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Archive for the ‘humor’ Category

Well, I haven’t been blogging as much as I have in the past.  If you want to know why…it’s because I joined my best friend from law school, Julie, and started blogging with her.  We’ve got this great blog/website:

mommyesquire.com

“We’re Moms.  We’re Lawyers.  We’re Your In-house Counsel.”

Check us out and see what the fuss is all about.  It’s fun and informative.  We’re taking your issues and offering free advice.  We’re reviewing everything from lip balm to overnight diapers.

Why?  Because we can.

What makes us think we are experts?  We don’t know.  Does having six kids between us count?  How about two undergraduate degrees, two law degrees, and one pageant title?

Who are we?

Julie - Creator of mommyesquire.com

Julie - Creator of mommyesquire.com

This is Julie:

Creator of mommyesquire.com
Working mom
Mother of three
Likes: reading, jogging, cooking, traveling, hiding from her children
Dislikes: cleaning, incorrect grammar, people who dress their little girls like skanks
Dreamed of being a Court TV anchor after law school
Voted “Most Likely to Achieve”…or should have been

Likes…no, loves…wine

Kim: Co-creator of mommyesquire.com

Kim: Co-creator of mommyesquire.com

This is Kim:

Co-creator of mommyesquire.com
Stay at home mom
Mother of three boys
Likes: reading, sewing, shopping, making her kids push her on the tire swing
Dislikes: people who don’t write thank you notes, sassy children, the smell of Polo cologne
Dreamed of being a non-profit lawyer and “helping people”….(yeah, now I’m in-house counsel to three very indigent clients).
Voted most likely to wear pink to court.
Has a raging case of ADHD…and a vegetarian.

So, come visit us at mommyesquire.com and have a laugh…all at our expense.  Enjoy!

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This week has been particularly trying with my boys.  Summer is here.  School is out.  We have more time on our hands.  Which means….

I’m saying even more crazy stuff.

For example:

I like to listen to a radio station that plays “oldies.”  I really like their “Disco Lunch Hour.”  The other day, we listened to “You Dropped the Bomb On Me” and my boys loved the bomb sound effects, etc.  Later in the lunch hour, we  heard K.C. and the Sunshine Band sing, “Shake Your Booty.”  I thought it was fun to sing while I reminisced about weekends spent at the roller skating rink as a child.  What I didn’t think about was that my boys would latch on to the whole “Shake Your Booty” thing.  The boys loved the lyrics, mostly because K.C. said the word, “Booty.”  For the rest of the day, my boys ran around saying the word “Booty” and laughing like wild hyenas.

Ah, to have three little boys….

Herein starts a new list of crazy stuff I’ve said to my kids this past week.  Enjoy the insanity that is my life:

#1 – “Stop saying the word, “Booty”!  It isn’t funny.  And, No, you may not sing “Shake Your Booty” at church!  I mean it!”

#2 – “Do not try to go down the slip n’ slide naked…..especially before it gets wet.”  (He didn’t listen to me and had to “recover” inside for an hour after the incident)

#3 – “Just because Daddy lets you pee outside in the backyard does not mean that you can just pee outside at the park.”

#4 – “I don’t care that the Hulk runs around without shoes and no shirt.  You must be fully clothed when we go to the grocery store.”  (said to the child who went down the slip n’ slide naked)

#5 – “Farting in the bathtub does not make the tub into a bubble bath.”

#6 – “A rattlesnake would not make a good pet.  I don’t care if they have them at the zoo.  In fact, no snake would be a good pet for us.  Think of something else…please.”

#7 –  “Why do I make up the bed every morning when we just mess the bed up again at night? hmmmm.  Good question.”

#8 – “You may not have a popcicle for breakfast.  I don’t care if it is made with “real fruit juice” like it says on the box.”

#9 – “Please go to sleep.  One day when you are an adult, you will wish you had a nap time.  Seriously.”

#10 – “Why do Mommies wear makeup?  Well….your Mommy wears  it so I don’t scare anyone when I go out in public.”

Thanks, K.C. for the lyrics Shake Your Booty (not really)

Thanks, K.C. for the lyrics "Shake Your Booty" (not really)

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Now, that's what I'm talking about...

Now, that's what I'm talking about...

