Tag Archives: humor

May10

Teen Talk, Episode #1

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stick figures

Comic by K

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled program to bring you the first installment of Teen Talk.  Be assured, everything you are about to hear is real and unedited.  Please, do not try this at home.

One day at the Walgreens checkout…

Mom:  “Teen, could you please carry the bag?”

Teen:  (picks up bag) “Why do I have to carry the bag?”

Mom:  “Because, you are a guy, and guys carry things for girls.”

Teen:  “Oh.”

Mom: “Except a girl’s purse.  You don’t have to carry a girl’s purse.”

Teen:  “Right, there is no need for that kind of shame until you’re married!”

The end

For more views by Teen Go Here: Teen Talk

May7

To Botox or Not to Botox

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My most recent article “To Botox or Not to Botox” is up and running today on ParentSociety.com.  Now hold on there, it may not be exactly what you think.  But, I promise two things:  you will get a laugh and find out one of my husbands deep, dark secrets.  How can you resist?

It starts out like this:

For some time now, I’ve been wondering whether or not to get Botox. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it, too. No really, don’t tell me, because the truth is, we would all just about give our front teeth (that can then be replaced with perfect porcelain veneers of course) for a chance to forgo the wrinkling part of aging.

My first encounter with the idea of Botox was…

You will just have to Go Here to read the rest!

And don’t worry,

(No actual scientific knowledge was abused, or even, well, used, in the writing of this article).

Apr27

Have a Little Faith

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“Why I Should Have Had More Faith in My Son”  is my post today on ParentSociety.com.

When your son comes home with a bad Mid-Quarter Progress Report, how do you react? My thought processes go something like this:

In that moment, I could see my son’s whole future pass before my eyes: receives bad mid-term progress report grade– fails class – flunks out of school – starts to drink – begins dating biker chick with facial hair – turns to drugs – discovers online poker – resorts to begging for change outside a 7 Eleven. 

But recently, I learned how to have a little more faith in my son, and myself.  Go here to read the rest if you want to know how.  It’s big, I tell you, HUGE.  Well, not really, but it’s got a good beat, and you can dance to it.

Go read now!  “Why I Should Have Had More Faith in My Son”

Apr23

DodgeBall State of Mind

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In my testosterone driven household, sports are played & watched, hygiene is an afterthought, all bodily functions are hysterical, weapons are coveted, shadow punching serves as a greeting, and,

Movie one liners are viewed as the cures to all that ails you.

Seriously, gone are the days when I could just watch a movie and forget about it.  Now, due to the uncanny ability of my boys to remember every funny line in a movie, I now relive movies in a whole new way.  You see, not only do they recall every bit of humorous dialog, but they then proceed to plagiarize them incessantly – weaving them into our daily conversations in the name of comic relief.  Apparently, my house is in need of a tremendous amount of relief.

Over the years, favorites have developed.  For an excuse in a multitude of situations, nothing works better than “I would do that (dive off a waterfall) if I didn’t have diarrhea” from Club Paradise.

And, to deflect from an embarrassing situation, “I find everyone’s pain funny but my own…I’m French” from Flushed Away is always the perfect.

And, even though it is actually from a play, the line “If we can’t kill it, it’s immortal” from A Tuna Christmas, well, is just plain funny.

Recently, however, our world has become ensconced in the prolific one liners from the movie DodgeBall (with Vince Vaughn and Ben Stiller).  If you have never seen it let me assure you, it is jammed packed with all kinds of adolescent boy humor goodness. It seems no matter what the life situation, a DodgeBall snippet of dialog is just the ticket to smoothing things over and offering meaningful advice.  You doubt me?

Allow me to demonstrate:

For confronting challenges:

“If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball”

For conveying revenge:

“Nobody makes me bleed my own blood.  Nobody!”

For expressing disgust:

“I just threw up in my mouth a little bit”

For bolstering confidence:

“My gym has shareholders, your gym doesn’t even have cup holders!”

And to take confidence to the next level:

“Here at Global Gym we’re better than you and we know it”

For snappy comebacks:

Statement:  “I’m off the clock”

Response: “How convenient for you…and the clock!”

…and the best in my humble opinion,

For facing difficulties:

“Necessary!  Is it necessary for me to drink my own urine?  No!  But, it’s sterile and I like the taste.”

Honestly, I don’t recommend it for the faint of heart…or easily offended.  But, for those wanting to indulge your adolescent side, laugh hysterically and gain a world of “good advice” in the process – well, DodgeBall might be right up your alley.

As for me, what can I say, I am a joiner and can never resist a good laugh. And, in my male dominated home, I have learned to never underestimate the power of a good one-liner!

In closing, I leave you a final DodgeBall one liner word of advice…

If you master the 5 D’s of Dodgeball, no amount of ‘balls’ can hit you – Dodge, Dip, Duck, Dive and Dodge.

Apr16

10 Things I Just Don’t Understand

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I apologize in advance.  Seriously, this was not the post I set out to write.  Really, I just had to get these things out of my head before I could put anything decent on paper.  So, why share it?  Ah well, I guess I am just fearless in that way.

10 things I just don’t understand:

1.  Cheese in a can

What? Was someone afraid  whipped cream was having all the fun?

2.  Donald Trump’s hair

I mean really, how much  money bank loans does it take to hire a decent hair stylist?

3.  Crocs

Hey, what’s not to get, right…they are plastic, turned up at the tip like elf shoes and make your feet look so very sexy!

4.  Hairless Cats

They just look so cold…and shriveled.

5.  Parachute Pants

‘Cause, yeah, I want my thighs to look like watermelons- oh and while you are at it,  clad them in vibrant prints and colors, too!!

6.  Canned Asparagus

It should be illegal to torture a vegetable so.

7.  Bird Spiders

No spider should be so large it requires birds for sustenance.

8.  Cockroaches with wings

Some creatures have no business leaving the ground.

9.  Snooki on the Mom track

Duh, now everyone is going to want their own little ‘short n tan’.

10.  Cloth Diapers

I know, all you green parents will stomp me for this – but seriously, don’t we suffer enough as parents without having to launder poop and pee, too?

Ok.  Now that I have that off my chest, back to work.  Thanks for listening…

Apr11

Las Vegas Much?

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If you are planning to take your kids to Las Vegas anytime in the near future or you think I am off my rocker for even contemplating it, you might want to check out the Top 5 kid friendly and budget savvy tips we discovered on our recent trip to the flashy city over on ParentSociety.com today.

It starts like this:

When you think of Las Vegas, you probably don’t think of the words “kid-friendly” or “budget-savvy.” Well, it is a fact that almost everything costs a ton in Las Vegas, except the parking, which is always free. (How can you proceed to lose all your money in the casino if you can’t park your car?).

It is also true that on occasion you must instruct your kids to “quick, look up at the big tall building!”…

You will have to go here to find out why they have to look up (really, you need to know!) and get the  Top 5 Budget Kids’ Activities to Do in Las Vegas.

For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!

Apr7

Just a Bit of Fun

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This just in!  You really can be in two places at once!!

One foot in Arizona and one foot in Nevada.  Hoover Dam.

And in other news…Alien Spaceship spotted in Arizona.

Apr5

Today’s Best Moment: Thursday, April 5

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Photo By: Paula Danner

Photo by: Paula Danner

Devil’s Bridge – Sedona, Arizona

We had to hike to get there.  I didn’t even panic when they walked across.  Ok, that is a lie.  I did panic, a little. But man, it was cool.

The truth is, the best moment may very well have been afterwards,   playing football with them in the hotel pool. That was cool, too.

For more on this adventure, finding the bridge and living to tell about it –   Go Here!

For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!

Apr2

10 Reasons I Forgot Your Birthday

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Today is my husbands birthday.  Last year, I (and my kids) completely forgot his birthday.  That’s right, no gift, no cruddy store bought card, no drawn picture, no recognition whatsoever – not even a gag gift.  Honestly, he wasn’t even that up-in-arms about it…which, of course, made us feel even more guilty.  He loves to laugh.  Therefore, we decided salvation from our  faux pas  was through humor.

