Favorite Time Of Day...this months blog group topic!

This one blog topic answer is probably a given.....I'm sure if I were to ask out loud "what is Shannon Koochins favourite time of the day?" that every single person in the room would yell out the same answer...let's try, just for fun......ready??  I'll give you a sec to clear your throat...maybe a sip of water?  Some vocal exercises?  Miii miii miii miiiiiiiiii.....okay annnnnnnd here goes.....

What is Shannon Koochin's favorite time of day??  All together now.....

WINE'O CLOCK!!!

Yay!  You all did so good!  I'm so proud of each and every one of my little groupie wino's!  Leave me your email and I'll send each and every one of you a personalised compliment saying how great you seriously are!

So yes, it's true....my favourite time of day is indeed wine'o clock.  Now for those of you who are maybe a little more in the closet with their drinking, or maybe you prefer something other then wine, I'll explain what exactly time of day that is.....now here's the beauty of it.....wine'o clock is whatever the fuck time you deem it to be!  8am?  SURE!  10pm?  Well OKAY!!!  Or perhaps one of my favourite wine'o clock memories in recent history, it was around midnight.  Me and Nicole were on our trip to Kelowna and were attempting to drink off slight hangovers and major sleep deprivation alllllll day long.  It was slow moving.  We started with an early lunch and sangria...we went out for dinner, continued to attempt to drink it away....even going for drinks after dinner....it wasn't happening.  We decided it was time to head back to the hotel to go to sleep.  Upon getting into bed, we decided a glass of wine might be in order and that one glass at that exact wine'o clock was the one that cured everything!  We were hilarious....laughing and joking and drinking boxed wine till who even knows what time!  Occasionally one of us would put their glass down and perhaps close their eyes for a moment and the other would ask "another glass?" and the answer was always "Yeah!  Heck yeah!" and it continued. 

So you see, wine'o clock is a pretty flexible time of day....but whenever it rolls around, hands down, it's my favourite!!


Please check out these other fellow bloggers and their favourite time of day...
Andes cruz: http://www.andescruz.wordpress.com
pencilfox marie: www.pencilfox.comTosca Teran: http://nanopod.me/
Wendy Kelly: http://www.wendykianakelly.com
Robyn Hawk: http://flyviewsandreviews.blogspot.com/
Shannon yeah yeah okay Koochin: http://thebassplayersdaughter.blogspot.ca
Beth Cyr: http://bcyrjewelry.blogspot.com
Barbara Donovan: http://barbaradonovan.blogspot.com/

Welcome to my freak show.

After all the sharing of my dad's mini freak outs....I decided I should probably post another of my own. I know you're all gasping and probably fainting to hear that I have freak outs....because gosh, I'm so mild mannered and calm and collected....but yes, get the smelling salts handy cause it's true. I would like to blame having three boys for the insanity that is my life, but sadly, lots of it is just me.


