So, whaddya want from me?

A local AP tutoring firm contacted me, with an email line stating they had "Desperate Need for AP Spanish Tutor." Interesting, I thought, and I responded that I would be interested, provided that such contract employment would be on my terms, not theirs (business for me, currently, is not hurting).

My terms being that 1) all classes are held in my home classroom, and 2) my pay is $50/hour.

I received a response inquiring where my classroom was located. Then a follow-up asking me to send my CV and three references. Sure, not a problem...striking me a bit as funny as HE had searched ME out to offer ME a position (evidently responding to my CraigsList ad). However, I said I would send everything only pendent upon my pay being commesurate with my going rates.

He emailed back requesting a meeting with me as soon as possible. I told him that, due to my teaching schedule, I am unable to meet with him before Friday morning. Knowing full well, of course, that his only purpose in seeing me face-to-face was to try to talk me down from my going rates.

He then began to get upset, evidently, in his email, wondering what kind of time I would have to dedicate to his students if the earliest I could come to him is Friday morning. I fired back that I stay at home teaching so that I can be a mother for my two young children as well, 'sir'. That permits me to have students while having my children at home and working around my schedule as, most importantly, a parent first. My students all understand and, above all, respect that in me.

I then said that, if that is not an acceptable arrangement for your company, then we are perhaps not a good match.

He didn't appreciate that response, as I received a rather snide comment back about my "TEACHING SCHEDULE" permitting. I do have students Monday-Thursday afternoon/early evening, then children pick-up from school, dinners to prepare, etc. I have my limits; hence what I have chosen to do--while earning more money than I did at the Uni working their hours. Plus, by now my feathers are a bit fluffed; I did not go to him asking for employment. He, instead, was "desperately seeking a Spanish AP tutor" and sought me out. Then had the nerve to switch the table to feed his own ego? make me seem like the bad guy? I'm not exactly sure, but it didn't work as he has lost one hell of an excellent prospective tutor that he sought and then proceeded to chase away.

It was today that I realized how far I have come in such a short time in my business. Whereas two years ago I would have jumped like a puppy through whatever hoop this man had set out and complied with whatever pittance had been tossed my way, I have learned that my name has gotten out, I have regular students and recommended students alike who I have earned all by myself, with no need for a school or an agency for matchmaking. I don't have to take the crap he was trying to deal out anymore, and I would not have enjoyed working for someone like that. My sympathies to those who do work for him.

In my final email of this exchange I did thank him for his interest...! Queen of the subversive jabs am I!

(and just to let you know---I really, really derive great pleasure from coming out on top of such pettiness!)

World Orgasm Day

...it came (a-hem)...

and went.

21 December, 2008, to be exact. And evidently I was just not In The Mood.

That is rare for me.

And I completely missed it.

Last year's ode to WOD will just have to suffice. Enjoy!

*---*

This caught my eye this morning. Of course, I read it in Spanish, but it appears that this Saturday, in conjunction with the Winter Solstice, has been named World Orgasm Day.

The purpose, one might ask? Besides being one hell of a stress relief, it is viewed that such action can generously contribute to various causes, among them being the fight for global peace, the fight against global warming and the fight for social justice and sexual equality.

"To achieve positive change in the electric field of the Earth through the best possible means of biological, mental and spiritual energy."

Yeah. I might have to agree on the global warming front.

The organizers (I have no idea who they are) are pleading that this day should not, however, promote the conception of more children due to an already overpopulated planet.

Ideally, one (or rather, two, I suppose...) should try to time things so as to climax right at the moment of the Winter Solstice, occuring at 7:28 a.m. That would make it 1:25 a.m. Eastern Standard Time USA.

Hmm.. yaaaaaaaawn



Maybe I'll have to pull a Meg Ryan in honor.

We'll just call it my little contribution to peace on Earth and good will toward all.

Okay, off to the gym....

The Spatula Wars

He went out and bought a set of new spatulas.

Not just any spatulas, Le Creuset spatulas. (read: very very expensive)

I have a full set, with two that are a trite battered by a blender's blade but still completely usable. That is like 8 or 9 spatulas in reach of my stove, that fit perfectly into a little white holder so that I can pull one out and all of the rest don't come out due to lack of spersonal spatula space.

