Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts

Monday, 7 July 2014

Things you never expect to see at the Post Office...bird boobs. THANK YOU Ma'am

 I will NEVER be this badass

Nothing says screw you Surgeon General like the willingness to go to the doctor and say - Yes! I got Avian Flu from having bird titties. What are you going to say to me about that, Doc?
How the hell did I come up with that? Well, I went to the Post Office to pick up a BIG HEAVY BOX and couldn't open the doors myself when I saw this. And I never actually wished for three arms before so I could take a picture - but if I had, THIS would've been the moment.
So, instead you get a picture of my amazed're welcome.
And even better - it totally matched her outfit.

Anybody Home?

My boys had a tragic where-is-the-player-two-PS3-game-controller search this morning. This resulted in an argument. SURPRISE...not.

"I told Reecie I'm sorry but he didn't even listen," Kaelan informs me.

"You did?"

"So I tried knocking on his head and asking - hey, are you even home?"

"I don't think that's going to make him happier."

Feelin' Saucy

My son's Dad bought them cap guns this weekend. They have had a BLAST, and my eardrums might never recover.
 "Do I look like Doc Hollandaise?" Reece asks me.


Your Son is all Grown up When...

I'm in my bedroom tidying when my youngest, Reece, comes running in with eyes alight with excitement.

"Well Mom, I finally have a mistress!" he tells me.

At this point I choked.

"Wow! Good for you!" I respond, and let it never be said I am NOT SUPPORTIVE...unless it's from someone's father - then I've never met my son.

"And it only took me three minutes."
"...Your Dad would be so proud, too!" I giggled.
"Well, it did take an extra five minutes. I had to kill some raiders first."

Some Dogs have NO Class

You teach your kids what not to touch and it's icky and why... Sometimes it's satisfying (and hilarious) when you see those lessons have taken hold.
Spock is our Boston Terrier puppy. He's hanging out on the couch - being a dog, when I hear this from Kaelan:
"Ewww Spock! Don't lick your weiner! You don't know where it's been!"

Friday, 2 May 2014

Apparently I CAN be bought...if you have enough goats

Show me the Money

Sometimes you're a smartass and it drops your price...kind of like driving yourself off the lot prematurely.
My sons Dad told my youngest, Reece, he bought me for some goats. (Oh, you read that correctly - GOATS).
"Really? How many?" Reece asks him all FASCINATED. We don't exactly get the fibbing concept. (If you can get kids like this - I highly recommend it.)
"Three," I answer, (because I suffer from a serious condition called may be terminal).
"Three scrawny ones...missing a leg," his Dad answers at exactly the same time.
Okay, now I just wanted to poke him.
"Wow! Mom, I'd pay at least a hundred goats for you," my darling child ups my price and throws in a big hug.
What a great negotiator.


The Gift that Keeps on...Something

Your children make or give you presents and they are heart warming. These are the BEST presents that you treasure for the rest of your life.
"Hey Mamma, I brought you a present!" Kaelan tells me as he jumps around, very excited.
"You did?"
"It's a shoe!"
Oh my God...
"So it is!" I reply with a mile-wide smile on my face.
"I found it," he tells me proudly.
"So you did! Thank you!"
"What do you think?"
"It's memorable! I love it, let's get a picture."


It's not the Partridge Family

I've always admired when people can have those close friendships their entire lives. My oldest son has had the same best friend since he began school. His best friend in the entire universe is Julia. He's going to marry her and live in the basement...he's already told her Dad.
His other friend is Connor. They've been friends for a few years now. He tells me he loves Connor. As far as I know he has no plans to marry him.
"Hey Momma, guess what?" Kaelan asks me.
After all, I'm always game and he looks pretty stoked.
"When me and Julia and Connor grow up we're going to call it Angry Families Go!"
"Doesn't sound like a happy place to live..."


