Quotes From All Corners

Gosh, for some reason it's way harder to keep track of these during the summer....

1. LM: (to a stranger at a hotdog stand in the park) "I'm a big fan of the red stuff."

(Meaning ketchup.)

2. LM: "Will someone carry my backpack?"

Hubby: "I will."

LM: "Thanks, bro."

3. LM: (after trying unsuccessfully to train his uncooperative little cousin how to cross the street, he announced) "Let the toddler learn!"

4. The Bopper: (unhappily sitting in timeout and yelling down to her mother and me some less-than-gracious sentiments) "See ya in jail, kids!"

5. My Mom: (after receiving a wrong-number call from someone who was trying to reach the parents of "Mason", she looked at me quizzically) "That's not your kid."

(And while I'm not sure whether or not that was posed as a question or a statement-- either way....)

6. Ruby Jane: (as I leaned down to kiss her goodnight after having downed a glass of orange juice) "Mom, you have tin-can breath."

Hmmmm, I've been accused of worse, I suppose.

Stand Still!

Does anyone else find it annoying when you're trying to eavesdrop on your spouse's phone conversation and they keep leaving the room? Doesn't he know that I can't hear as well through the door?!

Zit-Fest '09

I feel like I've been transported back to adolescence. What is with the breakout I'm experiencing right now? It's ridiculous! It's like I'm having a little zit convention on my cheek (of all places!). Apparently some serious business is being conducted in order for them to all gather in such a great host-- like a gathering of tribes (you got your whiteheads, your blackheads, your boils, your cysts...). Well, I hope it doesn't take long. I'm running out of foundation.

And, no, I don't have a picture!

Next Stop: Farmers' Market!

We have a little vegetable garden in the backyard where we planted corn, bush beans, carrots, parsley, sage, oregano and chives. We've never gardened before because I have this stubborn habit of killing anything that grows (except for my kids-- thankfully I've managed to keep them alive somehow).

So, when eight of our ten corn stalks, three of the ten bean bushes and 5 of our 10 carrot plants all managed to survive into adulthood (forgive me if my garden vocabulary is a bit lacking) I did a happy dance-- honestly, I had fully expected them all to die sad deaths. And when today I noticed a big chunk of carrot peeping through the soil I was beyond excited and had to pull the thing up. But when I saw its poor gnarled body my elation deflated like a sad old balloon. The stupid carrot had some major birth defects. The top of it looked round and healthy, but then these little nubs kinda sprouted off it and curled around only to end in a skinny little shriveled stick. What the...? And when I went inside to wash and peel it...well, let's just say I wish I would have taken a picture of that too. Because after I had peeled off all the nastiness and dirt, the carrot was worth about a single bite or so. I brought it out to my eagerly awaiting family, and to my surprise, they were thrilled with the thing-- like it was some kind of masterpiece! We all took a teeny-tiny bite and passed it around until it was gone. (Which took, oh...about 10 seconds.)

My kids were thrilled. Go figure-- we get this retarded carrot and they act like we're a bunch of Farmer Joes! But their excitement reminded me to enjoy the learning process. Hey, we're new to this gardening stuff! Just because T and her hubby can one day decide to have an entire farm in their backyard (even though neither of them have ever had so much as a tomato plant) and raise enough luscious produce to sell at a local market, doesn't mean that my experience is any less valuable! (At least, that's what I keep telling myself.) Besides, they don't even have any carrots in their garden. Sure they have things like artichokes, asparagus and hops, but carrots are distinctly absent from their little produce utopia. Humph! What kind of garden doesn't even have carrots! (Even if they are the dumbest stupid-head carrots you've ever seen.)

So, here is the moral of the story: buy carrots at the farmers' market if you want fresh, homegrown goodness. Because I'm not sharing my carrots. I only have 5 left and who knows how ugly they might turn out to be. Ugly, mutated dirty carrots. But they're mine. I grew them-- and I'm pretty darn proud of myself.

Hello Boobies!

You probably read the subject heading to this post and were a bit surprised. Let me tell you, I understand! That is exactly how I felt the other day when my little sister let loose "the ladies" on the general public in a very crowded swim park. And I got a front row seat to the spectacle!

You see, we were in a wave pool at the time. But "wave pool" doesn't adequately describe the actual rogue tsunamis that were plowing us all over. The pool is only about three and a half feet deep but I feared for my life as wave after wave slammed into my rag-doll body. I don't know who jacked up the wave machine, but they must have been on crack. What I do know is that I probably ingested more peed-in pool water than it would take for your average child to bathe in. And the lifeguards? Useless. But then again, I don't think I could trust their prepubescent strength to hoist me out of the water in a real emergency anyway. They seem to be getting paid a lot just to get a tan and blow their dummy-head whistles at little children who splash.

