dear mom and dad,
i just wanted to let you know, gently, that your grandson, bear, has developed an obsession with a chipette.
specifically this one:
we can only hope he is able to get a piece of the chipette empire.
though this may come as a shock, remember your granddaughter, queen, has an unusual obsession with chuck e.
my children are attracted to rodents.
signing off with high hopes for your progeny,
your daughter.
i have spent the morning telling my three oldest to put on deodorant.
someone was stinking up a storm and my delicate nostrils were taking a beating.
after all were properly deodorized, i could still smell the offending smell.
and why was that?
the offender was me.
you know that myth that a skunk smells its own stink first?
it actually blames everyone else and then secretly puts deodorant on never admitting any wrong doing.
long ago, in an era far away, my sister came to visit.
on this visit, she decided to turn off bear’s t.v.
she not only turned off the t.v., she pushed the button so far into the t.v. it was never seen from again; it was like her finger was on steriods.
i won’t name names, so we will just call this sister ‘jenn’.
since that ill-begotten day we have used the remote.
about 3 weeks ago the on/off button stopped working on the remote; the volume and channel button worked, just not the power switch.
“how to turn off the t.v.?” we wondered.
“no worries,” we said. “let’s just leave it on all the time.”
“carbon footprints?” you may ask.
“pashaw.” we say.
last night, while the hubby changed some DVD/VCR magic around, he inadvertently unplugged the TV that had not been turned off for approximately 21 days.
i think i heard the t.v. sigh.
“what now?!” we asked.
“let’s get a tooth pick and see of there is something stuck around the on/off button.” we decided.
shout out to toothpicks, those things do far more than just pick food out of your teeth.
“wait? what if it is the batteries? maybe they are low.” we had our einstein moment while toothpicking the heck out of the remote.
guess what?
the on/off button works on the t.v.
guess what? batteries are magical. like little elves pushing the buttons for us on the inside of the remote.
guess what? it only took 3 weeks to come up with this.
guess what? our ‘A’ game just went up two notches.
booyah!!!!!!!!
fall is beautiful.
it makes people want to dress their family in matching clothes, go stand in some leaves, and smile with a sense of euphoria that makes one sigh.
and then there is us.
this is our attempt at a family picture.
can you guess which one is talking in every picture?
can you guess which one is pretending to read?
can you guess which one is trying to remove my hand?
and that, gentle reader, is why we have exactly one family picture on our wall.
dear people who have decided to procreate and have a say in the future generation,
i understand they are children.
i understand children will look at my children.
they are different.
different cannot help but be noticed.
different is good.
the problem starts when the same child decides to stare at my child with an open mouth, non-stop, walking backwards to continue staring.
the problem starts when you see them staring and do not stop it.
you see, my child has just as much right as your child to be in a store without being stared at.
since you were not inclined to explain to your child why one should not stare, i was forced to bend over until i got your child’s attention and then stare, at eye-level, at your child until your child ran into the back of you trying to get away.
see?
no one likes to be stared at.
here’s a little reminder if you are ever in doubt what to teach your children:
Dear Kind Sir,
i am certain that you feel like spandex help you run in the morning.
in the name of all that is holy, please be unhelpful.
spandex should NOT be worn in the morning.
without shorts.
without underwear.
in front of drop-off time at the high school.
now i am without retinas.
sincerely,
the president of the newly formed organization M.A.M.I.S….E
which stands for
‘moms against men in spandex…..ever’
today the oldest turns 17.
now as you may know, i don’t like to shop, not even for those i have grown in my womb.
usually, we take the kids out and say “pick three things you want for your birthday” and they do the shopping for us.
this year i decided to actually buy something for keats and left it on the his bed with the chocolate chocolate doughnut and chocolate chocolate muffin he requested for his birthday breakfast.
“there’s a big package on my bed.” he told the hubby.
mind you, most people would tear into said big package left on bed.
not keats.
in fact, when i went in to see what he thought of the gift, it was still just sitting there.
“are you going to open it?” i asked.
“is it a gift?” he asked.
“yes! of course it is, what did you think it was?”
“something from aunt jenn or daniel.” he replied.
i even wrapped it.
this is wrapping for me, i put his name on it and balloons (pictures of balloons) and even drew an endearing picture for him.
why should years of making the kids shop for their own birthday gifts make them suddenly wary of a large package left on their bed?
alas, the 3 samurai sword set with wall mounting went a long way to soothe the shock of a large package left on the bed.
as i always say, sharp objects with japanese names is as good a toasty cup of chamomille tea or a shot of whiskey, whichever works best for you.
“where’s the van?” i asked my hubby when i came back from my run, who just happened to be industriously clipping coupons at the kitchen table.
blog post interruption regarding the hubby and his coupon clipping ways.
this woman right here is the biggest threat to our marriage.
she may look innocent, but he visits her website far more than mine.
and late at night.
what is her super sexy power?
coupon clipping.
game over.
now back to all about me.
the hubby looked up from his coupons at me with a confused look.
“you took the van.” he said.
ah $%^&, i did it again.
i lost our van.
good heavens, someone get that van a medic-alert bracelet so people can call me when they find it.
as for me, i am going for the tat……
Stodmor's Blog: Surviving motherhood without eating your young 