Evil Joy Speaks

Spawning the next generation of evil genius, one misadventure at a time

Tag: humorous (page 1 of 16)

Laundry Woes

 

It’s amazing how small things can push me over the edge. A few months ago with was the “not” loading of the dishwasher. This month dirty laundry falling next to the laundry bin is making me bat shit crazy.

Here’s the deal. I get that my kids are kids and therefore are inherently unconcerned with the tidiness of life. To make all things easier, I’ve added extra laundry bins throughout the areas of the house where they change clothes. There’s a bin in each of their bedrooms. There are three separate bins in the hall closet directly outside the bathroom (I know, I know…I’m dreaming thinking they’ll sort laundry). There are multiple targets, varying in size, throughout the house for which they may aim.  Yet time and time again they fail to hit that golden target.

You have to understand –  I’m the Laundry Queen. If you wear something Monday by Tuesday miday it’s washed, folded, and ready for you to put away. So if I see that same shirt back in the wash on Tuesday night, I know that 1- not only did you not do your chore of putting away your laundry , but 2 – you BLATANTLY threw clean clothing into the laundry. AND 3 – not even into the  bin but rather on the floor next to the damn bin.

I know I don’t have basketball players. My girls play softball. Softball requires accurate throwing and visualizing your target. Trajectory and force are involved (even if they don’t realize it yet, they’re building a great foundation for math and physics). My oldest girl is a catcher and fires the ball back to the pitcher or to second base – or any base for that matter – with such force and precision it amazes me. I KNOW she can hit a target.

SO WHY CAN’T SHE (OR HER SISTERS) GET THEIR LAUNDRY INTO THE LAUNDRY BIN???? wwwhhhhyyyyyyy?!?!?

Thank goodness they’re not boys aiming for the toilet. 

The Tree That Shed….

This year we had the tree that shed….all of its needles.

Our family tradition has been to drive to a local, nearby tree farm, cut down a tree, and drive it home. Drag it inside, set up it, and by then my family is over helping with the “experience.” Asking, pleading, and prodding ensues in order to get the lights and ornaments on the tree.

This year amidst the hustle and bustle we decided to stop at a big store and buy a precut tree. After a movie we walked among the cut trees.  They looked fine. They looked okay. The two Littles gravitated towards a particular type and we chose one they were in love with.

At the tree farm, the employees tie the tree to your vehicle. At this place, WE tied the tree to the truck. And it was comical and took about 15 minutes to make sure it was secure and wasn’t going to fly off and cause a Griswald kind of Christmas experience. We got it done and headed home.

I noticed immediately the tree wasn’t “shaken” as they do at the tree farm. A few more needles than we were used to fell as we set up the tree and let it sit for a bit to settle…and to make sure it wasn’t going to fall over. Our stand is a little …. lacking.

Success. Onto adding lights, ornaments, tree skirt, and train underneath…because we’re all cute like that.

It started slowly. The needles fell in small waves.

Check out this video I took of the noise it makes…. Stick with the video to the end…….

And by the time we got back from Bridger Bowl, the sad tree looked like this…..droopy and forlorn.

After we removed the lights…..it became the epitome of sadness.

And the death zone of danger was created for anyone not wearing shoes.  Note my carpet is beige.

 

Next year we shall get our family fresh cut tree from the tree farm.

 

 

Short Girl, Long…

 

I forgot to go to the doctor for a checkup.

For the past five years in a row.

I take my children to the doctor for physicals, illness, and injuries – on schedule and as the need arises. I get after my husband to keep up with his checkups given all that transpired a few years back. But for whatever reason I have neglected to go for more than getting my a1c checked for the past five years. It wasn’t intentional, at least not consciously.

I’d reached the point in time where the doctor office would no longer refill my prescription without an office visit and I couldn’t schedule an office visit without scheduling a physical. A Full Physical.

For the men here – or those more proper than myself – I’m about to talk about medical exams required for women. While this may not impact you personally, it is important for everyone. You have all someone you love – a spouse, mother, grandmother, daughter – and you need to encourage them to care for themselves. That being said, be prepared because l’m going to talk it about it my way which may make you uncomfortable. It may also cause you to laugh – and I hope it does because if we can’t laugh at the things we’re required to do …. then … well…. yeah.

