Nuit the Naughty: Photo Comic of a Bad Kitten

We'll reacquaint ourselves with one another via today's photographic comic strip. Forgive me if you are one of the 349 Facebook friends who has already enjoyed this moment of Nuit.

THE MAGICAL BOX OF DOOM

THIS IS MY BOX.

Try to take it from me.

I DARE YOU.

Mmm, this is some premium quality cardboard right here, I'm telling you. Nom nom nom.

 

INTRUDER!

I am not an intruder. This is my house, you little imp. Get out of that box. It's probably mine.

My box. Forever.

~~~

 
So ... how's summer? What are you guys doing? Anyone going anywhere interesting? And by interesting, I mean farther than the grocery store, the dry cleaners, or to the dermatologist to have those pesky skin tags removed. (Demand anesthetic. Trust me.)

Short post. I have a summer cold. Which means I'm crabby and I spent my 12 oz. of energy on taking the youngest offspring to the orthodontist this morning. Smile pretty, brace face! Awww, mean mommy. Nah, he looks cute. But my sweet, juicy baby just turned NINE. Holy shit, NINE. How does that happen? My baby is nine. Which means I'm getting old. And yet I have friends, same age or close to my age, who are just popping out their first squirts now and I'm like, dude, sucks to be you, 40+ years old with cracked nipples and no energy and yeah the baby's crying again and you can't remember the last time you slept and forget about grabbing a nap because the garbage truck just went by and the baby's awake again and screaming bloody murder and your boobs are leaking and sex what's that and no you shouldn't take your baby to that poetry reading because when he/she/it starts to cry you're gonna piss people off because not everyone looks at your baby with the same adoring eyes you do oh isn't she cute she's crying over the writer's obvious angst in the face of overwhelming adversity ...

I got your angst. It's called PARENTHOOD.

I'm rambling, aren't I ...

I've been a mom for twenty-three frigging years. I've learned a thing or two. I've also learned that I know nothing (sort of like Jon Snow ... except for that thing he does with his mouth).

Tell me what you're reading. I've got, like, 14 books on the go right now. And I will post shortly with a Beautiful Stack of Beauty to cover the purchases over the last few months. SO MANY BOOKS SO LITTLE TIME WHY CAN'T WE LIVE FOREVERRRRRR ...

I'm going to hunt down the person who gave me this ridiculous cold and COUGH on them. But first, I'm going to reengineer this virus so that it makes the person sprout strange, thorny hairs from the surface of his/her nose and fart uncontrollably whenever the smell of coffee wafts by.

Maybe I need a hug.

Xs and Os ...

P.S. This week's offering from Jenn's Bad Jokes Recycled from Facebook: 

Baggage claim: That area of the airport where you walk up to the counter and say, "It's a blue duffel of mommy issues" or "It's a red valise of daddy-didn't-love-me" or "Looking for my garment bag of bad taste in boyfriends."

You're welcome.