So let's remember, back to May and all the crazy busyness that was my life....work, Gill moving, the kids getting anxious for summer, grad etc etc etc. Me and Nicole had a road trip/work trip planned for the first weekend in June and we were LOOKING FORWARD TO IT like you have no idea. We were planning to shop and eat out and dance and see Gill and shop and drink wine and drink and eat and shop and that was pretty much the to do list....all ending with a class on a new fun trendy hair color technique. So May just seemed never ending and finally it was the weekend we were leaving. We were giddy.....stupid funny and laughing at everything all week one second and then randomly bursting into tears the next second. Stress will do that too you! Along with not eating well because of the hectic pace and drinking too much beer after work for the same reason. FINALLY it was Saturday, the day we were leaving. It was also sunfest weekend here in town so I had said I’d take my kids to the parade and then we'd leave after that. Well we wake up on Saturday and I have 29472947 things to do because I haven't had time before hand and I have laundry and packing and had put off washing my hair and shaving the pits and the parade started around 11 and I was running around like crazy. The kids were all excited for the parade and they were running around picking at each other and trashing the house. We were right in the middle of potty training and Lenny was peeing on things and really had to go #2 but was scared to so he'd been holding back for a few days and now he was crying his bum hurt and following me around with a diaper, asking to have it put on. It was chaos. So I finally get us ready enough that we can go to the parade and I'm yelling at the kids cause they're all over the place and I’ve got Lenny on the toilet and I’m begging....bribing...pleading with him to just please try.....and he's crying and screaming ow and holding on for dear life. My mom shows up to help out and I'm in tears at that point because how can I take Lenny out of the house like this without going to the washroom to stand on the side of the road somewhere? And the boys are crying cause they're watching the clock and are convinced the parade is over. I'm yelling "THAT'S IT! WE'RE NOT GOING!!" and the kids are screaming "NOOOOO" and crying and thankfully my mom suggests I take the older boys and she will stay with Lenny on the potty. FINE. I rush around some more trying to find coats (is that rain on the horizon?) and bags for candy and the boys are antsy and Lenny is crying and I just want to get in the car and drive to Kelowna and never come back. So we finally get out to the van and its soooooo late and I know the road is closed where the parade is so we're going to have to find parking (good luck) and navigate all the crazy traffic and stupid back roads and I'm dreading it. The boys are yelling at me to hurry up and so we all pile into the minivan and I throw it into reverse and gun it and CRUNCH SMASH DRAAAGGGGG. Okay, now here's the part...the language is about to get crazy....and yes, my kids witnessed it too and I did apologize, I think....or I bought them something, cause that's the same thing right?? So CRUNCH SMASH DRRAAAGGGGG and I'm like "what the fuck was that?!!??"....now anyone who's ever pulled up to my driveway knows at any given time there's like 3 bikes and 4 ride on cars and 294729 toys scattered all over....so I whip the van into park and start going off "WHY DON'T YOU KIDS EVER PICK UP YOUR TOYS!!! WHY DO YOU HAVE TO LEAVE THEM ALL OVER THE FUCKING DRIVEWAY?!?!" and I run around the back of the van and I’ve ran over and smashed 3 mini plastic deck chairs. So like any person in the middle of a freak out I continue yelling obscenities "JESUS CHRIST...STUPID TOYS....FUCKING CHAIRS" etc as I use my foot to move, aka kick frantically, the broken pieces of chair all over the place. Then the beauty part was I cut my toe on one of the sharp edges, which only causes me to swear and kick harder and more spazoid like. I get them all out of the way and get back in the van and look at my kids horrified faces....which only makes me madder cause I’m being a total jerk and I know it.....



Me - "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT LEAVING YOUR SHIT BEHIND THE VEHICLES?"

Koh - *quiet voice* Nana told us to get some chairs to bring to sit on and watch the parade and I couldn't open the back.

Me - .......................................................................



And I look up and the window to the bathroom is open and my mom is sitting in there with Lenny and obviously heard the whole thing too. Sigh. So off we go to the parade......I try and make sure each kid gets the largest bag of candy ever, even pushing other slower kids out of the way because that's how you show your kids that you realize you've been a total asshole, right??

A Father's Day post for The Bass Player

It's only fitting that today I blog about my dad.  Yes, it's Fathers Day, and also, he gave me my name....The Bass Player's Daughter.  It's the name of my salon and anything else I do these days....my identity.  I thought I'd share some of my "fondest" Bass Player memories.....but first, a quick description of my dad.  Now, my dad is a bit of a mish mash of things.  He's amazingly funny, personable and outgoing.  People meet him and instantly want to be his friend and he makes friends with anyone and everyone, remembering their names, loaning them money or buying them a beer.  He's a very talented musician and adores time spent in his studio working on a song.  At the same time, my dad is also quick to temper and a bit of a hot head.  He'll go out and charm the pants off anyone, but will come home exhausted from being so social all the time and stick us with a miserable grump.  All though these days, we can usually get him out of that grump status because we're not scared of him anymore, now that we're adults.  My dad is also comparable to a 15 year old child....a bit of a spoiled rotten brat who sometimes forgets he's not the centre of the universe.  Now, anyone who knows me, or reads my blog knows that I'm only comfortable saying these things about him because I share most of these same traits....minus the musician part but these traits I can pick out in myself and therefore feel I'm allowed to pick them out in him too.  Growing up with my dad was interesting.  He played in a band and was gone many nights a week.....he also had a day job and then had to nap in there somewhere so we didn't spend a ton of time with him growing up.  Lucky for us, and him, we have an amazing lady at the head of our household who was always patient and kind and gave up her entire life for us to make sure we got the best childhood possible.  Sometimes we share stories now and wonder how in the world did we all make it through those years together....but here we all are, still in love with each other and friends and able to spend many evenings together and enjoy it.  So a few of my favourite Dad stories....we enjoy telling these over dinner, knowing it pisses my dad off....he can be a bit embarrassed by his quick temper while we were growing up but it left us with some great conversation starters.

