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The Most Delicious Inedible Soup Recipe EVER

Fall has arrived…time for soup!

Fall is here! Time for Thanksgiving and for my mom to relentlessly harp on me to put on a sweater.

What better time for some nice soup? Here’s a delicious batch I made the other day. Of course, even though my recipe contains no transfat, partially hydrogenated oils or even food for that matter, my mom still refused to take a bite. Whatever. More for me.

Here’s my recipe:

Ingredients:
-6 or 12 containers of water
-2 handfuls of mud
-287 crayons, broken
-8 pipe cleaners
-One tube of glitter glue
-5 pieces sidewalk chalk
-7 rocks
-2 clumps of rose petals (pulled right of the stem)
Optional: rusty nails, paperclips, or a cigarette butt found on the sidewalk in front of your house.

Directions: Pour bathroom water into a bowl you’re not supposed to use. (be sure to drip water throughout the house before you pour it) Take all ingredients and hurl them into the bowl. Stir vigorously until all ingredients splash out onto the dry cleaning your mom just brought home.

Prep Time:
Until your mom stops you.

Serves:
2 dolls, 3 stuffed animals and a multitude of ants.

Clean Up Time:
Hell if I know. My mom cleaned up. I think it took her a couple hours


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Confessions of a 5-Year-Old Hoarder

[Chart after the jump]
My name is Lily and I am a hoarder.

Wow. It feels good to finally admit it. I can’t get rid of anything. I’ve saved the contents of birthday goodie bags since I was 36 months old. I have stickers from places I can’t even remember I’ve been. I have five dead Zhu Zhu hamsters under my bed. My room is piled high with used up coloring books, ‘treasures’ I’ve found floating in the gutter and stuff I got from grammy.

The biggest enemy of an admitted hoarder? The mom who suddenly thinks it’s time to ‘purge’ your toys. It usually starts like this, “Sweetie, don’t you think it’s about time we give away your [Insert Favorite Toy Here]?” Bite me. For those trying times I’ve created a handy decision tree chart to help you decide whether to keep or toss your precious items. It works for me!


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5 Ways to Get Lazy Ass Parents Out of Bed

I don't know which is worse...trying to get my parents our of bed or when they fall asleep in mine.

My morning routine usually goes something like this: I wake up around 6 a.m. refreshed and ready to greet the day. I then race into my parents’ room and with unbridled joy begin bouncing on their bed. What do I invariably find? Two giant fleshy sloths snoring away like chain saws.

What a freaking buzzkill.

For most of us, getting parents out of bed  is no easy task.  Heard of  a book called Go the F*ck to Sleep?  How about one titled,  Wake the F*ck Up. Guaranteed if preschoolers had any income, we’d make it a bestseller.

Seriously, parents will do anything to stay in bed … in order to prolong their slumber my mom and dad employ the pathetic trick of asking me if I want to “cuddle” with them. Yeah, right. Snuggle up, as you fall back asleep and drool all over my head? Sorry, I’ll pass.

So how do you get parents out of the sack without all the bullsh*t? Here are a few tips:

Maintain a firm wake up time
Even if you feel like you could just play in your room and give mom and dad a few extra minutes of sleep,  don’t give in. Parents need to understand that the life they had before you were born is over. That means never sleeping in again until the year 2028. Ever.

Give them a 2 minute warning
Warn your parent that wake-up is in two minutes, or give him a choice — “Do you want to get up now or now?”

Keep consistent wake up time rituals.
One morning don’t  try to awaken dad by affixing stickers to his face and another  serenade mom with some significant audio from your Leap Frog Leapster. Make sure to wake up both of them same way. It’s only fair.

Reward them!
If you can manage to get them out of the sack  show them your appreciation by drawing them a beautiful picture of a flowers or a trucks!  Then be sure to shove it under their bleary-eyed faces while they’re waiting for their coffee to brew. Take this time to explain to them, in detail, your thought process for color and composition.  Do not accept, “Not now” as a response.

Read to Them
Who doesn’t like to be awoken to a nice book? Even if you don’t know how to read you can still recite what you remember from your favorite stories. I find the most impaction to be Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed. Works like a charm.


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My Mom, The World’s Most Annoying Travel Companion

Waiting at, what my mom erroneously refers to as the airport "carousel." Whoever heard of carousel without wooden horses and kids throwing up?! What a rip!

Frankly, I was ready for a summer vacation. The rigors of preschool were taking their toll. The endless hours playing with my friends in the “Dress Up Corner,” the relentless arts and crafts, dance parties and sing-alongs. I was beat.

