I got played.

Foiled again by an almost-three-year old. Why, yes, we're still having sleep issues. Why did you ask? Strangely, these "issues" have grown exponentially with the sass coming out of our son's mouth. I never in my life imagined that someone who doesn't even come up to my waist would snarl, "Mommy! Lay down now! And rub my back!" Yeah, right. Because speaking to me that way works oh so well. I mean, I'm pretty laid back as far as parenting goes, but regardless of his age, he shouldn't speak to people like that. So, after being snarled at one too many times over the last couple of days, this evening included, I was forced to pull a Super Nanny at bedtime. Two hours later and I'm still periodically getting up and putting him back in bed. But I haven't been snarled at in over an hour, unlike last night when he was dishing it out until he passed out around 9:40.

Oh, well. There's only silence coming from his room now. I guess I should go check on him to make sure he's where he's supposed to be. Sometimes being a parent sucks. First, you don't know what you're doing. Second, when you do something, you don't know how much damage, if any, you're causing. Third, doing what you know needs to be done no matter how much you wish you were wearing ear plugs, regardless of the rut you wear in the carpet traveling back and forth to put a reluctant toddler to bed and how much time it takes to finally calmly but firmly get something through to someone who really couldn't give a crap absolutely stinks. Still, sass me once, shame on you. Sass me twice... Well, you know the rest.

Conversations I'd rather not have.

A few weeks ago, I had one of those conversations you'd just rather not have with people who don't know you well. I was at work and chatting with one of the ladies in the call center. Most of the women at work are openly extremely religious. Not to the point of making me uncomfortable (thankfully, no one has informed me I'm going to hell...yet), but I've heard a few "Praise Jesus'" and in-depth discussions on why people should accept Jesus as their Savior that don't seem to fit with a professional workplace.

To avoid such conversations, I've made no secret of the fact that I come from a diverse background religiously. My family became even more diverse with the additions of my brother in law and husband and his family. So now our religious mix includes not only Methodism, Judaism (Reform), but also Greek Orthodox, Hinduism and a little dash of Buddhism. Not being particular when it comes to religion, I think this is awesome.

Unfortunately, my somewhat unusual household has generated almost equal enthusiasm and curiosity among some of my co-workers, with a few of them asking me what religion I'll raise my son. When I said that my husband and I planned to educate him as much as he was able to absorb on the religious mish mash that is his family and let him decide, I was met with surprised stares. Then, "That's okay - God is love, baby, God is love. I don't think you're going to hell."

Wait, what?? I realize that was meant as something positive - or at least that's how I'll take it - but seriously, I have never received such a backhanded...thing. It's even worse than when someone tells you that you look great now that you've lost all that freakin' weight. I don't even know what to call that. Approval? Comment? Compliment? Reassurance? What would she have said if I smilingly told her that, au contraire, we were going to hell because we were going to instruct Ragsy in the drinking of blood under the full moon? Perhaps I should have gone that route. I'd probably get fewer questions.

There's a bit of chicken in all of us.

Putting my son to bed has always been difficult. Earlier, the kid was just too upset about having to go to sleep to be able to sleep. Lately, he's entertained himself far too much. This evening, I couldn't get him to stop acting like a chicken. Where on earth does this kid get this stuff? He'd stand up, flap his arms, yell "bock, bock!" and start doing a chicken dance in bed. Then I'd tell him to lay back down (this is during pre-sleep snuggle time), only to have him stand up and do it again. This went on a few times where I wasn't sure whether to burst out laughing because he was acting like a chicken or if I should be annoyed because he was clearly not listening to me. Or at least wasn't for long.

So, I left eventually - there's really no point snuggling with a chicken - only to hear him merrily belting out the words to "Oh, Suzannah" and "She'll Be Comin' Round the Moutain." After he wound down and quietly told the animals on top of him (all six of them) that they should change their shoes because food comes out their feet after they eat (as poop? I haven't figured that out yet), he finally passed out. Did I fail to mention that my son has a raccoon named Crack? So during Christmas, we were carrying around a big bag of Crack.

What a character. How did I ever live without this kid?

Hearty nooks, tasty crannies.

No, this is not the start of a pornographic post. The above is the Thomas English muffins tagline. It's written on their packaging. Seriously. Buy some, or just go to the grocery. You'll see what I mean.

Contrary to popular belief, my mind is not in the gutter - it is the gutter. But I like it that way.