Okay so I was maybe 10?  We were eating dinner.  Ketchup came in glass bottles and was forever getting stuck and not pouring out.  I was trying to shake the bottle upside down over my plate to get the ketchup out and was getting a bit wild with it.  It kept hitting my plate "ding....ding....ding....DING...DING..DING DINGDINGDINGDING..." and finally my Dad (who worked basically two jobs and didn't sleep much remember?) SNAPPED, as he was famous for doing and go figure with 3 kids all within 5 years apart.  He stood up and literally grabbed the bottle out of my hand and violently started shaking it as hard as he could up and down in a HUGE exaggerated motion...all the while yelling "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU GET THE KETCHUP OUT!  THIS IS HOW YOU GET THE KETCHUP OUT!" and ketchup was flyyyyyyyying all over me, the table, the floor (carpet in the kitchen back in those days) until he finally smashed the bottle down on the table and stormed off.  We all sat in silence for a few minutes...shocked at his outburst until someone must have caught a glimpse of me, covered in ketchup and started giggling.  Well that was it, we all roared with laughter......and were careful never to bang the bottle on our plates again.

It's Christmas....the most wonderful time of the year.  Us kids are fairly young and hopped right the fuck up with Christmas spirit and sugar and presents and Santa and are hyper beyond belief.  We're vibrating trying to decorate the tree, which is always a headache of an occasion.  First my dad has to get the thing in the stand....and that's usually accompanied by tons of swearing at the stand and it's crooked and my mom lovingly suggesting we turn the tree to a less bare spot and my dad whipping this thing around until finally we all just agree with him, sharing silent glances, knowing we'll spin it while he's at work.  Then my dad gets the joyous job of putting up the xmas tree lights....which are all bundled in a messy ball from where he got pissed off and just randomly shoved them into garbage bags the year before...then plugging them in and trying to find the one burnt out bulb that's making the entire string dark and my mother lovingly suggesting he "scallop" the lights a little more and not skimp in the back where the neighbours can see through the window.  By the time this is all done, my dad needs a good stiff drink and he's snapping at all us kids, who are completely underfoot and annoying.  Then we have to be patient while my mom puts the garland on juuuuust so before we're let loose with Christmas ornaments and allowed to decorate the tree.  This all takes a gooood long time and by the end of it we're all grumpy and fighting but OH doesn't the tree look gorgeous!  We turn out the lights and sit around the glowing Christmas tree drinking egg nog and listening to Christmas music.  This one year we had done the tree and I had gone to my room to do something else when I heard screaming and came running out.  Somehow our tree had fallen over....after all that work decorating it!  Our beautiful tree was laying in our living room, the stand spilling water all over our carpet and my siblings all crying.  My dad by that point, had had it.  He ran in the living room and flung open the door to the outside front yard.....he marched over to the tree, picked it up and hauled it like a twig to the door and THREW it on the front snow covered yard....which wouldn't have been soooo bad but at the same time he yelled "MERRRRRRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS" for all our neighbours to hear.  The poor guy spun around, slammed the door and was met with three kids standing there sobbing over our Christmas tree and the shock of hearing him say such things.  The next day the tree was back up, with a stand full of rocks, and we never let him forget it.

So that's a couple of my favourite Phil stories.....at the same time, we also have great memories and laugh till our sides hurt thanks to him...like the time he rode Kohens hot wheels jeep home with his knees up at his ears and his feet on the hood all down Broadwater Road.  Or the time Lenny handed my dad the inside part of his little training potty, complete with a giant turd in it to show off his accomplishment...and my poor dad didn't catch on quick enough and grabbed the pot and had a good long look at it before looking up at me and my mom in all seriousness and asking "is this shit?" causing us to fall out of our chairs in laughter.  I think we could all get together and share stories of my dad and probably write a best selling book because I know many people would have things to contribute, good maybe, bad maybe and I bet a heck of a lot that we've never even heard about.  If you run into my dad one day, be sure to ask him about the pot brownies at work, that's another story that's quite hilarious, but I'll leave that one to him.  Happy Fathers Day ya asshole...I love you.

"This does not bode well for your tattoo" says Mom.

