Unicorn + Peacock = ?

I love Christopher Columbus.  Regardless of whether or not he actually discovered America, my kids get the day off from school.  So, we won’t be late today!  It doesn’t matter what time I get up something always comes up that delays our departure.  Just recently, we were late to school because my daughter wanted to draw a unicorn.  Let me repeat: she refused to leave until she drew a unicorn.  She is obsessed with an imaginary animal.   Dear God, please don’t let her grow up to play Dungeons & Dragons.
She will draw unicorn-dogs, unicorn-birds, unicorn-cows, etc.  They all  look alike.  Her creations are nothing like this picture posted on Reddit.   A 4th grader was asked to come up with a new animal by combining two that already exist.  The end result is fantastic.

 

 

My bologna has a first name….

I cook dinner (almost) every night. It’s not because I am a subservient wife.  I have three children who demand to eat three meals a day.  I know, who do they think they are? Some days we grab take-out and my husband is left to fend for himself when he gets home from work.  Then, there are days when I just don’t feel like cooking and they eat sandwiches.  Bottom line, my husband does not expect a hot meal on the table when he gets home at night.  He is grateful when I do cook. (As he should be) When I read a story about a woman in New York who was making her boyfriend sandwiches to earn an engagement ring, I nearly spit out my Twinkie.  (How the hell did we live without those for so long?)

As the story goes, Page Six reporter, Stephanie Smith’s boyfriend made a snide comment that she should’ve made him a sandwich when she woke up. (They don’t have any kids so it was probably after noon. Remember what that feels like? Yeah, me neither.)  “Sandwiches are love,” he says. So, she made him one.

As he finished that last bite, he made an unexpected declaration of how much he loved me and that sandwich: “Honey, you’re 300 sandwiches away from an engagement ring!”  I paused.  Was our happily ever after as simple as making him a few sandwiches?”

First of all,  I wouldn’t have made the first sandwich.  In fact, he probably wouldn’t have eaten the rest of the day. Miss Smith got cooking and started a blog documenting each and every sandwich she created.  (I must admit, the sandwiches look delicious)  The article continues:

Ten sandwiches or so in, I did the math. Three sandwiches a week, times four weeks a month, times 12 months a year, meant I wouldn’t be done until I was deep into my 30s. How would I finish 300 sandwiches in time for us to get engaged, married and have babies before I exited my childbearing years?  My mother was the voice of reason. “Relationships are a marathon, not a sprint,” she said. “Take it one sandwich at a time.”

My Mom would have said, “Tell him to make his own damn sandwich.”  You need to throw him out with the week old salami.  Did Beyonce teach us nothing?  If he likes it he should have put a ring on it.  You shouldn’t have to earn a diamond.  A day after this article ran in the paper women wearing Birkenstock’s and carrying portraits of Susan B. Anthony stormed delis across the country in protest.   Miss Smith recanted.  She now claims it was just a joke.  Talk about a poker face.  She just made sandwich #177.    My bologna has a first name…..

 

Superpower

I have a confession. I am a superhero. Some people may have suspected this all along. You may be scratching your head asking, “What is her special power?” Well, I can see things in my house that nobody else can see. Here are a few:

1.) Syrup spilled in the refrigerator

2.) Juice spilled in the refrigerator

3.) Anything spilled in the refrigerator

4.) Bag of chips, crackers, etc. with only crumbs inside

5.) Socks on the bedroom floor

6.) Lint on a carpet

7.) Toys in front of a door

8.) Shampoo bottles knocked over in the shower

9.) Full garbage cans

10.) Dishes in the sink

11.) Pubic hair on the back of the toilet

12.) Empty dog food dish

13.) Clean clothes in a laundry basket

14.) Sauce crusted on the stovetop

15.) No toilet paper on roll

16.) Milk or juice container with drops remaining

17.) Toothpaste smeared in cabinet drawer

18.) Spit on bathroom mirror

Excuse me Siri?

I am sure this post will offend some people. I know it’s hard to believe, but not everyone enjoys my humor. It has to be difficult to laugh with a stick up your ass. I need to get a “Holier than Thou” filter for my inbox. I am pretty sure Jesus frowns on hate email.