We made him a list.  A very special list.  A list explaining how we, in our  individual ways, had very logical reasons excuses as to why his birthday had been forgotten.

Top 10 Reasons I/We Forgot Your Birthday

10.  I was abducted by aliens and they mind wiped one day from my memory… so, I will remember tomorrow.

9.  I have selective amnesia: also known as Spoucitus or Parentaphobia.

8.  It’s not my fault; I got my brain from you!

7.  What!!! I was doing you a favor by forgetting.

6.  Mama needed a new pair of shoes…dress…shirt… well, you get the idea.

5.  The devil made me do it.

4.  My underwear was too tight.

3.  Pick up shirts from the dry cleaners… (oops, wrong list).

2.  I was busy documenting a Big Foot sighting (which, unfortunately, turned out to be just a really hairy guy from down the street).

And the number one reason  your birthday was forgotten…

1.  I would have remembered if I didn’t have diarrhea.

This year for my husbands birthday, we bought him a tie.  Actually, this year for his birthday we are taking him on a trip – which will be memorable and fun.  However, I have a feeling he may stand by his sentiment expressed after reading our pitiful excuses for forgetting last years birthday.

“That was the best birthday present you could have given me”.

Sometimes, it is just that simple.

Mar22

Fear of Full Disclosure

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“How Much Should I Tell My Kids About My Wild Youth?”

My latest article on ParentSociety.com  is out.  Want a little sample?

I know the day is coming, soon.  I know as sure as Lindsay Lohan will end up in court again, the day is coming when my fear of full disclosure will be realized.  The day when I get asked personal questions by my curious teenage boys that I, on the one hand do not want to lie about, but at the same time do not want to fully disclose either.  And, in the interest of proper parenting – I mean, you have start some time, right –  I must know how to handle the moment and I need help!

Let me explain. Getting married and becoming a first time Mom in my 30’s meant two things…

All choices have consequences.  Go here to find out why my choices may mean looking as old (and just as hairy) as Dumbledore.

“How Much Should I Tell My Kids About My Wild Youth?“

Feb23

Ode to Chris the Caveman

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My son was an action figure connoisseur of sorts.  As a kid, he spent hours engaged in elaborate battles with his huge collection.  These ‘campaigns’ would continue for days on end and until completion, I was not allowed to alter their tactical arrangement in any way.  In the majority of these battles, an action figure he named Chris the Caveman (of mysterious origins) was invariably the leader and subsequent conqueror.  I asked my son once, why?, and he replied that his battles required super-hero strength against extreme powers and Chris with his ripped muscles seemed like the man for the job…

Head over to Mamapedia, where I am honored to be a featured writer today, to find out how Chris the Caveman  aides in this Mom’s fight against the most powerful, and sneaky opponent of all time!

Go here!

Jan26

I Am Woman (Ode to Chris the Caveman)

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My son was an action figure connoisseur of sorts.  As a kid, he spent hours engaged in elaborate battles with his huge collection.  These ‘campaigns’ would continue for days on end and until completion, I was not allowed to alter their tactical arrangement in any way.  In the majority of these battles, an action figure he named Chris the Caveman (of mysterious origins) was invariably the leader and subsequent conqueror.  I asked my son once, why?, and he replied that his battles required super-hero strength against extreme powers and Chris with his ripped muscles seemed like the man for the job.

Now, Chris the Caveman sits on a dusty shelf in the playroom – his battles behind him. The truth is, he has not only been abandoned by a maturing boy, but he has also been replaced by an enemy I must now face. A foe I wonder if even Chris the Caveman would have had the strength to overcome.

Electronics

Before I go any further let me just say, Electronics are not inherently evil – ok, maybe they are, but in the interest of political correctness let’s just say they ‘behave badly’. And like most families these days we are equipped with the usual:  computer, HDTV, phones (my smart phone may have been a stumble into enemy territory), microwave – plenty enough to distract from human interaction (those microwaves can really be addicting). But, I have tried to hold firm against an all-out invasion (i.e. big gaming units with flesh eating Zombies).

