"OK kid, get ready to bend over and grab your ankles."

When you are depressed, unemployed, barely able to financially support your children and watching age 40 speed toward you faster than Richard Pryor with his ass on fire and you've been doing it for eight months from your parent's living room sofa, you pretty much have to put up with whatever insults said parents choose to hurl your way. Really, it's my mom mostly. When I was 8 or 10 or 12 and wasting my life away on her living room sofa her threats had more uuumph to them. One of her favorites was "Ma'ap fe'ou marche es-es!" Loosely translated from Haitian Creole means "I'll drop kick your worthless ass into next week!" But she's a grandma now and at age 67 - despite her 'Devotion in Motion' classes (one part martial arts, one part dancercize, one part praising the Lord) - she could not possibly drop kick my worthless ass further than Saturday. Maybe Sunday.

My mom and I have a love-hate relationship, as many mothers and daughters do. We love the triplets and hate each other. Well, she thinks I hate her because I might have mentioned that two or three or half-dozen times. What I really meant to say, which I have repeatedly clarified, is that I don't like her. She claims not to understand the difference but I think she is being difficult because that is just her way. As for her - well, she doesn't care about me, she only cares about the babies. That was her stance when I was 7 months pregnant, 250 pounds and unable to launch myself from my recliner and wrap my meaty fingers around her throat. She has since clarified that she does care about me because I am her daughter and she cannot get into Heaven unless Jesus hears her say so. She has further clarified that she loves the triplets more than she loves me - in case I was wondering. I was not.

My 84 year-old going-deaf stepfather likes to join in the fun from time to time. He is a saint of a man, in my opinion. But even saints lose their patience. For eight months he's been watching his utility bills skyrocket and his house destroyed room-by-room by three midgets. He loves those midgets dearly, but still....grandpa's beginning to fray at the edges.

So for your amusement and for my catharsis I present now the top ten most likely to be heard tidbits of conversation around my house:

10. Grandma: This is not your house!
Me: These are not your kids!

9. Grandpa (poking me in the stomach): You really need to do something about this. The babies are not babies anymore.
Me: You really shouldn't say that to a woman.
Grandpa: Ah, but it's just you.
Me (Wondering how many calories ass-kicking an octogenerian might burn): I'm going to McDonald's.

8. Me: Ewww, what the hell is that smell?
Grandpa: What?
Me: What is that smell?
Grandpa: No, I didn't check the mail today.
Me: No, I said WHATISTHATSMELL!
Grandpa: Maybe later.
Me: What?
Grandpa: What?

7. Me: What did you feed the triplets for lunch? They are all farting.
Grandma: Farting good for them.

6. Grandma: You not a good mother. You let them eat food on de floor.
Me: Dirt good for them.

5. Me: Ewwww, what the hell is that smell?
Grandma: You take shower today?

4. Me: Good morning, sweet Angel!
LaLa: Papa?
Me: Not grandpa. (pointing to myself) Mommy.
LaLa: Papa!
Me: MOMMY, damn it!

3. Grandma: We need money for de light and de water bill.
Me: I don't have any money right now.
Grandma: You should feel shame.
Me: No thanks, you feel enough for the both of us.

2. Me: Ewww, what the hell is that smell?
LaLa: Papa!
Me: I love you, LaLa.

1. Grandma: Ma'ap fe'ou marche es-es!
Me: I'd like to see you try.