So I might be ready to share this story now.  Might.  I didn't think I was, but as my mom was telling it to my dad last night and laughing till she cried (it's not even a funny story), I found my self chuckling along.  This story took place the last week in May.  Now, May for me is insane.  Work is insane, the kids start getting excited for summer and antsy and my husband starts obsessing over the opening of the pool.  May is one of the busier months at the salon too....with our graduation and Miss Castlegar events, there's a heck of a lot of hair to get did.  I always feel like May starts and it's already pretty much over so just head down and plow through...which makes for a really stressful month.  I was working tons and lots of late nights....as were all the girls at the shop and we were all feeling the stress, sleeping less, drinking more and inventing lots of new swear words.  So this one day in May, Barry comes in the house in the early morning to tell me about a injured crow he found in the back yard.  It was over by the pool fence and couldn't fly.  It's wings and along it's back were pretty mangled.  It's pissing rain out, and cold and it's huddled in the yard.  Barry tried to catch it, but it half hop/fly/spazzed away.  I know most people dislike the crows around here....they are a bit of a pain in the ass....but I love them and have my favorites around the yard......and yes, I do come from a long line of family crow lovers, just talk to my mom Val the Crazy Bird Lady (kidding...sort of.....we're giving her 5.4 more years before we officially give her that title).  So instantly I'm upset by this news.  I call my mom (the Crazy Bird Lady.....just testing it out....) and she instructs me to get a box, cut a door and some windows....craft glue on some nice curtains, no like cheap roller blinds...maybe a nice tile for the floor and paint on some shingles.....hahaha.....no she didn't go that far, but I know she was thinking it.  She told me to cut a couple openings and put it over the crow outside and give it a bowl of water....maybe a plastic garbage bag on top so the box doesn't get soggy (pissing rain).  I'm running late for work and I'm panicked and I have nothing to wear and now I'm worried about this bird.  I manage to get ready in time and I get my box etc and head out into the yard to find it.....and it's totally gone.  I search all the bushes around the area it was, and okay, maybe I was making kissy noises or whatever that universal noise is people make to all animals.  Nothing.  I head into the neighbours field behind us, searching in in the long grass with my diaper box and bowl of water. So I can hear this really obnoxious crow noise from low down in this big tree and I think maybe the crow managed to half hop/fly/spazz up into this tree.  Okay great.  Off to work.  In my blue minivan and I'm heading down the driveway....when all of a sudden this black thing comes half hopping, half flying, completely spazzing towards me out from under a row of trees.  I scream and drive my van up the side of the neighbours yard along our driveway and almost take out their fence trying to avoid this zombie crow who looks like just threw itself in front of my van.  I can't tell but I think I hit it.  I put the van in park and sit there chanting "Ohhh no.  Ohhhhhhh no.  Ohhhhhhhhh no" for a while, looking in my rear view mirror at a very compact looking black blob a bit up the driveway.  I'm close to hyperventilating....I mean, I was going to save this bird....and now could I have killed it??  I get out and walk up the driveway and sure enough, it's flat.  I completely smoked the thing and squashed it under my tire....dead on (literally).  I instantly start crying my head off.  Now, I'm not like quietly shedding a few tears...I'm full out SOBBING....complete with all the noises, snot and tears you could imagine when someone just murdered a living thing.  MURDERED!  I get in my van and call my mom (everyone now....1....2.....3......the crazy bird lady) and sob my way through the story.  She's upset too cause she loves birds but does a good job trying to reason with me......at least I put it out of it's misery, it probably wouldn't have survived anyways, way to smoosh it full out and not just further mangle it and at the end she throws in a quiet "this does not bode well for you tattoo"...thanks MOM.  I get off the phone with her and sob all the way to work.  The rest of the day followed appropriately for a day that started out with killing.  The girls at work lovingly prodded me about it and managed to only set me off crying once or twice.  I shared the story a few times that day and yes, I cried every time.  I think I cried all that week now I think of it....some of it over the bird, and some of it cause May is such a cold hearted bitch.  And yeah, I guess it was probably best I ran it over, it was quick and painless....or so I hope...I mean, do any of us really know if that stuff would be painless or not?  Who are we going to ask?  The smooshed thing from under the tire?  And what does it all mean anyways?  Do you think this bird committed suicide?  While I have you here, what's the meaning of life do you think????? 

Pe-naus....if I say it all fancy like, does it make it fancier?