Nonetheless, I was blindsided by the enemy’s recent ploy.  My weakness has been identified…my kids.  When my boys presented the idea they “earn and save” the money (they took that Get a Yob thing seriously) to buy their own desired items I was all aglow with: smug relief (Ha! They will never be able to save that much), and maternal pride (look at those little darlings willing to work for something they want, aaah). However, this Custer–like underestimation of my opponent has proven to be a fatal misstep. For now, my boys are both in possession of their desired electronic, complete with bells, whistles & Zombies, and I feel like Mickey in Fantasia, helpless as Electronics march over me and into my house.

In essence, I have become Chris the Caveman – except, without the rippling muscles and you know, cool loincloth. I am single-handedly attempting to fight an enemy of extreme powers with only help from my minions (well, minion – my husband) – struggling to stop the time-sucking, interaction-obliterating, Electronic devices from completely taking over my home. And as in all of Chris the Caveman’s battles, I fear it will get worse before it gets better, be bloody, body parts scattered, and end with only one true victor.  But like Chris the Caveman, there is no “if ya can’t beat em’ join em”, only a fight to the last one standing. I think I am the woman for the job but just in case…

Better save a spot on that dusty shelf for me.

Jan9

Woman vs. Machine

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As promised in my last post, New Years Non-Resolutions, here is my full confession…

It was a normal afternoon.  My sons and I were in the kitchen.  I was making toast. When all of a sudden, for no reason at all (ok, I may have burned the toast), the smoke alarm- where it had been strategically placed on a cabinet directly above the toaster waiting year after year to be hung from the ceiling – began to go off.

Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

I frantically waved the smoke out of the air and removed the offending item from the toaster (fine, I did burn the toast, happy?) so as to relieve the smoke alarm from duty.

But still – Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

I climbed up on the counter and brought the alarm down to show it that all was well. Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

I pushed its button in assurance.  Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

I begged, pleaded, demanded it stop.  Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

I threatened. I threatened it with a short trip and a quick end; as in –“Stop or I will throw you against the wall”.  You can’t say it wasn’t duly notified. Surely it could hear the crazed frustration in my warning.

And still – Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep, Bleeeeep.

So in the interest of follow through, you know good parenting and all that, I chucked it as hard as I could at the nearest kitchen wall. It crashed against that wall – pieces of plastic flying, battery hanging out like entrails, cover dislodging as it landed with a thud on the floor.

Finally…it was quiet.  We all three stood frozen in the silence; me, reveling in the peace; the boys, awestruck at my conviction (or… fearing for the potential loss of a few more cards from my deck). 10 seconds…20 seconds…30 seconds…

Then it happened.  Out of the silence in a ‘man down but not out’ kind of way, labored and painful, slurring like the moo of a drunken cow (if cows could, you know, belly up) came the smoke alarm’s final words –

Bluuurrrp, Bluuurrrp, Bluuurrrp, Bluuurrrp – As it continued, despite all aggressions, to attempt to do its job.

We stood. We stared.  Our jaws dropped open.  And then, we laughed hysterically until our bellies hurt.

In the end, it was decided the smoke alarm had earned retirement with full benefits (but no severance pay), I should never make toast without the aid of Mother’s Little Helper (the prescription kind) and Dad/Husband should be called immediately the next time a machine in our house malfunctioned (and even with this assurance, my machines have never since treated me the same…)

What is the point to this twisted machine abuse story?

Simply this- It is moments like this that I live for. The kind that get funnier with each retelling.  The kind that teeter on the edge of crazy.  The kind my kids will remember. The kind where I get to laugh with them.

The kind that teaches them no matter how bad, frustrating or crazy things are, if you can laugh, life is good.

Dec20

When All Else Fails…Cry

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What is worse than baby screaming lungs out on airplane?  Being the parent of baby screaming lungs out on airplane.  Wait, no, it wasn’t me. I mean, aside from the possible ramifications of confiscating ipods that could produce hysteria to rival any 6 month old, my kids at 10 and 12 after much experience, have grown into seasoned travelers.

