Last month on our trip to the pumpkin patch, DynaGirl insisted I take a picture of this:
A closer look:
That’s all I have to say about that.
I don’t know what is going on with my face, but I’ve developed these dry patches on both eyelids, around the corners of my mouth and all along my jaw line. I haven’t been using any different products or eaten anything different lately or done anything else I can think of to warrant this kind of facial sloughery. I moisturize multiple times a day. It’s not helping. And now my neck itches. Woe is me!
Yesterday, while I was in the shower I had the chorus to DM’s Shake the Disease stuck on repeat in my head. But I’d only get as far as:
Here is a plea
from my heart to you
nobody knows me
as well as you do
And then I would switch to Phil Collins’ Against All Odds:
But to wait for you is all I can do
and that’s what I’ve got to face
It was like one of those mash-ups they do on Glee where they take two songs that seem to be completely unrelated and meld them into one. So I was on this repeat cycle of:
Here is a plea
from my heart to you
nobody knows me
as well as you do
But to wait for you is all I can do
and that’s what I’ve got to face
And for the life of me I couldn’t get out of it. Maddening, I tell you. Maddening!
What songs would you like to see mashed up?
(Non-triumphantly.)
Don’t leave me hanging!
she’d do anything necessary for him, and
what does more cowbells have to do with
Never mind. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
how to get baby powder to stick to your
why is a diabetic not allowed to use the
Why, thank you.
a clever conversationist (But I believe you meant “conversationalist”.)
“i love you like jim loves pam”
I wouldn’t recommend that.
no lid deodorant
playing piano in pantyhose
goose part 1 and 2 by chuck norris
build your own funeral pyre
I wouldn’t eat that, if I were you. Or me.
crap birthday cake
brown tic tacs
trauma cake
“roma tomatoes” “black inside”
Doesn’t everyone?
i worry too much after looking like an i(diot) (No, I guess not.)
concave armpits (If not, I’d have that looked at.)
Sicko!
enjoy armpit whiff -she -her -girl -woma
cow print latex rubber
chuck norris erotica
Seriously, get some help.
lick my womb
stalking shelves
Mad’s husband’s been here.
“sleep country lady”
What if you’re just sure?
raise your hand if you’re sure sure
I would sue. (Although, with that flavor choice you were kind of asking for it.)
side-effect tic tac spearmint for 2 year
It’s too late for that. Put your money where your mouth is.
tic tacs sorry
I’d pay to see that.
funny curriculum night powerpoints
liberace eating pancakes
Someone is suspicious.
can a goose break your arm?
broke “arms” “casts”
why would a doctor make you wear a sling
“her eye appointment” “glasses”
the cake is a lie birthday
A “rose” by any other name…
loud pulse after squats
Testify!
grab the cowbell words in a song
i got a witness more cowbell
Accept no substitutes.
chuck norris look alike shoes
action pants de chick norris
chusk norris
chuck norros
Can you be more specific?
pity
sock*
kiwi fruit
dentistry monkey steal potato
Questions for the ages.
why does my fire alarm squeak
dairy queen pancake platter – what’s inc
what do you mean by de-pulping
If you have to ask…
how long is meat good in the freezer
explanation of chuck norris potato chip
what’s wrong with shaking tic tacs
You won’t find that here.
flossitude
motivational friday
the meaning of lbs
proof of sanity
There are two c’s in raccoon. I just thought you should know. I mean, good spelling skills are not necessarily a measure of intelligence. My father is a brilliant and world-renowned (in certain circles) scientist, and last I checked he still spells “cheese” with a “z”. But if you’re giving instruction on writing, and more specifically editing, I think it would be nice if your example did not include a paragraph in which raccoon is spelled incorrectly eight times. Also, you use ”it’s” for “it’s jumping over the fence” and “its” for “its tail is stuck between the planks”. I’m just saying.
Because Julie asked, some pics of the kids in their Halloween garb:
DynaGirl as The Cat in the Hat:
Goose as The Cheerleader:
BigHugs as The Black Cat:
Saturday ended up being a pretty busy day, so the girls didn’t get out trick-or-treating until after 7:30 pm. I was a little worried we wouldn’t be able to employ our annual Halloween candy strategy. You don’t have a Halloween candy strategy? I’m not talking about mapping out a trick-or-treating route or going to the houses with the best loot or anything like that. Let me explain.