Great Minds don't Always Smell Alike

Daisy is our Chihuahua. She's tiny, dainty, hates all things dog-like (walking, grass, playing, the floor...). We recently added a puppy to our house and she is NOT AMUSED. Spock likes to play - and that word is not in her vocabulary.
"Daisy has been growling for like years," Kaelan announces.
"THANK YOU! High five," I tell him while I'm sitting at the table.
"Why five?" he asks.
"Because you totally agreed with me. We're like THIS," I tell him as I touch his forehead and then mine and back again. "All copacetic."
"What do you mean, like this?"
"Your thoughts are my thoughts. Your mind is my mind," as I point to his forehead and mine.
Then he farted.
"Except your gas...that's all yours."

DEEP Thoughts

I walked in on this deep conversation between my children at the breakfast table.
"Reece, I'd like to talk to you about an awesome word today," Kaelan announces in his best televangelist-type voice.
Reece looks up, eyebrows raised, mouth full of cereal.
"And that word is...lamp."
Ol' Billy Graham couldn't have done it better...


It's April SHOWERS Mother Nature!

Even my children are having issues with the weather. It does feel as though this crappiness has lasted forever...however time does pass slooowly when you are frozen solid.
"Okay, this is a natural disaster!" Reece is bellowing one morning.
"What is?" I ask, alarmed and disoriented...where is my freaking coffee?
"The weather! It's June for Pete's sake."
", it's not. It's April."

When you're only Half Grown Up

"I think one of my legs is growing," Reece informs me.
You'd think I'd be surprised by this statement, but NO. I hear this a lot. Not my legs are growing, not both...just one at a time.
"Are you going to walk on an angle?"
"Maybe I'll walk on one leg," he considers.
"Then we'll call you Stumpy," because we don't discriminate - we tease everybody.
"Or Hoppy," he suggests all helpful.
Alrighty then...

Thursday, 6 March 2014

I am an Emotional Masterpiece

Just call me Picasso

I've decided I'm an emotional masterpiece, because it sounds so much better than unbalanced. I'm like Picasso, but without the wang...and with breasts. And maybe with my eyeballs in the right place.
So I'm like Picasso but BETTER.
Fucking A.
Not like a Da Vinci-ette, because let's face it - that guy made sense. I'm more all over the map lately. Creative, emotional, and ACCIDENTAL.
My sons went on a ski trip with their school. They come home absolutely soaked through, so I "empty" their pockets and throw coats and snow pants into the washer...then the dryer. I do the little quotesy things on "empty" because it wasn't as empty as empty should have been. It was less "empty" and more "holy shit, what the Hell is THIS?"
THIS is how you accidentally tie dye two pairs of snow pants and add decorative splotches to winter jackets...with wax crayons. So it's nice and waterproof. And won't come off.
Less Da Vinci and more Picasso, right?

Just HOW Sick are You?

It was Family Dinner Night...for those of you who don't know - this is night when disaster and or hilarity strike in equal measure (usually when I screw something up). However, for once THIS was the exception...HA! Because we didn't even get there.
My brother sent my Mom a text saying they all had Parvovirus or Tuberculosis (or possibly were just sick...I didn't actually read the text) and they couldn't make it to dinner - so they cancelled.
Don't worry, we all blame him. It's what we do.
"Paul says they're sick and can't make it tonight," my Mom announces in the living room.
"Wait! Uncle Paul is sick?" my oldest son asks.
"Yes, sweetie."
"Did he get too old?"
Oooh the restraint I demonstrate're welcome, Paul.

It Tastes like What?

We recently added a Boston Terrier puppy to our madhouse. By "we" I mean "me" because I just can't get enough of cleaning up puddles of pee and I suffer from...something horribly wrong with me. And if I try to share the blame I will get the hairy eye.
His name is Spock and he is insane. My sons adore him.
"Spock's eating his foot!" Kaelan shrieks happily one morning.
"It's probably itchy," my Mom explains as both boys bounce around the puppy.
"I bet it tastes disgusting," Reece announces as he leans in to inspect the action.
"It probably tastes like chicken. Everything tastes like chicken," I tell them.
"I bet that's it," my Mom agrees.
"Or dork. Most likely it tastes like dork," I suggest.
Just a guess.

