Fire Breathing Children

Maybe a misleading title, it could probably use some punctuation and maybe even a conjunction, but it’s my blog and I’ll do what I want sooo nyah!  Been a couple days again, shame on me.  Busy week.  Have learned some stuff, done some stuff, and helped a friend out.  Worked a lot and did the thing that I don’t care to do all that often and organized.. mostly.  I think you will enjoy the random fact I learned. And the adventures of having two 3 1/2 year olds running around your house.

Well on to the fun stuff!  I was listening to the radio the other day and found out about a guy trying to kill himself using mole poison.  First thoughts were, well, why? There would be so much quicker and easier ways.  Second thought was, “Why thank you sir!” for in doing so he taught me something that I doubt will ever be used in real life, but hellloooo story idea.(well maybe not a full story, but at least a cool species)  So turns out if a human ingests mole poison, it interacts with the acid in our stomach to create phosphine gas.  What’s cool about that? Well when phosphine and oxygen get together, it’s kind of fiery.  So if you are still alive and can breathe that out, you could theoretically breathe fire.  Granted you would die from the burns as the flames followed the natural course down your esophagus and into your stomach… but still.  Homo Draconis.  Human Dragon. Fuckin’ A!  By the way, I really like dragons.

Good stuff.  The other day I was painfully reminded that I am happy having just one kid.  I mean it wasn’t horrible, but it tested my patience beyond limit.  Having two 3 1/2 year olds running back and forth and having every toy in the house on the floor in a matter of five minutes and fueling eachother’s unwillingness to listen.  Took an hour to eat a couple bites of pizza.  Fighting and hitting the other with as much strength as possible instead of moderation.  Crying and fighting and punching and kicking and giggling and screaming non stop, no end to the eneeeeergyyy!  I slept soundly for four hours that night. Then worked for 9.5 hours the next day.

Along the line of children, I apparently need to work on my patience with my son.  I can only assume I’m being made to deal with my own attitude but from a  3 1/2 year old.  Trying to get him to count on command is like trying to wipe your ass using gas station grade toilet paper, it may seem like you are making progress but in the end you just end up with a chapped ass.  I suppose the similarity stops there though, I have heard him count on his own many times, my ass has never wiped itself.  But when you ask him he gets a shit-eating grin on his face and counts 1 to 10. Just like that. 1, 10. Sometimes 1, 2, 3, 6.   Or any variation there of.  Everytime the grin. I suppose I know now how annoying I can be when I think I’m cute.  I love the hell out of my son, but I really need to find a way to get him to count that he enjoys.  Have tried playing, counting candy so he can have how many he counts, threatening, rewarding, breaking down in a heap and bawling and begging.  Immune to all unless he starts counting of his own accord when we aren’t paying that much attention.

In other news, well there isn’t much other news.  I haven’t gotten hardly any writing done with week due to work and watching a friend’s kid, and more work.  I did make up another greeting card for a lady I work with.  Maybe that’s what I need to do, just try to get rich on greeting cards, and then have all the time to write I want.  Is kind of fun when something like that needs to be done that I get turned to by a few people.

Weellp I’m going to eat some blueberry muffins, go to the gym to work said muffins off, and hope like hell to get some writing done before game of thrones starts. It’s an addiction I can’t help.

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