You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May, 2008.
Cheryl tagged me for a meme—my first ever! I think she was pretty sure I wouldn’t do it because it involves taking pictures of things. Personal things. Private things. Like personal refrigerators and private toilets. But I’m throwing caution to the wind and participating because what the hey, you only live twice. Or so it seems… (bonus points for identifying the line and extra bonus points for the next line)
#1 Kitchen sink
What can I say—you caught me on a good day. This is not normal. So very not normal.
#2 Inside fridge
Yes, I do actually have two Costco sized bags of Nestle semi-sweet chocolate chips. Right there on the middle shelf. Necessities of life, people. Necessities of life.
#3 Favorite shoes
I don’t know that these are my favorite, but I do wear them a lot. They’re comfortable. And I have a lot of brown, so they like go with stuff. I don’t like to anger the color coordination gods. Bad things happen.
#4 Closet
My closet is a black hole for all kinds of random crap. This picture really doesn’t do it justice. Thank heavens.
#5 Laundry pile
Again, you caught me on a good day. I have guests, remember. Or at least guest. I’ve been trying to be on my best behavior. The bedding is from departed guests. Dearly departed. Miss you already, Mad!
#6 What the kids are doing right now
I did not stage this. I swear on a stack of phone books. I don’t make this stuff up. I took this picture this afternoon.
#7 Favorite room
I considered shutting the tv cabinet doors for the picture, but then it would no longer be my favorite room. See that little white thing under the cabinet? It’s my wii fit, baby! And I like it! I love it! I’m going to tell you all about it next week.
#8 Toilet
Why? Why would anyone want to see this? I followed Cheryl’s lead and left the lid down. Just in case. I actually didn’t even check to see if the bowl was clean—I just assumed it was not. Looks like I need to take out the trash, too.
#9 Fantasy vacation
Chuck’s taken several business trips to Italy. Without me. I think I figured out one time that when you add up all his trips he’s lived in Italy for about 5 months. Without me. We’re supposed to be going next year. Together. These are a few of my favorite pictures he’s taken:
#10 Self portrait
And now, what you’ve all been waiting for—the big reveal!
So now I guess I’m supposed to tag people? Is that how this meme thing works? Hmmm…I tag Susan M (because she was just a little too relieved to not be tagged by Cheryl), Madhousewife, Boquinha, Jody, Patience and Alison. These are all the people who might read this who haven’t already been tagged by Cheryl. Did I miss anyone? It’s OK if you say, “I choose not to meme!” I’ll understand. Heck, I’ll even support your decision!
I got an earful at the bus stop today. Another little girl in Goose’s kindergarten line had all kinds of stories to tell.
Little kindergarten girl: Our car is a piece of junk.
Me: Oh, really?
LKG: Yeah, we had to push it all the way over here. Me and my mom. My little brothers stayed in the car and said weeeeee!
Me: That’s too bad.
LKG: I have this special rock to remember my cousin by.
Me: That’s a pretty rock.
LKG: He broke up with my mom.
Me: Your cousin broke up with your mom?
LKG: Yeah.
Me: That’s too bad.
LKG: And then he left with Corinne.
Me: Corinne?
LKG: Yeah. Corinne stomped on my mom’s heart and crushed it.
Me: That’s too bad.
I don’t even want to know what my kids are saying when I’m not around.
So I don’t really have time to write an actual post, but it’s been such a long weekend and I am loathe to neglect the blogging for too long, so I guess I’m just popping my head in to say “Hi, remember me? I’m still here!”
Most of my family have gone except for one—my younger sister. She is staying until Saturday, which is great because I hardly ever get to see her (I think it’s been three years since her last visit) but it also kind of throws off my routine. I’m not sure what we should do. What is she expecting from this visit? Do I need to entertain her? Will she be bored out of her mind and spend the next four days wondering why on God’s green earth she ever thought it would be a good idea to visit her wacko boring sister who’s wacko with the boringness and also boring, and then make a mental note to be sure not to return for at least another three years because sheesh it’s just so boring here? What to do, what to do. Maybe she’d like to mop my floors and clean my bathrooms? Good thing I’m fresh out of “how was your stay” comment cards—I’m not sure I would fair too well this time. We shall see…
What do you do when your relatives come to visit?
P.S. Had a lovely visit with the family. Madhousewife’s children were delightful! Well, the 2 am screaming on Friday night/Saturday morning (or was it Saturday night/Sunday morning) wasn’t particularly delightful, but it didn’t carry on for long—that I could tell. Anywho, all the cousins got along and I think everyone left without doors a slamming or wheels a peeling out of the driveway or vows of never again returning or hearty shouts of “So long, suckahs!”, so all in all I would call it a success!