Of course my control-freak mom decided where we were going on our trip. I suggested we travel under the sea and visit Ariel but instead we ended up going to Seattle. Whatever.

I’ve got to admit, this time traveling was way easier than last August when my mom tried to force me on the potty in an airport bathroom on a layover to Maine. Seriously, I’m scarred for life.

I’m a year older now so my mom let me deal with my own luggage. I packed only the essentials: my magnetic fish puzzle, a Rapunzel dress shop, a LeapFrog game console, dad’s broken cellphone, seven of my favorite rocks and a wind-up plastic pig. My mom on the other hand packed such pointless items as clothes, shoes and toothbrushes.

Just to be clear: Spending my off time with someone who’s 40 years older than me isn’t my idea of a good time.

The first day we visited the Space Needle. That’s when she really started getting on my nerves. When we reached the top she kept breathlessly exclaiming, “Look at the view Lily!” Lady, unless the view is a field of chocolate ice cream cones and rainbow sprinkles I could really give a rat’s ass. I guess by her age, she’s excited to still able to see anything.

The next leg of our trip brought us to an island off the coast of Washington. Of course we had no reservations for any lodgings before we arrived. My mom hates to plan when she travels. I think it gives her the illusion of her carefree days before I was born – or she’s just stupid. Anyway as I was waiting for her to figure out where we were going to crash she told me that one place that did have a vacancy said ‘no pets or children.’  Excuse me? As a kid who no longer pees on the floor I take offense. It is the worst kind of discrimination to compare me to a pet. Mom finally did find a cute place that allowed kids but no pets. I showed them. The next day when my mom and I went clamming on the beach I saved one of the clams and named him Justin. I made him a little home under the hotel bed and left him there.  Take that Harbor Inn!


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Sh*t My Mommy Ruined!

My mom captures me in a cliche.

You can’t swing a dead cat on a mommy blog without coming across the inevitable “LOL! Look what a mess my kid made!” snapshot. Hell, there’s even an entire website, called  Sh*t My Kid Ruined. The whole site is basically just an outlet for whiny ass parents to complain about kids expressing their inate creativity or in my case, self-preservation. Exhibit A: Here’s a picture my mom posted on her old website. In it, at the tender age of two, I had just spilled an entire box of Cheerios on the floor. (I had to get my nutrition somehow… it sure as hell wasn’t going to be from her cooking.)

 

I guess what I’m saying is if I had to sum up my mom (and possibly all parents)  in one word (besides ‘effin’ old’) it would be “hypocrite.” She’s always bitching at me to pick up my shoes, and clean up my toys and fish my teddy bear out of the toilet. (Which happens to be where he takes his swimming lesson but she doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about stuffed animal safety.) Yet, when I want to, say eat, on the dining room table, it’s invariably strewn with one of her omnipresent piles of sh*t.

LOL! Look what a mess my mom made!!

Welcome to our home. Clear a space and sit on down!


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How My Mommy F-ed Up ‘Crazy Hat Day’

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Here's the hat I would've worn if my mom hadn't dropped the ball. Yeah, you bet I'm crabby.

Ever have one of those nightmares where you show up to preschool,  discover it’s ‘Crazy Hat Day’ and you’re NOT wearing a crazy hat because your mom didn’t bother to read the school’s monthly activity calender so you end up looking like an a**hole ?

What? Just me?

Since my mom started working longer hours at her job she can’t keep anything straight. Usually her inability to hold it together works in my favor but lately it’s given me the shitty opportunity to show up to “Swim Day” without a bathing suit,  “Crazy Hair Day” with neatly combed hair and of course ‘Hat Day’ without a f**cking hat.

What  cracks me up is she also happened to miss that email about the lice infestation in Room 6.  Hope she can take a couple of days off work to pick nits out of my hair!


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What Moms Are Really Doing…and it Ain’t Much

If there’s one thing I get sick of it’s my mom complaining that because of her work schedule she doesn’t get enough “quality time” with me. Yeah, right. When she finally drags her sorry ass into my after-school program and gets me home do we immediately start playing a rousing game of Candy Land? Do we kick off a round of Hide and Seek? Fat freaking chance. The FIRST thing that happens is she says she, “Needs a moment” after her 10 hour day. Boo freaking hoo. My school day wasn’t exactly a cake-walk. During recess, while playing “Cat Hospital,” I had to operate on four sick kitty cats … I was scheduled to do five operations but Emma freaked out and ran away. Look lady, I take my job seriously, too.

Anyway after she’s had her “moment” and “unwinds” (whatever the hell that means) do we finally enjoy some “quality time?” You tell me: