Jul 31
So every Thursday I post my what was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking moments which I seem to have oodles of.
This week, (wink-wink), I didn’t have any. Ohhhhkay, so that’s a teensy exaggeration. The truth is, I thought it might be fun to flip my dish. That’s right — do something wild and crazy, like take the day off. Woah! Go to a water park and slide down tubes that turn directions my body doesn’t move anymore.
That’s when my friend Bonnie said, Hey! Look how adorable Becky-FrumpMama looks in her prize from Southern Gourmet! I think we need to make her our first Golden Apple Thoughtable Award winner, for posting sweet thoughts about winning in her blog.
I loved Bonnie’s idea, because Becky’s post about winning our Write the Fun contest, made my day! Every other week I give away a prize on my show and it’s really cool to hear from winners. So, thank you for being such a FUN blogging buddy! Enjoy your Golden Apple Award!
Jul 28
Poof! You guys are a blog post.
I wave my invisible wand. Kyle points the sink squirter at me.
Ken yelps. Don’t spray mom! If you spray her, she will turn us into another blog post.
That’s right! I will turn you into two posts instead of one. That’s what you get for my being out numbered. Men…… hmph….. My husband and teenage son do not appreciate the money I am saving our family by ordering make-up off TV. They say if I order one more mineral eye shadow they are going to bury me in a QVC envelope… with all the jewelry that I can’t find.
Actually dad, I have a better idea. Instead of burying mom in one of those padded envelopes, let’s bury her in that vacuum bag she bought. The one you stick the vacuum hose into and it sucks all the air out and shrinks the blankets into washcloths or something.
Good idea, Kyle. That way mom will be 3 feet instead of 5 feet and cheaper to send back.
If we shrink her with the vacuum bag, we need to mark it non-returnable.
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Jul 24
“What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?”
Not me. My friend Bonnie. She sent me a twilight email. Relieved. Marshall’s mother called to tell her that it was poison ivy with an allergic reaction. Bonnie can go back to bed now. But not me. I sit here at 2 a.m. wondering whether or not I should plaster the kitchen walls. Googling different textures. I’ve been wanting to change the walls for years. That’s how I found Bonnie’s email.
Bonnie’s nephew and her son had taken a nature walk behind their new house. Looking for fossils. They returned after ten minutes, bored. Dinner was served. Bedtime hit. Then at 1 a.m. her son Michael blasted a bunch of “m’s” into her right ear.
“MommmmmmMMMMM — Marshall has bites all over him!”
Bites?
Yeah!!!! Bug bites!
Sure enough, Marshall was covered. His left earlobe was huge. And he had a huge spot in the middle of his forehead, too. Bonnie, being concerned that this could be some rare form of nature walk chicken pox, calls Marshall’s mother who picks him up and takes him to the emergency room.
“I was concerned…” Bonnie tells me. “I mean those spots could have been a brand new rare form of something or other. Scientists from all over the world could have shown up in my backyard with those big metal tubes… Quarantining us. There goes our appreciation value. It’s a good thing I was worried.”
Yes, it’s a good thing mom’s know how to worry… I mean, how many dads would fathom busting through non-breakable bubble shields installed by the American government? Bonnie could sleep now. She has saved the world. Again.
Today’s Life Recipe: Google + three leafs = poison ivy. Moms + worry = blue capes monogrammed with capital “S’s”.
Jul 21
If necessity is the mother of invention, then why do they say,
”father knows best?”
Do not ask me. Ask your father. “But dad doesn’t know anything.” Okay. I’ll give you that. Hey Ken - where are all of your towels?
I don’t know. I was wondering the same thing myself.
See what I mean? Ken is funny, he is kind, he can arrange coals on the grill and cook up the best steaks ever, but sometimes my husband simply has no idea. Step into my living room. Into the middle of any conversation.
Hey mom - where’s my blue baseball belt?
Probably attached to the baseball pants you can’t find either.
I didn’t ask you dad. Mom - have you seen my belt?
Did you look in your room?
Yeah - I thought I did when I was looking for a t-shirt. But I didn’t see a blue belt.
All right. Let me help you. Hey Ken! I found your towels! Kyle - you can’t take dad’s towels and throw them on your floor. You need to at least hang them up.
I have an idea! How about we install hooks all over Kyle’s floor. That way when he throws stuff, he’s bound to get one on there.
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Jul 17
What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?
Me. The woman who asked my husband (fourteen years ago), to bundle our newborn while I packed the diaper bag.
Whew! A lot of winters have blustered since then. Each one of them filled with me telling Kyle to put on a coat… zip his sweatshirt. Take off those nylon shorts! It’s 30 degrees outside! I have thrown myself across our threshold, hands folded, begging him not to wear sleeveless shirts during the middle of winter. But it’s no use — the child is weather illiterate.
Granted, it is summertime now. I shouldn’t be thinking about wool sweaters. But the way I see it, I have four years left to get it right. Kyle begins high school in August.
