are.

I think that mommy is a firstborn.

Explains a lot.

Oh, and by the way mom? I hated my long curls. I'm glad granny cut it off when you and daddy went on vacation. I know you have plans to grow it long again, but make no mistake...as soon as I learn how to use the scissors? Your precious curls are going down.

Boo-yah.

Oh, and one more thing? When you hear me in the monitor at 6 am? I'm ready to get up. I know you like to brag to all your girlfriends how "both your kids like to sleep 'til 9," but I only sleep 'til 9 because I get bored after 2 hours of doing nothing in my crib, so I drift back to sleep.

You just wait 'til I can crawl out of my crib.

I'll wake you up by smacking you with the pancake paddle.

Get up sugart*ts and make me some breakfast!

Like daddy says...maybe instead of drinking half a fifth and staying up late watching "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant," you could get up with my early cries and sweat it out on that dust machine aka the Treadmill.

That ass ain't gonna work itself out...

................................

It's late.

I gots to go to bed.

My mom is MIA so can one of you sweet sugar britches adopt me?

Please?

I'll reward you with long walks in the park and a few sips of my juice box.

Not to be mistaken with my macaroni and cheese.

Don't touch that.

Or I'll go all firstborn on your ass.