Queen Of The Flies


Have you ever thought about what people might think if they saw what goes on behind-the-scenes at your house?  Do you ever wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of someone else’s daily life?  Well, Baking In A Tornado wondered what it would be like and it inspired her to create a collaborative blog posting idea!   

Today, 14 bloggers are inviting you into their homes to be a fly on the wall (links at the bottom).

Enter at your own risk… 


Man-child’s teacher pulled my husband aside after school and brought up an “incident” that happened earlier in the day.  Apparently, when asking the children what they wanted to be when they grow up, the only thing my son could think of was “a villain.”  He followed that comment up with drawing a picture of a battle scene.  I hear this and think 7-year-old little boy.  Teacher’s hear this and think “future gunman.”  I could depart here on a major rant, but I will refrain and just tell you that we did talk to man-child in our attempt to glean a deeper understanding of his meaning and purpose, because EVERYONE knows that ALL kids grow up to be astronauts, fireman or pro-athletes; therefore, it is only logical that we dissuade man-child of any future villainess prospects. 

Me:  “I heard you talked about what you want to be when you grow up in school today?”

Man-child:  “Yeah.”  If you detect any enthusiasm in this response at all then I wrote it wrong.

Me:  “So, tell me!  What do you want to be?”

Man-child:  *sigh* “Dad already talked to me.”

Me:  “I know, but I want to talk about it.”

Man-child:  “I said I wanted to be a villain or a bad guy.”

Me:  “Why?”

Man-child:  “Because they wear cool clothes and fight and stuff.”

Me:  “Yeah, you are right, bad guys do have nice outfits.”

Man-child:  “Bad guys don’t wear “outfits” mom.  Only girls wear outfits.”

Me:  “Oh sorry, my bad.  You do understand though that Darth Vader, Batman, Spiderman are just fictional and fantasy characters.  They aren’t real.”

Man-child gives me a “duh” look and proceeds to give me the definitions for fiction versus non-fiction and fantasy versus reality.  I marvel silently at how smart I think he is, but then quickly refocus to the task at hand…averting future villainess deeds of mayhem.

Me:  “Do you understand that in real life bad guys hurt people, so when you tell someone you want to be a bad guy, even if you are just pretending, it sounds like maybe you think it’s fun to hurt people.  In real life, bad guys go to jail and a prison uniform isn’t such a cool costume.”

Man-child:  “Well…what I really meant to say was that I wanted to be a dentist, but I couldn’t think of it.”

(which I still think sounds like he wants to hurt people, but I hate the dentist, so I’m probably not being objective here)

Me:  “Oh, I see.  Well, a dentist.  That’s interesting.”

Man-child:  “I guess.  I know that you should treat others how  you want to be treated.  Be kind is another rule.  And don’t be a bully!  Be nice to everyone even if they are different from you.  I know lots of rules mommy.”

Me:  “I know you do sweetie.”

Man-child:  “Can I have a snack now?”

We talked a bit more later about the subject, but the bottom line is that my son has a very vivid imagination and he loves to be dramatic and playact.  He is also affectionate, loving and giving.  He cares about others, and he never displays his anger in violent outbursts.  He sulks and pouts, he puts himself in timeout, he might even cry and yell about how mean we are, but he’s quick with hugs, sorries and forgiveness.  We talked about the appropriate times to pretend and play, and how what we say and do reflect who people think we are and how they see us.  I don’t want him to grow up too soon, can’t he just be a little boy for a little while longer… 


I walked into the bathroom while man-child was taking a shower.  I wasn’t trying to sneak up on him or be quiet.  I put my face up against the glass, and said “hi!”.  Man-child screamed and inadvertently pissed himself (at least he was in the shower).  He continued to kind of holler and scream, his brain clearly not connecting that it was only me standing there.  I kept trying to calm him down, but in his defense I probably looked a little maniacal standing at the glass with tears of laughter streaming down my face causing my mascara to run.  I felt so bad.  Poor baby. 

Man-child:  “You scared me!”

Me:  “I know, I’m so sorry!” (I’m still laughing hysterically, bending over trying to catch my breath, so this probably came out like more a wheeze than an actual sentence)

Man-child:  “I went pee.”

Me:  (laughing even harder) “I know!”

Man-child:  “How embarrassing!!!”

Me:  “I’m so sorry, I’ll leave.  But hurry up,  you’ve been in there awhile.”

Man-child:  “OK!”


Man-child:  “Mom?”

Me:  “Yes?”

Man-child:  “I miss Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.”

Me:  “Oh?  Tell me more about this?”

Man-child:  “I mean, he was just trying to do good things and bring peace and then he was assassinated!”

Me:  (did he just say assassinated?)  “I know.  Assassinated?  That’s a big word, do you know what it means?”

Man-child:  (looks at me like I’m a few bricks shy of a load) “He was shot by James Earl Ray!”

Me:  “That’s right!  James Earl Ray was a bad guy.”  (I look at man-child pointedly)

Man-child:  *sigh*  “I know, I know!  I learned my lesson mom.” 

Me:  “ok, good!”

Man-child:  “Anyway, his birthday and my birthday are the same day!  And we don’t have school, so I’ll have to bring my cupcakes the next day, but isn’t that cool?!?!”

Me:  “Very cool sweetheart.”


Man-child:  “Mom, who do you like better Obama or Romney?”

Me:  “Well…I’d have to say _____ .” (as if I’m going to answer that here!)

Man-child:  “In Texas, everyone likes Romney but in the United States people like Obama because he won so now he lives in the White House.  Is the White House in the United States?”

