Tonight my husband called me from Wal-Mart to tell me about two sing-along Veggie Tales movies that he thought our kids would like.

As he was reading the description on the back to me, someone came over the intercom and said, “Bob and Larry, please come to the Garden Center right away.”

It doesn’t get any better than that, people. THAT is entertainment.

Technorati Tags: ,

post signature

Somewhere I’m sure there’s a sock gremlin laughing at me

If you have kids, you know all too well that you’re going to have laundry…and I don’t know about you, but I have such an intense dislike for laundry that I put it off until I have three or four loads to wash, dry, fold, and put away. Which, by the way is about every two days in our household. (cue violins now, please)

I usually end up with a basket of leftover socks that need to be matched up and I willingly pay my kids a nickel a pair to do it just to save me the headache. I think I’ve paid out about $142.35 this year alone. I calculated yesterday that if I keep it up for the next 16 years, I’m going to have to take a second mortgage to pay for all the sock-matching going on. This is in addition to the fact that we also have the finest collection of sock puppets in the entire western hemisphere from all the socks unable to be matched. My kids will have no problem buying their first car if they start saving now. Of course, I’ll be walking because, honestly? Between buying new socks to replace the mismatched ones and the paying them to match the ones left — I won’t be able to afford the gas for my own car. But I digress…

I recently noticed that my son has taken to hiding his socks when he takes them off. Not in his shoes (that would be too easy for the sock gremlin to find!), but under the couch cushions, behind the bookshelf, under his pillow, in his train table…you get the picture. Seems where ever I look these days, I am finding socks he has stashed away for future use. (This way, they are at his disposal, you see). Most people would probably tend to think he has some sort of anxiety disorder about lost socks…but me? I just think he knows that somewhere there’s a sock gremlin laughing at me whilst sitting on a comfy, cozy pile of our family’s socks.

Technorati Tags: , , ,

post signature

by | 3 Comments

Daddy Cool-io

Ever heard a Baptist preacher rap? Neither have I. Not successfully, anyway.

Yesterday, my husband was being silly and singing a song to our littlest one “rap style”, complete with the beat and “psssh-pssh-psh-psssh” sounds (really it was more percussion-y) when my son (who was in the kitchen getting a glass of juice) said, “Daddy? You sound like an idiot!”

And THAT’s why he’ll never be on American Idol.

post signature

Confessions of a Stay at Home Mom

Taking a bloggy break today to get some things done around the house that I’ve been neglecting…the following was written by Connie Slockbower and since I could totally identify with her (this could have been written by me), I’m posting it for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

Shortly after the birth of my second child, I decided to take a hiatus from my successful career to dedicate time to raising my two daughters, then five years old and eighteen months. Though I could hear the faint chant of hundreds of feminists chastising me for surrendering my “real job” to such a mundane existence, the guilt-inspired call of motherhood is difficult to ignore. Resolute in my decision, I traded my computer for a pasta machine, my briefcase for a diaper bag, and marketing presentations for ad nausea viewings of “The Rescuers”.

Having climbed the corporate ladder and negotiated the churning waters of office politics, I knew that I would find this new era of my life comparatively dull and unchallenging, but I told myself I’d put to good use all the extra time I was sure to have on my hands.

Roughly three hours into my first day of my new career, I abandoned my smug view of the ease of the stay-at-home-Mom lifestyle. By the second week I began compiling a list titled, Things You Never Have To Say In A Management Meeting. The list included such classics as, “Your nostril is not an extra pocket from God”, “Take that out of your mouth”, and “For the last time, put your underwear back on!” I’ll concede that maybe that last one has been used in a business setting, but never outside the halls of Congress.

My biggest mistake in raising toddlers was continuing to indulge my life-long habit of sleeping at night. Children need much less down-time than their grown-up counterparts, and while parents awake sluggish and barely coherent, children leap from their beds armed with nefarious thoughts and boundless determination. While I quickly realized that I must awake an hour before them, the previous days’ antics invariably left me too exhausted to carry through with my strategic defense plan.
I frequently awoke to unwelcome surprises. One morning as I fumbled my way downstairs to the life-giving coffee pot, I noticed a peculiar path of stickiness winding down the stairs, dancing up the walls and sporadically snaking along the carpeting.

I knew the chief suspect in the sticky crime would be wearing blonde pigtails and a pull-up. Following the trail, I spotted her in a corner, sporting a devilish grin and futilely attempting to hide a squeeze bottle of Log Cabin syrup behind her tiny frame. Huddled in a nearby corner was the family cat. Until this moment, I didn’t realize cats could scowl. I surmise that one of the unpronounceable ingredients in the syrup, when liberally applied to cat fur, produces the phenomenon, which does not subside until after all the fur has grown back in.
Two hours later, I had scrubbed away most of the evidence, the cat was busy tearing the pet groomer to shreds, and I was still yearning for the now-cold coffee. I opened the door to the microwave oven and was greeted by a ramekin filled with melted crayons. This time, my oldest was the culprit.

At that moment I realized that I was raising either a pair of mad scientists or two sociopaths. Either way, I was confident I could put an early end to these anti-social leanings. I knew from my managerial days that one must first uncover the motivation for the errant acts, and then apply an appropriate punitive measure to discourage further endeavors. I was determined to see past the dimples and bright eyes, ignore the deceptively sweet expression and act decisively and firmly.
“Why did you melt crayons in the microwave?” I demanded, anticipating the familiar “I don’t know” or “Because” response that children have employed since the beginning of time to confound and stupefy their parents.

Instead, she replied, “I was making lipstick for you, Mommy.”

With that one line, my anger and frustration were nullified. Seven little words, and I was rendered defenseless. “Thank you, honey, but orange isn’t really Mommy’s best color,” was all I could muster.

I loved my former career. I enjoyed the challenge and the sense of accomplishment I felt when motivating a difficult employee, winning over a disgruntled customer, or being awarded a promotion or plaques. Yet, amazingly, in all those prior years not one soul ever thought to reward me with homemade lipstick.
There was a time when management meetings and career advancements ignited my enthusiasm. I’ve since discovered that they just can’t compare with standing in the driveway with my daughters, holding a bubble wand out to the breeze and sharing in their giggles as we watch newly birthed bubbles dance across our front lawn.

post signature

Need a laugh?

You can’t watch this video and stay in a bad mood. No way. Even if you don’t laugh out loud, you’ll be smiling on the inside.

post signature

1 9 10 11 12 13 15