Because I Can't Make This Stuff Up

I may be a novelist, but there is no way I can make this stuff up. The following is a true story. Every word of it.

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"Demon Baby . . . where are your pants?"

"I had to take them off."

"I doubt that. Go find your pants."

"No, I really had to take them off."

"Why?"

"They were scorched."

[Aside: as the mother of a Demon Baby, "scorched" is most definitely NOT a word I want to hear.]

"What do you MEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN scorched?"

"The fireplace is on."

"Please tell me you did not put your pants in the fireplace."

"No. I put my butt up to the fireplace."

"Why would you do that?"

In walks older sister, age 11.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He put his butt up to the fireplace glass."

"WHY? Can someone in this house tell me what is going on?"

"It's her fault my pants are scorched," said Demon Baby.

"Her fault?"

"Yeah. She told me our fireplace works on gas."

Older sister crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. "He was trying to fart into the fireplace to make the flames go higher."

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Yeah. I know.

I Really CAN'T Make This Stuff Up

I found Demon Baby playing catch in the kitchen with one of our dogs.

The ball of choice?

An overripe Hanover TOMATO.

Yeah.

Do the math.

Top-Ten Unusual Sightings in Demon Baby's House

So last night, I came across a VERY unusual sight. And I realized . . . this happens a lot when you live with a Demon Baby. So in honor of that . . . a top-ten list (last night's sighting was #2).

1. A snorkel in the bathroom sink.

2. A snorkel in the dishwasher.

3. My diamond ring in the dog's water bowl.

4. Play-do in my shoes.

5. A pillow in the bathtub.

6. My keys in the freezer.

7. My cellphone in a pair of underwear (as a carrying case).

8. A stash of marshmallows in the coffee table drawers in the formal living room.

9. My charm bracelet INSIDE the air-intake vent for the air conditioning unit.

10. A teddy bear INSIDE the CEILING vent in my office (accomplished by stuffing him down the upstairs vent and pushing it all the way with a broom handle).

What Happens to My Stuff

For the life of me, I have not been able to find any of my wooden spoons in the kitchen. This is a pain when making sauces. I thought . . . Do they WALK out of this house? Am I losing it? Has the stress finally caused me to crack?

As I stepped outside today, I happened to look in the bushes outside my front door.

Mystery solved.

Demon Baby confessed to throwing them out the window.

So the birds can cook.

A Conversation No Mother of a Non-Demon Baby will EVER Have

Naked Demon Baby approached me today. "MOM! My penis hurts."

"Hmm . . . maybe you just need a shower. After breakfast, it's bathtime for you."

"No, it really hurts."

"All right, well, after bathtime I'll check it out."

"I think it might be from the box."

"What box?"

"I put it in the box."

"Box?"

"The candy box."

"Let me get this straight, you put your penis in a candy box?"

"Yeah. And it hurt."

"What kind of candy box?"

"You know, the one that you fill it with candy and it pops out . . . the one that the Easter Bunny gave me."

"YOUR RABBIT PEZ DISPENSER?!?"

"Yeah. The Pez dispenser."

"Just so I've got this straight . . . you put your penis in a Pez dispenser."

"Yeah. And it pinched it and hurt."

"So don't put it in a Pez dispenser, okay?"

"All right."

Penis Crisis of 2009 . . . Solved.

I'm Taking Him Out of the House: Watch Out World

No, I'm not talking about Demon Baby.

I am talking about his Magical Friend.

His Magical Friend is, according to Demon Baby, "super humongasaurus powerful."

Magical Friend tells him things.

"Mom, Magical Friend says I am the boss and you have to listen to me."

I usually reply with, "Yeah, well, you tell Magical Friend that his logic won't fly in this house."

And I have asked, repeatedly, if Magical Friend has a name. I find the whole "Magical Friend" moniker a little unwieldy."

"Yes."

"Great," I said. Hoping for something like "Sam." "What is his name?"

"Magical Friend."

Magical Friend gets into all sorts of trouble. But clearly, I have gotten so used to Magical Friend that I am now taking him along on excursions. So it was this Sunday at church when his Sunday School teacher approached me.

"You son brough his friend today."

"Oh? Who?" I asked, but honestly, I already knew.

"His Invisible Friend."

"No. No, that can't be," I corrected her. "He doesn't have an Invisible Friend. He has Magical Friend."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . he did say Magical Friend. But since his Magical Friend is Invisible, I thought he was Invisible Friend."

"No. There's a distinction." [Have I mentioned at this point, the lady probably thinks I'm a stark raving lunatic?]

"Well, I had to leave the class for a minute to go get glue, and he told me he would be all right because Magical Friend would watch over him until I got back."

So there you have it. We now are bringing Magical Friend to Sunday School. The secret is out.

I watched The Sixth Sense the other night. I am cool with Magical Friend, as long as Demon Baby doesn't start telling me he sees Dead People.

Blue Hair Dreams

Demon Baby is very fascinated by my process for coloring my own hair.

I used to go to a salon to color my hair--P.D.B. (pre-Demon Baby). Now, I am lucky if I can sneak in there for a half-hour for a cut. Hence coloring my own hair. I usually color it very dark brown/black with occasional forays into violet streaks. However, until yesterday, Demon Baby had not been privy to my hair coloring magic.

"What the holy crap is that?" he pointed at the hair coloring box and the plastic gloves I was putting on.

"Hair color."

"What the holy crap is hair color?"

"SEE THESE?" I lifted up the front of my hair to show him I am ALL WHITE up from (having gone prematurely gray at 22).

"HOLY CRAP! It's WHITE!"

"Yeah. And you gave me every one of those white hairs. So now I'm trying to get rid of them."

"With what?"

"Hair dye."

"HAIR DYE! Holy crap! What's hair dye?" (And I wish I could say I was embellishing this conversation, but I am not.)

"It makes the white go away."

"Like magic?"

"Yeah. I'm a Ninja Mama Warrior, so I am magic."

"Swee-ee-eet." (Sweet, pronounced as a three-syllable word.)

"Thanks, Demon Baby. I don't want to look like the wretched hag I feel like some days. I have to maintain my Ninja appearance."

"So what color?"

"Black."

"Go for blue. I'm telling you. Blue would look swee-ee-eet."

"Black."

"Blue."

"How about rainbow?"

"Black."

"Purple?"

"Black."

"Blue. My final offer."

"Demon Baby, I am going to run away to a Ninja temple unless you leave me in peace to color my hair."

"Jesus! No need to be so crabby about it."

"Watch your mouth."

"How can I? I can't see my own mouth."

"Please. I am begging you. My hair is growing grayer by the minute."

"I'm telling you, blue would be a LOT cooler."

So if I end up one of these days with blue hair, you'll know why.

Have a craptastic day.