Friday, November 16, 2012

Diva Is The Female Version Of The Hustla

I know what I'm wearing next Halloween.

"Conor," his 1:1 aid, Paisley, chuckled after he barked yet another order at her. "You are being such a diva."

Word to your mother, Paisley, was all I could think to say.

Paisley and I were trying our hardest to bring Conor's most recent holiday project to life. It's no secret that my boy loves Halloween. He could give two hoots about the candy, though.

No, what my kid likes are the accoutrements. C'est vrai.  It's the jack-o-lanterns, the stuffed scarecrows, the spooky skeleton and the fake gravestone that he enjoys.

Each year since I-don't-know-when, Conor has gone bazoinkers for jack-o-lanterns.  My poor husband used to wield an amazingly long kitchen knife and hack away at the poor squash like it was Pumpkinhead. (Take that and that and that and that!)

It was totally fun, though, since my hubs came up with some unique and refreshingly new curse words during the process, usually referencing excrement of some sort. Such a learning experience for me. (Why, I never!)

Rockin' it old school.  So 2009.

Then, one day, a light shone from above in Target (it is heavenly, after all) as my eyes alighted on the pumpkin carving kit.  Angels sang.  I quickly snatched it up.  Mon dieu! This was the answer to our travails!

Applying the pattern to the pumpkin, my husband wielded the tiny tools and wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am, we had ourselves a masterpiece.  Ok, well, maybe not a Rodin, but it was so much easier to create somewhat unique designs much more quickly than ever before.

Yeah, baby.  Scary ghost/vampire/devil-thing. Whatever.
Check out the stuffed scarecrow in the background.
His name was Steve.  Conor names them.
Yeah, I said "them". We have two. Two kids, two scarecrows.
Don't be a hater.

Little did we know, however, what we were unleashing. Once Conor saw the potential, he quickly became greedy. More jack-o-lanterns, increasingly elaborate designs, no-you're-not-DOING-it-right attitude. (Let's face it.  Conor can be demanding.  And he's not shy about it.)

Yeah, that's her.
It was like he was channeling Omarosa. (You remember her; the bitchy one from The Apprentice with pre-wackety-wack Donald Trump.)

And so there we sat, the three of us. Me, Paisley and Omarosa Conor.

Usually my husband gets pumpkin carving duty. But, since he had a meeting that night, the task of bringing Conor's vision to life on the pumpkin fell to us rookies. And it was not going well.  See, Conor didn't trust us to do as good a job as his dad. No confidence that we knew what we were doing.

Look, Conor?  We're doing it just like your dad! (I'm even spouting some of his semantic masterpieces.)

C'mon, little buddy, help us gals out here. We're doing the best we can.

"Want Paisley to fix the paper!"
"Want Paisley to use a different tool!"
"Want Mommy to help Paisley do it correctly!"  
(Uh oh, it's never good when Conor starts pointing his finger.)
"Want Paisley to do it like Daddy does!"
"No! No! Want Daddy, where's Daddy? Want Paisley to do it like Daddy!"

C'mon, Conor, stop barking out orders, little man.

Tell me somethin' where your boss at? Where my ladies up in there that like to talk back

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