So I don’t really have a Friday Funny for you. Not in the comic strip sense anyway. I’ve been trying to get ready for the boatload of relatives I have coming in this weekend, including Madhousewife, so I’ve been neglecting the blog. I’ve been neglecting the blog so I can do more important things like clean my laundry room, organize my pantry and de-clutter my bedroom because you know how much time houseguests spend in those places. I still haven’t cleaned by bathrooms or mopped my floor, but really, how many times are houseguests likely to need to use the bathroom or walk on the floor in a 3-day period?
But as for the Friday funny, I will leave you with this moment I had with DynaGirl yesterday:
I started painting the downstairs vaulted entry last August. I got about halfway up the wall and only to the start of the stairs and then stopped, and for some reason (well, a plethora of reasons actually) have not gotten back to the project yet.
DynaGirl: You really should start painting again.
Me: Yeah, we have lots to do to finish.
DynaGirl: Doesn’t painting help get you fit?
Me, turning to look at her
DynaGirl: What?
Me, starting to chuckle
DynaGirl: I wasn’t trying to say you aren’t fit already.
Me, still chuckling and shaking my head
DynaGirl: But didn’t you say painting is good exercise? Not that you need to exercise. I just mean…
Yeah, yeah. I know what you mean.
DynaGirl’s gotten back into horses lately. She used to be all about the horses. Horses this. Horses that. Loved, loved, loved the horses. And then she moved onto puppies. But the horses are back.
And I’m so glad because when I got home from running my errands yesterday I found this:
With this note on the back:
I love you Mom. I drew these prettyfull poney picter for you because I noticed last time you really liked them. When are you coming home it seems like FOREVER!
Love,
DynaGirl
P.S. did I mention I love you?
She also draws amazingly adorable puppies, but I love these prettyfull poneys. Oh, and did I mention the unicorns?
DynaGirl pointed out to me yesterday that all of her unicorn pictures have a path in them. I can’t wait to go down the path with her.
Last week I met some friends for breakfast. I had to take BigHugs with me because my regular sitter was going to the breakfast too. Why she didn’t offer to stay home and watch my kid so I could dine in peace, I just don’t know. I got BigHugs all psyched up for the restaurant trip with a promise of pancakes. Pancakes are one of the few things that BigHugs with actually eat. On occasion.
Incidentally, I had to stop at the school on the way to give DynaGirl her glasses—she had forgotten them again. The last time she had forgotten them we were at the bus stop and I thought there was a reasonable chance I could run back to the house and get them and be back before the bus got there. So I handed off BigHugs to my neighbor and ran home. Ran. Like all the way. Holy cow. If I ever had any doubt that I could use a little cardio…I stumbled around the house panting heavily and trying not to pass out while I looked for her glasses. I finally found them and then ran back to the bus stop. I was wrecked for the rest of the day. So this time when DynaGirl told me at the bus stop that she had forgotten her glasses I said, “Dude, I can’t run all the way back home again. I”ll never make it. I’ll just have to bring them to you at school.” So I did, but as we pulled into the school parking lot BigHugs said, “Hey! This isn’t the estwant—this is a school!” She thought I was trying to pull a fast one on her, but I reassured her it was just a quick stop on the way.
So back at the restaurant I perused the menu and decided on the Denver omelette for myself with the sourdough toast (mmm…sourdough) and then tried to find some pancakes for BigHugs. I had been to this restaurant once before and my friend had ordered some eggs with a side of pancakes. These pancakes were like the size of my head. Nay, bigger than my head (and I have a healthy sized noggin!) They were a foot in diameter if they were an inch. My friend got about a third of the way through hers before she decided she really needed to just. stop. eating. So she heavily sprinkled pepper over the remaining portion to ensure that she would. I thought that was an interesting strategy.
So I knew I did not want a “side” of pancakes, but I couldn’t see a kid’s menu anywhere. I asked the waitress, “Do you have a kid’s menu?” She said that they did, and I told her I really just wanted a kid’s size pancake and could I just order that on the side with my breakfast? Then she said, “Well, the kid’s pancakes are the same size as the regular pancakes.” What? What?! What child is going to eat a 1 lb pancake?
I had promised BigHugs the pancake, so the pancake she got. I think she ate about 1/20th of it. I was thinking, couldn’t the “chef” have just made me a smaller pancake? How hard would that be? You just pour less batter, right? I would have been totally willing to go back there and say “when”. I really thought it was strange that it was impossible for them to give me a normal human sized pancake.
I have two beefs from this experience. 1) Nobody uses common sense these days and everyone is so inflexible—like the world will end if you deviate from your set protocal of pancake portioning. I just want a smaller pancake, is that so wrong? Or hard? Just make it smaller! I’ll even pay the same amount, if that’s what you’re worried about. And 2) Why the freak does anyone need to be eating this much food? I’m sorry, but no adult needs to be eating platter-sized pancakes, let alone a child.
And we wonder why America is so fat.
Getting breakfast on the table.
Mom: Goose, what do you want for breakfast?
Goose, in a dreamy voice: I want a sparkle pony.
Mom: What do you want to eat?
Goose, same dreamy voice: I want a unicorn with beautiful, flowing hair.
Mom: Are you going to eat breakfast or not?
Goose, dreamy voice bordering on creepy: I want a rainbow that poops butterflies out.
Mom: Seriously!
Goose: I guess I’ll just have toast. Sheesh!
Sheesh!
At the breakfast table:
DynaGirl: Why didn’t you jump on the trampoline with us yesterday, Mr. T? It was so fun with the sprinkler under it.
Goose: Yeah, we missed you. It was so fun.
Mr. T.: I didn’t really feel like getting wet and I was kinda tired.
DynaGirl: Darn you for being tired. Darn you to heck.
I, of course, have no idea where she gets this stuff.
Mr. T: Can we play the wii today? If we promise not to play anything violent where we kill people and eat their faces off? Then in a creepy trance-like voice: I like eating people’s faces off.
For the record, we do not have any games where you kill people and then eat their faces off. That I know of anyway.
Getting dressed for church.
DynaGirl, in her nightshirt: I’m not wearing any pants. But I am wearing underwear.
Mom: Thank goodness for that.
DynaGirl: What if I wasn’t wearing any underwear?
Mom: That would be gross.
DynaGirl: OK. Glad we had this conversation.
Me too.
It’s funny ’cause it’s true. And also sad.
I came across this in the paper the other day:
How exactly is this an honor?
Every time I scrape off the bottom of my shoe, flush that tissue-encased crumpled body or chuck that gut-encrusted newspaper in the trash, I’ll think of you, Neil. I love you, man! sniff.
Susan, maybe you could weigh in on this.
And I think this one was in the paper on the same day:
Notice how employee Kristen Nestor talks about the skull as if it’s an actual person.
There’s one in every new age store. At least one.
Finally, you’ve all probably seen this by now, but it practically demands to be mentioned with the previous two:
I’m sorry, but if you belong to a religious order based on fictional extraterrestrial monk-ish knight characters who record themselves in light saber battles in their spare time, wouldn’t you think a Darth Vader attack inevitable? Wouldn’t you almost see it coming?
But then, of course, the dark side clouds everything. Impossible to see the future is.
So I had been debating whether or not to call the restaurant. Maybe this was a prime opportunity to break this vicious cycle of obsessiveness over insignificant lost items and just get a life already? I could just accept the fact that I had lost a child’s jacket, right? And anyway, was it worth the risk of getting my hopes up only to have them dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks of reality?
But I took a friend’s advice and called the restaurant. A lovely woman answered the phone.
Me: Um, yeah, I was in there the other night with my family and I wondered if maybe I, uh, left behind my daughter’s jacket. Do you have like a lost and found or something?
Lovely restaurant woman: I’ll check. Just a minute.
Four minutes la-tare…
Seriously, I was sitting on the phone forever. Had we been disconnected? Were there really that many items in the lost and found? This is one of our favorite little hole-in-the-wall family type restaurants that rarely has another soul in site when we go to dine—everyone who had ever been there in the last year would had to have left multiple items behind in order to explain the length of time it was taking LRW to check. My girls were watching TV. I heard an advertisement for the Indiana Jones sound FX whip in the backgroud with the Da-da-da-da, Da-da-daaaaaaa, Da-da-da-da, Da-da-da-da-daaaaaa and images of warehouses with eternal rows of shelves a la Raiders of the Lost Ark were conjured up in my mind and I began to feel myself slipping into a snake-pit of despair. Even if we had left the jacket at the restaurant, it would never be seen by human eyes again!!!
Restaurant Man, maybe Jorge—I like Jorge: Hello?
Me: Uh, yes, I was calling about a lost jacket?
RM: OK, I’ll have somebody check. pause. What color was it?
Me: Pink.
RM: Is it Old Navy?
