Saturday, February 26, 2011


From my daughter, to my husband while he's gone on a business trip. Seems I can't trust her as far as I can throw her...

thank you so much! I really do miss you! I really want you to come home! were are you sleeping??????????? I really want to know! I will take care of mom! today I can tell she was really sick because she was being really grumpy because when ever I talk to her really nice and I ask her something really nice when she is not doing anything she would yell at me and raise her voice! and she is kind of being mean to chris! I think she is just thinking of her bing sick and I think that she is just really sick so I think that that is why she is so grumpy! I love you so much! I really miss yo and want you to come home right now! love you!

Friday, February 25, 2011


Two words, friends~Maturation. Presentation. Otherwise known as The Scream Heard Round the World.

I remember working up the courage to show my mother the permission slip~and I call her mother because she was the enemy that day. I folded it 18 times, whispered to Diana that I was "going in," set the receiver down and crept, sweating and trembling, into the living room. After a few panicky attempts, I finally hucked the paper square onto the newspaper she was reading and fled. I assume she read it, because she was there for the "Very Personally Yours" lecture and video.

Aqua booklet, black script, written in the 50's, but clearly meant to stand the test of time, because this was the 80's. Timeless advice like, "Not too hot!" regarding the temperature of your shower. Who KNEW what might happen should steam cover the mirror of a menstruating girl! And "Smile, sister, Smile!" when you check your reflection in your compact mirror, touching up your ruby red lipstick, but then are suddenly overcome by the poor fit of your girdle. Harsh realities, ladies. And yes, I've taken these things to heart over the years, smiling through my tears while I fix my bleeding red lipstick in the compact, shivering in my tepid bath. It really is the simple joys.

Anyway, my sister in law tried to prepare her twin daughters for the presentation. Appearing nonchalant, she told them the kinds of things they'd be discussing.

"You know, puberty and bras and periods and stuff. You know about periods, right?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah. Totally. Like, you know, the period of life we're in right now. Yeah, we know all about periods." heads nodding in self assured unison.

When she actually said the words, they ran screaming from the room~one even hid under the table, plugging shut her ear canals in the fetal position. "NOOOOOOO! AAAGGHHHH!! OOOOOO, THAT'S SO GROSS! DON'T TELL US! DON'T SAY IT ANYMORE! AAAGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

Best part of that, my sister in law is pregnant. I suggested if she really wanted to have some fun, that she wait until the video was over, then pointing at her belly say, "So, now you know how I got this way, right? Me and Daddy...?" (eyebrow lift and head nod)

Long term damage.

As I said before, it really is the simple joys.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Man Stroke Woman - Man Cold

Good news! My daughter has caught my husband's man cold. I KNOW, PEOPLE, I KNOW! How did I find out? A sampling of her comments:

"Mom, (cough cough) I taste blood! My throat is bleeding (cough) because I'm coughing sohard!"

"Mom, (cough) it hurts my fingers to touch stuff."

"Mom, (sprawled across the floor) Check my forehead. (cough) Bring me some medicine. (sigh) Can you get me some orange juice? I want the big chair in the car, so make the boys sit in the back. My neck hurts. My skin hurts. Can the boys clean my room?"

So yeah. Wish me well.

On a side note, my dear husband was obliged to awaken me in the predawn light, on his way out the door, to show me his cold sore. Because yes, it was THAT important for me to know that one~he has a cold sore, two~it's because he has a cold, and three~cold sores are caused by stress, and clearly he is stressed, on account of the physical manifestation on his lip.

But he can't help it. He's a man, and he has a cold.

Poor little bunny.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


We saw this...

And THIS...

And even spent an evening warming our hands over this...but what thrilled me to my core? What made the thousands of dollars in lodging, food and entertainment seem like an insignificant coin tossed into the fountain of my quest for happiness?

That's right, Big Baby, from Toy Story 3.
Thanks to Janine for finding it in the Tsunami of Disney paraphernalia. She's a pirate. Argh.

Monday, February 14, 2011


I'm writing whilst slobbering and sucking on an enormous Mickey Mouse Disney World jaw breaker on a stick. I can feel myself getting lock jaw, but it's worth it. Something magical about Disney.

We're back! And once again, I'm full up with stories...from fevers and flu and strep throat, to HOLY JUNK THAT PLACE IS EXPENSIVE. But because we both know the kind of tales I'm capable of, and the kind of humor (potty) you seem to enjoy, I'll just go with the one where I peed myself on the plane.

That's right, folks.
Peed myself.
On account of a sneeze.

It all began with a caught cold the eve before departure.

Which turned into a migraine the following morning.

Which turned into nausea and extreme sensitivity to light, sound, and MOST ESPECIALLY A FOUR AND A HALF HOUR PLANE RIDE HOME.

Which turned into eyes closed, in through the nose~out through the mouth, one finger in the air silent shushing of anyone who might tap my arm or think to distract me from clutching at the vomit bag.

Which turned into the slightest movement=waterfall of puke.

Which turned into a full bladder and a sleeping daughter draped across my lap.

Which turned into a complete inability to respond with the requisite knee jerk leg clamp in case of rogue sneeze.

Which turned into "ACHOO!"

Which turned into, "Aw, hell."...and two and a half hours still remaining on the flight.

It was good times, friends. Good urine soaked times. Fortunately, the cushion was pleather and my pants were absorbent. And with all the stench going on in an airplane, the smell of tinkle could hardly raise an eyebrow.

Anyway, I don't know why I thought it wise to share this humiliation. Except for the fact that I'm a giver and figured it outranked a box of chocolates and stuffed animal on this Valentines day of burnin' love.

What? You got ME something, too? Oh, you're so shouldn't have! (rip, shred, tearing at the wrapping)

A book? How nice! Wait, what are Kegels?

(angry slit eyes)

You're dead to me.

Thursday, February 3, 2011


Me~"YAY! You got asked to Preference! When is it?"

Son~"Um, in February sometime. I'll find out."

(days pass)

Me~"Did you find out when the dance is? We need to get flowers ordered, your shirt and tie, etc."

Son~"No, but I'll find out. It's like, the twenty somethingth."

(more days pass)

Me~"Did you find out when the dance is yet?"

Son~"Oh, Yeah. No. But I know it's after Valentines."

(more days pass)

Me~"When is Preference?"
(more days pass)
"When is Preference?"
(and some more)
"When is Preference?"
(and even more)

Me~(demon voice, distorted facial features) "FIND OUT RIGHT. THIS. VERY. SECOND. WHEN. THE. DANCE. IS!"

Son~"Okay, okay. Hold on, I'll text Dallin."

Son~"Whoa. Wow. Okay. So, it's next Saturday. The 12th. So. Huh. I guess it's a good thing we found out before we left, so we could order the flowers before we—"



What did he do, you ask? He made a humiliating, penitent phone call and ruined the dance, that's what he did.

Then he brought her flowers, and apologized again.

And then I killed him.