set up the assembly line a few nights ago for the boys to make valentines for all their classmates and teachers… EvilGremlin taped kitkats to spongebob valentines, SpazMonkey taped smarties to star wars valentines, 
and DramaQueen taped whoppers to madballs valentines. yep, madballs valentines. they feature bloody eyeballs and smashed skulls with leaky brains bouncing across hearts-and-flowers backgrounds, with sayings like “lookin’ good, valentine!” and “ughs and squishes” instead of hugs and kisses. i’m sure the little girls who handed out hannah montana and high school musical valentines especially loved them. 
MonkeyBeef had to be distracted from the scribblefest by a bowl of applesauce oatmeal. 
this would have worked better had DramaQueen not taken a full hour to fill out his valentines. because they had to be written in “cursive.” and “robot letters.” and “bubble letters.” and “robot cursive.” with artwork! as it was, oatmeal lasts only so long, and cartoons with opa involve far too much sitting still to be awesome for more than 10 minutes, 
so the boy managed to make off with several three-packs of whoppers.
friday night – valentine’s day eve? – was really snowy, but PRM made it home eventually, with TexasRoadKill in tow. MyEvilTwin wasn’t far behind, with a 4 lb box of twizzlers. this was the second-best valentine’s day gift.
the best was MonkeyBeef’s. unless you want to count “wah-ooooooo!” for “uh-oh,” and “NAH!” which he swears up and down means “mitten,” the boy has made it to age two without speaking a single freakin word. but earlier in the day, as i made my daily token attempt to point at things and name them and try to get him to give a rat’s ass, he finally broke his retard streak. in the middle of me pointing at myself and repeating “mommy,” he jumped up, ran over to his stash of toys behind the couch, and came back with a family picture. he pointed at PositiveRoleModel and, face contorting in slow motion, carefully drawled “DAAAAAH-DYEEEE!” then grinned proudly at me as if he had just shat a golden turd. i of course congratulated him as if he had, and he repeated it for me several more times. then i switched back to “mommy,” at which point he found jumping on the couch while blindly wrapped in a slanket far more entertaining.
so when PRM came home, of course i tried to get him to perform his new trick. being two, of course he didn’t. at least not immediately. first, he spent a good 20 minutes staring in wonder at TRK, who, in a black stocking cap with a heavy mustache, admittedly looks pretty scary. then he spent some time jumping and dancing for MET while pounding his way through some twizzlers. he finally responded to my pleas for him to say “daddy” in the middle of playing “spin in circles and punch each other and fall down” with his brothers. it was a screech. it was a growl. it was kind of fucked up. but it was definitely the word “daddy.” and he finished it off by grinning adoringly up at his daddy, and then punching him in the balls.
PRM picked him up and smothered him with kisses anyway, which probably qualifies him for father of the year.
