Wordless Wednesday – Peekaboo!

23 03 2011

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Like Buttah

5 03 2011

Y’all remember how we read about space every night, right? Currently we’re reading The Atlas of the Universe, which Big G checked out from the library. What, doesn’t your kid head straight for the kids’ reference section at the library?

For your edification, I’d like to share some moments from tonight’s story time.

Car: Venus is the hottest planet…blah blah blah…would melt there like butter.
Me: Wait, what would melt like butter?
Car: A bar of solid lead.
Me: Oh. I thought maybe they said a human being.
Car: Thank you so much for that visual.
Me: Hee!
Big G: Mom, you would die on Venus.

A little bit later…

Car: Jupiter is bigger…blah blah blah…deep atmosphere….blah blah blah…small moons.
Me: So Jupiter is the biggest planet?
Car: As I just read: “Jupiter is bigger and more massive than all the other planets put together.”
Me: Shut up. I have ADD.

A little bit later…

Car: The farthest planet from the sun is Neptune. It is almost the same size as Uranus.
Me: BWAHAHAHAHAH!
Car: *glares at me* Someone is a little punchy tonight.

A little bit later…

Car: The Solar System…blah blah blah…created when a cloud of gas and dust called a nebula started to shrink under its own gravity.
Me: There was shrinkage!
Car: *glares at me*

I love story time.

*This post brought to you by the letters A, D, and D.
**Yes, I know it doesn’t make sense to have D twice. Shut up.
***Fritter, anyone?





Go Right to the Source

31 12 2010

Mr. Ed will totally eat your brains.

At bedtime last night, Car was (for some reason that I cannot, for the life of me, remember) singing the theme song to Mr. Ed. Except he was singing it totally wrong. If you know anything about me, you already know I had to immediately rectify this by singing the entire theme song. Yes, I have it memorized. Shut up. I also know the theme songs to Gumby, Green Acres, Small Wonder, Silver Spoons, Who’s The Boss, Growing Pains, Gummi Bears, G. I. Joe, Transformers, and The Greatest American Hero, to name just a few.

Don’t even get me started on the theme songs for the cartoons my kids watch.

I’m pretty sure this is why I’ve been unsuccessful in college thus far. There’s no room left in my brain.

After I finished singing the Mr. Ed song, Car said, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person I know who can sing that whole song.” Well, obviously that’s wrong. After all, he knows my father, and I guarantee my father can sing it. But it got me to thinking (a dangerous pastime, I know), which made me decide it’s time for a little reader poll!





The Gingerbread House of Amontillado

21 12 2010

The boys spent Monday with my parents. A good time was had by all, including the construction of a lovely gingerbread house. Big G is particularly proud of this dwelling and comments on it regularly. (He also touches it regularly, which is okay since I’m of the school of thought that gingerbread houses are for decorative purposes only. Car disagrees.)

Tonight Big G said something about a person in the house, but then made sure to point out there wasn’t actually anyone in the house.

“That’s good,” I said, “I’d hate to think there was a little man trapped in there.”

This, of course, led to a conversation with Car:

Me: “It would be awesome to build a gingerbread house with a little man inside. He’d be, like, entombed. It’d be a gingerbread tomb.
Car: “It could be a tradition. We’d do it every year.”
Me: “I don’t know, though. It seems a little macabre.”

But still, at this point I’m finding the whole idea hilarious and pretty darn fantastic. Very Edgar Allan Poe, if you will. I’m imagining little Lego men chained down inside of gingerbread houses, possibly walled off, maybe toss in a black cat.

Yes. I have issues.

As I’m mentally headed down this road, Car says, “You know, it’d probably be more appropriate for Easter.”

Wait, what?

This, friends, illustrates one of the key differences between Car and me. I’m thinking of Edgar Allan Poe stories featuring people entombed whilst still alive, and Car is thinking of ways to teach our kids about the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Hey, parenting is all about balance.

No, this does not prove he learned about zombies from me. Totally different subject matter.





I Love This Man

20 12 2010

Right now my husband is at the story buying me Poise pads because I’m too sick to do it myself. Y’all, if that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. Although it’s quite possible he doesn’t want to share the bed with a bed-wetter, but I’m going with the love thing.