No, on my recent trip, the unlucky parents of 6 month old travel baby happened to be sitting across the aisle from me. Clearly, the parents were newbies to the joys of Airplane Travel with Baby. How do I know this?  Well, when baby began to holler like a horror movie scream queen not long into the 3 1/2 hour flight, the look of terror in the parents eyes told all.  They began to all but dumpster dive into their “appropriately” sized bag for items of distraction:  teething toy, bottle, cuddlys, electronics,  Mom boob (ok, well, that was not in the bag) – all to no avail.

And as their desperation rose, I began to feel anxious for them. I wanted to share with them some of my experiences.  Comfort them so they would know it was fairly unlikely the flight attendant was on her way to escort them to seats on the wing, designated for disturbers of the peace. To assure them they were not alone.

For example, the first time I flew with my, then 4 month old, son, and he screamed all the way to the coast, body stretched in ridged stress, like stick man shrieking out his dying breath. I was sure I was headed to that seat in the wing (at least I hoped anyway).

Or, the time my, then 18 month old, son decided everyone sitting behind us (which was basically the entire plane) was fascinating and proceeded to over and over again force his way off my lap into the coveted standing position in order to socialize over the seat. Which honestly, I could have handled had it not been for the unsympathetic flight attendant who continually demanded I restrain him to sit on my lap (right!). Finally in exasperation I suggested that if she had any constructive ideas as to how to accomplish this, I was very open to suggestions.  She had none to offer, but I swear I saw a flash of something involving ropes, a gag, and horse sized sleeping pill flash across her face.  We did not get our Chocolate Chip cookies that time.

And then there was the time when, due to overbooking, we were all seated individually – scattered throughout the plane.  After gallant efforts by desk attendant, we were finally told we would have to board, sit in scattered seats, and see what could be done.  There we were, on the plane, standing ambiguously in the aisle when it suddenly dawned on my, then 5 year old, son the grim possibilities of having to sit next to a stranger (AKA: one who must be an undesirable ‘cause I don’t know you and might smell funny).  No sooner was this realization reached did big fat tears began to roll down his face accompanied by soft puppy like whimpers.  In an instant, the plane was filled with Jack-in-the-Boxes on crack as people popped up in order to give us seats together and rescue traumatized child. Thus, the birth of travel motto:  When all else fails, Cry.

I wanted to warn them against attempting to change a diaper in the plane bathroom; to tell them to never allow accidental upgrade to first class when travelling with a lap baby; to advise them to always bring an “inappropriately” sized bag for that unexpected 7 hour delay; to always know where the barf bag is; and to inform them that when their child begins to read, explain that “cocktail” on the plane menu is NOT Shrimp Cocktail to be ordered from Flight Attendant during beverage service.

I wanted them to know that not every flight attendant will treat you like Rosemary and her baby, and some will even be kind.

But, in the end, at the flight’s conclusion, I just gave them thumbs up, told them they did a good job and promised it would get better.

Judging by the not-as-defeated smile the Mom gave me, and the I-needed-to-hear-that look the Dad imparted (don’t you know he was contemplating their possible 17 ½ year ban from flying), I am thinking…It was enough.

For more Sweet Spot Travels: Go Here!

Dec14

Word-Up: Poop

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I love words.  I love to laugh. You can only imagine my glee when I discovered the funniest word in the English language is  Poop.  I know this to be true.  I know this because I have proved it: methodically, scientifically and sometimes ruthlessly.

I submit for your consideration the following data.

Hypothesis: Whether by delivery or receipt, when in audible range of the word Poop, laughter will ensue.

Observations: I was fortunate to be able to conduct environment controlled experiments in three locations: Home, Work, Mall.