Me, trying to compose myself long enough to answer without coming off like a total spaz: Yes! Uh, yes, I think that’s it. Um, what are your hours today?
RM: We’re open until 9:30 pm.
Me: OK, thanks.
I immediately hung up and then dialed Chuck’s cell.
Me: Guess what? It was at the restaurant!
Chuck: All right! Good. See? Are you feeling better now?
Me: Yes, except I’m embarrassed about being such a spaz.
Chuck: So she was wearing a pink jacket with a purple outfit.
Me: Yes. That must be why—the color coordination gods must have been sending me some kind of warning. I won’t make that mistake again.
Chuck: So did you pick it up?
Me: No, they’re open until 9:30 tonight. I can get it anytime.
Chuck: Maybe you should just take the girls now and go get it.
Me: There’s no rush. I know where it is. Crisis averted. I think we can move back down to defcon 2.
Chuck: So I can come home now?
Me: Yeah, yeah…whatever. I’ll see you later. pause. Thanks, sweetie.
Chuck: Yep.
I managed to wait 1 hour and 9 minutes before throwing the kids in the car and heading down to the restaurant. I had a nagging little thought in the back of my mind that there was still a possibility that it wasn’t actually BigHugs’s pink jacket. I mean obviously from the conversation I had with the Kohl’s lady I should assume that there’s some kind of little girls losing pink jackets epidemic in our area—I should be careful not to count my jackets before they hatch. But then I walked into the restaurant and Holy hot dog on a stick sweet mother moses, there it was! I had it in my hot little hands!!!
And *sniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiifff* mmmmm….it smells like fajitas.
You should already know I’m a little wacked by now, but just in case you weren’t completely convinced or have attempted to explain away my last trip to Crazy Town as a one time experience perhaps induced by the consumption of large quantities of frosted circus animals, let me assure you that is not the case. I feel I owe it to you, faithful reader, to be completely up front with my psychoses—how else are we to maintain our circle of trust if not through total honesty? Subterfuge has no place among virtual friends. I reserve that kind of deceit for those who know me in person, who might feel somewhat uneasy about my nutjobbiness. But you people can feel comfortable and safe on the other side of cyberspace—I don’t even know where most of you live yet.
BigHugs’s pink jacket is lost.
Yesterday as I was getting BigHugs ready to go out for some errands I realized it wasn’t in the coat closet. She was wearing jeans and a shirt with pink stripes, so naturally I went for the pink jacket rather than the purple because well, you know. But it wasn’t there. I looked on our entry bench, but it wasn’t there. I looked all downstairs and upstairs, but it was nowhere to be found. Then I thought it must be in the van. I’m forever leaving random jackets in the van because either the weather’s iffy and I’m bringing them along just in case or because even though it’s chilly enough to need a jacket outside, the van has warmed up sufficiently while we were in the store that BigHugs or some other child of mine is now suffocatingly hot and must relieve themselves of their outerwear before they faint dead away on the car ride home.
I grabbed her purple jacket and headed out the door and didn’t really think anything of it. Until last night when I finally realized that I didn’t remember seeing that pink jacket in the car afterall. I went back out to the car. It wasn’t there. (I actually went out to check the car four different times, the last time opening the door on the other side of the van hoping that a different perspective would somehow make the jacket miraculously reappear.) I came back inside and started asking the family if they had seen BigHugs’s pink jacket. Did they remember the last time she had worn it? Chuck thought he remembered her having it Monday night when we went out to dinner.
Me: But she was wearing the purple outfit on Monday. I remember she got rice all smushed into her pant leg. I would probably have put the purple jacket on her with the purple outfit.
Chuck: I was pretty sure I remembered her wearing the pink jacket. I remember her complaining about her straps being too tight when I put her in her carseat. But now that you mention the purple outfit, I’m beginning to doubt myself.
Me: She definitely wore it on Sunday.
Chuck: What did she wear to church on Sunday?
Me: She was wearing the brown skirt with the pink top and pink socks and brown shoes. I obviously would have put the pink jacket on her. I must have left it at church.
Chuck: I would have put it in the church bag. I always put it in the church bag when I take it off.
Me: But it’s not in the church bag. I’ve already looked. Maybe it fell out of the church bag. Figures. I spent like 10 minutes after church on Sunday running around returning random stupid belongings to stupid people that had left them behind in the stupid primary room. We even ran Sarah’s stupid jacket over to her stupid house for crying out loud and I left my own child’s stupid jacket at the stupid church. Of course. Of course I did! But why? Why would I do that?!