(sorry 'bout that...feeling sassy)

So I unload the dishwasher the other day and there are ten new spatulas in there, just washed. I had never seen them before. I have already all those utensils, most of which (like the baster brush) I never, ever use. I have had these now for six years, it is no secret I have them unless Somebody is just unaware that these spatulas, pasta spoons, slatted spoons, etc. actually exist in my kitchen.

And I don't have a lot of excess spatula space in my kitchen. My drawers are pretty full.

So I took the spatulas and put them out on his table where I put his mail, magazines and other items. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, he's starting to plan for his move out by purchasing for his own kitchen... (not that he can cook or even know what to use most of those utentils for besides stirring the OJ in the morning)

Well, the next morning my spatula jar is so filled with spatulas that I can no longer pull one out without the entire mess of them falling out of the damn jar. So, sputtering spatula explitives I remove his, cursing the fact that my kitchen wa has been upset, and return them to his table.

I see the receipt he laid out for some reason on the kitchen counter. $100 worth of spatulas.

I about, um...split a spatula in half reading that!

Dude. I could do a heluva lot more with $100...OH--excuse me. They were 20% off! That explains it. He saw the magic four-letter word: SALE. And just HAD to buy. (he's just like that) No matter if there is need, just buy for the purpose of buying...

...which runs so utterly contrary to who I am and how I run my finances. For me, managing our finances was nightmarish as I had to deal with a complete lack of discipline.

Okay, so I took those $80 worth of spatulas and returned them, yet again, to his side of the table.

The next day, there were three little spatula subversives sitting in the spatula jar.

I took them and, sputtering, hid them. I don't want them, I don't need them and I don't want to see them.

Then I was getting Christmas cookie frosting ready. In little cups, I had a rainbow assortment of frostings ready for a little plastic knife that I traditionally use as the spreaders...nothing heavier will balance in those little teacups I use. He comes in and says, "Oh, and there are these..." and his voice trails off in confusion when he goes over to the spatula jar and sees that his special spatulitas have suddenly disappeared.

I snickered...to myself.

I have made it clear that I NEED a thermometer, I NEED heavy winter socks and I would LIKE to have my bike serviced and my violin bows rehaired. Never once have I said a thing about needing new spatulas. But yeah, I'm not heard. I feel strongly about using until unusable. I bought new pans this month, stoneware, because the tin ones I had had rusted and were thus rendered, well, unusable. So I upgraded. But I know what it is I will use and what I will not. He does not do any cooking, he does not spend any productive time in the kitchen (except eating), and he will not stop misplacing items that I have had in the same place for six years in some crazy miscellaneous space that leaves me cursing and losing time and literally holding a scavenger hunt for kitchen shears or measuring spoons when they are not where I expect them to be.

Dude, he is so totally breaking my stride.

Yes, I am well aware of the hilarity of the situation. These are petty, minor specks of spatula spittle that hopefully brought a smile to your face, as it did mine putting it into words!

And with that I wish you a happy Christmas Eve-Eve!

The Reindeer Quiz

Evidently, I have once done a private dance for Santa...

You Are Dancer

Carefree and fun, you always find reasons to do a happy dance. Why You're Naughty: That dark stint you had as Santa's private dancer. Why You're Nice: You're friendly. Very friendly.

Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?

Was that the year my poly-sci prof dressed as Santa? Ugh...my past life is coming back to truly haunt me...

surprising revelations

I had a great morning!

I got to meet The Exception! And WHAT an exceptional lady she is!

2 1/2 hours was just not long enough for a chat, and coffee was probably the weakest thing to have been intaken while talking...but we make do with what we can.

What was perhaps most surprising to both of us was...

my height.

Or rather, the fact that I am much taller than she thought I would be--or that I was surprised to have come across so, well, short.

So, to set the record straight, here are my stats:

5 feet 9.5 inches tall. And love to wear heels. I have chosen to embrace my height.
125 pounds. Never more, sometimes less.
Bust-36A. Teenager bras. Proud of it...as one admirer of mine has said, "perfect handful, any more would be a waste on you."
Hips/Waist...hmmm...don't know. I wear junior size 7 long jeans--hipsters.
Hair: chestnutty, naturally darker than it is now due to sun and perm. I like curls.

So...what did you imagine? What do we imagine when we only have words (or a llama avatar) to work with? How do our words help to create the image we portray to others?

I was in awe of Exception...she was in shorts and a tank top, while I had on jeans, tights, boots, heavy socks, camisole and heavy (albeit short sleeved) sweater. It's not even supposed to hit 60 today--a 25 degree drop from yesterday. Brrr! I admire the strength that so many can demonstrate before these downright chilly temps!

