There’s no getting around it. There has been a distinct change in tone around here over the last couple of years.

It was bound to happen. Little people get big, and find out the truth:

• The Tooth Fairy and Santa are myths
• Mom ceases to be helpful with math along about fifth grade
• No matter how funny he may be, your parents will never be motivated to find the time to care about what PewDiePie did on Youtube this week.

These are some of the cold, hard facts of life. Hard to deal with all at once, I’m sure. Add puberty to it. And parents who are frequently out of touch, demanding and laugh at their own jokes. It gives a person plenty to complain about. I’m just as sure of that as I am that being the teenage child of a blogger is all kinds of wondrous karma.

I’ve been keeping lists of things people say around here since they were just learning how to talk. It used to trend toward the darling:

Don’t push me, Jack, I’ll break my head open and all my dreams will spill out!

There ISN’T any such thing as monsters, Colin, there’s just bad guys and robbers and forces of evil . . . stuff like that.

These days, quotable quotes are considerably less darling, and frequently more often aggravating, or sometimes ironic:

We don’t have any cereal.

(What about all those boxes in the cupboard?)

They each have like, one piece in them.

(I’ll put that on the list of “Things I Would Know If Only” you disposed of empty boxes once in a while instead of putting them back on the shelf).

I can’t get a job in a food service. I hate watching people eat.

(I hear that. It’s actually why we don’t have more family dinners … or children).

I thought I was just supposed to do the DINNER dishes. You mean I gotta do ALL the dishes?

*Sweeps arm to indicate the entire kitchen counter, on which rests a solitary water glass he neglected to put in the dishwasher*

I was just DOWN there. You mean I gotta turn around and go BACK and turn off all the lights?

(Those sixteen steps back downstairs. It’s like re-enacting the Trail of Tears just to save a kilowatt or something on the power bill. You’re right, I’m being totally unreasonable).

Everybody else has an iPad … Xbox …. nose ring …. bionic puppy …  ___________.

(What? Well, we can’t have that. Wait for me in the car. I’ll get my purse).

You’re the one insisting on an electric mower. I can’t be expected to mow in straight lines with this cord always in the way.

*mows around puddle of extension cord on the ground*

Why couldn’t we move to a place that has more bandwidth?

(Well, in THE GREAT HOUSE HUNT of 2002, it was quite the toss up between good schools and internet capacity. Or, wait… maybe it was good schools and indoor plumbing, I forget).

Keep em coming. The complaint department around here is open twenty-four, seven.

And karma’s keyboard is all warmed up.

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Check it out: Manic Mom’s on Mamalode with An Evolution of Motion, an essay on … wait for it … motherhood! Please visit and share!

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But before you go, please vote for Manic Mumbling on Top Mommy Blogs. I really do crave the validation. It’s a problem, I know. But you’re an enabler. That’s why this works.