My first few Halloweens I was a total sucker, buying and passing out the good stuff only to have my children come home with gummy thumbs and chocolate eyeballs and Arby’s restaurant mints that had been scrounged from the bottom of someone’s purse or pocket or something. (The wrappers wrinkled and covered in lint and crumbs are kind of a tip off, cheapo restaurant mint passer-outers. If you think no one has noticed, you’re wrong.) Then I started buying the cheapo stuff like smarties and the bubble gum that’s rock hard by Veteran’s Day. The problem with that is if you overestimate the number of trick-or-treaters you’re likely to have, then you’re still stuck with the crap.
A few years ago, I finally figured out that if you send your kids out early enough, they can come home, sort the undesirable and inedible from the good stuff, and then you can turn around and pass it out to unsuspecting trick-or-treaters and keep the good candy for yourself. I know, it’s diabolical. But pretty much in keeping with the whole spirit of the holiday, no?
They ended up getting home in plenty of time, but the parade of trick-or-treaters had really tapered off by about 8:30 pm, and we still had plenty of candy of the undesirable, inedible variety left in our bowl. Chuck tried to turn the porch light off at 9 pm, but I told him to leave it on just in case we got a few stragglers. I instructed Mr. T and DynaGirl to make sure the bowl was clear of any stuff worth keeping, and to just dump the entire contents of the bowl into the outstretched bag of anyone who dared trick-or-treat past 9 pm.
At 9:15 the doorbell rang and DynaGirl dumped as instructed. We turned off the porch light and locked the door. Our house is now completely devoid of all the abominations that people try to pass off as Halloween candy. Complete mission success this year, my friends, complete mission success.
Yes, occasionally I do feel some pangs of guilt for re-treating something that I deem unworthy of my own family’s consumption. But some of these kids come from the very homes that are passing out this stuff, and while it would be helpful to have every child carry a sample of the offerings from their own homes so that one might be better able to judge what candy of which they are worthy, that’s not really realistic, is it?
So yes, innocents may fall victim to the particular brand of Halloween candy justice we dispense here at Casa de Bythelbs (I might be giving your child a box of Dots at the very moment you are generously dropping a king-snize Snickers into my child’s sack), but I can live with the collateral damage if it means I never again have to look at another Now and later or Laffy taffy or flavored Tootsie roll collecting dust in my pantry.
Hey, it would be wasteful to just throw it away.
Plus, some people like that kind of stuff.
I am not a monster!
And no referencing that last post!
You know those moments in life where you can either laugh or cry? I have never laughed so hard in my entire life.
While going through DynaGirl’s homework folder, I found this storyboard:
Me: What was this for?
DynaGirl: Oh, that’s just a rough rough draft of something.
Yeah, rough.
…
Rough draft?
So yesterday I was frantically trying to finish up costumes for Goose and DynaGirl (because last night was our church’s annual trunk or treat), which necessitated a last minute run to the fabric store. I had a list, but I still wandered back and forth across the store because I would remember that I needed something over there even though I was just over there with my list and the something staring me right in the face.
Then I went to pay and I slid my credit card through the little credit card thingy upsidedown. I had the magnetic strip between my fingers! Luckily, I noticed before the cashier did, but just in case, I had to acknowledge out loud that I had done something stupid. I didn’t want her to have seen me do it and then see me try to hurry and cover up that I had done it. Better to just come out and say I’m a idiot. Never mind the possibility that the whole thing would otherwise have gone unnoticed.
And then I almost made it out the door without my bag of somethings that I had wandered back and forth across the store collecting and tried to pay for with the wrong end of my credit card. I had to go back to the register and get my bag. I hate it when you have to go back. Although, going back is slightly less humiliating than someone chasing you out the door frantically yelling, “Mam! Mam! Your bag!” while everyone in the tri-parking lot area turns and stares. Not that I would know from personal experience or anything, but I can imagine.
Driving down the street on my way home, I suddenly realized I had missed my turn. Four blocks ago. I was in my own town, like five minutes from my house.