Sometimes the best things in life are free.  I’m not sure who said that or if it is the lyric in some Beattles song…but, it’s true.  My husband asked me what I would like for Mother’s Day.  I could think of a few things that are totally unrealistic right now:

A cream colored Volvo C70, a diamond Tag Hauer watch with a platinum band, a trip to London,  decent looking shoes to fit my ginormous narrow feet,  world peace and an end to famine

….you get the drift.

However, these are all things that I won’t be given any time soon (at least not with private school tuition looming in the future for three kids)…and the shoes are a lost cause.

I honestly couldn’t think of anything that I couldn’t live without.  I could think of some really cheap (or totally free) gifts that I would adore:

1.  A nap:

Seriously.  I would love to take a nap…by myself….for any length of time that I should need to get recouperative sleep.  Of course, if I were to really get this much-needed REM sleep, I may not wake up for several days.

2.  The laundry done:

I would love to walk into my laundry room, for once, and not see piles of clothes on the floor.  With a husband and three small boys, I feel like I am constantly doing laundry.  In fact, my dryer has begun to squeak.  I think it’s probably time for a new dryer.  UGH.  The thought makes me shudder.

3.  The house cleaned:

So, I’ve gotten Maid Brigade from time to time…maybe twice a year.  It’s not often enough for me.  I’m the one who cleans our house.  I’d love it if I could just go take a nap and awaken to a house that is clean and smelling like lemon Lysol.  However, I think this a fairytale complete with little mice that sew ballgowns and a fairy Godmother that turns pumpkins into stagecoaches.

4.  An hour long uninterrupted phone conversation:

My best friend lives over 500 miles away.  We talk on the phone 3 or 4 times a week.  Unfortunately, our conversations are often interrupted by someone needing to go “potty,”  children fighting, or someone needing “Mommy” for some reason or another.  I’d really like to curl up on my sofa and just catch up with my best friend  for an hour.  This seems to be impossible.  My children aren’t even interested in talking to me…until I pick up that phone receiver, then I am the most popular person in the world.

5.  An afternoon with NOTHING to do:

Is this even possible?  I’m the kind of person that constantly keeps “to do” lists.  For one day, I’d like to take my list and throw it in the trash.  I’d like to spend an afternoon at an antique mall or at Sephora, trying some new lipsticks.  Maybe a pedicure would be nice?  This is definitely something that I could do for myself.   It’s all about scheduling, right?

See?  Somethings in life are free.  My son drew a picture for me for Mother’s Day.  He drew me with big round eyes and a brown nose.  My hair looks like two antennae on top of my head.  My son is 5 years old.  I think he did a fantastic job and I love my picture….even if I look like a big blonde bug.  I’m thinking about framing it.  He worked so hard on it.  I love it.

My husband is still wondering what to get me.  I think I’ll tell him about this list….and start with #1.   A nap would be nice….

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My husband and I have had a very full social calendar lately.   Don’t immediately think that we are really into the “social scene.”  I mean that we’ve had soccer games, practices, church activities….and a few events that have NOT involved our children.

We’ve enjoyed our “adult outings” to various activities.  It requires me to get dressed in something other than gym shorts and yoga pants.  I have to wear makeup, etc.  We get a babysitter and generally have a good time.  However, I’ve noticed that the last three years as a stay-at-home mom have done a real number on my vocabulary and conversation skills.

For instance, this weekend I found myself involved in a conversation with another adult about art.  The artist was a very interesting person and great conversationalist.  I couldn’t believe it when asking him about his art, I actually asked him, “So where do you hang your… stuff?”  What I meant to ask was, “Where is your art on display?”  Definitely not… “Where do you hang your stuff?”

“Stuff?”  My goodness!  Could I not have said the word, “art”?  Or “paintings”?

Sunday evening at an Easter Egg Hunt, I found myself talking with a very interesting woman whose business is in finance and we were conversing about the state of Wall Street.  She said, “The state of our economy is really a concern for most people.  I think most people are really freaked out and don’t want to invest….blah, blah, blah.”  Suddenly, the woman’s voice sounded like the teacher in A Charlie Brown Christmas (you know…”mwah, mwah, mwah, mwah”).   Frankly, I was so busy watching my three boys out of the corner of my eye that I only heard the word, “freaked.”   I replied, “Yeah, I know what you mean about being freaked out.  The Yo Gabba Gabba guy really freaks me out.”