I prepared for my physical. Yes, this is a thing. I showered and shaved. I packed socks in my bag because…stirrups.

I’m so on top of things I got to bring my soon to be grade 6 student with me. She needed shots to enter middle school and I completely forgot since I’m so organized I simply called to see if she could be seen directly ahead of me. She had her appointment, got her shots, and got kicked out to the lobby.

I get my gown and am instructed to undress. Gown is supposed to open in the back. Or was it the front. Shit, this isn’t starting off well.  I hop on the table, covered my back side as best as possible given the opening being in the back, and cover myself with a paper blanket. I keep fidgeting with the gown because my back, therefore my backside, is somewhat facing the door.

Doc enters. We chat, talk about the blood work I forgot to do scheduled and any concerns.

It’s time for the scoot. Women – you know what I’m talking about. You have to lay back, and then scoot your bum to the edge of the table. Just a little more. Just a touch more. And a bit more. I’m sure every doctor wants to say, “Move your ass down and quit making me ask you to move closer to me. We both now what’s going to happen so let’s get on with it.” But the fear exists of a) being asked to move back up the table b) falling off the edge of the table c) causing the whole damn table to flip forward, killing both you and the doctor. Imagine the medical examiner, “Cause of Death? Crushed by a table, Speculum impalement, Suffocation by crappy hospital gown.”

The exam begins. It seems to be taking longer than I recall however it’s been five years so maybe my memory has blocked the time required for a pap smear. Then I hear, “How tall are you?”

“I’m 5’3″. ”

“Short Girl. Long vagina.”

I laughed. Because what can you do?

If You Take Joy to Ball…

If you take an Evil Joy to a Parent versus 10 year old Travel Team softball game…
She’ll want to play ball.

She’ll go up to bat and “Squeeeee!” as the ball flies past – (these young’uns throw fast and hard). On the next pitch, she’ll hit the ball.

When she hits the ball, Evil Joy will run to first while covering the back of her head because she’s afraid of the ball (with good reason).

Once she’s on base another parent will hit the ball. She’ll run to second base….

Or will she?

I ended up hop/skipping to the next base after a few steps. I felt my arch pop. Then start to cramp and hurt. I got to second base and stood there rotating my ankle and trying to stretch out my foot……..And told the girls’ coach I needed a runner – I was done for. I hopped to the stands and sat down. I peeled off my sock and shoe. And there was a dent in my arch. An honest to God dent. And a swollen area under it.

I sat for an hour with some of the parents and tried to roll it out on a cold water bottle. That hurt like a mother so I settled for resting the water bottle on my foot. I finally said “Uncle” asked Dr. Evil to take me to the ER.

I tried to walk to the car. HAHAHAHAHA! That was funny. I thought positive thoughts. I envisioned it happening. And was carried to the car by two awesome mamas on the team. Yes, two women hauled my arse to the car.

After several x-rays I was informed I have no broken bones and “Barbie Doll” feet. Now is is awesome – no broken bones – and hilarious “Barbie Doll” feet. I have feet the width of a howitzer. I wear a size 7 (barely – yes – I can wear children sized shoes) and have an extra, extra wide foot. With ridiculously high arches. I am going to carry the “Barbie Doll” feet thing to my grave as it’s the one and only time anyone has ever or will ever say that about my Fred Flintstone feet!

Next step…MRI. Had that mid-week. I’m not a huge fan of small spaces. But it went okay…and now….we wait.

Until 3:30 today. I will find out I’m just a weenie and will be fine in a few days. That’s what I’m going with. I will gladly wear the title of “Supreme Weenie” if it means I’ll be back to normal in a week or less.

The lesson here is…..

If you take Evil Joy to ball, eventually she’s going to end up at the emergency room.

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Always Carry Your Own….

I’ve noticed a trend lately that is bothersome to me and should be to you too. I became aware of a change that has happened so slowly the shift escaped my attention.  And now…I’m blantantly aware.
In general I’m overly prepared and tend to carry a bag with contents that rival a drug store. Ace bandages, ice packs, Tylenol, Benadryl, bandages, water, granola bars, glucose tablets, hair binders, clean socks, pens, pencils (mechanical and old school), a graphing calculator, paper, crayons, and normally….tampons.