Wednesday, 19 February 2014

Things not to do with Ocean Spray

Dear Ocean Spray: You may want to talk to my son and stay away from old folks

Reece is talking to me on the way to the city and it sounds like he's pinching his nose shut.
"Is there a box of Kleenex in the backseat? I think you need to blow your nose," I suggest.
After creating a ginormous pile of tissue on his lap he tells me "I think I have nasal congestion."
"I think you're right."
"You know what I need? Ocean Spray," he throws out there.
"Really?" and now I'm confused, however this isn't a surprise as it happens A LOT.
"Yes. You spray it up your geezer."
Wow. This made me almost swerve off the road. Why? Why do these things ALWAYS happen when I'm driving?
"That sounds uncomfortable," not to mention illegal...and now I need to keep him away from old folks homes.
"Well, not right up your geezer. But just up the nasal so you can breathe fresh," he explains.
"Ahhh, that sounds...better."
Not. It SOUNDS like the colonoscopy from Hell.
And I've NEVER seen that on an Ocean Spray commercial. I must not get that channel... Sick bastards.

Diablo III...Hell for the Other Guys

This is my youngest son's perspective on playing a co-operative game. I'm guessing he's not going to grow up to be a hippie...just a guess.
"What's good about having a friend in this game is you can stand back and let them do all the fighting," he tells me as I see his 'friends' get annihilated.
"Just throw 'em to the wolves, huh?"

The Doorway to Narnia...
or Wherever too Much Booze takes Ya

My Mom bought a new-to-her wine cabinet and it is AWESOME. It's old and looks like something that belonged to Grandma...if my Grandma wasn't cheap and a little bit crazy.
"I love that cupboard! It's like that one they use to get to Narnia, but without the creepy fur coats," I tell my Mom.
"You mean a wardrobe?" she asks.
"Yes! The wardrobe!"
"Except ours is filled with wine."
"That just makes it MORE awesome. And we'd still be able to talk to lions - it's just a matter of having enough."
"I need to finish filling it," she reminds me - as I'm in the way obsessing over our magic wardrobe.
Now I'm thinking we need a sign. A picture of a giant wine bottle with lines at different levels, like a measuring cup. THIS much to see lions, THIS much to see guys with goat feet and THIS much to see talking gophers.
Fucking brilliant! I bet I could sell them in bars. I may need a patent...

A Brief Norse "History" if You're not Picky about Facts

My youngest son comes up to me with knowledge blazing in his eyes...and by knowledge I might mean vague guessing, you be the judge.
"Mom, I know how Vikings got horns," Reece tells me.
"Really? How's that?" I ask.
A mistake, possibly, but I have this's called ZERO CONTROL.
"They took the horn of an animal, then they dug out the middle," he begins.
"Ewww." (Yes, I should have known better. Hindsight is a bitch.)
"Then they put something on the pointy end so their lips wouldn't touch anything icky."
Because we all know how sanitary Vikings were.
"Like Purell?" I guess.
"No. Like leather," he tells me.
"Then they put a ring of gold around the other end."
"How incredibly fancy!"
You heard it here...snag yourself a Viking. They have fancy horns AND they're a tidy folk.

Keep your Beezer Nice and Fresh

"Oh sick! I just got water up my nasal cavity!" Reece announces as he comes out of the bathroom.
Seriously, I have NO idea where he comes up with this stuff.
"Oh?" I dare to ask.
"What's a nasal cavity?" asks Kaelan.
"It's a nose hole," Reece explains.
"I was brushing my teeth, then rinsing - like this," then he starts rattling his head madly back and forth.
"Oh I hear ya," I reply, because honestly it's all I can think of without laughing (or sarcasm).
"Well, at least my nose is all fresh."
Yay for the silver (and minty fresh) lining!

And How does that Make you Feel?
How about hearing impaired???

