Unfortunately (or fortunately), Anarchy hasn’t had moments recently that rival “The Bad Seed” or “A Sadist at the Tender Age of Two”. However, that doesn’t mean she isn’t still absolutely hilarious. These are a few of her better moments from the past few weeks.
THE BRIBERY
A few weeks ago, I was driving the kids to school on my way to work. They were strapped in their respective car seats in the back seat, singing along to the oldies station. (Anarchy’s personal favorite is “Sugar, Sugar” by the Archies but that has no bearing on this story.) Anarchy had her favorite handbag with her, a pinkish purple faux suede number with sequins adorning the strap. She stuffs her purses with a variety of things: golf balls, toy phones, lipstick (really flavored chapstick, she is three after all), hair accessories, Easter eggs, beads, and other miscellaneous items that Chaos enjoys playing with and Anarchy doesn’t care to share. She also has an extraordinary amount of dollar bills, her “foldin’ money”, which she regularly steals from my purse. She typically carries at least twice as much cash as I do.
That morning, before getting into the car, Anarchy was playing with her beads. According to her version of the events—Chaos doesn’t yet express himself well enough verbally to tell his tale—Chaos tried to steal the necklace from her. All I saw was C with bead-shaped welts down his face. Needless to say, A found herself in a bit of trouble, and the beads were confiscated.
So anyway, we were driving to school, A was badly misinterpreting lyrics while singing at the top of her lungs, and C was chair dancing to the resulting chaotic symphony of sounds. A looked up at me in the rearview mirror and said very politely, “Mommy, I would like my beads please.” I looked at her and calmly reiterated that the beads were in time out because she insisted upon using them as a weapon against her brother. She gazed at me contemplatively for a moment, reached into her purse, pulled out her wad of cash, and peeled two bills off the top. “Mommy…Mommy,” she fervently whispered at me, passing me the cash. “You don’t punish me anymore. Take it. Take it.” Of course I took the cash from her, it was my money after all, all the while struggling to hold back my laughter. She apparently took this as a favorable response because she peeled off another bill, handed it to me and said, “Tell Daddy the same.”
At that point, I couldn’t hold back anymore. My entire body started shaking with laughter, and I felt the tears welling. I was forced to pull the car over to compose myself. I didn’t know whether to be proud (this is supposedly some sort of genius behavior) or appalled that my three-year-old daughter had just attempted to bribe me. I also found it quite amusing that the Ass only requires half the monetary investment I do. She obviously took my merriment as a sign of success because the next words out of her mouth were, “My beads, please.” We spent about ten minutes on the side of the road until I could contain my mirth. She didn’t get the beads.
NIPPLES AND BOOBIES
Anarchy is OBSESSED with nipples and boobies. Somehow she got the idea that boobies come from Target as she often asks me to get her some next time I go to the store. One of her favorite pastimes to discuss the boobies and nipples of those around her. An example of a typical conversation walking into school with Anarchy:
Mommy, you have boobies.
I have nipples.
Chaos has nipples.
Daddy has nipples.
Grammie has boobies.
Pop-Pop has nipples?
Papa has boobies! (Papa is my father. I am still trying to determine if she is referring to his excess skin from the recent drastic weight loss from gastric bypass or that he at one time had gigantic moobs.)
Zanney [the dog] doesn’t have nipples. (She was confounded when I told her the dog did in fact have nipples.)
THAT LADY HAS BOOBIES!
The kitties have nipples?
MISS ‘NEE! WHERE ARE YOUR BOOBIES?!?
This is about the time she pulls my shirt down and exposes, at the very least, my bra, (As if I don’t have enough flashing problems already.) cops a feel, and whispers in my ear, “I got your boobies.” Needless to say, we have spent countless hours in our household discussing the guidelines as to what qualifies as private. Alas, the message isn’t getting through. Poor Chaos gets a “purple nurple” at least four days a week, and she often walks around pinching her own and blurting out at random intervals, “I’m pinchin’ my nipples.”
Fucking hell.
THE BMW
Three days after the Insufferable Ass moved back into the house (after our first separation), he announced that he needed to purchase a new car. Granted, the Ass has an hour commute to work each way, and our Impala was about a month away from reaching the 100,000 mile mark and in need of about $4,000 in repairs. However, I was picturing an Accord, Camry, or Maxima, not the shiny, silver BMW 530i he came home with. I don’t have anything against BMWs in general, outside of the fact that they are yuppie cars. That being said, a car that requires 92 octane gas and comes with an enormous maintenance bill wasn’t the most prudent choice in my opinion. Furthermore, the Ass left the kids and I, and a mere three days after begging for forgiveness and moving back into the house, he bought himself a fucking present.
Anyway, I apologize for my self-righteous rant. There is a point to my rambling. The Ass had been the proud owner of the car for less than a month. It was a glorious Florida afternoon with a brilliantly shining sun, and the Ass was helping me to unload the kids from the car. Anarchy was playing with her beads, the very set which caused the red welts down Chaos’s face and led to her subsequent attempt at bribery. She was swinging her beads around, and the Ass was trying to take them from her before there was an injury. It was as if time slowed for a moment. As he reached forward, she drew the beads back in an attempt to use them as a weapon. However, instead of hitting her dad on the follow-through, the beads pounded the hood of his shiny new car, permanently marring the clear coat with the same pattern that had once blemished C’s face. Sigh. I love that kid.
originally written May 23, 2008
