About the kid.

Me: Hey, what're you doing in there? It's time for lunch.
Pooey (fiddling with some paper in the other room): Just a minute. I'm shooting animals with nails.
Me: Okay. Take your time.
Pooey (handing me a crumpled section of a Target ad): Okay. I'm done now. Will you hold my nail gun?

...

(Pooey, pulling his arm back, as if to strike his mom with a dirty dust pan)
Mom: Don't even think about hitting me with that.
Pooey (pausing, scowling): I AM thinking about it.
(Nods his head, looks satisfied. Yes. He thought about it. That will certainly teach her.)

...

(Walking home from dropping Madeleine off at school, Mom and Pooey are hit by the unmistakable scent of garlicky chicken frying at El Diablo down the block.)
Pooey: Ew Mommy! Something mells disgusting and delicious!

One for the kids.

Winter. I warned you.

Fuck it all to hell, it's snowing again, and I just wasted my 2 hour babysitter time submitting four stories to a contest, wherein afterwards I realized all my stories were too long for their ridiculously short guidelines. Four stories, times 10 bucks each. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. And fuck you too winter. You suck.

Updated to Add: Shit. I just submitted another story to a journal, with the name of the wrong journal in the file name. Fuck shit. Bastard cocksucker. Someone throw me a bone here.