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I was caught unprepared. I had no tampons, no pads, nothing, none, nada. And I needed all the things. I was out shopping with my mom and two of my daughters. They didn’t have the goods either.

Into a department store I ran. Straight to the bathroom. Do not stop at shoes, sporting goods, or children’s’ clothing – Do not pass go – Proceed directly to the ladies’ room.  Where there was no dispenser to be found.

Into the restaurant near by. I ran straight to the restroom after throwing money at my daughter to pay for our lunch. NOTHING.

To the running store where I get my beloved running shoes. NOPE.

I gave up, went to Target, and bought enough supplies to get through the day, restock my bag, car, truck, and house, your house, and both of our towns. I will never again be caught unprepared.

When did businesses stop stocking and/or installing machines with supplies? I didn’t notice any change because I’m always prepared…except for last week. I have noticed a few places who place pretty baskets with supplies out in the general space of women’s restrooms. And today at a gas station in the middle of Wisconsin there was a note on an obviously out of service machine saying, “If you need a tampon, please ask at the front.” with a smiley face. At least there was an option had i needed one.

Because that’s fun. In a truck stop. Imagine me, with my streak of blue hair, in the middle of a rural truck stop walking up among a bunch of men driving semis (there were no women drivers there – I’m not being sexist), and loudly requesting a tampon. That would be all sorts of fun.

So ladies pay attention. Learn from my mistake and lack of planning. ALWAYS carry your own supply of feminine products. Always. Hey…you can use that to remember to carry your Always, Tampax, Kotex, CareFree, DivaCup, Thinx, Playtex, or whatever you use. Be like a Boy Scout. Be prepared. Aunt Flo doesn’t give a flying fig if you’re not.

Lunchtime Woes

Can you believe the audacity of my kid? He asked for something different for lunch. Something other than the sandwich, apple, carrots, crunch something or the other, and yogurt I’ve lovingly packed for 11 years straight?

It’s only been 11 years. I mean come on! He’s a sophomore and thinks he wants something else now? Are you freaking kidding me?

I figure he’s gone to school roughly 180 days a year for the past 11 years. That comes to 1980 instances of sandwiches made of two pieces of bread, deli meat, mayo, cheese, lettuce and sometimes pickles. Never mind that during football season he gets four sandwiches a day – one he eats for “breakfast” between classes, two for lunch, and one for before practice. That means he’s had at least 3060 sandwiches. Surely the minimum before complaint is closer to 10,000.

Let’s talk apples. He eats at a minimum one apple a day. I’m going to round this up to 2500 apples. He doesn’t care to pack bananas – too messy. He doesn’t like oranges – even if I peel them ahead of time. Pineapple is great except it makes my face tingly so we don’t have it around much anymore. Grapes – they just don’t do it for him. So an apple a day it is.

Baby carrots. Or normal carrots, peeled and cut up. I prefer the normal ones but after going through more than 5lbs of carrots a week for years I’ve given into laziness and a need for non-orange hands. Baby carrots are a staple in this house. He eats more carrots than any one person should! When he was a baby he was actually a bit orange for a while – think Pinkalicious – but Orangeahue. I’d gather he’s consumed at least 800 pounds of carrots since kindergarten.

Yogurt. I deserve the gold medal of variety in this category. The kid likes green yogurt – key lime to be precise. He also likes yellow yogurt – lemon – NOT banana. (Okay, okay…this was true from the ages of 2 through 6. But to be fair, those two flavors are still his favorite.) There’s the tube yogurts, the Greek yogurts, the whipped variety, and even kinds with fruit on the bottom. This kid has had so much variety of yogurt in his diet I can’t believe he’s asking for more!

Crunchy stuff. This is a labor of love. I don’t like chips. I don’t care for pretzels. Now…if we’re talking kale chips – I’m the one fruit loop out there who truly enjoys kale chips! But not him. He thinks they’re gross. If Dr. Evil does the shopping there’s some sort of something crunchy in lunch. Cheese crackers, fish crackers, chips  – something. So again – VARIETY IS BEING PROVIDED!