I am completely unaware during this woah is me, mama-drama-moment, that in two minutes my phone will ring. Ken will call asking me to go into his file cabinet for a folder that he forgot to bring to work. While digging through his gray metal cube, I stumble across a most unexpected jewel. Not the kind you wear around your neck, but one so magnificent, that in that instant I know exactly how it feels to be Indiana Jones…
Stuck to a paper clip, underneath the orange folder thingys, is a 4×6 photo of newborn Kyle stuffed into that fluffy blue abominable snowsuit… (Above) If you use a magnifying glass you can see his precious little lips saying, Help! Something ate my arms!
Talk about discovering what I was looking for… now that it is July. 2008.
Today’s Life Recipe: Little boys are not born weather illiterate. They are created —— by dads who mean well.
Jul 14
Eighty-six? Why were you travelling so fast, ma’am?
Ohhh-kay, if you must know, I was driving fast because my husband didn’t say goodbye to me. (NOTE: Husbands and wives — this post is for you. I’m taking a poll. Who won?)
He didn’t say goodbye to you?
No! He didn’t say hello either. Granted it was busy at our restaurant… he had a line of tickets stacked up, but still, he could have at least said hello. I mean, I was wearing a dress and my hair looked good.
Huh?
I know, I know, that stuff doesn’t usually matter to me. But Ken and I never fight — so I made a dramatic exit.
You were driving fast because you never fight?
No! I was driving fast because I forgot the checks.
What checks?
The checks I needed to buy ingredients for camp. The checks weren’t in my purse which meant I had to go back inside the restaurant and face Ken after I had just stomped off.
Oh my goodness. What did you do when you went back?
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Jul 10
What were they thinking when they weren’t thinking?
My family. Human squirrels.
Have you ever run to your living room, professing something very important to your family when suddenly they get distracted? By an inside joke that only they know? So you continue on your soap box to whomever seems the least interested in laughing. Then Spongebob Squarepants comes on, and whoosh! There goes that listener, too.
Well, last night I was holding two containers of Onion Dip that I found strategically hidden behind the oatmeal in the fridge. I was going to serve this creamy wonder with our sausages. But, fortunately I looked at the expiration date on the botttttommm… (Hello! I am pointing to the bottom of two containers! Somebody look as I point!) I saved our lives. Yes, me! Your mother! These onion dips expired two months ago. Two months ago! You guys need to learn to throw things away, not squish them behind the oatmeal.
Of course now I am preaching to the window. To a squirrel running up our oak tree who is probably saying, (Bring it on mama! I’ve stashed acorns for a time such as this.)
Today’s Life Recipe: Got Family? Expect a little nuttiness….
Jul 07
It was the least I could do. Really.
Poor kid, wrapped her up in bibs all her life. If you were one of the 4? 44? who read the blog post right before this one, See Bib. See Bib Drop then you already know why I handed my daughter my brand new blouse. The one I had purchased specifically for France. I never did get it back.
There she was, my beautiful baby, 23 years old, digging fingers first into deep puddles of chocolate. And there I was, with a bib in my purse ready to run behind her neck and swoosh it over her chin. It truly is amazing how restrained you can keep yourself if you sit on your hands with someone else holding your feet.
Whew. It was close. Do you want to try it? Marissa left me a crumb. B, B, B… I guess. I stuck my fingers into heaven on earth. Richness so good I kept on digging. I knew I had to share this miracle recipe with others that might be suffering from bib-itis, too. You can watch the video of this fun wonder on the video page — July 14th. (Or as my kids would say, “Really? You can watch the video on the video page?”)
Gotta bib?
Jul 02
What was I thinking when I wasn’t thinking?
Accidental parenting. Apparently this is what I was doing before I discovered I was an overcooker. Who knew that my good intentions were going to come back and haunt me? I thought my valiant efforts to wrap my daughter like a mummy and keep her stain-free was heroic… After all, she might want her own daughter to wear these treasures from K-Mart one day.
I do not know why this tradition was important to me. I was too busy to ponder stuff like that back then. Maybe it had something to do with my mother selling my Barbie dolls when we moved from Illinois to Texas.
Dot to dot.
Going through old storage boxes, I found Marissa’s baby clothes. I squealed, “Look! I found all her baby stuff with no stains!” I proudly waved a yellow bunny dress.
No quicker had I waved this trophy, Marissa ran to our driveway in a gigantic tizzy. Now 14. Tizzy’s are not so cute.
“Mommmm!” She pointed to a teensy orange something on her t-shirt. “Kyle flung the orange juice thinking it was funny and it splattered everywhere. Now it’s ruined. You’re going to have to buy me a new shirt.”
Huh? Buy her a new one? Where did she get that silly idea? Oops! More dot to dots.
(I tell you this. Finding a bunny dress stained with blue chalk and brownies would have probably been more fun than finding one without.)