She walked away.

I couldn’t help it.  All I could concentrate on was the sight of  all three of my rowdy sons clinging to the  poor guy whose job it was to dress up like the Easter Bunny.  By the time I got Will and Jack off the Easter Bunny’s back and George off his leg, I realized that I had not responded very appropriately to the conversation that I was just “involved” in.  If that’s what you call it.

I certainly don’t have this “problem” with my friends.  Or maybe I’m not so self conscious while  in their company.  Actually, we talk about all kinds of interesting things.  I don’t censor myself when I’m with them or my family.  However, put me in a room with people who actually go to jobs every day and have a variety of hobbies and activities that don’t require schlepping kids in a minivan all day….and I’m utterly brain dead.

I think I’m suffering from “Mommy speak.”  Mommy speak is when you know all the words to “The Wheels on the Bus,”  but couldn’t carry on a conversation about the local music scene.  It is when you can tell someone about non-staining finger paints, but can’t remember who painted the The Last Supper (It’s Di Vinci, right?).   Mommy speak also enables you to translate on behalf of any toddler or baby.  I can tell you what my one year old is saying.  When he says, “Fyes!”  I know he is saying “Fries,”  as in french fries (this usually happens when we pass a McDonald’s).  I can tell you what any toddler is saying when they say “Poo,”  “Doo,” or “Wee Wee.” Because of this thing, Mommy speak, I am now in the habit of referring to the restroom as the “Potty.”  You know what I’m talking about….surely?  If you don’t have this problem….well, more power to you.

I mean it.

Really.

Mommy speak can sneak up on you.  It can impair your ability to carry on a full conversation.  It impairs your memory and comprehension skills.  I am definitely sure of this.  Some of this is due, in part, to “Momnesia”…or also known as “Mommy Brain.”  I do believe that when you have children, most of us lose precious brain cells…by the butt load.  Don’t even get me started on what happens to your attention span.  Since having children, I am convinced that my three year old has a longer attention span than I do.

I know this won’t last forever.  One day, I will be able to carry on a brilliant conversation.

I’m just scared it will only be after my children leave for college.

Yo gabba gabba

I said to her, "Yeah, the Yo Gabba Gabba guy really freaks me out."

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I hate change.  When Facebook changed the look of my “wall,”  I despised it.  When a well-meaning friend moved my sofa to the other side of my living room, I freaked.  Don’t even get me started on the whole controversy when they “changed” Coca Cola.  I am a creature of habit and I’m not afraid to admit it.  However, some change is good.

Very good, indeed.

I am referring to the weather.  I live in the south, where it is supposed to be balmy, even at Christmas.  This year is the exception.  It has been a very cold (and bleak) winter.  We’ve had a couple of good snows…which translates into some snow days for the kids (except mine who go to private school…I guess they want paying parents to know that they’ll make sure you get your money’s worth when it comes to education…keep ’em open…come hell or high water).  My kids have managed to use the plastic saucers and sleds to slide down our steep driveway through the snow.  We even made a snowman complete with carrot nose.  Our winter has been unseasonably cold and I say….

ENOUGH ALREADY!!!!!

Where’s this “global warming” everyone was talking about?  I’m tired of the cold…and wet…and overcast days.  It’s enough to make you think you’ve got seasonal affective disorder…even if you don’t.  I find myself watching infomercials and am overwhelmed with the idea of  buying things I’ve never bought before – like snuggies (those blankets you wear), ice scrapers, omelet makers, ShamWow towels and those lamps you plug in that mimic sunlight.  It seems like the colder it gets….t.v. gets even worse.

I miss the sunlight.  I actually miss spring!  I’m ready to shed these sweaters and enjoy sandals.  Frankly, I’m worried that it will be too cold to enjoy linen and seersucker at Easter.   I’ve never thought white shoes looked particularly good on anyone other than little girls at Easter, but I’d at least like the option of saying that white shoes were permissible.  (You know, you can’t wear white shoes after Labor Day…only on and after Easter?)  It’s just too cold to even consider the color white.  Goodness, gracious!!!!

