Life of Ings

These are the Spawnling's Life of Ings.

The Toad is working. And hating it. Except for the paying. He's complaining about the scheduling. And the working. And the dealing with people. And the lack of sleeping.

The Howler, on the other hand, is whinging. And playing. And will be roller skating. She is also singing. And swinging. And running.

And now that we have that out of the way, I can go back to regular language, and not worry about meeting some arbitrary standard (which, as we all know, is my standard. LOL)

The Toad is working. He hated working all nights, so now, they schedule him days during the week, and nights on the weekends. Pretty funny, in a cruel and ironic sort of way. He was better off with Vince, working the all nights.

He's still a jerk (Toad AND Vince). He spends his time alternating between hiding from me, but annoying Kevin, and picking fights with the Howler. (and maybe I'm not done with the theme.)

The Howler, darling thing, has an ever growing penchant for irritating me--if not by sheer volume, then by repetitive mouthiness. If I hear one more time that ANYONE's parents are nicer than I am, I just may have to fix it so that she discovers how much nicer EVERYONE on the planet is than I am.

She's very demanding. And unrelenting. She started again this month about never wanting to have a baby. God, that's worse than the hot flashes and night sweats I suffer. I'd rather pull my own teeth than have THAT conversation again. It's (and I'm not comparing her to a pig, really) like teaching a pig to whistle: it frustrates you and pisses off the pig. Hey. I think I'm the pig in this scenario, actually.

She also must be working for the government (or the National Enquirer) too. She must know who is on the phone, and if there's any chance at all she knows the person, she wants the opportunity to talk to them. Not that she'd talk to them if they were in front of her, but I think it's just the idea that one of us is unavailable to sit and stare at her magnificence.

Last night, she went, dripping and buck naked from her bath over to her father, who happened to be on the phone with his mother. The Howler demanded she speak to Grandma, and when she was told "no", she stomped (and I do, indeed, mean stomped) to her room, and began banging drawers open and shut.

When I told her that she could talk to Grandma "tomorrow night, after the birthday party" she said, "Yeah, right"--sounding for all the world like her father. So I said, "Wednesday night, then, while I'm at the PTA meeting" to which she responded with, "Oh, yeah. Like I don't already have plans for Wednesday night."

It took everything I had to not bust out laughing. I know that plans SHE has, and they involve making the Clairol company a LOT more money--it's like she's a major stock holder. Sheesh.

So, the Spawnlings are both very unhappy--and for the same reason.

Neither is getting his or her own way. And I am, yet again, losing brain cells and natural hair pigment in the process.