So there you have it. And yes, pretty much each and every one of you were spoken of at some point in our conversation. So if your ears were ringing, you now know why.

my new song

It is Mine. All Mine. Thanks to Windy.



Holy cannoli, I don't think I have laughed so hard in years.

Enjoy!

porn for women

I am at a total and complete loss for words at the point. Nothing bad, just nothing coming to me, and not in English (I'm into a great Argentine women's short story anthology--but in Spanish--that's what my thoughts are on right now. Always deconstructing...such a nerd, but such the life for a lit nerd).

So I'll let the pictures talk today.

Speaking of Darwin...

Taken from WTOP online news regarding Ike and refusals to obey mandatory evacuation orders among Texan costal residents:

In Surfside Beach, retired carpenter and former Marine Ray Wilkinson became something of a celebrity for a day: He was the lone resident in the town of 805 to defy the order to leave. Authorities found him Saturday morning, drunk.

"I consider myself to be stupid," Wilkinson, 67, said through a thick, tobacco-stained beard. "I'm just tired of running from these things. If it's going to get you, it's going to get you."

He added: "I didn't say I had all my marbles, OK?"

Now doesn't THAT just about say it all?

teeth

La Princesita finally pulled Tooth #3 out last night.

This is the first tooth that the Tooth --um-- Llama has been able to capture, as Tooth #1 and Tooth #2 were lost. Literally.

The Tooth --um-- Llama Demands Results! (She's a trite type-A.) I guess the third time was the charm.

Tooth #4 isn't--well, shouldn't be--too far behind. La Princesita prefers to let Nature take its course, however, and the teeth are hanging by a single excrutiatingly-loose thread before she will finally take matters into her own hands.

All this thinking about our dental health got me thinking about teeth, and all kinds of interesting facts have come to mind:

1. Did you know that snails have over 25,000 teeth? And they are on the snail's tongue!

2. Elephants have six sets of teeth.

3. In México, the Tooth Fairy is the Tooth Mouse. A bit more verosimil...is there such word in English? That's what I get for blogging in English while watching Univisión. hmmm (thinking) ah!...A bit more...plausible...yep, that's the word...if you ask me. I would imagine a mouse in my house before a fairy in my lair-y. Yeah. Anyhow, I wonder if, in some countries, there is a Tooth Cucaracha. The Tooth Ratoncito ...sometimes called el Ratoncito Pérez (there's a story, I'll tell if asked!)...does leave a little treasure as well.

4. The words for dental floss in Spanish, hilo dental, is what those smooth latinos call a G-string. Don't ask how I know that.

Okay, this post is going places I did not intend. Don't you forget to brush and, um, floss tonight!

ADDENDUM: Tooth 4 came out last night. This Tooth-llama is going broke!

hot-n-steamy sex scene

Yeah! Did that grab your attention?

So it did mine, as Millie and Alejandro are finally making IT happen in a dreamlike beach bungalow with only the night sky as their witness on the only Latin telenovela I currently watch.

Then the Young Prince appears, face in my face:

"Mommy, what is the Boogey-monster?"
--It's the monster that lives in your nose.--I try to move my eye contact greedily around the big round head that just presented itself between me and the only sex in my life right now.

Lips devouring lips, arms embracing, both perfectly dressed in white linen that flutters like flags of surrender in the breeze of the deserted isle.

"What does he eat?"
-Who?
"The Boogey-monster."
-Your finger.
"What if I use a Kleenex?"
-Boogey-monsters don't like Kleenex.

Tiki-torches shed flickering light over the lovers as they embrace, Millie over Alejandro, as they profess their undying love to one another.

"So if they don't like Kleenex, what else to they eat?" He moves his head again between me and my steamy sex scene. I am starting to get impatient, hearing less and less of what he is saying.
-Um...they eat fingernails.
"And what do they drink?"
Dude, kid. --Booga juice.
It was the only thing that came to mind.

Morning came. Dawn on the beach after a night of what supposedly was passionate, deeply penetrating and emotion-ridden, "finally they're doing it!" sex.

And I missed it. All for a deep conversation, that could not (of course) wait, about boogas.

Gotta love inquisitive kids.

I'm only a PG?

This is funny. Although I used hell four times, pain twice and hurt (only?!) once, the Rater must not have reached the page that I talked about vibrators, body piercings and the lack of sex in my life.