Anyway……

I learned an important lesson last night about computerized women. You should never leave your children alone with them. My 5-year-old, up past his usual bedtime due to a jelly bean induced sugar high, was walking around the kitchen with his Ipod asking Siri ridiculous questions. “Did you poop?” “I hate you,” he giggled. I scolded him for the potty talk. As I turned to walk away he rambled into the microphone about Legos. I froze in my tracks when I heard Siri’s reply. What did she just say?

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No, Siri. My kindergartener doesn’t need you to search the web for “Big dick daddy,” but thanks for asking. I guess I can’t believe her when she says I am a good Mom. She probably heard, “Do fish live in a pond?”

Alba’s Advice

Another Hollywood actress has some advice on how you can be a better parent. (I just threw up in my mouth.) Jessica Alba has written a book called “The Honest Life: Living Naturally and True to You.” She says it is “super easy” to do the things in her book. The title alone makes me want to punch her. Among other things, Jessica recommends leaving plastics outside for a few days to off-gas the chemicals. Really? Clearly, she doesn’t have feral cats in her neighborhood. Plus, try telling your kid he or she can’t play with a toy until it airs out. Can you say meltdown?

She also recommends making your own baby food and giving yourself facials with coffee & yogurt. Then, whip up a batch of homemade laundry detergent. Who the hell has time for that? (Ain’t nobody got time for that.) I am lucky if I get to shower. My kids ate Gerber & Beechnut Baby Food and turned out just fine. As for coffee and yogurt facials? The only yogurt in my refrigerator has a sneaky bunny rabbit on the box. Jessica claims she does this crap on her own. She is a millionaire. I can’t afford to buy organic produce. I don’t read the labels on everything I buy. I enjoy Slim Jims and Diet Coke. My kids chug Kool aid. They are healthy and happy. I have other things to worry about. So, bite me Sue Storm.

Best Obit Ever

This is the greatest obituary ever. Why? It is honest and funny. I didn’t know Harry, but I feel like I did. This obit, written by Harry’s daughter, has gone viral. It is clear he was quite a character and loved by his family. I hate obituaries that merely boast about one’s accomplishments. Guess what? When you are dead it doesn’t matter how many years you were were the President of Rotary. (or that you were never invited to join. eh-hem.) It doesn’t matter if you graduated at the top of your class in high school. By the way, lose the class ring Mr. Mid-Life Crisis. Your birthstone bling isn’t going to impress the ladies when you pull up in a corvette. When you are six feet under nobody cares how much money you earned. Well, unless they are in your will. I think Harry’s daughter should go into business. Here are my favorite parts:

 

Harry Weathersby Stamps

December 19, 1932 — March 9, 2013

Long Beach

Harry Weathersby Stamps, ladies’ man, foodie, natty dresser, and accomplished traveler, died on Saturday, March 9, 2013.

Harry was locally sourcing his food years before chefs in California starting using cilantro and arugula (both of which he hated).

As a point of pride, he purported to remember every meal he had eaten in his 80 years of life.

The women in his life were numerous. He particularly fancied smart women. He married his main squeeze Ann Moore, a home economics teacher, almost 50 years ago, with whom they had two girls Amanda Lewis of Dallas, and Alison of Starkville. He taught them to fish, to select a quality hammer, to love nature, and to just be thankful.

He had a life-long love affair with deviled eggs, Lane cakes, boiled peanuts, Vienna [Vi-e-na] sausages on saltines, his homemade canned fig preserves, pork chops, turnip greens, and buttermilk served in martini glasses garnished with cornbread.

He loved to use his oversized “old man” remote control, which thankfully survived Hurricane Katrina, to flip between watching The Barefoot Contessa and anything on The History Channel. He took extreme pride in his two grandchildren Harper Lewis (8) and William Stamps Lewis (6) of Dallas for whom he would crow like a rooster on their phone calls.

He was fond of saying a phrase he coined “I am not running for political office or trying to get married” when he was “speaking the truth.” He also took pride in his service during the Korean conflict, serving the rank of corporal–just like Napolean, as he would say.

Harry took fashion cues from no one. His signature every day look was all his: a plain pocketed T-shirt designed by the fashion house Fruit of the Loom, his black-label elastic waist shorts worn above the navel and sold exclusively at the Sam’s on Highway 49, and a pair of old school Wallabees (who can even remember where he got those?) that were always paired with a grass-stained MSU baseball cap.