Somehow I managed to get home, finish the costumes and make it through the day without harming myself or others. (Well, there was that whole temporarily losing track of BigHugs while walking Goose and DynaGirl home from school and finding her 30 seconds later walking 15 feet behind us sobbing and completely freaked out. But that doesn’t really count, does it?)
You have days like this, right?
Sitting in church.
Goose: Can I get a drink of water?
Me: Wait ’til he’s done speaking.
Goose: Why?
Me: It’s rude to get up while someone is speaking.
Goose: But I’m not even listening to it. Can I get a drink of water now?
I’m right behind you.
Family game time.
Me: Which dwarf is missing from this list: Grumpy, Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy, Happy, Doc?
Mr. T: Happy?
Me: I said Happy.
DynaGirl: Sleepy?
Me: I said Sleepy.
Kids: Silence.
I make my best Bashful face.
DynaGirl: Dopey!
Me: I said Dopey!
Time runs out.
Me: I was giving you a hint!
DynaGirl: Yeah, I know. That was totally Dopey!
I’m thinking this could be a vital clue to what went wrong in my dating years.
In the car.
BigHugs: Mom, you’re the best mom in the whole world. When it’s Mother’s Time Day I’m going to make you a necklace out of beads.
Can’t wait.
Watching Enchanted, the ball scene.
Goose: That’s weird how people dance with other people’s mates.
Mr. T: Mates? What do you think this is? Africa?
DynaGirl: Africa?
Mr. T, with a hel-lo attitude: You know, like Lion King? What did you think I meant?
Well, duh.
Mr. T belchfest while I’m getting ready to put dinner on the table.
DynaGirl: Mr. T, please don’t eat the beans.
Mr. T: I have ways to make gas that you don’t even know of. I don’t need to eat the beans.
They’ve been telling us he’s gifted for years. They had no idea.
A friend of mine posted this on Facebook. Have you seen this?
Crap. I mean, fiddlesticks.
(Sorry about the freeze frame, BTW!)
I’ve been trying to figure out why I’ve been in such a blogging slump, and then it hit me: I haven’t been doing anything wacky lately. I’m in a slump of normality. That’s my problem. I’m sure it will pass. You can’t keep the crazy down forever.
Dumas’s tomb-sized tome is still too intimidating for me. On Madhousewife’s recommendation, I picked up Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day instead. It’s the story of an old-school English butler in postwar England as he reflects over his life and career. For the first quarter of the book I thought, “This is delightful.” By the end I was duly depressed. But in a delightful way. One of my favorite passages:
I had been rather pleased with my witticism when it had first come into my head, and I must confess I was slightly disappointed it had not been better received than it was. I was particularly disappointed, I suppose, because I have been devoting some time and effort over recent months to improving my skill in this very area. … You will perhaps appreciate then my disappointment concerning my witticism yesterday evening. At first, I had thought it possible its limited success was due to my not having spoken clearly enough. But then the possibility occurred to me, once I had retired, that I might actually have given these people offence. … But this small episode is as good an illustration as any of the hazards of uttering witticisms. By the very nature of a witticism, one is given very little time to assess its various possible repercussions before one is called to give voice to it, and one gravely risks uttering all manner of unsuitable things if one has not first acquired the necessary skill and experience.
See? Delightful. I highly recommend it. Unless, of course, you are feeling at all lonely or the slightest bit suicidal. I will definitely be reading more Ishiguro.
Last night I started Fitzgerald’s Tender Is the Night. I read The Great Gatsby last month, and while I found myself somewhat disgusted by and completely uninvested in any of the characters, I fell in love with Fitzgerald’s prose. It’s simply enchanting. At the front of the book is an introduction offering a few details of the novel in context with what was going on in Fitzgerald’s own life as he wrote it. Tragic. That seems to be a common theme, almost a requirement, really, among great writers’ biographies, which makes me think I should be grateful to not be a great writer. I’d like to keep my life as non-tragic as possible, thank you.
Speaking of which, I am off to the shower. I am acutely aware of my own stank, and I’m afraid any further delay would only end in tragedy. Happy Monday!
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