Archive | October, 2009

Bythelbs presents: Classic Moments in Motherhood

29 Oct

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:

 

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Me:  What was this for?

DynaGirl:  Oh, that’s just a rough rough draft of something.

Yeah, rough.

Rough draft?

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Brain freeze

28 Oct

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?

Every day is Mother’s Time Day

26 Oct

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.

Makes you think

21 Oct

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook.  Have you seen this?

Crap.  I mean, fiddlesticks.

(Sorry about the freeze frame, BTW!)

The Remains of the Blog

19 Oct

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!

Midnight epiphanies

16 Oct

I’ve been taking the week off.  Apparently.

I’m tired.  I stayed up way too late last night.  I realized as I was finally dragging myself up the stairs to go to bed that I had been avoiding going to bed because of what comes next.  (No, not that.  Or that.)  You go to bed and then the next thing you know it’s time to get up.  You have to get up and do stuff, like get kids ready for school and make lunches and clean the house for the 7 year old that’s going to be coming over for a play date in the afternoon.

While I was brushing my teeth for bed, I was wondering what the kids would want in their lunches.  I’m not exactly sure why this thought popped into my head.  Believe me, I don’t spend excessive amounts of time (and by excessive, I mean any) worrying about what my kids are going to eat for lunch.  But I wondered if Mr. T was going to want another cup o’ noodles.  He’s been taking chicken flavor cup o’ noodles pretty much every day for the past month or so.  You’d think he’d be sick of the cup o’noodles by now, but apparently not.

He’s like his father that way, I guess.  Chuck gets chicken teriyaki every Tuesday with his coworkers.  They even call it Teriyaki Tuesday.  He’s always sure to have the correct change in his wallet the night before, so he won’t miss out on Teriyaki Tuesday.  (Apparently, the Teriyaki Tuesday Master does not make change.)  Not only does he eat chicken teriyaki every Tuesday, he always has leftovers that he sticks in the fridge for Wednesday.  So he’s eating chicken teriyaki every Tuesday and every Wednesday.  He’s been doing this for years.

Occasionally we get take-out on the weekends.  Sometimes he suggests getting chicken teriyaki.  I remind him that he’s already had chicken teriyaki twice during the week and question why he would want to have that yet again.  He insists that he loves chicken teriyaki and will never get tired of it.  This makes no sense to me.  For a while I was giving him a hard time about it.  He would not be swayed.  I finally gave up.  Who was I to come between a man and his chicken teriyaki? 

Last night, as I was brushing my teeth and thinking about Mr. T and his chicken flavor cup o’noodles and Chuck and his (presumably) chicken flavor chicken teriyaki, it struck me: in Chuck’s life, I am his chicken teriyaki.  It seems unwise to try to convince him that any man in his right mind would be sick of the chicken teriyaki by now.  I should be grateful that he’s still enamored of his chicken teriyaki and not try to encourage him to go for the prime rib or something.  This pasture’s plenty green.

Do you ever fear for the future of our civilization?

9 Oct

What’s wrong with this picture?

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I’m seriously considering dumping Dumas’ full-length masterpiece for the abridged version.  Unfortunately, my local library does not appear to carry the abridged version.  I decided to look for it on Amazon, and thought while I was there I would read a few reviews to see if there were any strong opinions about reading the abridged v. unabridged editions.  One reviewer said, “I loved the beginning of this book… Dumas sets the whole thing up perfectly. It was entertaining, entrawling and a great story.”

 

On Wednesday, I volunteered in Goose’s classroom.  She’s a second grader in a 2nd/3rd grade split.  The teacher had me grading math papers while she gave some writing instruction.  She was talking to the kids about different ways you can begin a story (e.g. setting, dialogue, action), and provided her own examples of how to begin the same story using these three methods.  Her action story start:  “Heather and I jumped on our bikes and peddled down the street as fast as we could.”

 

Last year, DynaGirl’s teacher had “Daily Schedual” posted on the wall.  Laminated.  

 

Sigh.