Having a two year old is like having your old senile Grandpa around. You never know what’s going to happen or what could be said next. Much like old Grandpa who says what he wants and either thinks “I’m so old I don’t care anymore” or, doesn’t really “think” anymore, Chubs has had a week of doozies. She’s got no filter, no worries and no shame.


I am laying in bed in the mid morning with a headache. I hear Real Estate Dad take one Stanley the corgi, out for a walk. The girls were downstairs and it didn’t take long before a fight ensued. I tried to ignore it but it escalated fast.

M: Chubs, put your shirt on.
Chubs: NO!
M: Chubs, I’m older and you have to do what I say.
(I was just about to intervene to claim my role as one half of the parenting team but this unraveled too fast.)

Chubs: STOOP-id M.
M: You can’t say that to me. Go to your room!

At this point I’m stumped. In case you can’t decode toddler-speak, Chubs was calling M a “Stupid Vagina.” I clearly need to address that plus the attempt to overthrow me as parent.  I ended up going for M first telling her she is not the parent.

M: But she called me a Stupid Vaginey.

Sigh. My head hurts more.


It was a nice evening so I took Chubs with us to M’s gymnastics class. There is a playground there so I figured I could burn off some of her energy. This is a parent’s entire goal by the way – every day we wake up, figure out how to work and get done what we need to, and also try to figure out how to burn enough energy off the kids so they don’t stay up late or worse – wake up at 2 a.m. and not go back to sleep.

We were sitting in the waiting area because poor Chubs saw a bee and didn’t want to go to the scary playground. (It is going to be a long summer if we have a phobia of bees.) There is a boy with hair to his shoulders sitting there by us, doing his homework. Chubs was staring at him and when he looked up she said “Are you a boy or a girl.”  Forehead slap!

I mean – why this even happened is a total mystery because Real Estate Dad has long hair so it’s not like she should equate hair length with gender, but okay, looks like we have a new Chubs-ism to keep an eye on.


I know, you’re exhausted already. As am I.

Chubs has a record of hitting on adult men in public places. Usually it’s at a swimming pool.  Last summer she waddled up to that man and asked him if he watched Peppa Pig. She also went up to someone else later that summer and was chatting with him for so long I almost rescued him. But my chair was comfortable and I never get to sit down, so I just told him to save himself.

Since the pools aren’t open I figured Chubs’s skills were out of practice. Nope. The dog park is her new swimming pool pickup joint.

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I drove to Roanoke to get a corgi so I got (most of) a day off. However, when I told the girls they had to finish their dinner and then they could come with me to the pet store to pick out a toy for the new corgi, Chubs didn’t believe me. I was serious. When it came time to go and she hadn’t eaten a bite of food, I left with M. She ran out on the front porch with no clothes on screaming MOMMMMMMYYY!!!!!!!!!!

Mega-embarrassing. But just one of several dozen times I think the neighbors had their finger over the speed dial button for Child Services.


The girls were off school today so I took them to get some new shoes and out to lunch. Chubs decided to go tearing off through the restaurant with an umbrella, terrorizing other customers and screaming that the monster is getting her. I have taken her home and am starting the Friday ritual of planning my weekend with clients for house tours. It’s a welcome relief to be freed for 48 hours from the Terrorism of Chubs.