Pause for Cuteness.

I now take a break from my virginity-losing stories and tales of toddler tantrums to remind you again that I have a kid who is, ahem, fucking adorable.




Things Punk has been taught recently that I may or may not condone:

● Cheerfully chiming, "Don't get raped!" instead of "Good-bye!" as she waves furiously when we leave a place/situation, which includes but is not limited to grandparents' houses, Target, and kind passersby who smile cheerfully at her in public. I guess it is pretty sound advice.
● Openly referring to her dirtiest baby doll as "Dumpster Baby" -- to the point that you can now ask Punk where Dumpster Baby is and she will bring DB to you.
● The appropriate response to a vacuum cleaner is to scream, sob with huge, gigantic tears, and hide. I wish I could too, kid, I wish I could, too.
● The fluid motion of flipping people off by flicking off under your chin. I did NOT teach her this, that was my 19-year-old brother, her beloved Uncle Ham. But I can't de-program it from her, for the life of me. Thanks Uncle Ham.