House Rules

With Daddy out of town for a few days, now might be a good time to reinforce the house rules, as you have taken his absence to mean that we have descended into some base form of anarchy. Allow me to refresh your memories:

1. The floor is not a garbage can. It also also neither a hamper nor a compost pile. Also, and I know this is going to sound completely counter-intuitive, but the broom is not a toy. You have an actual toy broom. Please use that if you must insist on “helping” to clean the floor, which, by the way, would be fine if you would just stop throwing all your shit on it.


Also, put some goddamn clothes on.

2. Doughnuts are not for dinner. They never have been before, so you have no reason to believe that they will be now that Daddy is gone, as if Daddy was the one thing holding you back from injecting sugar directly into your veins. We don’t even have any doughnuts, so I’m not sure where you thought I was going to conjure these mythical doughnuts from. Also not viable options for dinner:

  • Ice cream
  • “Trail mix” that you create yourself by dumping all of the bags in the pantry into a giant bowl and smashing the contents up with your unwashed palms (see above picture)
  • Salt packets
  • Literally just gum

3. I don’t care that it’s warm outside; you cannot go out without pants on. I know we have a lax dress code around here. But there is a difference between cute and sassy indoor nudity, and Welp, Time to Call the Cops outdoor nudity. I applaud you for at least thinking to put on your boots, but you look like a baby prostitute and I am not going to the slammer because you need to commune with the elements. With your butt out.

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4. Your bed is your bed. My bed is my bed. These two beds are mutually exclusive. Just because Daddy isn’t here doesn’t mean that I am suddenly lonely and cold in the middle of the night and need you to come wedge your feet into the small of my back and attempt to make them pop out through my belly button. Daddy doesn’t do that, and you shouldn’t, either. And before you even ask,

5. No, I do not want to watch Mutt and Stuff at 3 in the morning. Or Shimmer and Shine. Or any of the weird Canadian children’s shows you keep finding on Netflix, like My Big Big Friend or Harry and His Bucket Full of Dinosaurs. Those shows are lame, and you are lame for wanting to watch them at 3 in the morning.

6. And I cannot stress this one enough, only poop in approved poop receptacles. Your diaper is fine. The toilet is fine. I guess outside is fine, if you manage to make your pantsless escape into the fenced-in backyard. But under no circumstances should you poop in any unauthorized areas, including, but not limited to, the basement stairs and the mini trampoline. Other people use these stairs and this trampoline. And now other people will never be able to do so again without wondering if at least a microscopic amount of leftover feces has lodged itself onto her sock, no matter how slash and burn one might be with the application of Clorox.

I really don’t think these rules are unreasonable, and I think you’ll find that we all have a more pleasant home experience when they are adhered to. Should you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to scream them at top volume from the backseat of the car while also explaining how much you don’t love me anymore.

Meet the cast: Rosie

Hi! My name is Rosie Oja. You may have seen me in such performances as Massive Freakout at the Library Because You Wouldn’t Let Me Drink Out of the Drinking Fountain Anymore After Thirty Uninterrupted Minutes, or Panic! In the Kitchen.

Like many casual fans, you might know a few key facts about me– I am two years old; I have the upper body strength of Mr. T on a cocaine bender; I love cats and dogs, particularly if they are small enough for me to pick them up and carry them around by their heads; and when I am excited, I stand on my tiptoes and shout HOOWAY!, because I am the cutest toddler that ever lived.

But since we may be spending a great more time together this year, let me fill you in on a few tidbits that you might not know:

  1. I am a nudist. IMG_3870

The moment I return home from anywhere, I immediately remove all my clothing. It starts innocently, with just the socks, but as soon as you turn your back I’m going Full Monty on your ass, because I just want to feel free, man. The social construct that is clothing does not apply to me. So don’t be surprised if one minute I’m standing next to you fully dressed and back from a hard day at school, and the next thing you know I’m completely naked and scrubbing your toilet, because that is a totally natural thing for me to do, Judgy McJudgerson.


2. Riley bite me. She bite me on my back. Don’t worry if you forget, because I will remind you at least eight hundred times a day, even though it only happened once, and it was about two months ago. This is basically my go-to topic of conversation. Also, Gogo bite me. Point is, I get bitten a lot, and I want you to know about it.

3. For a little while when I was a baby, I was essentially deaf, thanks to a series of debilitating ear infections. I have tubes now, and can hear just fine, but because I couldn’t hear when my brain was developing, I am speech delayed. But don’t feel sorry for me– I have learned to communicate just fine through a series of grunts, squawks and well-placed kicks. And I can talk– as I may have mentioned before, Riley bite me. She bite me on my back– I just can’t really be understood by anyone except my mommy. And even she only understands about 30% of what I say. She is gonna be pissed when she find out what ME GACK DOUGH means.

4. I want to be a grown-up SO BAD. Specifically, I want to be my older sister. I don’t want to be like her. I literally want to be her. So I’m sort of Single White Female-ing her– I am constantly demanding to drink from her cups and wear her underwear, even though I have mastered neither drinking nor not immediately peeing myself– basically, anything liquid related, I am a failure at. Anyway, don’t tell her this is happening. I’m hoping just to start showing up at her kindergarten and seeing if I can snag a seat at circle time. I just hope no one bites me on my back.

So now you’re an expert on all things Rosie! And if you ever see me out in public, please don’t hesitate to approach me. I’m not like those other Internet celebrities– I love having my picture taken, as long as you immediately hand over your phone to see how the picture turned out, and then let me scroll through every other picture in your camera roll, and then let me somehow disable your iPhone for 2565 minutes.

Also, don’t bite me. I swear to God, I will go apeshit if you bite me.