Hmmm...or maybe it was precisely for that reason that I was only rated PG?!

Thanks to Citizen of the World for this one.

Oh, and if you want backlinks... (a-hem) you may contact me.

tequila shots and line dancing

I will not line dance *ever* again after doing tequila shots.

I guess I just need to concentrate on the steps, and I found that tequila most certainly inhibits my ability to, um...concentrate.

My senior year college roomie and I got together for one night of fun in Vegas. We worked hard that year we lived together, back in 1993 and when all was said and done, we balanced the hard work by playing hard, too. Secrets we share are those only she and I will ever know. It was a refreshing reunion.

A workmate of hers met us at a locals-only bar in Vegas. Yeppers--I was charged more for entrance just because I produced an out-of-state ID. Should've brought my military dependent's ID. Oh, well. Her workmate would not even hear of me paying, not only to get in but also for drinks. And for shots.

And so it went.

Haven't done that since I was 20-something.

Nothing out of control, mind you. I have never been one much interested in drinking myself into oblivion (that is my control-freak nature), but a buzz is nice. So I get out there for the line dancing lessons, in the back row--yeah, I forgot that the back row turns into the FRONT ROW always at some point.

Duh.

Left, right, turn, stomp, shuffle...the steps were simple enough but it required concentration and memorization--plus some degree of familiarity with the general steps would have been nice. I am a salsa dancer, not a line dancer. So I held my head high, did what I could and moved my hips well.

Well enough to get some attention.

One man came over to our table, after Mr. Shot Buyer had left for the night (we weren't out too late!) and asked me out on the floor. At least I could somewhat follow, and he had me spinning and prancing all over the entire floor. Enough so that neighboring tables clapped when I sat down and another came over and commented that it was the first time he had ever seen anyone in flip-flops dance like that...and NOT lose her shoes.

I blushed...I think.

He took my roomie out, as she protested and said, "Yeah, well, don't expect me to do THAT" and then came back and spun me around the floor a few more times.

He liked my glasses. He wore glasses, too. A sign of wisdom, perhaps? Or just bad eyesight? I suggested wisdom as a function of age. I don't think he liked that suggestion. (I have been out of the game waaaaaay toooooooo long.)

There are few more things I truly enjoy doing than dancing. I really love to go out and dance, no matter what the music playing. It was fun and then, alas, it was time to go home.

Just nice to know I've still got some moves.

word of the day

From Anu Garg's A.Word.A.Day:

callipygian

having well-shaped buttocks

That about made me spew my Mama Llama-bucks all over my keyboard this morning.

And on that note, I sign off for now. Not feeling too well this week, need to rest and revive. This is what Vacation does to me--makes me sick. Almost always.

political condoms

Why haven't I heard about this in English language newspapers?

Or have I just been reading the wrong pages?

RPP.com, the Public Radio Service of Perú, says today that McCain and Obama condoms are for sale at 9.95/two.

For those who can't decide on who they are supporting (I think the entire world pretty much knows who they are voting for now, but hey...) they can try both and see which is the best, um...fit.

The Obama condoms cannot assure 100% protection in a night of complete illicit abandon with someone from the opposite party. They carry the theme, "Who said experience is necessary?"

The McCain condoms have gone with "Old but Not Expired."

Both say they offer better protection than the Secret Service.

vaginas on PBS?

You know it has been a long time when...

You are watching PBS KIDS programming and you hear, "What if a giant asparagus..." does something (yeah, it's a cartoon. I have no clue as to the context). Honest to God I didn't hear what it was the CyberChase crew was worried about the giant asparagus doing because I was trying to hard to process what I heard,

"What a vagina..."

I had to check my programming there for a minute.

Duuuuuude....time for a vacation.

wicked wedgie woman

We just Freecycled out twelve pair of girls' underwear. (Yes, there are some Freecyclers who will take just about anything.)

Why? La Princesita was complaining about how much they give her wedgies.

Or rather, that should be wedgies ...!

I didn't even know what a wedgie was when I was 6. This is an education stemming, no doubt, from the Great Literary Tradition of Captain Underpants.

This turn of events caused me to remember a conversation had with girlfriends over wine one afternoon, back when we used to go winery touring and tasting once or twice a year. The dialogue somehow led to underwear (of course, over a bottle of wine, great cheese, amazing chocolate--well, anything can come out!) and what unmentionables we would wear or not.