  • Home: It was in the home environment where the Poop  phenomenon first presented itself.  Once I had an inkling of the possibilities, I had to probe further. I began to insert the word Poop into various conversational situations.  For example:

In answer to what’s for dinner – Poop,

in reply to  complaints about school/friends/brother – Poop,

in response to husband asking how much I paid for a pair of jeans – Poop,

 at random, unsuspecting moments when subjects were otherwise engaged – Poop.

The results were indisputable and consistent –giggles, laughter, guffaws. However, I fear future repercussions as a result of extended, somewhat addicting research on the subjects are imminent.

  • Work:  During the experiment phase, I was asked to Substitute in the third grade at a local school. On this given day, after clearly losing my audience during an apparently not so scintillating reading lesson, I suggested I knew the funniest word in the world and could prove it. Thus began our lesson in scientific exploration.  I presented the test subjects with the opportunity to see how many times the experimenter (me) could say the word Poop and still evoke laughter from subjects (them). We proceeded. Unfortunately laughter was so raucous and contagious, 9 year old lab assistant failed to keep accurate count but offered “It was a lot” as evidence. Experiment was concluded when no end could be reached – oh, and principal came by for a visit.
  • Mall: This experiment was born out of necessity to prove to home-test-subject (i.e. my son) the infallibility of the Poop phenomena. Thus, while walking past random teen in local mall, I casually vocalized the word Poop in passing.  Although accompanied by a strange “what’s wrong with you lady” look, the goal of laughter was nonetheless achieved.

Conclusion: Poop is, without a doubt, the funniest word in the English language.

Final Note: If you attempt these experiments on your own, please keep in mind, your overall appearance of normalcy and sanity may be permanently affected.  But, you can laugh all the way down that slippery slope.

Lastly: For enhanced laughter a few ‘o’s can be added for optimal effect as in: PoooooooP

Poop out.

Nov22

Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff

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Sometimes I surprise myself – learning to snowboard when I freeze at 60 degrees, embracing co-habitation with the black snakes that occupy my yard, attempting parenthood (thank goodness for that therapy fund).  Well, my most recent questionable endeavor came in the form of a job.

A few months ago a call came with the request to do a show at a local professional theatre. And when I say ‘do’ a show, I do not mean as an actor on the stage – where I have spent many a moment throughout the years –  but as a dresser in the thick of the behind-the-scenes action.

I reasoned, how hard could it be?  I mean, I have dressed myself successfully for many years (although those severely torn Levi’s – self-patched with leopard print and worn frequently in the 90’s, may not qualify); And, I dressed my boys (hopefully they were not able to read the tags on the accidently purchased girls wear).  So, without any concern for the poor, unwitting victims actors, my desire for a new experience convinced me to say “Yes!”

However, when the time arrived, I discovered that dressing a real live, full grown actor through what was to be 20+ quick changes per show, in the dark, backstage, during near silence onstage, turned out to be more daunting than anticipated. I will admit – I made mistakes.  And, I felt bad. More than once, I decided I had kissed my end of the show ’tip’ goodbye along with possibly all or most of my paycheck. And I will admit I spent a few nights beating myself up over it.

Ok, maybe just one.

Because then, I remembered something. I remembered how dearly I love to laugh.

You see, as long as

  • No limbs are lost (broken bones I’ve got covered!),
  • Everyone is still breathing,
  • No eyes are poked out…shot out…gouged out,
  • And no natural disaster has ensued

I can handle the small stuff, like, I don’t know,

  • Sending an actor out onstage with shoes on the wrong feet,
  • Attempting several times to poke same actor in the eye with glasses,
  • Dropping a few or say, several props on hard floor during complete onstage silence,
  • Habitually refusing to remember one particular assigned job without constant reminders,
  • Or, forgetting my start time on opening day and almost taking down a few pedestrians crossing a small town Main Street in my haste to get to the theatre.

The best part is, once I remember I can handle the small stuff, I find I can laugh at them as well; which is like a gift and something of which I am very fond. The only thing better being when others laugh with you.

So, in closing, please accept my sincerest apologies:

To my Actor friends – who had to endure my fits of ineptness, thank you for letting me laugh at them and for (hopefully) laughing with me; and,

To the Pedestrians – who, I fear, will never look at the safety of crossing a small town Main Street with the same abandon again.

