The littlest hustler

holy fuckbox!  d had the mother of all tantrums today.  screaming and crying because his girlfriend, maeve, wouldn't do his exact bidding.  i'm at a loss as to wtf that was all about.  my gut tells me he's overtired.  (m fussed a little last night, no nap yesterday at grammie's, crap nutrition as well).  why, oh why, does she think a 'lunchables' is adequate nourishment for a 4 year old??? topped off with mini oreos?  whatever. i'm no saint; but geez.

i'm still holding fast on the absence of the black box.  he whines only periodically for a show. oddly, he only really whines bad if he's 'gotten a little taste'; a little huff off the lysol and he's hustling me again...lying, cheating and dancing on the coffee table for attention. 

oh well, better news.  getting ready to hold an impromptu garage sale tomorrow. i have acres of detritus lined up on the front porch ready to be thrown onto the front yard.  god i hope someone buys most of it; don't want to be hauling that much crap to the goodwill on monday.  i'm a pretty ruthless purger; but i have a tendency to want to purge other people's "stuff" (crap), along with my own. example: i am sick sick sick of all these thomas trains.  he doesn't play with half of them, doesn't appreciate another 1/4 , and the remainder are littered all over the house most of the time. but you know if i got rid of ...say...Toby...that's the ONE TRAIN he'll turn the world upside down hollering for in two weeks.  i actually took a whole box of trains out last winter, stashed them in a closet upstairs and waited for him to ask about them.  didn't happen. what now to do about his father's crap?  can't these people get on the minimalist train with me!