Obviously we arrived at thongs. The majority vote was, "Hell No, Won't Go."

However I opened my big mouth and piped up, "My rule: Always wear a thong with khakis."

??? I was met with a table of quizzical looks.

"What? No pantylines that way." (At the time I was actively teaching at the local university) "When my backside is turned away from the students or I have to bend over for some reason, I don't want the first thing for them to see to be pantylines. And pantylines are a bane with khakis."

My companions were not convinced.

"It's not like I pull my bikinis up. That would just be painfully uncomfortable. The lovely thing about g-strings is that they are MADE to go where they go. It is natural thus not as uncomfortable. I can handle it for a day."

This conversation has not been forgotten by any involved.

Last night La Princesita and I were playing around before bed. She had her non-wedgie panties on and had "wedgied" them. I asked her, "Isn't that uncomfortable? I thought that's why you wanted me to get rid of your other panties."

Her reply?

"(giggle) It feels good, Mommy!"

Ay ay ay.

Is this an omen, that I have a bona fide thong-wearer, thus defined by the tender young age of 6 1/2 years?

Happy Friday, all!

bird droppings and corresponding good fortune

I have found myself at three different points in my life, the most recent being yesterday, wondering if the belief that, when shat upon by a bird you are to be graced with good luck, is a semi-truth with roots in wives' tales...or a huge crock of, well, guano.

(By the way, etymology of the word guano dictates droppings not exclusive to bats but rather, with roots in Quechua--the Language of the Incas--to indicate any bird dropping, usually that of sea-living birds--sorry, nerd moment...but I did learn something out in the Ballestas of Paracas, see???)

Yeppers...just outside Buckies. Shat upon again. Right on the right shoulder.

Rather than this destiny being met with the dreaded "Ew, gross, Mom!" or the more infantile (and fitting for a three year-old), "HA HA HA HA HA!!!!" responses I was expecting, I was instead the object of great fascination by my children.

Oh, Mom, does this mean you are really lucky? How many times has a bird pooped on you? I wish a bird would poop on me. Did you see it coming? Did you see the bird? I wonder what the bird ate...

You get the picture.

After rushing into the Buckies baño to wash off this Mark of Distinction from my newly tie-dyed-by-hand-thank-you-very-much t-shirt I proceeded to place our order, then we sat outside and ate our Buckies treats that we, yes, biked downtown to enjoy (yeah, I'm still trying to save gas even if others have given up the fight. I'm stubborn like that.).

A lady we know then stopped to say hi, then invited us to swim today (we didn't end up having time, unfortunately). Then said that we could come at any time during the summer that we wanted, because she owns (not rents) in the complex where the pool is located and all we have to do is sign in saying we are her guests.

Dude. Major score.

And all occuring within nano-um-minutes of having been shat upon.

My honest side then kicked me in the ribs and I asked, "Well, isn't that a violation of some sort of ethical code or rules or something?" "No," she responded. "I own there, so I can say who goes on my name and who doesn't."

Oh. Okie dokie then.

Pros: It would save a lot of gas while giving us something cool to do--less than a mile from home and the kids can easily bike there. The closest pool is almost 2 miles down the major street--which isn't bad getting there but the operating term there is down. Which means going uphill all the way home is a completely different story with the Youn 3.75 year old Prince riding his own, um, self-propelled chariot.

And it would save a lot of moo-lah as well, even for an August-only membership at that pool.

Cons: We would be the only ones we would know there and I would not take advantage of this extension of kindness to "invite" others on my invitation. I just am too guilt-ridden (can you tell, born and bred Catholic?!) to consider that. And I would still feel like I was completely taking advantage of an invitation that perhaps was simply made in kind; it can be very, very hard for me to discern sincerity from niceties. I have an inbuilt defensive side, always cautious, always wary of fully trusting. This inhibits my very well-developed sixth sense, so much so that my sixth sense has been put on the back burner lately.

Anyway, digressing to the bird poop.

Was this all coinki-dink? I also succeeded in getting two screen doors installed yesterday, completing the front door this morning. The little monkeys and I had a glorious day filled with joy and togetherness at the Town festival with La Princesita demonstrating some really beautiful facets of her personality (no, I am not being facetious). I am so truly blessed...

...or just bird-sh*t lucky.

thrilled!!!

