Holy Toledo!

Remember the old Batman show? Remember how Robin always said things like "HOLY TOLEDO, Batman!"

Well, I, mother of Demon Baby (which I feel deserves some kind of title, like Demon Madonna), am the proud mother of . . . Demon Baby Robin.

What do I mean?

Well, Demon Baby isn't content with ordinary Potty Mouth lately. Instead, he twists Potty Mouth words into strange expressions that I am sure you will be sorry you didn't think of first. Such as:

Holy What the Crap!

Holy Cow from Hell!

(He uses the word HOLY a lot for a Demon Baby, doesn't he?)

What the FAKE!

(Misses the whole F-Bomb entirely, but I don't let him know that.)

Holy What the Fake!

(Because any Potty Mouth expression is better when it's made Holy.)

Holy Craptastic!

So there you go. Demon Baby Robin. Holy Toledo . . . here he comes!

Day 2 of Preschool: Only a Beheading

Demon Baby is home from preschool. He's now naked, of course.

He didn't spit on anyone. Didn't get naked in school. Didn't call his teacher a Potty Mouth word.

HOWEVER, for his "project" today, he made Mary and her Little Lamb--on Popsicle sticks like little puppets. The lamb had cotton ball fleece.

As we walked from his class down the hall to the exit and parking lot, he ripped poor Lambie's fleece off in chunks and threw the fuzz on the ground. By the time I got him in his car seat and pulled out of the parking lot, Lambie's head was ripped off, followed, soon after, by poor little Mary.

OTHER mothers will have boxes of neatly labeled projects from preschool. Pictures of apples and trees and stick figures and Christmas trees on colored construction paper.

I, Demon Baby's mother, will have a box of heads.

In Case You Were Wondering . . .

. . . where he gets some of his Potty Mouth words.

Naked Strike Week Six is underway. And this has been a BAAAAAAAAAAAD week for Management. A cousin died Monday (very sad). My father, who is already legally blind may lose his "good eye" (jokingly called such since it's not very good at all), and thus would be totally blind. I am flying to Florida in a week, with Demon Baby in tow to give my mom a little break (note the irony--flying to Florida WITH Demon Baby for a week to give someone a rest). Oldest Son has a bullying band teacher thus creating school anxiety. Tuition bills for college (gulp). Flying Oldest home for Thanksgiving proved financially impossible ($850), so she has to go to my sister's in Boston to the tune of about $500--still no small amount. I miss her terribly. Just a BAAAAAAAAAD week.

So last night, Management had a breakdown. After speaking to my dad on the phone and getting bad "good eye" news, after Demon Baby threw 50 (count 'em) PENNIES down the garbage disposal (entailing me hurting my hand fishing them out), and then tkaing a box of Honey Nut Cheerios and adding water to it to "make soup." After deciding socket wrenches (used to fix something he broke) would make good projectiles . . . Management freaked.

And so Management was mean. Management was most especially mean to Oldest Son, who didn't deserve it. And so Management went in to Oldest Son (who had forgotten his band book at school, thus incurring Management's crabby wrath) and said, "I'm really sorry that I was being such a bitch." Management said it softly. She gave Oldest a hug.

Demon Baby overheard. Demon Baby started jumping up and down (naked) and screaming, "YES! You really are the BIGGEST BITCH! The biggest most humongasaurus bitch ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

And I was. But then we all laughed. I couldn't help myself. He was so darn gleeful. And then I thought . . . oh, goodness . . . that is SO going to come out at an oh-so-inconvenient moment.

The Curse of the Potty Mouth.

Demon Baby's First Day of School--Not Expelled Yet

He cried for an hour that he didn't want to go and promised he would be a totally perfect angel if I would JUST let him never go to school and stay home with me forever.

I know better.

He went to school.

He kept his clothes on.

He did NOT, as he had threatened, call his teacher a Potty Mouth name.

He didn't hit anyone.

He didn't spit.

He did paint (and got it on his shorts and shirt).

He ate his lunch.

He came home and stripped and is now naked.

He informed me he did NOT "see God" at school (goes to a church pre-school). As a Demon, he would know, I guess, if God was hanging around.

He was not expelled.

A good first day of school.

Things Demon Baby Feeds The Dogs When I'm Not Looking

Demon Baby does not understand the dogs eat dog food.

Oh, yes, he SEES the jumbo bag of food for Dreamer (left) and Cosmo (right). I point out to him DAILY that it says DOG CHOW on the bag. That there is a PICTURE of a DOG on the bag.

But he persists in feeding the dogs (in random order):

• Kraft macaroni and cheese. UNCOOKED. With the cheese "dust" as "glitter" for their fur. I know when this is happening by the very LOUD crunching of the dogs as they eat uncooked hard noodles. The cheese glitter is just a bonus.
• Raisin Bran. We have an older corgi with irritable bowel. Enough said.
• Crayons.
• Pebbles. The dogs don't fall for this one but . . . .
• Shoes. They don't eat them, but they do chew them.
• Rubber spatulas from the kitchen. Same as item above.
• Peanut M&Ms
• Pretzels
• Popcorn
• Socks
• Cheese. A lot of cheese.
• Paper
• Yogurt
• Anything a sensible person might think of as trash, including the stuffing inside barious stuffed animals

The two dogs above adore him.

He has converted them to his minions.

I Can't Make This Stuff Up

I took a shower. I emerged. Five minutes, tops--that's all I can really allow myself during any of his waking moments.

Demon Baby was quiet.

TOO quiet.

What was he up to, you ask?

He managed to open the BRAND-NEW roller shade for Baby Girl's bedroom, pull off ALL the shade, so he had a thin "bat" of the center roller. (Throwing the shade in a heap over the second-story landing--WHY didn't I buy a ranch?)

Then he played baseball with his new bat.

Throwing up his Sippie Cup and trying to hit it out of the park. Or in this case, family room.

Note . . . he has an entire toybox--MULTIPLE toyboxes, actually, with balls and cars and trains and fake cooking stuff for his pretend stove, and coloring books, and crayons. And Superhero dolls.

A roller shade.

I just cannot make this stuff up.

Superpowers

Demon Baby is FASCINATED by superpowers. He is convinced that one karate chop from him will render any monster powerless. He thinks he can shoot fire from his fingertips. Defeat dragons. You name it. He wants the world to be afraid of him. VERY afraid.

And, in fact, we are.

Now, I might add, he is growing up with a mom who . . . well, runs things. So I think he sees me as some sort of superpower mom. Call me Wonder Woman.

So we were driving to the Food Bank to bring donations, and he was in his car seat--naked. Well, underwear only. And I looked in the rearview mirror and he was pinching his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Pinching my boobs."

"You don't have boobs."

"Well, what do you call THESE?"

"Those are nipples, and boys have them, but only girls and trannies have boobs, so . . . you don't have boobs."

"But boobs are superpowers."

"I like to think so, yes, but sorry, you still don't get them."

"I want superboobs to add to my superpowers."

"Stick with the Karate Chop of Death."

"Okay."

But I still notice him eyeing my obvious superpowers.