Oct31

To Spider With Love

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Dear Spider,

I know  today’s holiday – Halloween – is your shining moment.  Nonetheless, I find it necessary, in light of recent events (I think you know of what I speak, spider who dangled in front of my face when I opened the front door!), to take this time to review our long-standing contract.

As you may recall:

You, may spin your lair-ish web, creep your skulking crawl, vibe your eerie vibe, trap your unsuspecting prey, and basically do your whole spider thing. And I, promise to leave you alone, free and unfettered, turn a blind eye, mind my own business.  That is, of course, under the condition that you carry out all said activities in the great out-of-doors.  However, the minute you bring your wily ways into my house, garage, car, on my person or anywhere within my personal space, I reserve the right to squash you, vacuum you up, sick the dog on you, beat you with a broom, and/or spray you with Windex/perfume/anything handy that sprays.

Now I know we had a brief respite from this arrangement in the wake of my 10 year old obsession with the book, Charlotte’s Web.  But, that was a long, long, looong time ago and it has been business as usual ever since that passed phase. I wish I could say there would be a return to that kinder, gentler time, but I fear it is not to be.

So you see, I am reminding you of the arrangement for your own good.  I feel we must maintain the observance of these rules in order to peacefully co-exist.

Thank you for your understanding in this matter.

Oh, and Happy Halloween

Sincerely Yours,

Paula

P.S. I feel obligated to add:  In the event of PMS or sudden attack of ‘creeped-outedness’, this agreement is null and void. In other words – run scurry for your life.

Oct28

Accidental Farmer – The Rest of the Story

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Around this time last year, I discovered something about myself;  something shocking but undeniably true.  However, until today, I had no idea there was more to the story.  I shared ‘Part 1’ of my tale on friend Sherri’s Oldtweener.com last year. I suppose in order to tell “the rest of my story” I have to go back to the beginning, where it all started…

2010

The moment a house plant enters my life I can literally see its life flash before my eyes.   It may come through my doors a full, vibrant, green plant, but soon it will start to show the signs of my care…wilting leaves, thinning vines, dulling color.  In an effort to stay alive it will begin to shuck off excess bulk until it is finally reduced to one, lone leaf clinging to a surviving vine.  But this too, will eventually lose the will to live.  And even though with each new vegetative ward that comes into my care, I vow to be a better guardian, I, at the same time, feel the sadness of inevitability.

However, at the pleading of my younger son, I was forced to face the ultimate agrarian challenge (with potentially soul damaging results) of actually planting an innocent victim in the ground in the attempt to bring forth life.  That’s right, my son wanted to grow a plant; outside… in the ground… from scratch, like, with a seed.  To be more specific, he wanted to grow pumpkins.  Well, I did what any sensible girl would do, I ran to Daddy.  Actually, he came to visit me and little did he know that he was soon to be an unwitting accomplice in what was sure to be a dastardly plan (as far as the plant world is concerned).  But Dad, being the accomplished gardener that he is, went right to work in the attempt to make his grandson’s pastoral dreams come true. He prepared the soil, digging up dirt that had been left to itself for way too many years, added nutrients, top soil and fertilizer, built a huge mound complete with watering mote and then… planted 4 seeds. With strict instructions to water and tend to the seedlings every day, Dad went on his way with great hope but possibly dubious faith as to the outcome.

Seven days later, much to my surprise – ok, more like shock, amazement, incredulity – all four seeds sprouted (go Dad!!).  And not only sprouted, but continued to grow, crawl and bloom flowers – all under my tutelage (because of course, it was just a coincidence they tripled in size during the 2 weeks the neighbor boy cared for them while we were away).

Then, the day finally came when my son uttered the words I had been longing, even yearning to hear… those three little words…

”We have pumpkins!!!”