"Sometimes I feel like a dwarf."
My youngest son blasts me with this information in the CAR...while I'm DRIVING...because he wants to KILL ME.
And all I can think is that at least this is going to be an entertaining way to crash.
"Do I look like a dwarf?" he asks.
"No. You don't look bulky or hairy," I tell him.
And HERE is where the family hearing issues rear their ugly (and entertaining) head.
"I'm bonky?" he asks, somewhat fascinated.
"No! I said bulky or hairy!" I laugh.
Oh, but this was not the end.
"Bulky or beery?" he asks, COMPLETELY baffled. "What's beery?"
Oh my God. Note to self: clean his ears.
"I don't know! I said HAIRY!"

"I'm not hairy," he tells me with this totally offended look on his face.

Screw a dwarf - I quit.

Thursday, 28 November 2013

Resurrection by Dryer Sheets and Manger Danger

How to Not Pass Medical School

"I know how to bring someone back from the dead," Reece informs me.
"Really?" I ask - and I am CONCERNED...will they be alive or will I be cleaning up after zombies, too?
"Well, just dead anyway," he clarifies. (And this is good to know. FRESH deadies only people! He may need a business manager.)

"Do tell."
"You rub two pieces of fabric together really fast until they're all covered in static electricity then you place them on two places on the persons chest," he says while  madly rubbing his hands together.
"Yes, maybe special fabric so it's staticky."
"Like fabric dryer sheets?"
"Maybe. I know it's fabric...or rocks. They get placed on the persons chest after they're covered in static electricity because the heart runs on electrons."
"...Good to know."
So if I have a heart attack, throw me in the dryer with some Bounce sheets - but FRESH SCENT...just in case.

Yeah, I'm SO not Going to Eat That

"What are those decorations called?" Kaelan asks me.
"Christmas balls?"
"Yeah, those. Hee hee, they looks like pudding."
Ummm, not seeing it...or eating it.

Don't be a 'Gator Hater

We started decorating for Christmas and my Mom put out her Nativity scene again. Mary, Joseph and those Wise Men were haters that loved camels and sheep but alligators were NOT INVITED...apparently.
Kaelan decided to correct this heinous transgression.

Bedtime Blues

"Hey Mommy, you know what I think?" my oldest son asks me.
"No, what?"
"Kaelans are not meant to sleep."
Nice try my child, nice try.

Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Mornings bring out my inner warned

Scariest Backseat Driver EVER

We went Halloween shopping for costumes. Driving home I almost fucking died as I'm going down the highway and see JUST this in my rearview mirror.
Happy Halloween motherfucker.

Get a Lawyer, Shorty

I thought being the Mom made me the law-of-the-land, but I was wrong. Why? Because I have a Mom, she is the boss of me and my kids know this. And I have one word for this: Shit.
I am doing errands with my boys after school when I ask the dreaded question.
"Does anyone have homework?"
"I do, I have reading," Reece tells me.
"I don't," Kaelan tells me.
This is not unusual. Kaelan often doesn't have homework but we have him work on learning ANYWAY...because we're awesome that way...and we know he can do ANYTHING...and he's catching up in a fantabulous way.
"Then you can do some math when we get home," I inform him as we pull up to the bank.
Inside the bank he tells me "I already did math at school."
"Well, you can do some more!" I announce in my uuber chipper voice.
We're headed back home and he's grumbling. "Why do I have to do math?"
"So you can learn fractions and things like that."
"You hate math," he points out (rather surprisingly).
Personally I think it sucks ass sideways through a straw when your kids throw things like LOGIC at you.
"We're not talking about me."
"...Is Grandma home?"
"Why? Do you want to appeal to a higher power?" I ask.
"I appeal...I'm asking Grandma."

It's ALL about Accessorizing

Reece was the Emperor of Evil for Halloween. He was totally excited about his costume. Very Grim Reaper-y.
"I think my favorite accessory is my scythe," he tells me.
"It really makes my outfit."

Home Security Advertising that can be Taken Two Ways

"If any monsters or zombies come I'll whack 'em in the head like an old man!" Reece tells me, swinging his scythe wildly on the way to bed.