Why does he think he should have something other than his standard lunch? Doesn’t he know I’ve been trained to pack this? After this many years I don’t know that I am capable of providing a different lunch for him!! His sisters will take left over pizza, noodles or soup in a thermos, or home made lunchable type deals. He has always refused those options.

So guess what buddy? Until you get up early enough to make your own “different” lunch – you’re stuck with my standard lunch box. I mean really…who gets sick of sandwiches after only 3000+ of them? (And I’m fairly certain we alone are supporting at least one apple and carrot producer with our current consumption. I wouldn’t want to put anyone out of a job.)

 

Bumping Up and Down In My Little Red Wagon

When I was small I had a little red wagon. I loved that wagon. I rode and pulled my dolls miles in that little red wagon. That wagon was a source of fun and frolic. It took me more than around the block. With that wagon I had adventures to space and deep into the sea. I would load up my stuffed bear, whatever doll I picked to play with that day, some snacks and a thermos of water and I would begin the trek to the middle of the back yard….about 150 feet.

My mom has kept things she knows one day we will hold as precious. My wagon arrived a while back and my children have enjoyed it for more than 10 years. The wagon’s sides had become rickety. The brackets unhinged. Yet still I loved the wagon as though it was shiny and perfect. One day jumping in and out of the wagon brought it to pieces. Literal pieces.

I cried. Over a wagon. I wept because my wagon was in pieces. It provided trips through my imagination, hauled my treasures, carried Eldest on some of his first walks as a toddler.

Dr. Evil has been on a cleaning mission and I’m all in favor of removing clutter. I finally gave in a said, “Fine, burn it in the burn pile with the rest of the junk in the garage.” My heart was sad but I decided I needed to get over myself. It was simply a wagon after all and it had lived a good life.

I was gone all day yesterday. I got home and walked in. Dr. Evil and Littlest excitedly said, “Did you see it?!”

They did this. They may have had fun and thought it a sweet gesture.

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They have no idea how much it means to me. They put my wagon back together, painted it, and Littlest even took special care with white paint and traced the little letters out with her sweet hands.

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My wagon gets a new start. It may only hold up another summer or two but today it carried a blanket for a picnic, rocks to be painted, and shoes for dancing. Across a yard….onto a new adventure.

EJ out – to end my day full of gratitude.

What childhood memories live on for you? I”d love to hear!!! Leave me a comment! I’ll respond

Loom Bands….What Are They Good For?

There is a problem plaguing the United States. It is a serious issue with long lasting consequences.

Yes, I’m talking about loom bands. Or to the non-parent – little, colorful rubber bands. Millions…no BILLIONS of them. Everywhere. All over the floor of the house, car, garage, front steps, and in children’s bedrooms. This band contamination knows no boundaries. Nothing seems to curb the spread. Birthday parties and holidays only aid in their proliferation. Children are the main subscriber to the loom craze, yet parental figures with the cash are the ones enabling the purchase of these evil little round pieces of rubber.

Loom bands. What ARE they good for?

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Loom bands promote creativity. Children and adults alike are able to create works of art in the form of rubber band “jewelry” to give and share among all, and I mean ALL, of their loved ones. They are NOT intended for use in human hair, Barbie or other doll hair or for closing small bags. To use bands in such a manner creates a visceral response in those under 18 akin to a nuclear explosion.

As parents everywhere lament over wearing their child’s latest “bandwork” to the elegant affair they must attend, I am looking deeper. What happens to those band bracelets and necklaces? Where are they going? The bands rarely make an appearance in formal photographs and the jewelry cases I’ve personally observed contain only trivial items such as family heirlooms over 100 years old. Please note heirlooms are not to be confused with loom band works of art.

Is there a lost island of loom work residing somewhere hidden deep in the woods?

There’s absolutely no way any parent ever throws away or “un-looms” the brilliant pieces created by their beloved child. None of these bands will every show up in a land fill. I even checked my own garbage bin and can verify not a single rubber band is inside. (That’s because I put them in the recycle bin.)

I personally believe they are seeking their mothership. The Largest Ball of Rubber Bands. It currently resides in Florida and was created by Guinness Record holder Joel Waul♦. It weights just shy of 10,000 pounds. I believe all bands seek their leader and all freed bands are migrating towards Florida.