Harry traveled extensively. He only stayed in the finest quality AAA-rated campgrounds, his favorite being Indian Creek outside Cherokee, North Carolina. He always spent the extra money to upgrade to a creek view for his tent. Many years later he purchased a used pop-up camper for his family to travel in style, which spoiled his daughters for life.

He despised phonies, his 1969 Volvo (which he also loved), know-it-all Yankees, Southerners who used the words “veranda” and “porte cochere” to put on airs, eating grape leaves, Law and Order (all franchises), cats, and Martha Stewart. In reverse order. He particularly hated Day Light Saving Time, which he referred to as The Devil’s Time. It is not lost on his family that he died the very day that he would have had to spring his clock forward. This can only be viewed as his final protest.

Because of his irrational fear that his family would throw him a golf-themed funeral despite his hatred for the sport, his family will hold a private, family only service free of any type of “theme.”

Finally, the family asks that in honor of Harry that you write your Congressman and ask for the repeal of Day Light Saving Time. Harry wanted everyone to get back on the Lord’s Time.

 

You can read the entire obit here: Legacy.com

High tea

My daughter and I had another tea party. At the rate we are going, I am pretty sure there’s going to be a tea shortage. I tried to take our picture, but every time the camera clicked (damn delay) she would giggle, lean forward and say, “We are SO fancy.” You should have recorded that. I know, I know.

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I also should have recorded her scolding me for sitting on the cat. Hold up! Don’t call animal control just yet. We don’t have a cat. I am allergic. Knowing this, my husband brought two kittens home last year. “They can live in the house outside.” He was talking about my daughter’s Little Tykes plastic house. It doesn’t have a real door or windows. Those kittens immediately bailed. The way my kids saw it, I was the bad guy who made Dad take them back. What’s new?

The cat my daughter was speaking of was make believe. How was I to know “Alice” would invite a cat to sit at the table and drink tea?

Mom Takes Children’s Songs Literally

I was in desperate need of something to smile about.  This article actually made me laugh.  “Mom Takes Children’s Songs Literally” comes to us from Mcsweeneys.net

Kudos to Sarah Schmelling.   Here are a few of my favorites:

 

– – – –

What do you mean, she’ll get here “when she comes”? That’s not a time. How can I plan around that?

– –

And we’ll all have chicken and dumplings? All of us? Even you three vegetarians? Who’s going to be cooking these dumplings anyway? Remember that time I made pierogies? No, I bet you don’t remember that.

– –

Okay, someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah. What is this, a guessing game? And no one’s going to be “strumming on the ol’ banjo” in my house. I’m not stupid.

– –

You are not a little teapot, honey. You’ve just got my hips. I’m sorry.

– –

You’re paying far too much attention to that very, very small spider.

– –

Is the old man snoring? Or is he in a coma? Because if he bumped his head and can’t get up we need to call someone. And it’s going to be tricky since it’s raining. And it’s pouring.

– –

Well nobody asked you to carry a banjo all the way from Alabama.

– -What are you talking about, “how I wonder what you are”? It’s a star. You just said it was a star.

– –

GET THE BABY OUT OF THE TREE. NOW.

– –

 

Adventure Time!

I dragged my kids to a few stores today. As you can imagine they were less than pleased. It’s not my fault. They are the ones who always want to eat. (Kids these days are so demanding.) When we walked into the house a song was playing on Cartoon Network. This is completely unrelated, but have you seen the show “Adventure Time” on this station? I want to know what the hell the writers are smoking. Here are just a few of the characters: a dog made of rubber, a kid missing a nose, angry candy and a king willing to break the law for love.

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I would much rather watch a bossy rabbit who has no business babysitting her brother. For goodness sake, lighten up Ruby and let Max play. You are a just a child, too. Your parents are destined to be featured on Nancy Grace. I even prefer watching a giant red pickle who clearly has a STD and an anorexic DJ “Dancey Dance” with random celebrities. Unfortunately, my boys love “Adventure Time.”

Cartoon Network does have some other cool shows and a few block rockin beats.

That song is fantastic. I may download and crank this tune in the swagger wagon the next time they complain.