I didn't tell anyone I was going to do this, but I applied to a Quechua language school in Cusco, Perú for a month-long immersion course for this summer (lasts from 21 July to 22 August) so that I could work up my knowledge of this language. It is one of the official languages (along with Spanish - duh! - and Aymará) of the country, and I have very basic understanding, mainly vocab, from my time spent both in Perú and Ecuador.

Not only that, as I am an educator and can potentially incite others to go and study there, they will pay my plane ticket! YIPPEEEE! I still have to pay the school price, but I get to live with a family for the month and completely immerse myself, which will maximize my exposure. The school has a pretty well-developed program and a great website--check it out!

hot waiters and headbangers

I took the monitos out for a special lunch treat today to a local nice restaurant. Fish. It was good. I have children who eat salads and fish and good food and don't complain, and who seem to have somehow learned how to behave well in public places...so to take my children to a restaurant when I am on zone defense is actually a pleasure, not a pain.

This particular restaurant in the local "chain" is packed with hot waiters. I mean, hot. Younger. But true to life eye-candy.

In jeans. (gulps cold water)

One particularly hot model kept walking by the table, en route to his tables. I would be talking to my children (yes, I am an engaging parent) and he would stop, turn and look at me. Perhaps as if thinking that I could be asking him for something. But I wasn't and, unfortunately, I had not been seated at one of his tables.

Rats.

But this occurred on three, maybe four different occasions during our meal. Wish he would have spoken to me, had he had something to say. And I am too shy to exert myself.

But it was fun being looked at, for whatever reason. I May Live in my own Fantasy World. Makes Life more interesting that way. (probably checking out my new Shakira hairstyle--JA!)

Unfortunately, after all plates had been cleaned, desserts devoured, lunch paid and tummies happily filled, I got the children into their jackets and was about to head out when I stopped and decided to look back in the booth just to ensure we had left nothing behind. On posts on either side of the entrance to a booth are solid iron hooks for hanging your coats...and what did I do?

Whacked my head so hard against one of them as I turned to look for anything forgotten that I fell, in tears, into the booth and patrons sitting at the next booth called their waiter over and the next thing I knew I was being tended to by the floor manager. My temple was swelling rapidly and the mark of the iron hook was clearly visible on my pale skin, so they rushed to get me ice, then rushed to take my information. I got a little water since I was shaking (more from embarrassment than anything) but was really starting to get a radiating killer headache and just wanted to get us home. I got really tired on the way home and wanted to take a nap, but decided instead to give The Young Prince his Big Boy Easter gift early...a new Big Boy Bike, got my tools out and installed the training wheels on it (and a horn, of course...ugh). Plus, I know not to sleep immediately after getting hit in the head, even if you think it is just a little thing. So I fought it off with some work.

The kids were great and do exactly what they are supposed to in those kinds of situations; namely, give Mama Llama lots of love and charm the heck out of the wait staff. So they complied, and even managed to not create in me a worse headache over the course of the night.

I did not see the one particularly hot waiter again after dessert.

Perhaps I just had a headbanger of a penance to pay just for looking.

buttons in body cavities

Yes, I am afraid it is EXACTLY what the title suggests...

The Young Prince was blowing his nose (at 3, I still help him a bit with that task) and suddenly I saw something deep red coming out.

Instant thought? Bloody nose. Of course. I had them all the time as a child.

No.

It was a BUTTON.

So I asked him, "When?"
"Because..."
"No, when??"
"Because..."
Realizing this Q&A was going nowhere fast, I changed my strategy.
"This morning while you were cleaning up, did you find a button?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"In Mommy's office."
Okay.
"Why did you put it in your nose?"
"I didn't know where else to put it."

sigh

"You know, you can give it to Mommy."
"Okay."
"Or you can put it on the desk."
"What desk?"
"Oh, just the BIGGEST thing that is in Mommy's office, where the computer is and everything."

(giggle)

"Oh."

deep breath

"Did you put anything ELSE up your nose?"
"No."
"In your ears?"
"No."
"In your mouth?"

"No."
"In your butt?"
"No." The seriousness of my tone stifled any giggles at this point.

Then ensued the lecture on how we NEVER insert foreign objects into bodily cavities. Both La Princesita and the Young Prince were wide-eyed and scared-looking when I started talking about going to the hospital and long instruments used to take things out of the noses of bad children who stuck things up them...

Ay Diosito.

In the case of there ever having been any doubt whatsoever, he is definitely his father's son.