After a particularly hardcore session of Webkinz, during which he mined for precious gems, tackled fairies in the Charm Forest, and added a new trellis to his platypus’ yard, Wee Niblet stood up and staggered away from the computer.

Leaning uncomfortably against the bed, he groused, “My legs fell asleep.”

“Eep opp ork ahah, scoobie-shoo-doo, boopity ba-ba-ba,” I hummed in response as I folded the laundry, unable to find a caring bone in me. Rather, deeply immersed in my non-mommy headspace, I considered the possibility that my life, even though I’m 40, might not yet be completely set. If I could toss out scat like that with no rehearsal to speak of, the distinct possibility existed that I might be featured as JocelyNummy on Fergilicious’ next album.

“No, rewwy, Mommy. My feet have all prickles in them. It’s like I’m getting my shots for my five-year-old check-up again, all at once, ‘cept only in my feet, a million times over. I need for it to stop now.”

“Well, keep on keepin’ on, kid–try kickin’ it Pre School, for reals–and it’ll go away,” I counseled, folding another towel.

“It’s so bad, though, I won’t ever be able to sleep because it won’t ever go away,” Niblet moaned, launching the Increased Desperation Triggers Sympathy strategy.

“Dude, you have a computer to play games on and a bunch of Webkinz and a new trellis, and your platypus ate a big plate of noodles tonight and stuff. I don’t really feel for you here. Take your pain and your pout and stomp them around the room a little bit; that’ll get the blood flowing again,” I recommended, wondering if Craig Ferguson would wear a blue or a yellow tie during his monologue that night and if he might ever need me to come on to work the audience into a frenzy with my scatting virtuosity.

“But Mommy, it’s so bad. You need to feel my feet. They are so prickly you will shriek when you touch them because it will hurt you too. You should feel them to see how much they hurt.”

So I did. I bent down and touched his paws. And those prickles of his felt like rays of burning sunlight had been taken and jammed into shards of ice which were then packaged inside diamonds and scratched along a blackboard covered with jalapeno juice that squirted into an eyeball that was being held open with toothpicks coated in barbed wire that had been heated in molten lava for six minutes. Jehosephat, but Whinebot was right. How he managed to contemplate which jammies to wear at the same time that kind of torment was roiling around inside his body–well, I’d never admired him more. Letting go of his feet, I fell to the ground, paralyzed.

“Um, Mommy?”

Croaking from the floor, weakly, whimpering, I whispered a, “Booooy? Get your father. That’s right. Get Daddy. Mommy’s dying from touching your prickles. She may need a lemontini to restore a regular heartbeat.”

“Hey, Mommy. Get up now. I have to use the potty and am going to need a wiper-suhviper. You can do your scat thing while I do mine.”

Despite my willingness to mess with his head and play along, I’m pretty sure Niblet will soon outgrow his certainty that interior pain can be felt by those outside of his body.

Until his first acid trip in college, of course. Then I’ll have to be all “Wow, babes, but the walls ARE melting. Yea, your hand is totally bigger than that chair. Ooh, yea, that scab on your leg is on fire.”


Like I’m not going to be there?

What else I got to do? Wait for Fergie and Craig Ferguson to call?



By Jocelyn

There's this game put out by the American Girl company called "300 Wishes"--I really like playing it because then I get to marvel, "Wow, it's like I'm a real live American girl who has 300 wishes, and that doesn't suck, especially compared to being a dead one with none."


  1. i’m so glad that i’m not the only mom to talk to her small boy this way. ‘ceptin i’m hoping to get some kind of gig in kabuki make-up and a cleopatra bob as back up for gwen stefani. they don’t even have to give me a special name ‘cuz i just want to DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!

    (oh, and since i seem to have raving girl crushes all over these internets, you should know i gots my good eye on you)

  2. I think it’s hilarious that he thinks the pain radiates out. I’ve never heard of that. I’m also a big fan of both Fergies and think the four of us should hang out together some day. Oh wait, Craig doesn’t drink.

  3. I can just see Niblet in the futer trying to convince the girls to feel his, um, pain…maybe you shouldn’t stick around to see that. 😉

  4. you are my hero. i am often chided for my ability to conjure up horrifying imagery but my dear i bow to the master. by the way, my back is still aching and i just bet if you lay your hand on the owiest spot you will feel axes leaping out to cut off your fingers and then dip them in a bowl of acid that shoots up through the bleeding stubs of your digits and flows all the way up your arms and into your brain where it will make your brain grow until it leaks out your ears and the skin on your face melts like the guys who dared behold the ark of the covenant while indy jones squeezed his own peepers shut oh so tightly. i’m just saying….

  5. you know that’s how Ferguson Jenkins died right? his foot feel asleep while driving to the premier of Roller Ball and he smashed into James Caan’s limo. James Caan was apparently doing blow with a young David Lee Roth and Tommy Lee Jones (he thought it would be cool to have only people with the middle name of Lee in his limo that night for some reason). James got very upset with Fergie and got out and punched the unsuspecting Jenkins in the stomach and killed him dead. And then Ryan Reynolds raped me again.

  6. Oooo. As a mad scientist, I like the way you mess with Niblet’s mind. I am sure years from now he will remember fondly how you used to scat his troubles away. 🙂

  7. Never really thought about the idea of others feeling my pain…hmmmm…would be a good thing in a lot of situations…like male OBY delivering babies?!!

  8. If you’re around when Nibs takes his first hit of acid then I think you should drop some too. Just to feel his pain.

  9. I’m still reeling from the scat cakes. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to view another chocolate dollop/swirl with out thinking of you. And that’s funny, that a good turd will remind me of you. And it’s in a good way. Who’da thunk? And, if Fergie calls, send her my way, I could use her personal trainer. My abs are a little soft.

  10. Admit it. You model your child-raising skills on Calvin’s dad (from Calvin and Hobbes), don’t you?

    We do.

  11. I am with Niblet all the way. I absolutely hate it when my legs fall asleep. Maybe next time I should try a lemontini.

  12. WN has got it goin’ on. I almost fell off my exercise ball.

    Say, when are those cookies coming in, or have WN and the Webkinz broken the seal.

  13. I’m 37 years old and I still try to spread my interior pain to others (my wife) by complaining about it until she gets a headache. It works.

  14. You are just too hilarious. I will have to remember that when my guy asks me to feel his pain. I can just see you lying there.

  15. Kids don’t just pay attention to your life and your problems? Why the hell have them, then?

  16. Tough love, baby, tough love. If you ignore them long enough, they eventually stop whining. Or at least, you don’t really hear it because you are in your head living a happy dream.

    (Webkinz? That looks awfully cute for an on-line game. Where’s the blood?)

  17. Damn but that was funny. I’m glad I’m not the only one who torments my children for amusement. I mean, you torment your children, not mine. You’d better not torment my children, you soulless wench.

  18. lol how funny!

    I usedf to spin myself in circles because I thought it made everyone else spin too 🙂

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