I mentioned I’ve recently developed an interest in making bath fizzies and bath salts as gifts for friends. By “developed an interest,” of course, I mean “become obsessive and researched endlessly and spent too much money on supplies to make said bath salts.”  I know. It’s ridiculous, but that’s just how I roll sometimes.

So I was whipping up a batch of orange-lavender bath bombs, and Car came in the kitchen, sniffing the air.

Car: “What’s that smell?”
Me: “Orange-lavender. It’s supposed to reduce irritation.”
Car: “Oh, you definitely need to use that.”
I start whacking him with the whisk.
Car: Stepping away quickly “It’s not working!”

I’ve never been one for alternative medicine, but there’s something to be said for this aromatherapy thing. I don’t know if it’s the passion of a new hobby or if it’s the orange-lavender doing its thing, but for the next couple of days (you know, until the plague hit) my mood was better than it’s been for weeks. Car noticed this, and even when he realized I’d probably spent more than we could afford (in other words, more than zero) he said something to this effect:

“I know you spent a lot, but it’s making you happy, so I’m okay with it.”

This man I married? He’s a good man. He bought me incontinence supplies and now he’s changing the furnace filters. He makes me laugh, he holds me when I cry, he encourages my whims and he loves me for who I am. He’s a miracle.

Okay. Apparently the plague is making me sappy. I’ll stop now and go to sleep. If we’re lucky I’ll wet the bed and we’ll have something to laugh about tomorrow. We can only hope!





He didn’t learn it from me!

19 12 2010

I dragged my plague-riddled self to the dinner table tonight, only to be greeted by the sight of Big G brandishing a whisk, chanting, “Zombie whacker! Zombie whacker!” Of course, Car looks at me and says, “I blame this on you.”

What the crap, Car? Okay, yes, I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and giggled like a Japanese schoolgirl. I thought Shaun of the Dead was a fantastically funny movie. But it’s not like I sit and talk to the boys about the impending zombie apocalypse. Heck, I couldn’t even sit in the same room when Car played the Resident Evil games. They were too creepy for me. Shut up. I know I’m a pansy, and I’m okay with that.

This is like when I asked Car to stop saying “butt” (I prefer “bum” coming out of a toddler’s mouth) and he claimed innocence, but then a minute later I heard him tell Little G, “We need to change your stinky butt!”

Mmmmhmmm.

But I’m a very mature person and won’t blame this on Car. I think I’ll pin it on preschool. Big G is five, after all. We can’t expect him to be oblivious to brain-eating monsters forever.

In completely unrelated news, I now have over 1000 followers on Twitter. I find this 1) awesome 2) bizarre and 3) a frightening statement about approximately 1000 people.





This Crappy Post is Totally Car’s Fault

2 12 2010

I had this great post all outlined in my head about providence (the concept, not the city). Then someone took over the desktop and the laptop for hours trying to set up a home network and now it’s 11:30 at night and I’m really tired. Now, it’s possible someone else may have asked someone #1 to set up said network so that she (the second someone) could print a document, but that’s only because someone #1 was whining that the laptop was in the kitchen and might possibly have something horrible happen to it.

All of these someones are hurting my head, so I guess I’ll come clean: it’s the neighbors. We can’t get them to leave.

I kid, of course. So, yeah. I’m perfectly aware I shouldn’t have our lovely new-to-us laptop in the kitchen, but darn it, I’m attempting to be all crafty and make bath fizzies to possibly give away as Christmas gifts and the instructions were online and I didn’t feel like turning on the desktop because okay, fine, I’m impatient. So sue me.

In the end, I’ll just say I still can’t print wirelessly and you are subjected to this sad excuse for a post just so I can go to bed.

In completely unrelated news, the trip to the psychiatrist was actually quite enlightening, and hopefully my mental state will be improving in the not-too-distant future.

Oh, I guest posted! Over at Mom-Nom.com. I talked about my amazing Great Aunt Margaret, and how she single-handedly felled a family tradition. Sadly, I forgot to include the story about how she once wrestled a Jewish woman at a department store for a silver Menorah.

Someday? That Menorah will be mine. And we still won’t be Jewish.