But back to T. It was in the midst of these death waves that her suit finally gave up the good fight. It, like the rest of us, had had enough. The pounding. The crashing. The slamming. Oy! The poor suit just fell over in exhaustion! And as it fell, it released the vast bosom that is T's. I'm not sure how many of the hundreds of park attendees saw the show, but I did. And I almost drowned. You see, drowning is a far more dangerous likelihood when your mouth is wide open and you're sucking in air, sides heaving in hilarity, and your balance completely undone. I suppose you could say I deserved what I got a moment later-- slammed down head first with the next wave. By the time I surfaced again T had managed to encourage her suit back into its rightful position. And then, almost as quickly as they started, the waves stopped and calm was restored.

As we all dragged our near lifeless bodies back to our lawn chairs, none of us were quite sure whether we had just engaged in a fun activity, or if someone else just had a lot of fun at our expense. But I do have a memory that I will cherish for a lifetime. Thanks, T. And thank "the girls" for me, too, will ya?

Just So You Know....

My house looks like a bomb exploded in it. Don't come over. Love you!

Well, That Was Fun!

Today my sister and I thought it would be a good idea to gather up the kiddos and head to a local elementary school to take advantage of the free lunch program they offer all summer long. The idea had all the right ingredients to render it great: free food, good company, entertained children.... But, unbeknownst to us, all the forces of the universe were plotting against us today, and our fun adventure turned into what can only be described as a series of unfortunate events. But we learned a lot from our experiences-- lessons that I am happy to pass on to those of you who might also be thinking of heading off to get some free lunch at a local elementary school one of these days. Settle in people!

Lesson 1: If it's 96 degrees out, take your air-conditioned car instead of trying to walk the 1.25 miles to the school with 4 children. Walking sucks.

Lesson 2: If you're idiotic enough to walk anyway, don't wear uncomfortable flip-flops-- and make sure your children aren't wearing them either. That makes walking suck even worse.

Lesson 3: Take all the kiddos potty before heading out, because a mile and a quarter is a long time to have to hold it-- and the whining gets annoying after a while.

Lesson 4: Make sure you ate breakfast that morning-- because walking in uncomfortable flip-flops on a 96 degree day with an empty stomach is a real drag.

Lesson 5: Always consult Google Maps to find out the best route to take before walking to a school you've never been to from your house before. (With four children on a 96 degree day.) Because wrong turns are not "adventurous", they're from the devil.

Lesson 6: Confirm the operation hours of the lunch program before leaving your house, because nothing is worse than finally arriving at the school; hot, tired, hungry and cranky, only to be told that lunch ended 5 minutes ago. (And, no, they can't give you anything from the tray full of food you can see in the background being carted away-- that would be against the rules. Thank you, Lord, that we didn't break any rules!)

Lesson 7: If you don't stop halfway through your trek to apply the sunscreen you'd forgotten to slather on your children before you left, you won't be 5 minutes late and miss lunch.

Lesson 8: Call your hubby to come pick you up so you won't have to make the miserable trip back home on foot.

Lesson 9: Bring a cell phone with you. Don't assume your sister has hers. She doesn't. She thought you had yours. But you didn't! Neither of you dummies brought your stupid cell phones with you. So when you wanted to call your hubby and beg for a ride home so you could feed your hot, tired, hungry, cranky brood, you won't be able to. This bears repeating: bring a cell phone!

Lesson 10: Don't believe the crabby lunch-lady, the one who wouldn't bend the rules an inch to give your children any of the food that was clearly available, when she says there is no phone that you may use. That lady is a big dumb dodo-head. Instead, go behind her back and use the phone to call your hubby when she is not looking, because, technically you asked one of the teenagers in the school if it was okay and they said "yes". Take that, big dumb dodo-head lady!

Lesson 11: While you're waiting for your hubby to rescue you, don't have everyone go outside to see if he's arrived yet or else the doors will lock behind you and you'll be stuck outside in the painful heat instead of luxuriating in the air-conditioned indoors.

Lesson 12: Don't let your sister park behind your car when she goes to your house. If you do, your hubby won't be able to get in his car and rescue you from the terrible day you're having. He'll have to ride his bike to the school, get the keys from your sister, ride his bike back home, transfer her two carseats into his car (because her car won't seat 7 passengers), move her car out of the way, then drive his car over to the school to pick you all up. He will then exact a promise from you to provide a certain type of "thank-you" later that night in exchange for his heroics, no matter how hot, tired and grumpy you are. But you'd vow anything because you are eternally grateful to be riding in an air-conditioned vehicle.

Lesson 13: If your hubby suggests that you all go get pizza to make up for the lunch that never was, make sure someone in the group actually has a wallet. The pizza, unlike the school lunch, is not free.

Lesson 14: Go home, get your wallet, and then go get the pizza before everyone (including the mothers) begin to cry.

Lesson 15: Take a nap. You deserve it!

I hope that my experiences today will make a positive impact on your own choices the next time you think up a "great" idea. I'm here to help, people. Here to help.