Me:  “Yes, the White House is in Washington D.C. which is part of the United States.”

Man-child:  “10-2 = 8.”

Me:  “Is today random fact day?”

Man-child:  “huh?”

Me:  “Nevermind.”


As I stepped out of the shower the other day, I looked down and noticed several slices of cheese sitting on the counter.

  1. I am home alone
  2. I did not slice myself some cheese

I immediately succumb to panic and crisis mode as I stand dripping on the cold tile floor scanning the bathroom, thinking of my options.  I race to the bathroom junk drawer, yank it open, and begin frantically searching for anything I can use as a weapon while my ears strain to pick up the sounds of my murderer.  EVERYONE knows that if you are going to be murdered it will be while you are home alone and in the shower.  Plus, I did hear the dogs barking earlier.  OMG they are probably dead!  I briefly entertain the idea of opening the 2nd floor bathroom window and jumping out, because what are a few broken bones, scrapes and public nudity when death is on the line.  My heart is racing.  I can literally hear the blood pumping through my veins.  As I’m scouring the drawer looking for anything, ANYTHING, I can use, there are several things that become immediately clear to me.

I am not wearing my glasses.  I won’t be able to find a weapon because I am blind without glasses or contacts.  Even if I do somehow manage to locate a weapon, I won’t be able to see my attacker until he is upon me with his murderous rage.

*puts on glasses*

The “slices of cheese” are actually cheez-its that I placed on the counter before I got into the shower.

In case you have any doubts, let me set the record straight.  I will be the crazy old lady in the retirement home, suffering from dementia and paranoia, that tries to kill people with splenda packets and hoards crackers.

I would be the first person to die in a horror movie.

I am the last person anyone should count on in a crisis.

Murderers probably don’t “rat trap” their victims.

I have issues.  Serious issues.


My husband and I are in a standoff.

NO this isn’t about Adam Levine.  For once.

It’s about my side of the closet.

Weeks and weeks ago the lightbulb on my side of the closet went out.  I asked him to change it for me.  Several times I have asked.  He continues to ignore my demand request.  Could I change the light myself?  Of course.  That’s hardly the point.  I asked him to do it, he said he would and then he didn’t.  I feel like to change it now would be admitting defeat.  I’m not blinking first! 

Me:  “Remember when I asked you to change the bulb in my closet?  I say remember because it was a VERY LOOOOOONG time ago.  You might have forgotten it was soooooo LONG ago.”

Hubs:  “No, I remember.  I’m afraid to open the door, it’s scary in there.  Perhaps if you cleaned it out…”

Me:  “I’d clean it out, but I can’t see….because no light.  I’d probably hurt myself.  Wrench an ankle, throw my back out trying to navigate the dark and murky terrain without assistance because apparently my husband doesn’t care if I die in the closet and no one ever finds me.”

Hubs:  “You’re so ridiculous.”

The lightbulb still hasn’t been changed.


The closet still hasn’t been cleaned.

I can live with no light longer than hubs can live with the mess.  I will WIN.

Honey, if you are reading this, I have a message for you from “The Mess in My Closet”:

“I will breed and multiply.  I will take continue to grow until eventually I take over the OCD orderliness of your side of the closet.  Only light could stop me now!  Mwhahahahahahaha!”

(I think we all know who wins this round)















25 thoughts on “Queen Of The Flies

  1. Yea, you know you’re laughing too loud when your 3 year old tells you to hush. lol
    When my son was 6 or 7, he wanted to be a peanut counter in a peanut factory….no clue where he got that from.
    And this past summer, he just randomly spoke up one day in the van and said “Fun fact for ya, mom…did you know that Davy Crocket killed Martin Luther King, Jr? He (not sure which he) was hanging out with James Earl Jones.”
    Hilarity ensued…..

  2. This is great! 😀

    My son will probably announce he wants to be a villain for the same reason. That is too funny!

    FYI-Most murderers don’t come into people’s houses and slice themselves some cheese. Just sayin. I’m thinking you should be more worried about a really big mouse.

    • He’s still young enough he doesn’t care, I’m sure that will end one day soon. I have to screen everything I say about the girls, but they are ok with MOST things. I love this post and the swap, really such terrific ideas and prompts!

  3. You are so funny. Why can’t you move in next door? Murderers don’t rat trap their victims…tears. I have to stop reading your blog because I laugh like a hyena and then cry from laughing. My family thinks I have completely lost it.

    Cut the man-child some slack. We used to play cops and robbers when I was a kid and nobody every wanted to be the cop. Know what I mean? I was a robber with a plastic pistol and I turned out (relatively) fine (I hate it when people say that). I’d be more concerned over him wanting to be a dentist. I mean, doesn’t he want to have friends when he grows up?

    • You make me feel so good! Believe me, we HATE having these talks with man-child, his teacher is riding up our ass about his comments. The counselor even gave us some pamphlets. I am WAY more concerned about the dentist comment…wth? He’s the most loving, precious child ever (mostly), I’m almost driven to want to homeschool him…but then I remember I would suck at that.

  4. I love, love, love your blog. You are so freakin funny and a total smart ass to your children. Which makes me feel better about the fact that I, too, am a complete smart ass to my children. “Random Fact Day” made me laugh out loud. And, don’t they say Cheez-Its start out as giant pieces of cheese? Maybe it just matured while you were searching for your glasses.

    • Coming from you, someone I think is crazy funny and talented, I am flattered that you would say so! I think I matured and sprouted a few more gray hairs after that little scare… My kids are all major smart asses, sometimes I think I should have toned it down a bit lol, but then I think…nah

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s