After I yelled at all the kids to brush their teeth and get their pajamas on, Chuck left the room and went upstairs. I felt bad. Yesterday was our anniversary (fourteen years!) and here I was all beside myself over a silly lost jacket and driving my poor husband away. He came downstairs a few moments later. He had gone upstairs to change out of his pajama pants and into jeans. It dawned on me as he was putting on his shoes that he was going over to the church to get the jacket.
Me: You don’t have to go to the church. It’s no big deal. I can go tomorrow.
Chuck: I’m already dressed and it will only take 10 minutes.
Me: No, really, don’t go. I’ll stop obsessing over it, I promise. I’ll just go tomorrow.
Chuck: I’ll be back in a few minutes. Where do you I look again?
Me: I would think it would have to be in the primary room or the chapel overflow. But seriously, I can look tomorrow. Really, I can wait.
Chuck: OK, see you in a minute.
Me: Or maybe it’s in the library lost and found?
Chuck called a few minutes later. My heart raced. He had found the jacket and was calling to put my sad little crazy mind at ease. But no. He couldn’t find the jacket. Had he checked in the primary room? Under the table in the primary room where I usually stash all our junk? On the hooks outside of the primary room? In the library lost and found? In the chapel overflow? On the coat racks down the halls? Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes and yes. It wasn’t there. Oh where could it be?!
He came home and I tried to retrace my steps again. Maybe she had worn the jacket on Monday. I had gone to Kohl’s. Maybe we left it there. I got out Sunday’s Kohl’s add to check the store hours. It was open until 10 pm and it was 9:30 pm, so naturally I got out the phone book and called the store.
Me: Do you have a lost and found?
Kohl’s lady: Yes, did you lose something?
Me, resisting the urge to say “duh”: Yes, I was in a few days ago and think I might have lost a little girl’s pink jacket there.
Kohl’s lady: OK, I’ll go look in the box. Just a minute. pause. OK, I do have a little girl’s pink jacket. Hallelujah! It has a crest of somekind…uh…um…could you maybe describe the jacket?
Wait, did she honestly think I was some weirdo stealing person calling up random stores and reporting random missing items in the hopes of getting lucky and scoring myself a little girl’s pink jacket? Really?
Me, playing along: This would be just a plain pink sweatshirt type zip up jacket. I think it’s from Old Navy and it would probably be size 3T.
Kohl’s lady: Sorry, this one is OshKosh and has a crest on the front.
Me: Oh, OK, thanks.
My hopes were dashed. What are the odds that they would have a little girl’s pink jacket when I was looking for a little girl’s pink jacket? And then have it turn out to not be mine?! Oh the bitter irony!
It was late and I still hadn’t gotten the kids to bed. I grilled them one more time. Had anyone seen the jacket? Do they remember if she was wearing the pink or the purple jacket when we went to the restaurant? Mr. T thought she was either wearing the purple jacket or no jacket at all. Chuck thought maybe she hadn’t been wearing a jacket afterall. But that didn’t make any sense. It was cold. I had been wearing a jacket. Chuck had been wearing a jacket. Of course we would have put BigHugs in a jacket. What kind of parents did he think we were? Maybe the jacket fell off the booth seat onto the floor while we were at the restaurant. But why would we have left without putting the jacket on? It was cold, remember?!
We had family prayers and Mr. T asked God to please bless that BigHugs’s jacket would turn up soon. And then I said goodnight to all the kids and they each in turn said that they hoped we would find BigHugs’s jacket before heading upstairs with their dad who was tucking them in because mom was still beside herself and obviously in no state for bedtime stories. I sat on the couch and wondered what on earth was wrong with me.
Chuck came back downstairs and again apologized for the lost jacket and not being able to find it.
Me: It’s so stupid. It’s a jacket. She’ll outgrow it in a few months anyway. It doesn’t matter.
And here’s where survival mode kicks in, folks. I can a) try to convince myself that the jacket was indeed too small and virtually unwearable anyways and go out and buy another jacket (it will have to be in a bigger size, of course, to keep up the illusion that this whole scenario is actually plausible) or b) concoct an outrageous story of how the jacket was lost and cannot possibly ever be found and how grateful I should be that we escaped with our lives and that all we lost was a jacket that needed to be replaced anyways because it was getting too small.
I choose b) a lot. It’s my coping mechanism of choice and not just for lost items. For example, whenever I start to feel down about putting on a few pounds I just pretend that I once weighed 500 pounds and have lost like 350 pounds, so of course now I look absolutely fabulous despite the fact I’m carrying an extra 20 pounds around. Hel-lo, what’s 20 lbs to 350?
