I would have picked a name that didn’t need yearly updating. Hellooooo!!! More work for me! Could I possibly have something MORE to do in my free (hahahaha) time? And now, you lucky dogs, you’ll get some free press. From me. Thank you.
So, had I been smart, I might have grabbed “shit my kid says” (Already taken. This kid is 5.) …which leads one over to “shit my kids ruined” (hahahaha) or “shit my boy says” (Which is a Facebook page, and a damn funny one at that, but I didn’t want to step on toes with my blog) …oh and maybe avoid “shit my boyfriend says” (Unless you don’t mind hitting the “I’m okay with adult content” button) ohhhh actually there are two “shit my boyfriend says” blogs…ones a Tumblr…OR “shit my little shit says” (Damn, wait! This one is open people! Grab it!)
See? I just went for the age and the shit, and it had a little je ne sais quoi about it. N’est-ce pas?
Yes, therefore in about a month I will be updating my blog to shit my 7 year old says. I have a landing page up there. Eh. Maybe I’ll just change the header on this page and cross out the 6 and put a 7, whilst leaving the blog as shit my 6 year old says. Don’t want to lose my followers. That’s what happened when I went from 5 to 6. People get comfortable with a follow and don’t want to be hassled to RSS or email that sh*t up again. I understand. Completely!
What do you all think?
Anyway, (deep breath) after missing the school bus, driving Jack to school, going to work, working out at lunch, going home to meet the bus again, driving to get our Christmas tree, coming home and putting UP the tree, LIGHTING it, watering it and skirting it and such, making dinner, feeding the cats and then going to Tae Kwon Do and then putting Jack to bed and writing the above random mess…I hear the pitter patter of little feet coming down the stairs.
me: Heyyyy, what’s going on?
Jack: I’m scared?
me: Why? Come on let’s go back up to bed.
Jack: I’m scared of my shots when I turn 7 next month! And the finger prick!
me: Remember we talked about this? I won’t let them do the finger prick if you’re going to freak out. I promised you.
Jack: But you’ll forget!
me: Won’t you remind me? I won’t let them hurt you.
Jack: Promise!
me: Pinky swear promise.
Jack: And we can leave if they try?
me: Definitely. We’ll say no thank you, and we’ll walk out.
Jack: There’s no way you’re gonna remember that. You better write a note for yourself.
me: Thanks.
Sh*t My 6-Year-Old Says (but he's 18 now) 