Success washed over me.  I had done it!  I had taken a humble seed, tended to it, cared for it, coerced and nurtured it into giving its most precious gift – a fruit for my labors (or vegetable as the case may be).  I had to see for myself.  But, no sooner had I headed in the direction of my precious vines, I was drawn away by my son calling from the direction of our wild and overgrown field behind our house – “No, Mom, over here!”  For there, growing in our neglected field, unattended, wild and completely unbeknownst to us were pumpkin vines sporting two beautiful, perfect, orange pumpkins.  I stared at them in disbelief.  How could this be? Where had they come from? How had they survived? Was that where we threw the rotten pumpkins out after Halloween last year?

Unfortunately, all answers to these and other perplexing questions such as – what exactly is ‘Bieber Fever’ and how does one keep from contracting it? – remain forever part of the unknown. What is known, however, is that I had finally grown something, become a producer, joined the ranks of the tillers before me…albeit, by accident.

So now, everyday, I proudly walk out to my wild pumpkin patch, admire my crop of two and well, do nothing; for clearly, where plants and I are concerned, this seems to be the most productive strategy.

And the vines which my Dad so faithfully entrusted to me?  Well, they continue to persevere even under the duress of my constant care and devotion, sprouting flowers again and again but never being able to quite muster up enough oomph to produce a pumpkin. I fear they too will one day soon fulfill providence and join their unfortunate predecessors in that great nursery in the sky.

2011 – The Rest of the Story

Today I went out to my “crop” as it were.  More to the point, the place in my wild, unattended field where I, again, threw out last years rotten pumpkins.  The place I did NOT fertilize, I did NOT water, I did NOT weed, I did NOT season with rich top soil, I did NOT pay any attention to at all.  Until today, when I went out there to discover I had NOT grown pumpkins… I had grown gourds. 

Clearly, I’m even better than I thought.

p


Oct25

Nightmare on Doddridge Street

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Monday seemed like a normal day. Little did I know something was lurking, lying in wait for me. It started out like any other day; kids off to school, coffee hot, dog fed (thus, her own personal nightmare assuaged).  I turned on my computer, ready to work, blog, socialize, check Facebook.  And that is when the horror began as I was greeted by the words – NO INTERNET ACCESS. I took a deep breath, no need to panic, it’s probably nothing, I thought.  After all, my dog appeared unconcerned and you know how animals can “sense” things.

Very calmly, I began to work my magic…or rather, I began to work tech-guy-on-speed-dial’s magic.  But still, ACCESS DENIED.  Then tech-guy-on-speed-dial off-handedly suggested, “what about your home phone line?” (You see, us here folks out on Doddridge, a.k.a. the boonies, rely on phone lines for our DSL mojo).  I ran for my cordless phone like a chick trying to outrun a chainsaw and as in any good bad horror flick, the line was dead.

However, unlike next-to-die-screaming-teen, I still had cell phone service.

So, to the phone company I went for rescue. Harassed-phone-company-lady informed me that “they” (guys-with-huge-hacking-scissors?) had cut the lines and “no”, the DSL line would not be reconnected anytime soon because first the phone line must be repaired in order to restore 911.  But I stammered that this was a 911 – No internet, no access to the World Wide Web, NO FACEBOOK!!

Harassed-phone-company-lady, unmoved by my hysteria, hung up, leaving me once again to face the horror alone. So there I was, waiting, staring, pacing, looking out for strange-guy-in-hockey-mask; when suddenly, out of nowhere, a thought struck me.  Something my Dad used to always tell me;

“Don’t forget to stop and smell the flowers.”

I grabbed my car keys, I grabbed my dog, (because clearly, judging by her worried look, the canine sixth sense had kicked in), and we started driving – away from the dreadfulness and in search of flowers.

We didn’t find any flowers, because, well, it’s October, but we did find a pretty spectacular fall tree to hang out under.

We didn’t worry about work, we didn’t long to socialize, we didn’t angst over missed Facebook posts,

And nobody denied us access.

Oct21

For Love of the Game

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Summer…nice

Giants game…woohoo

Splash ball…perfect

14 inning win…unbelievable

Spectator dancing on video screen in horses head…saaaweet!!