So with the jacket, perhaps we were involved in a near fatal car accident. I lost control of the van after swerving to avoid a family of ducks crossing the road and we flew off the side of an embankment, narrowly escaping the raging river waters below, sending all of the loose articles in our vehicle flying in all directions and out the open windows, including BigHugs’s pink jacket, before miraculously landing to safety on a floating boat dock.
I’m not sure I’m convinced. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a family of ducks around here and I’m fairly certain there are no raging rivers or floating boat docks between here and church or Kohl’s or the restaurant. And how did we get the van off the floating boat dock? It’s not quite right yet—the slightest Christopher-Reeve-penny-in-the-pocket off detail and the whole scenario will come crashing down like a house of cards, and I’ll be doomed to a fate of staring blankly out windows until I cease to exist. Although, perhaps then I could be reunited with the pink jacket.
Help me. Give me a more plausible story to explain the jacket’s disappearance so I can go on. You go ahead and work on that while I look up the number to the restaurant.
So I bought a bag of those Mother’s pink and white frosted circus animal cookies as a treat for the kids that came over to my house for lunch with their moms yesterday. They didn’t eat any. Guess who’s eating them? And I don’t even understand why because as I’m putting them in my mouth I’m thinking to myself, “These aren’t even good. They’re too sweet and they’ve got sprinkles.” I hate sprinkles. But I can’t stop myself. It’s like I’m possessed. Mother’s Circus Animal Cookies are of the devil.
What’s your snack food from hell of choice?
Someone wants to know:
can you snort spice?
Yes, freak, you probably can. But don’t. Just don’t.
That is all.
P.S. What kind of spice?
So yesterday was Mother’s Day and I’d say all in all it was a good day. My family showered me with hugs and kisses and kind wishes. Oh, and the presents! I made quite a haul this year. DynaGirl gave me a potted plant and Goose gave me her handprint—both were school projects. The kids also created a scavenger hunt with clues that took me all over the house and finally ended with a card from all of them. Actually, I ended up with a plethora of cards this year—at least eight, I think.
And Chuck, in a grand gesture of motherly/wifely appreciation, presented me with all seven seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Because nothing says “You’re the greatest Mom!” like 144 hours of vampire-staking, demon butt-kicking, hellmouth opening-closing Buffster goodness! She says as she wipes the tear from her eye.
But that’s not all—Goose spent the day serenading me with impromptu musical numbers.
In the bathtub.
Scrub-a-scrub-scrub
I’m scrubbing my foot
You smell like my foot
No, you smell like my shoe
the bottom of my shoe
and the top of my shoe
and the insi-e-i-e-i-e-idddddddd-duh!
And while I was getting ready. Imagine with booty-appropriate melody and interpretive choreography throughout.
I’m shaking my boo-ty.
You can do anything with your booty.
You can sit with them
watch TV with them
You can lay an egg like a chicken
and all the other animals that lay eggs with them.
Boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-boo-booties!You can walk with them
You can launch with them
You can fire in the hole with them
You can see with them
You can smell with them
You can talk with them (interrupts melody here, bends over and says “Hello, I am a buttocks.”)You can even hug your mom with them! (rubs bootie against mom’s leg)
You can do anything, anything, anything, anything!
With booties!!!
Yeah, I’m pretty much the luckiest woman in the world.
What did you do for Mother’s Day?
We’ve been reading a book of Calvin and Hobbes strips to the kids at bedtime. These made me smile.
Getting Goose ready for school.
Goose: I want my hair in two pony tails.
Mom: OK, go and get the comb and two pony tailers.
Goose, admiring her hair in the mirror: How come you never wear your hair in two pony tails? Or comb it?
Oh, and because I’ve just discovered how to post youtube clips:
Happy Mother’s Day!
Have you seen this? In. Sane.
How much do you s’pose you can make as a “stuffer”?
Today’s shaping up to be a busy day, but I didn’t want y’all (yes, I said “y’all” and I’m not from the south—deal with it) to feel neglected, so here are a few more crazy search terms hits I’ve gotten since the last time we talked about this:
my higienist loves me—You too? It’s kind of weird, right?
sock monkey bathroom sets—Uh, seriously? There’s like an actual market for this?
where did lbs come from—What exactly do you mean by this? I’m trying to decide whether or not to be offended. It is a choice, you know.
pap smear funny lines—Is this for some kind of stand-up act? Because if you’re looking for material on the internet you might run into some proprietary issues. Or are you just looking to ease the tension at your next womanly appointment? Yeah, uh, let me know how that works out for ya.
oh woes me—Ditto, man. Ditto. And not to kick you when you’re down or anything, but I’m pretty sure it’s oh woe is me.