I’m getting rather desperate over here.  I even feel the need to apologize to my mother-in-law, a woman who is chronically cold-natured.  Every time she visits, she complains that my house is too cold.  At seventy-two degrees in my living room, I’ll find her wrapped in a thick sweater, which she reserves for her visits to my house.  I jokingly tell her it’s because she lives in Florida, which is basically, like living in a third world country.

Up until now, I’ve always thought I’d love to live somewhere it’s cold and snowy with a long winter.  I imagined myself curled up on some sofa, feet tucked underneath me, sipping a big mug of hot cider while reading some thrilling novel while the falling snow softly blankets the ground outside my cabin…somewhere in the Adirondacks.  What a dream.  Yeah, it’s a dream…not reality.  It’s pretty difficult being cramped inside all day with three kids with a severe case of cabin fever…in southwest Tennessee.

I say bring on SPRING!!!!!!  I’m ready for a long, warm day…watching the kids swing on the tire swing.  My boys are ready to run through the freshly mowed grass in their bare feet.  Enough of hot apple cider.  It’s time for lemonade with big chunks of ice.  Ahhhhhh.   Change can be nice.

Change of seasons...and scenery would be nice.

Change of seasons...and scenery would be nice.

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I only wish I could have more Beth Moore moments.

I only wish I could have more "Beth Moore" moments.

Within the last three days, I have been bombarded with bad news from friends and family.  I have listened to friends tell me that they’ve lost their jobs, been diagnosed with an illness, had to schedule surgeries, homes are being foreclosed and depression is setting in.  Believe me when I say that I am no bystander.  Within the last six months, I’ve had my fair share of worries….a major health scare, two surgeries, radiation ablation, the death of my stepfather, and financial woes which accompany the present state of our economy.  So, don’t feel alone in your time of trial…I’m right there with ya.

However, I’m tired of “it.” “It” being bad stuff.  Illnesses, death, despair.  I’m just sick and tired of it.  I’ve got some serious anxiety lately…wondering where it will hit next.   Sometimes, I have nightmares that God is like some big bad mobster.  I’ve imagined him a lot  like Tony Soprano.  This “Mobster God” of my nightmares just keeps “putting hits out” on people.  My nightmares all end with someone (or me) in the back of a big black limo, headed for the Jersey turnpike…in a pair of cement stilettos.

But this is all no joking matter.  I find myself totally pissed off.  I mean really mad.  I keep asking God, “Who and what could be next?”  I don’t mind asking Him, “Can’t you just give us a break already?”  It’s not like we need any more crap piled up on top of what we’re handling.

Let me just say that I am “saved.”  Yes, I believe in God…and specifically, His Son Jesus Christ.  I wish I never questioned His grand plans.  I really would like to be as sure as Beth Moore, Kay Graham Lotz, or Nancy Leigh DeMoss of the whole Heavenly roadmap.  All of these Christian women just seem so sure about everything.  I don’t always feel like this.  I’d like to be one of those women that I’ve seen at church who, in her time of trial, just serenely quotes some Bible verse with a smile plastered across her face.  (You know who they are….the “Stepford Christian woman”…always ready with muffins in hand).  Anyway,  I’d love to have one of these “Beth Moore” moments.  However, I don’t see it happening.  It’s not in my DNA.

In fact, out of all the people in the Bible…I feel a kinship with St. Peter.  This is who I feel like I am most like.   Peter was totally imperfect, but he loved Jesus.   One particular story resonates with me.  It takes place in the garden of Gethsemane right before Jesus was tried and crucified.  The soldiers had come to take Jesus away.   When one of the soldiers made a move to capture Jesus, Peter took out his sword and chopped off the ear of the soldier that manhandled his friend, Jesus.   Everyone else just stood there.  Not Peter.  Peter took action.  Yes, Jesus admonished Peter for fighting….but, Peter wasn’t about to just do nothing while they took Jesus away.  I’m with Peter.  I don’t believe in just standing there and watching.   I believe in doing something.  Anything.

Lately, this includes arguing with God.

Why am I telling you all of this?

I told a clergy person that I wanted to know why I had to have a health scare.  I was told that God chastises his own.  Hmmmmm.  So, does that mean that I did something that required chastisement?  I took this to God and I told God that I haven’t “done anything.”  Lately, I’ve been living a pretty boring life.  Chastisement?  You’ve got to give me another reason.