Sometimes Nobody Listens...

and it's Still a Win

It's a school morning, so it's the usual poke and prod and nag-nag-nag to get everyone ready. This time of day really does bring out the tyrannical side of a parent's personality as we crush democracy and want to scream JUST DO IT ALREADY!
So we our head.
ANYWAYS - now we're behind and I'm trying to get Kaelan's zipper done up on his coat. I'm having the damndest time trying to get it put together. Kaelan, on the other hand, is having a delightful time flapping my hair in my face as he chatters away.
"Could you stop flapping me, please? I can't see to get this done up," I ask (trying not to laugh - I might inhale my hair).
He stops, looking offended.
"I'm not flattening anyone," he informs me.
Well, other than not hearing me right, that's probably still a win - yes?
ZIP! "There! Have a great day at school. I love you and don't flatten anybody."
"Okay Mom!"

Monday, 7 October 2013

Don't freshen your breath this way...

Forget the Tomato rating,
how many Thumbs is it?

My youngest son once informed us he was an Eggitarian. When I asked if this meant he was going to only eat eggs (which he absolutely despises), he huffily informed me that it meant he did NOT eat all. So I informed the Eggitarian he had to eat them once in awhile, it's brain food.
Now I hide eggs in cheese and salsa to hide their yummy goodness - my Eggitarian is not always amused. Thank God it's not the dreaded egg day for him very often.
This was the Evil Egg Day and it was dragging out at the table.
"How's the eggs?" I ask Reece.
"Good," he answers with a grimace.
"They're good!" says his brother happily - he loves eggs. "Three thumbs up."
"Three thumbs up, huh?"
"Yup, three thumbs up. Maybe four."

Breakfast Secrety Message

My breakfast sent me a secret message. I'm pretty sure it wanted me to share it - you're welcome.

Not to be Taken Internally

My son's recently started wearing deodorant. Kaelan complained of smelling like soup (and that should completely turn you off of THAT for awhile) so we've leveled up the manliness - hence the pit stick.
This evening Reece has a shower, comes out and I remind him to go put on his deodorant.
He dances out of the bathroom all excited, waving his arms in the air.
"Guess what? I put on my deodorant and now my breath smells fresh!" he announces.
I couldn't hold back, I choked and laughed until I cried. AND since I have a horrible cold I had icky cough attacks all throughout this.
When I was almost done dying, Reece realized his mistake.
"I meant I put deodorant on my armpits so they wouldn't smell like soup."
I love that kid, soupy smell and all.

Some Things you Correct Immediately
then you give up because it's ridiculous

It was our weekend party night and time for movie/supper fun with my boys. I let them pick out the supper - it was corn dogs, tater tots, pickles and Dr. Pepper (fancy, yes?).
"I forgot how hard it is to eat a corn dog," Reece tells me.
"It's not hard," Kaelan argues (because this is what we do - argue, not eat corn dogs professionally).
"What do you know? You haven't eaten any of yours yet. All you've tried are your tater turds."
"Tots!" I yell into the middle of this (because I am NOT having my son going to school telling them Mom made him eat tater turds for dinner).
"Oh yeah, tater tots."
If Kaelan stops being willing to eat them because of this someone will be in the big turd.
Update! One Week Later
Reece is jumping up from his plate to inspect what's happening on their movie up close and personal on the television set.
"Are you all done yet, bud?" I ask (one of those trick questions we Moms ask knowing you're not done and you should get your ass back to the table).
"No, I still have five tater turds left."
Now, I gave up arguing...

Monday, 23 September 2013

Just call me ass floss and I won't remember anyway

How do I get Into Compromising Situations with Turkey Asses?