So feel free to share any new hits you’ve gotten since we last talked. You can post them here in the comments section or write your own post and let me know and I’ll link to it. Here are some other crazy search terms posts inspired by my first effort:
All search engines lead to the Giraffe
I didn’t inspire this one, but she was nice enough to leave a link on my comments and it’s definitely worth checking out:
OK, now go have your fun, but don’t forget to come back and tell us all about it.
And here’s a little PB to get you off and running.
Watching American Idol contestants forget their lyrics this season, I’ve thought if they could just think a little faster on their feet they could totally make something up and throw it in there and most people probably wouldn’t even notice (actual words, though, not just some da-di-da’s or hmm-mmm’s). I mean how many times have you discovered you’ve spent the last several years singing the wrong words to songs?
Here are just a few from personal/family experience that I can think of off the top of my head:
My mom used to sing this They Might Be Giants song:
Don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start. I’ve got an aardvark.
And the right line:
Don’t, don’t, don’t let’s start. This is the worst part.
With TMBG “aardvark” would almost make more sense.
Here’s one from my girls doing Ashlee Simpson:
Pieces, pieces, pieces of meat.
And of course the right, more PETA friendly line:
Pieces, pieces, pieces of me.
Too bad, the “meat” makes the song much more interesting.
My husband singing along to Angels and Airwaves:
I cannot live, I can’t breathe unless Judith’s with me.
But really:
I cannot live, I can’t breathe unless you do this with me.
Judith, you’re so vain I betcha think this song is about you. Sorry.
Again, my girls (and me, to be honest) with Avril Lavigne:
It’s a damp cold night.
But she’s really saying (gasp!):
It’s a damn cold night.
I haven’t bothered to tell my girls the real line.
For years I had no idea what Seal was saying here:
Baby, to me you’re like a bowl of dictionaries that I can’t die.
I had to look it up online:
Baby, to me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny.
OK, I guess that makes more sense.
And 500 cool points to whoever can give me the right line and band for this one (also courtesy of my mom):
That’s what my heart yearns for now—when doves cry.
Hint: it’s not Prince.
So what lyrics have you been singing wrong all these years?
BigHugs practices the fine art of kid joke telling
BigHugs: Knock, knock.
Me: Who’s there?
BigHugs: BigHugs.
Me: BigHugs who?
BigHugs: BigHugs.
Duh, Mom.
BigHugs new parting greeting
BigHugs: Bye, bye alligator!
Close enough.
Some of you may remember this conversation I had with DynaGirl last week. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately and wishing that I did have that kind of power to make all the hurt and sucky stuff go away.
Mr. T had a rough night last night—just seemed a little out of sorts—and when I went to tuck him in I saw that he was really upset. He’s not the easiest kid to talk to. You kind of have to wheedle things out of him. But the gist of the conversation was that he felt like he had no friends and the kids that were supposed to be his friends were now picking on him.
He has his emotional times and he’s at that stage of life where he’s getting ready to fall into the abyss of puberty and adolescence, so I’m not sure how much of this is real and how much is the sucks-to-be-me middle school blues. Either way, he’s unhappy and I don’t know that I can do anything about it.
DynaGirl came running in our room at 2 am this morning completely beside herself over a nightmare she’d had. She said her class was performing the play they’ve been working on when someone came in the classroom with a gun and shot everyone. What really gets to me is that I don’t even know that this could be considered an irrational fear anymore—this actually happens.
Goose didn’t want to go to school this morning. She’s not much of a morning person anyway, but this morning she was just kind of sad. It seems her BFF hasn’t wanted to be her recess buddy lately, and she misses Michael—her first kindergarten crush that moved away a couple months ago. I’m fairly certain she’ll come home happy today with a new crush du jour and beaming with stories of her recess antics with the BFF, but I’m just as certain she has many more of these sad moments ahead, too.
On a lighter note, BigHugs has found her voice. We’ve been calling her our “mellow” child and thought we had breezed through this terrible twos stage, but as an older grandmotherly friend told me yesterday, she’s on to the thundering threes. She wants things. And she wants them now. She can go from 0 to pissed off in 0.62 seconds. Folks, I feel a storm a comin’.
So Chuck and I went to see the U23D IMAX last weekend.
It. Was. Awesome.