Then just the other day, I shared with a group of Christian women that I have been “wrestling with God” over all of the things going on recently. (I was just “sharing.”  I wasn’t looking for someone to give me advice.) When one of the women told me just to “pray more,”  I looked at her like she had three heads.  “You’ve got to be kidding me?” I sarcastically responded.  “Pray more?!  What in the heck do you think I’ve been doing?” I said.

I meant it.  I have been praying.  Hard.  If arguing on behalf of myself and others isn’t praying…then I don’t know what I’ve been doing.  Someone very wise told me that the God of our universe can “handle it.”  God can handle my rage, my arguing, and my defiance over whatever reasons are given to me by well-meaning clergy and fellow Christians.  I don’t have to sing along to praise music and wave my hands in the air.  I don’t have to kneel on the edge of my bed with hands folded and speak sweetly to Him.  I think God is strong enough to handle what I’ve got to give Him.  I’ve got questions.  I’ve got some anger and I want Him to listen to me.  I’ve got a case to present on behalf of me and the people I love.  I can pace back and forth in my living room and shout out to God.  I can run on the treadmill and tell God what I really think.  Today I ran like someone was chasing me.  I had a lot to say…

He’s got to listen.  He’s got to give us a break.  At least, this is what I’ve been praying for.

By the way, it was nice to be reminded that my God isn’t walking around “zapping” us with bad crap.  He loves us.  I keep telling myself that.  Even Billy Graham said, “The Christian life is not a constant high. I have my moments of deep discouragement. I have to go to God in prayer with tears in my eyes, and say, ‘O God, forgive me,’ or ‘Help me.”

I keep telling myself:

Life is precious.

Life is a gift from God.

God is with me.

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Secret..Agent Man...  Are you sure it isnt Secret A-S-I-A-N man?

"Secret..Agent Man...?" Are you sure it isn't "Secret A-S-I-A-N man?"

My best friend from childhood, Nancy, is planning a visit to see me this summer.  She lives more than 500 miles away from me.  That doesn’t stop us from talking on the phone every two or three days.  We call each other with serious needs and even call each other about things that are totally trivial…like if it’s O.K. to wear jeans to a parent-teacher conference.

It’s been several years since we’ve seen each other and have decided that this summer is THE summer.  We are going to plan time to see each other.  It’s been long overdue.  We are totally stoked to see each other and looking forward to just being in each other’s presence.  In high school, we were known as Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.  We were quite the pair.  I’m not ashamed to say that in 30+ years later, we haven’t changed much.  When we are together, we slip into goofier versions of ourselves and we laugh hysterically at everything.  You know…all the things that you do with your oldest and dearest best friend.

One thing that I am sure that we will do is crank up the music and sing to every song…and screw up lyrics.  It’s what we do.  It’s what we’ve always done.  Ever since we were kids.

Back in the day, we’d sing as loud as we could:

“Medieval Woman…..Oh yeah…Medieval Woman!”   Later, we found out that Electric Light Orchestra was singing, “E-V-I-L Woman!,”  not singing about someone dressed up for a Renaissance Fair.

Or one of our other faves was:

“Secret Asian Man….Secret Asian Man…They’ve given you a number and taken away your name!”  Later, we discovered Johnny Rivers was singing about a “Secret A-G-E-N-T Man,” not someone immigrating from China.

To this day, I want to sing:

“Here’s a little bitty…about Jack and Diane…growin’ up in the Heartland.”  But, no.  John Cougar Mellancamp is telling us that “Here’s a little D-I-T-T-Y ’bout Jack and Diane.”  He isn’t telling us that Jack and Diane are short in stature. No, Jack and Diane are not “little people.”

There weren’t too many songs that Nancy and I couldn’t mess up.  Secretly, I think we liked singing the songs the way we “heard” them.  I still think that by stretching out “evil” in the song, Evil Woman, into three syllables, ELO is making it far too confusing.  It just sounds too much like “Medieval.”  But, I’m beating a dead horse.  Anyway, I’m looking forward to riding about town, with our kids in tow, singing along to whatever comes on the radio.  Lately, Nancy has been into Radiohead and Moby.  The words are muffled enough on both of their latest albums that I am most sure that if we can’t figure out what they’re singing…we’ll make something up.

I’m sure it’ll be quite entertaining….’till we find out what the real lyrics are.

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