What is it with little boys and their junk??  And by junk, of course I mean their goalies.  Oh, and by goalies, of course I mean dongs.  What are dongs?  Well, I'm trying to say their wiener.  Wiener and balls to be exact...put them together, and voila!  Their junk.  So again, what the heck?  It's like, a handle or something....better hang on for dear life in case it decides to up and fall off!  Like yesterday for example, we're potty training the youngest (okay so he's old enough that he should be potty trained already but life is just so busy....and why do I feel the need to justify my non-potty trained 2.5 year old to you anyways?  Thanks alot "society" you filthy two faced whore, he could be in diapers till he's seven and that's my business and not anybody elses....well, mine and social services because I'm sure his grade 2 teacher would have them knocking on our door.....sigh....this is probably another blog post all in it's self so I'm just gonna drop it and back away slowly...okay?  Ready....one....two......three!) potty training the youngest and so he's running around, all free ballin it....flapping in the breeze, attempting to slide down the plastic slide....which sounds as painful as I'm sure it must feel.  And every few seconds he's gotta reach on down and give it a little tug....or cup it and hang on to it while making directing eye contact...just long enough to be awkward.  I mean, he's young enough, it's not horrific to see his little dingle dangling.....but there are things to be on the watch for.  Like yesterday, I send Gill to my house to drop off some stuff and she comes back to the shop and tells me Lenny is running around naked.....and eating chips.....and SHARING chips....which seconds after she ate, the ol hand went back down to his junk to give it a loving tug and you KNOW that chip you just ate, was covered in penis.  Over dinner, my mom shared such a story too....her moment of realization after eating a few chips out of his hand.....that second you know you've eaten a chip that touched a toddlers schlong in a round about way...and I mean, those hands are all up and on that junk!  Anybody with boys knows what I'm talking about.  Such an early fascination with that thing.....it's like he's already making peace with the fact that it will be making the majority of his decisions for him during "those" years in his future.  He just needs to make sure it hangs in there, and doesn't get lost anywhere.  And I mean really, there is nothing cuter then having him hop up on your lap and his cuuuuuute little butt cheeks dimple all up on your leg....and then you feel the ball sack settling in on the front and the cute factor drops a notch.  But in the end, during this potty training phase, it's just one of those things we have to endure...I mean, yesterday he peed in the potty ALL day long for the babysitter....and my mom came and relieved her and he peed in the proper places for her too........until five minutes before I'm due to arrive home.  I'm leaving the shop and we have this conversation via text....

me - Will be laving in 5.  Have to stop and get wine Bary said.
Mom - Your child just shit outside, and down his leg, and ya he stepped in it.  I'm having wine alone now, no guilt.

..........so then there's that.  No amount of junk pulling can distract you from that.  So I get home just in time to pick up little turds dropped all along the walk way......and just in time to witness Kohen ride a scooter through one of them...on purpose I think.....and continue riding it along the rest of the driveway.  OH BOYS and your junk.....at least when they're holding on to it, their hands aren't free to cause much other trouble I suppose.....or at least in this house of four junk holders and me, I can only dare to hope.

This one time at Catholic church.....