If you are holding any loom bands hostage, utilize them. Give them a purpose.  That way they will know they ARE good for something. If not….well…set them free. Allow them to seek their mothership in Florida. Maybe the new recruits can get that big ball of rubber over 10,000 pounds.

EJ out – to clean the brushes of my vacuum which are littered with loom band pieces…..

♦Source : http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/world-records/largest-rubber-band-ball/

Working the Weekend….

The Black Keys.

Sushi.

A Half Marathon.

Yup.  That’s how we roll here in the lair.

Friday night Dr. Evil and I took Eldest to see The Black Keys live in concert.  It.Was. AWESOME.  We had stellar seats and the music was beyond words.  The opening act Jake Bugg rocked as well.  Now we have someone new to find on Spotify!  A while back I took Eldest Female Spawn to see Demi Lovato.   It was there I learned that when taking a child to a concert, a large part of the concert as a parent…is watching your kid rock out.

This was no different.  Other than his rocking out was considerably more understated than her jumping up and down.

Watching him love music moves me.  Like I didn’t know it would.

 

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He’s growing up so fast.  He’s already more than 4 inches taller than me and now I know when we wrestle if I win – it’s because he’s let me.  Eldest is a good kid.  He has a good heart and I hope – I HOPE – and pray that he stays his path.  I really enjoy hanging out with him and I know we’re not going to be friends until he’s in his 30’s because I’m his mom but I hope we can keep the relationship we have for a long time to come.

Before the concert we took Eldest to try sushi in Minneapolis.  He tried everything we put in front of him and even liked most of it.  And we went ‘real’ sushi on him – raw and everything.  Which made me nervous because….I was running a half marathon the next morning and one of my mantras is “nothing new the day before.”   Oh well.  It was amazingly good and I didn’t care.

The Half Marathon.  The Monster Dash.  Well…I finished.  In my second worst time ever for a half but I finished it.  The first 10 miles rocked.  I really loved the first 8 miles.  The next two were okay.  I was on pace for a PR.  Then mile 10 hit and you watch most everyone cross into the 10 mile finish lane except us crazy people who decided, “Well, I may as well sign up for the half – I mean it’s only a 5k further run than the 10 mile, right?”  It’s a great concept when signing up.  It’s a long 3 miles when you’re running it while watching others be done.  My half completely self destructed at mile 11 and I must have slowed down tremendously and I know I walked up most of the hills at the end.  And I walked on some of the flats.  I even walked a bit of the downhill I think.  I was just done.

I did entertain myself watching people…and…as always…talking to people.  I met this awesome lady at mile 3.5 from a near by town.  So crazy!!!  Running in St. Paul and there’s 18000 people and I meet someone from New Richmond.  And before the race even started I ran into someone I know from here!!!  How crazy is that.  At mile 8 I ran with another gal who was super friendly and chatty.  I learned more about her in a mile than I would have any other time.  At mile 11 I tried to chat with a gal but my brain was fried and I think I may have scared her a little.  I was trying to encourage her to keep going as she was running her first half and her feet were hurting.  I finally figured out she was waiting for me to get away from her!  Ooops.  Oh well.

I finished.  And then…you can’t make this shit up.

My phone died at mile 11.  No more music.  That’s okay.  The route was along the river and with the fall colors it was gorgeous. But…I took a picture of where I parked.  I paid attention too.  But the morning was screwy with some last minute changes and I came into downtown from Minneapolis and found parking.  I always come in from the East – except for that morning….so to ensure I didn’t lose my car I took a picture of the area and the signs.

When I finished the race I realized my phone was dead.  I remembered seeing the Xcel center across the street from where I parked so I started walking around the huge convention center.  I was laughing.  Then almost crying.  Then shaking mad.  I finally walked up to a lady who I could tell had run and asked, “May I please call my husband?  I can’t find my car and I’m hoping my pictures when to photostream and he can tell me it is!!!”  She graciously let me use her phone.  Dr. Evil didn’t recognize the number SO HE DIDN’T ANSWER.

Her ride picked her up and they EVEN OFFERED TO DRIVE ME AROUND!!!  That’s why I love the midwest.  I didn’t get in because honestly, I smelled terribly and didn’t want to waste their time.  I figured I’d find it eventually.

