Tag Archives: lemons

Word-Up: Show Me Your Weenus

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My summer has been as crazier than a redneck at an opera (my husband should know).   And while I continue to chuck back lemons at life , the little suckers appear to be getting smaller and easier to manage.  Anyway, all that means is that I have had less time to hang here on Sweet Spot.  So, I thought I would share one of my favorite moments from last spring.  Some things just never get old…especially boy humor, at least in my world.

I knew it!  I feared the day would come – the moment when I would finally be presented with undeniable proof I was failing as a parent.  I wanted to deny it, but the evidence was right there staring me in the face.  Clearly, I was raising a depraved sociopath.

You know the age old story, in the aftermath of a sociopath’s identification, when the neighbors wax poetic for the press?  Statements of disbelief such as:  “But, they were such a nice family”…  “Never heard a peep out of them”…”mostly kept to themselves”…”They had a lot of garden gnomes.”

Right, well, I could just see the entire future unfolding. How had it come to this?

You see, last weekend as we drove endlessly in the car from one activity to another, the irrefutable proof of my impending catastrophe occurred. I don’t know, maybe my kids were bored.  And what is it ‘they’ say?  Boredom is the devil’s playground?  Boredom is the Mother of Invention?  Either way, from the depths of the backseat, my son called out,

“Mom, I scraped my weenus, could you put a band aide on it?”

What?!

Before I could even process his statement, the situation deteriorated further. Apparently, my parental fiasco was farther reaching than just one dissolute sociopath as both boys continued in a flourish of depravity.

“Mom, my weenus is exposed”.

“I need some sunscreen for my weenus”.

“Hey, get your weenus out of my face”.

“Look, my weenus is all wrinkled”.

“I am going to touch you with my weenus”.

“I have the weirdest weenus, want to see?”.

The situation seemed dire at best.

But then, just as I was getting ready to take preventative action (you can google for a psychotherapist, right?), I was saved.  In the nick of time, I was informed by my little backseat degenerates their particular word “weenus” came with its own specific definition. However, just to be sure (and to have proof for possible future penal encounters – ha, get it?), I googled it myself- lo and behold:

According to Urban Dictionary:Weenus is the flap of skin on your elbow”.

Sigh of relief.  Apparently I am not raising a couple of depraved sociopaths, just a couple of depraved smart alecks.

But that I can live with, proudly.

For more word abuse, check out these earlier posts!

Word-Up:  Poop

Word-Up: We’ve Got Big Balls

Word-Up: Opus Anyone?

Word-Up: Get a Yob!

When Life Gives You Lemons, Chuck Them Back

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lemon-cartoon

I have always hated the saying “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  I know this may be surprising coming from the girl who writes a blog called “Looking for the Sweet Spot.”  But the truth is, when life hands me lemons, my initial instinct and burning desire is to chuck them right back…hard…in a “you can put an eye out like that” kind of way.

Logic aside (or even in the near vicinity), I want life to be like ordering in a restaurant:

Life Waitress:  “Excuse me, Miss,” (‘cause in my perfect world, no one ever dares address me as ‘Maam’), “Would you like a lemon with life today?”

Me:  “No, I think I will pass on the lemon for today! But, thank you for asking.”

I mean really, wouldn’t it at least be polite of Life to first ask if I am ready, willing, and able to embrace the whole idea of a lemon?

But no, Life always seems to prefer the shock and awe approach – handing out the biggest, juiciest lemon when least expected or wanted.  And as an added bonus, Life’s timing seems to generally suck.

So now, here sits the big huge lemon Life has handed me right in the middle of everything, impossible to ignore and demanding acceptance…just like my cat.

And I am left to figure out how to squeeze some lemonade out of it, beat it to a pulp (the lemon, not the cat), or better yet, find a way to laugh about it.

But until that time, I am asking, in the most respectful way possible regarding all future lemon gifts…

“In the future, Life, when handing me a lemon, could you at least, please, pass the sugar, too?”

Or, at least, give me a good punch line.

Thank you.  Your cooperation is much appreciated.