So I don't know if you guys know this about me....but one time, I used to go to church.  I'm talking the Catholic church!  I'd go once a week, sometimes twice and spend anywhere from two to four hours there....in the hall, church and the fathers house.  Now I know it's early, and I'm sure lots of you have headed to get more coffee because you're pretty sure you aren't reading this right, thinking what the H E double hockey sticks is Shannon Koochin doing at church!?!?  So let me finish my story....I used to clean the church, hall and fathers house....OH and his motor home but that's another story.  When Gavin was a year old or so I did a stint as a cleaning lady.  I didn't mind the job....it was quiet, nobody bugged me and I could just crank my tunes and go.  I also didn't mind cleaning the hall at the church, or even the fathers house.....all tho.....I used to have to change his bedding and do the shower, and he was as bald as a cue ball and whenever I'd see like a hair I'd instantly think ungodly thoughts as to where they might have come from and yes I know I'm going straight to hell and really can't believe I just shared that with all of you.  I'm sorry I'm a horrible person and please pray for my children.  Anyways......out of the gutter Shannon for petes sake.......really the safest thing would be to just sign off and stop writing now, but we all know me!  I'll just plow on and see how many more times I can sound like a moron!  Okay and here we go!!  So back to the random hairs...NO WAIT.....I mean, back to the CLEANING.......yes, cleaning....I used to clean all sorts of strange areas at the church....including this scary basement area that kind of connected the church with the fathers place....and always had bugs and strange rooms all painted different shades of bright ugly colors.  But I didn't even mind the basement....what REALLY creeped me out was cleaning in the actual church.  I get the heeeeebie jeeeeeebies just walking in there, never mind the fact that I was alone.  There was a few back rooms and some strange areas....I used to actually like cleaning in the confessional booths, always muttering my worst things under my breath pretending I was confessing, but really if there was another person on the other side they would have probably put me in a straight jacket and sent me off, or called my mother to beat me with a wooden spoon.  Cleaning in the main open area, around all the pews was the scariest for me.....especially having to get up on the podium at the front to vacuum while statues of Jesus and others would stare at me.....and I could tell they were all judging me and my relationship with Kevan and our bastard child.  I'd make up little conversations in my mind with them and for some reason my inner Jesus voice always sounded like he was right from Monty Python.  I'd have to run this big ol vacuum cleaner in that quiet cave of a place and it would echo off the vaulted ceiling and stained glass and make it even spookier then it was.  So this one time, I was in there vacuuming and it was a pain in the ass because I'd have to unplug the vacuum like 912374 times to get around all the pews and replug it in and I swear that took longer then the actual job.  So I'm muttering to myself, and go to plug the vacuum in again and ZZZAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPP EXPLOSION!!!!!!!!!!!!  I'm super confused and can't figure out why I'm laying down all of a sudden and I can smell burning.  I come to my senses and realize I'm laying about 2 feet away from the wall socket with the plug to the vacuum still in my hand and my hand is burning and there's black smoke all up the wall around the outlet and I vaguely remember seeing blue flames.  Awesome.  I was just electrocuted.  IN THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.  All of this took just a second and while I'm still stunned I see the Father come in cause he heard a loud explosion noise and he sees me and realizes what's happened and I must have looked totally surprised and he starts to laugh.....and laugh......and laugh!!  Now, anybody who knew him knows he was a pretty funny guy.  I actually really liked him....he used to love to tell me religious jokes....and then he'd laugh at the fact that I wouldn't understand the punch lines.....like I'm talking laugh until tears came rolling down his face and he was gasping for air.  Anyways, that's pretty much what he looked like as I lay on the floor of the church, still vibrating with electric currants.....he doubled over and grabbed his belly and between laughing bouts manages to get out "GIRL!  You need to find some faith!!!" and I yeah yeah yeah and tell him I'm going to the hospital to have my hand looked at and stomp out of there.  But as I leave....and the sun is shining and I realize I'm done work early for the day and don't have to vacuum in that place that makes me so uncomfortable it's kind of like the right thing to have happened.  And I know the Catholic Church isn't a place for me!  And for those who have been attending safely without getting electrocuted, it's probably the perfect place for you and just stay away from the one outlet on the far right wall with the black soot stains around it. 

Shit my Kids Say.....and I love them regardless.

So my kids....they are all very....colourful.  I'm not sure who possibly they most take after, but I'm pretty sure it's their dad.  They come up with some of the most amazing statements...it just really blows my mind.  Sometimes these things are appropriate, sometimes not so much.  Here's a few memorable moments from the last few years of some of the things out of Kohens mouth-

K (the 6 year old)-


"You smell like dog."  This said to our babysitter...who has many dogs.

"I don't know who I'm going to marry, but I know I'm not going to marry a boy."

"Mom?  How many trees are there in the whole wide world?"

"Haha you're funny cause you pee out your butt.  Mom?  Do girls pee out their butts?"

"Girls like you don't have any money!" this said to one of the girls who I work with.

"It's really fucking cold in here!" testing out swearing while driving in the van...and yes, it was really fucking cold in there.

"It's really fucking cold in here!" this said when coming home to our house after Barry refused to turn the furnace on anymore for the season.

"Where the hell are we?" said as he looked up from his book while parked waiting for Barry at the bank.

An interaction between K (6) and G (12);
Gav- I had a bad day. Kohen pushed me down the path and was calling me bad names.
Me- what kinds of bad names?
Gav- I'd prefer not to say.
Me- just say it.
Gav- vagina okay? He was saying "Gav is a vagina" over and over.

"I just held my breath and counted to 100!............but just my nose."

"Dad...did you stay and watch my whole hockey game?" Barry says no he didn't "I scored goals!" which he didn't.

Me - What do you want for breakfast?
Koh - Get a shotgun, shoot a cow and I'll eat that.

While sitting on the toilet in the morning "Now I'll nevah (he doesn't pronouce his R's so this is how never sounds) go to school!!  NEVAH!  I can't!  I'm stuck here with poo stuck in my bum!"

"Mom?  Me and Gav are bastards, but not Lenny, right??  But why are we bastards?"

Koh - Mom...I don't feel good.
Me - Why?
Koh - Because I miss Grandma..........aaannnnnd my poop keeps getting stuck.........aaaaaaannnnnnd I wish to be Lenny cause he never gets punished, or hit AND GAVIN HIT ME WITH HIS GUN!  DAD!  GAVIN HAS BEEN ATTACKING ME ALL DAY!