2 miles later – AFTER RUNNING A 13.1 MILES – I found the car.  I know it was probably good to walk a bit after running before driving home 45 minutes…but TWO FREAKING MILES?!?!?!?!?  And it was about a mile to the start of the race from where I parked so I would say I got my miles in for the day.

I got home and crashed for a bit and then enjoyed my family.

The moral of the weekend?

ENJOY IT!  LOVE IT!  EMBRACE IT!

What did you do this weekend?  Are you looking forward to Halloween?  Love to hear from you all!!!!!

Hatchbacks Can Hide Things….

You all know I’m a little off, right?

Last Christmas Dr. Evil Santa bought all these little furbies into the house.  A Big one and THREE smalls ones.  They work together and with the iPad so of course it was going to be all fun and games.  Until they interrupt you at inopportune times (you can read about that here…..), go off in the middle of the night, react to the dog, or scare the snot out of you when you open a kitchen cabinet at 6am.

After weeks, hell, MONTHS of randomly finding a furby in my kitchen cabinets, I decided it was time.  Time for payback.

Payback for all the mornings of me getting up to make lunches for spawn while Dr. Evil got ready in peace.  Not that I wasn’t having a great time because I sort of do enjoy mornings with all four spawn home and puttering about the table trying to find breakfast and things for lunch and snack, for second lunch and third snack.  My spawn are actually hobbits.

The thing is I live in constant FEAR of where that little f(*)cker is going to be each morning.  It sometimes is in the lunchbox cabinet.  Sometimes in the girls bathroom towel cabinet.  Other times it’s stuck in the seasonings drawer.

But most times…it’s in the tupperware cabinet up high.  Where I can’t reach it without a step stool.  And it’s light sensitive so the little bastard goes off when I sleepily open the cabinet.  If any of you have met me in real life you know my reaction to being scared.  It’s enough to give those watching me a heart attack … or a good laugh.  I’m probably one of the jumpiest people alive.

Saturday morning after Dr. Evil kicked Evil Furby – the one that says “AAAhhhhhh ooooooolllll” and sounds like he’s swearing – laying in the upstairs hallway…. GENIUS struck.

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I called Littlest into my room.  Dr. Evil was down in the kitchen baking up an amazingly tasty storm.  I was folding laundry and sorting socks.

It.  Was.  Time.

“HEY Little!”  come here I whispered.  She ran in.  She could sense something good was going down.

“Go set this in the front seat of Daddy’s car.”  She runs out.  “WAIT!!!” I holler.

“Put it in the back.”  She runs off giggling.

AND DOES IT.

She skips back inside.  “Did you get it all the way in the back?  Like in the hatchback-back?”

“No.” HUGE grin breaking out on her face and she realizes my intent.

“Go put it all the way in the back!” I instruct my Evil Little Minion.

She happily trots off.

Saturday turns to Sunday.  Sunday turns to Monday.  I kind of forgot about our little AWESOME prank.  Dr. Evil did some errands on Sunday but he took the truck so his car remained motionless and quiet.

Then Monday dawns and Dr. Evil leaves for work.

I sit down to write something witty here and I can’t log in.  He’s updated the Mac and I don’t know what he’s done to my computer and I’m a little frustrated.  I call three times.

No answer.

I text.  Three times.

Nothing.

Then my mind starts up.  I’m a little nuts and very guilty by nature.  I create this scenario in my mind where the furby went off, he got in an accident due to distracted driving, causing a massive pile up on I-94 and it will be all my fault.

I text my friend and tell her my crazy thoughts.  She comforts me and says, “Get a grip.”

Finally he calls me.

“I’m almost to work and I stop and I hear this thing talking.  I look around and think what the hell?” he tells me.

I giggle.

 

And the true win???  He had to drive home with the Evil Furby going off in the back.

I got the following text….

“Furby is going out the window in 5-4-3-2-1.”

 

Maybe now Dr. Evil will quit putting furby places to startle me.   Most likely…he’ll keep doing it and I’ll need to hatch a new plan.  Any thoughts or ideas would be appreciated!

EJ out – to brush some tangles out of spawn hair.  God.  Help.  Me.

 

 

 

 

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