I really didn’t know anything about the movie—I figured it was some kind of rockumentary with concert clips interspersed with interviews—and I wasn’t sure what to expect with the 3D element. Well people, this was no rockumentary, it was a concert experience—the Buenos Aires stop on the Vertigo Tour to be exact.
From the beginning of the show, you become an active participant from moving through the venue turnstiles to running to get your place on the general admission floor to trying to see around people riding on shoulders and holding up digital cameras and cell phones for pics to having Bono sing right to you on the front row. You are one with the other thousands of screaming fans.
We weren’t even 5 minutes into the movie before I turned to Chuck and said, “This is cool.”
You feel like you’re right there, only these aren’t just front row seats, you’re a fly on the wall. Or the stage. Or one of those huge light fixture things. You’re looking over Larry’s shoulder as he’s pounding out the beat. You’re feeling the reverb from Adam’s amp. You’re tapping your foot with The Edge. And Bono?
During Sunday Blood Sunday, dude, Bono wiped my tears away.
Somewhat relevant aside: I was a freshman in high school watching the Where the Streets Have No Name video and I said to my mom, “I don’t know what it is about Bono. I mean, he’s not particularly gorgeous when you just look at him, but once he starts singing and moving around…I dunno.” To which she replied, “It’s called sex appeal, sweetheart.” And of course I was like, “Mom, ew.” But she was a mother who knew.
Having never been to a U2 concert, I had only heard about the kind of production they put on. It’s really quite a set up and fairly theatrical at moments—Bono especially. The 3D is put to good use here as well with words and images popping off the screen stage (I started to say screen, but you’re really not aware of the screen the entire time).
My neighbor went to see them last time they were here in Seattle—the show Chuck and I couldn’t bring ourselves to shell out the $300 to see. When I asked her how it was she said, “It was a good show, but Bono is just so political.”
Um…
So to sum up, in the name of love, you must see this movie. You would have to think U2 is the suckiest group of sucking suckers who ever sucked to not like this show. And if you do, well, I’ll go on living with or without you.
Last night’s episode of The Office had my husband and me chuckling pretty good. I especially love Darryl and wish they could work him into more scenes. His advice to Michael based on his “black” experiences are always classic moments. I was just a little bit disappointed that Michael never tried to implement the fluffy fingers strategy in his confrontation with Stanley—I kept waiting for it to happen, but it never did. Oh well. It was still a good night for The Office with several laugh out loud funny lines.
Any favorite lines last night?
Chuck and I aren’t big concert goers. We each attended a few in earlier days, but since we’ve been married we’ve only been to one concert together and that’s mostly because we have a hard time forking out the dough for tickets. We were tempted to see U2 a couple of years ago, but couldn’t bring ourselves to pay the $300 for tickets when there were so many other things we could use the money for, like piano lessons and braces and food. But Susan M’s Foo Fighters post over at Kulturblog inspired me to check out their touring dates—they’re going to be here in July and we’re going. We’re not die hard FF fans, but we like them and think it should be a good show, plus the tickets were only about $40 each—bonus!
Have you seen anyone lately? What has been your favorite/most memorable concert?
I actually don’t think this week’s Friday funny is all that funny (or funny at all, like most comics these days) except that I had this conversation with Goose two nights ago:
Goose: I’m hungry. I need a snack.
Me: OK, go see what you can find.
Ten minutes later.
Me: Did you ever get that snack? Do you need some help?
Goose: No, I’m all done. I had six tic tacs.
Me: Tic tacs are not a snack.
Goose: Why not? You eat them.
What do you say—are tic tacs food?
Mom: Goose, hold still for half a second so I can get your hair ready for bed!
Mr. T: echoing me from upstairs
Mr. T comes downstairs and I give him the look.
Mr. T, with his most innocent who me? face: I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just repeating what you said in a more humorous way.
I let him have that one—props for creativity.
Just hanging out.
DynaGirl: Why does this postcard have a picture of pants jump roping on it? PAP smeeeears!
Me and Chuck: chuckling
DynaGirl: What? Why are you laughing? What’s pap smears?
Me: It’s a womanly type exam. Like for women.
DynaGirl: But why is there a picture of pants?
Me, now somewhat flustered: I don’t know. Probably because the exam is in the general area that would be covered by what the pants would wear.
DynaGirl: Huh?
Me: Nevermind.
Chuck, amused: Are you getting some good material for your blog?
DynaGirl, with horrified look on her face: I don’t want to be embarrassed on the internet!
Oops.
But seriously, what is up with this postcard?
Recent Comments