I am winning the war.
I don’t mean to be a prick, but it’s the truth. Once upon a time, mommy had no fear. She used a stern, controlled tone and put me in time-outs 345 times in a row without a single pee-break. She stayed calm mostly, and walked with her head held high. She could raise her eyebrows at me, and with that, simply, I would re-think feeding Brisket chocolate kisses or throwing rocks at the sliding glass door from the outdoor patio. Now, the power struggle is shifting. She is the new strugglee, and let me just say, getting thirteen daily ass-whoopin’s from a toddler is not doing much for the bags under her eyes or the worry lines on her forehead. You see, I have decided to take advantage of a needier Leona. With Rat Baby’s whining and fussing while standing between mommy’s legs when she is at the counter sneaking Kahlua in her coffee, it is much more difficult for mommy to monitor my time-outs. And so, I no longer choose to sit in time-outs. I just get up, look at mommy’s haggard, sleep-deprived face and desperate eyes, and saunter out of the kitchen to play with my dinosaurs. And after peeling Leona off her kneecaps, she will come and get me–calmly, at first–and place me back at the spot in front of the garage door where I am expected to sit compliantly on a nasty old rug full of dog hair, but seven seconds later I will leave again. Sometimes I run. And I make her chase me. I love this game! She does not. She threatens vile things and promises that I will not live to see my 4th birthday if I don’t stop running, but I just giggle and run some more. When she catches me, I am dragged through the living room and back into the kitchen where Leona is waiting to nibble on mommy’s ankles some more, and we play the whole game again. The other day she told me she had to “sweat out some angst”–this sounds painful, and I don’t wish to try it–so she got on the elliptical machine and called Papa Cool to bitch about me. Right in front of me. Word to my mother: Don’t fuel the fire by outlining in detail all of the things I do that make you drink, especially when I’m sitting right in front of you trying to shove woodchips in the dog’s eyes. That’s like winning an all-expense paid tour of every red-light district in the whole continent of Asia. A fucking jackpot. You get the picture. Then she ordered two books on Amazon. Something about strong-willed children. I am unsure of what these types of children are, but my best guess is they have strong quadricep muscles and are willing to say words like shit, fuck, and damn. And I don’t know why she wants to read books about them, but maybe it will be a story about how they all went to Disneyland, and she will be inspired to take me again soon. However, I suppose I will have to stop putting Honey Nut Cheerios in Leona’s pajamas so mom doesn’t scream when twenty of them fall out onto the floor during a diaper change. But that’s no fun.
The good news is, I finally got my hair cut yesterday. Maybe now mommy will stop telling me that I look like a bobble-head and that she’s embarrassed to take me out in public. Even Leona got some knots cut out of her hair. This is all part of the Cabo grooming routine. We have been shopping for bathing suits. We went to the shoe store and got some new sandals because officially, I am down to one pair of sneakers that fit me, so mom’s cheap ass was forced to take cash out of her vodka expense account so her children could wear something on their feet besides dirt-stained socks. The shoe store was fun. Leona really let her hair down and went on a rampage. Every time mom would turn her head, The Rat would pull two boxes of shoes from the shelf and they would spill into the aisle. While mommy picked them up, Leona would pull one shoe from 5 different boxes, and then a very frazzled mommy had to figure out which shoe went where. Rat Baby impressed me, I have to admit. She was fucking quick on the draw. When it was my turn to try on shoes, I decided I wanted to do pretend snow-angels on the mat in front of the main entrance. Secretly, I was hoping a hot Japanese girl would walk in wearing a skirt, commando style. Don’t tell mom. She about dislocated my shoulder removing me from my post during Operation Box Choy and she didn’t really even know my end game. When we got in the car, mommy said we weren’t getting any new shoes until we could drive ourselves to the shoe store and pay for them on our own. I don’t think she had as much fun as me and Leona.
Even though mommy is hung over today, she took me and Leona outside for a picnic in the back yard and played bubbles with us. Then she spent an immense amount of time picking up dog poop while I tried to talk Leona into eating a snail. This did not fare well with mommy, as snails freak her out. After the snail was removed from the premises, I decided to beat The Rat on the head with small sticks. She’s pretty tough. I can usually beat on her for a good two or three minutes before she starts to cry, but then mommy marched over to me and broke my sticks into a hundred pieces. A few minutes later, she told me to go play in the road because I threw a large stone at the dog. Finally, the towel was thrown in and I got a baba and an episode of Dora. I love a nice, spring day in the back yard.
I will let you all know how the birthday party goes on Sunday. I predict that mommy will get wasted and Leona will get enough presents to make me mad enough to take a piss on her favorite purple blankie. Just another birthday marked by a sloppy celebration in the Mermod home. And don’t forget, mine is in August. None of you fuckers can tell me you didn’t have enough notice. I expect a grandiose spread of new shit from all of you.