You're never going to believe was ANOTHER freaky fucking turkey. However, this time I took photographic evidence. Smart? Maybe... (That totally depends upon your definition.)
We decided to barbecue a turkey in an outdoor pit for the first time. I unwrap the turkey and WALLA - I start to laugh my ass off as I spot the turkey cuff/IUD-from-Hell. Unfortunately this alerts my youngest son who comes to investigate.
By the time he gets to the kitchen I had popped the plastic cuffs off the miscreant's legs and was still yanking on the evil IUD. THEN I get the brilliant idea to take a picture.
"What are you doing?" asks Reece.
"Taking pictures."
"Why?" he asks SO reasonably.
"Because nobody is going to believe me," I explain.
"But why are you taking pictures of a turkey bum?"
Boy, you'd think I was creepy or something.
"Who doesn't love a turkey bum?" I reply, after all - who can argue with that?
Turns out - nobody can.
Also turns out I realize THAT must be the line they use to convince some idiot to take the job of jamming these things up turkey cooters all-the-live-long-day.
So now I'm back to yanking on this plastic IUD-from-Hell and my son is watching me (which is SO WRONG by the way, I felt judged). It is SEVERELY stuck.
"What is that?" he asks.
"I honestly don't know," is all I can tell him as I'm giggling away. Something is SO wrong with me that I find this hilarious.
Finally it pops out and Reece is AMAZED.
"Is that a bone?" he asks.
"No, it's not a bone."
"It's got to be a rib," he tells me.
"No! It's plastic," I tell him as I snap a picture.
"Why are you taking pictures of it? It's a weird bone, isn't it?" and he looks concerned.
"It's definitely not a bone. Don't you have to go play?" I beg and laugh at the same time.
"You're going to stuff it now. You're laughing, it must be fun."
"Well, like I said - who doesn't like stuffing things in a turkey bum," I tell him (and totally another PR Turkey line).
Oh my God...what the Hell is wrong with me? Anyways, here's the hard earned evidence:

How Annoying did You Say?

Kaelan has always had an interesting way of naming things. We went through some fish named Fish and Little Fish. Stuffed bats named Black Bat... What's in a name? EXACTLY what you are.
Kaelan's sister recently went to the Fair where she won him a nice, flappy bee. He was very excited (Kaelan...not the bee) and all set to name him.
"Guess what my stuffies name is," Kaelan says to me.
"Mister Bee?" I guess.
"It's Annoying Bee," he informs me.
Wow, how appropriate on TWO levels. One: he screams like a Banshee at bees. Two: this very second I was getting a flap-attack from Annoying Bee in the face.
"Mister Bee is his middle name," he tells me.

Ass Floss is Not a Food Group

There are so many things in my life I did not think I would ever say. This is one of them.

"I can't believe you're chewing on that lion's ass," I say to the dog.
"She's chewed a hole in it," my Mom tells me (probably also something SHE never thought she'd say).
"That's disturbing... There's a hole in your aaa-SSS dear Lizaaa!" I sing (as opposed to There's a Hole in Your Bucket for any of you old enough to remember that one).
"She uses it like dental floss," my Mom explains.
"I wouldn't want to use ass floss."
At this point my Mother almost sprayed me with coffee, looks me in the eye and says "Well, you wear ass floss."
"At least I don't eat it."

Just Call me Frieda

I just might be the most oblivious person on the entire planet. How's that for an intro?
Both of my son's have the same senior Behavioral Therapist. She left a voicemail on my cell phone today. On the drive home from the city I realized I have been calling her by the WRONG freaking name...for quite some time. And by saying I "realized it" I should actually say her secretary corrected me when I called her back today to return her call.
And it FINALLY sank in.
THEN I realized the Behavioral Therapist has been using her voodoo powers on me, not-so-effectively. Let me explain. Behavior Therapists help with social skills and guide subtly with PROMPTS.
She sends me e-mails:
To Terry:
This is Deena, blah blah...
Thanks so much, see you soon!
Then I respond:
To Dianne:
That'd be great! Thanks!
Or she phones: "Hi Terry, this is Deena..." And I respond: "Thanks Dianne!"
She stops by to see my sons and I INTRODUCE her to everyone around! So she keeps leaving me her business card (and I just thought she was all remindy with her number) "In case you need to get a hold of me."
Holy shit am I slow. Maybe she should've done it back to me. When I called her Dianne she could've called me Frieda. It could've been fun! And less subtle.
It could even be like a social skill game of pretend - we could even dress up. But since she has the nicer hair and tan - I get the crown. Especially since I'm the Queen of Oblivious.