Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
- Mary would have been riding a reindeer instead of a donkey.
- The shepherds would have found the Babe lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling furs.
- The wise men would have brought gold, frankincense, and firewood.
- Silent Night would have a line, "Silent night, holy night, all is cold, all is white."
- Nativity sets would come packaged with little fake snow drifts to place against the stable, and Joseph would be wearing snow shoes.
- Jesus would have been named something like "Bjørn."
- We'd be singing "O, Little Town of Brønnøysund."
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Oh, don't get me wrong. I love getting together with family. And I love the eating of the food. Who wouldn't? I suspect that even God eats sweet potato casserole on Thanksgiving.
It's the preparing of the food that I dread. My attempts in the kitchen usually fall nothing short of DefCom Five Nuclear Disasters, ending with the placement of a FEMA trailer on our property. In all 50 states, I have been forbidden by law to change my last name to Pillsbury, Stouffer, Crocker, and Mills, lest the association with my cooking causes certain food manufacturing companies to go bankrupt.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I have been very good this year. Remember that one game where a mom from the opposing team threw a triple-A hissy fit because my son checked her son? Even though I wanted to go over there and rearrange the sparkly gems on her t-shirt so that instead of saying "Hockey Mom," it would read "Whiney Mom," I restrained myself. I didn't even say anything ugly to her. Out loud. If you just say it in your head, it doesn't count, right?
Okay. I admit I didn't sell anything for the team fundraiser. But that wasn't really my fault. With the economy being so poor, people just aren't buying Tupperware Corn Cob Keepers like they used to.
Anyway. If you could put the following under my Christmas tree, I'd be happier than a couple of Zamboni drivers playing bumper cars.
1. A new coat to wear to the rink. It needs to be lightweight, able to keep me warm in -30 degree temperatures, quick to remove (in case of a hot flash), and make me look like Catherine Zeta Jones instead of Kung Fu Panda.
2. I've heard that diabetics can now get this machine called an insulin pump, that delivers the right dose directly into their system when it's needed. Can you get me one of those? But I need it to pump shots of espresso. With peppermint mocha syrup.
3. An Odor-Eater the size of a body pillow, to stuff in my son's hockey bag after practice.
4. Heated cute shoes. (Wool socks make my feet look fat.)
5. One of those big electronic megaphones. Apparently, the coaches and players can't hear my advice when I yell from the stands. And I just know that if they would follow my instructions, our team would be undefeated and my eight-year-old son would already have an NHL contract.
P.S. Don't count on having milk and cookies at my house. There's a hockey player living here, you know.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Perhaps you, like I, have spent many a sleepless night pondering the issue of why we don't use ace bandages for headache relief. It's a question that has plagued mankind for centuries. Or at least since the invention of the ace bandage back in 1932.
Well, I think I have found the answer. We don't use an ace bandage for headache relief because it makes you look like a flaming nut case.
That, my friends, is my firstborn child, The Human Q-Tip.
And does anyone else see a resemblance here?
Fast forward ten years. This was the conversation I overheard in our kitchen last week.
15-year-old Fashion Bug, to Bunhead: What are you making?
FB: Can I have some?
Bunhead: Only if you do what I say.
FB, hesitantly: Okay... but I'm not going to kill anyone for you.
Great. I read all the wrong parenting books. Here I was all worried about stranger danger and peer pressure and sex education, when I should have been pouring over How to Extortion-Proof Your Child and So Your Daughter Wants to be Head of the Mafia!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Monday, November 10, 2008
<--- Homeschool multitasking: doing math & gymnastics at the same time!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Combine with smarty pants daughter's growing skills with photo editing software.
Let ingredients simmer.
Monday, October 13, 2008
- The Political Cart. One front wheel goes left, the other goes right, and a back wheel tries to secede from the cart altogether.
- The Mental Illness Cart. On this model, one wheel has an obsessive-compulsive tendency to pick up every bit of thread, string, dental floss, and barbed wire that lays on the floor of the store. (What, your StuffMart doesn't have barbed wire laying around? How do ya'll keep your tailgates fastened to your trucks?) All this twine is then wrapped around the wheel's axle, thereby causing the wheel to rotate at half the speed of the other three wheels, which then creates a paranoia state for the OCD wheel, which then tries to commit hari-kari by twisting sideways in an attempt to get kicked to death by the shopper.
- The Two-Year-Old Cart. A toddler-like wheel stubbornly will. not. move. at. all. And if you force it, it screams bloody murder.
- The Microbiology Experiment Cart. (A must-have in a community with a lot of homeschoolers.) You think those letters on the shopping cart handle are imprinted? Think again. That's 80 trillion organized bacteria. "C'mon, guys. Everybody get in formation, like rocks on a beach. We'll spell out StuffMart on the handle, and then watch the flu party get started! Yee haw!"
- The ADD Cart. You roll this one out to your car, and in the 2.5 seconds it takes you to open the trunk, the cart has drifted 10 feet away and is about to smash into the side of a BMW belonging to the police chief's wife.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Well, life has gotten pretty busy since Skippy the Wonder Pug came to live at our house a couple of weeks ago.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
- Crest Fresh Mint
- Crest Cool Mint
- Crest Mint Julep
- Crest Lemon
- Crest Strawberry Daiquiri
- Crest Hickory Smoked Goat Cheese
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
- PeetieMae's Thrift Store ("Browse our selection of 400 used coffee mugs!")
- The Craft Mall ("Specializing in plastic canvas Kleenex covers for the discriminating home and business")
- the Good Ol' Boy Barber Shop
- The Longhorn Cafe ("Don't even bother asking about veggie burgers. This ain't goldurn Los Angelees.")
- Cooter's Boot & Spur Emporium
- Eight (yes, eight) attorney's offices. Hmm. Apparently, something does happen here, albeit of an illegal nature. Probably people trying to possess a trailer hitch without a license.
- Four photography studios. I have no idea why we need four professional photographers. We only need one to do the portrait of the Trailer Hitch Princess. Last year's was especially lovely, even though she was sporting a big welt from an Atomic Fireball over her right eyebrow. Everyone told her not to turn around to look at the football players' float, but she didn't listen.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
My daughters, on the other hand, like to have meaningful conversation in the car. This means that I get to listen to them chatter about cute boys, clothes, cute boys who wear clothes, and uteruses.
Yeah. You read that right. And yes, there's a story coming.
Seems that FashionBug had become aware that some women are no longer the proud owners of a uterus. And it seems that this was true of the mom of FashionBug's best friend. So FB was sharing with her sister and me that friend's mom occasionally experienced PMS symptoms, even without the requisite organ.
Now, Princess Bunhead has a long history of being knowledgeable about uteruses. She also has a long history of coming out with those "it sounded right until I said it" proclamations. She's familiar with the phantom limb phenomenon, and figured it applied in this case, but as she explained it to her sister, she declared, "Oh, it's probably a ghost uterus."
I almost drove into a tree.
But, wait. There's more.
That night I watched one of the X-Men movies before I went to bed. Mistake.
I dreamed that I had special powers. I became the Mutant Ghost Uterus, with long, snake-like fallopian tubes, and I could reach way out and smack folks upside the head with my ovaries. I don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to meet myself in a dark alley.
I see a whole series of movies in my future, starting with "Scooby Doo and the Ghost Uterus."
Freddy Krueger has met his match.
Friday, August 1, 2008
I have a theory about this cow. I think she got wind of the runaway bull adventure we had a couple of years ago, and she's hoping that she, too, can get a ride in an SUV. I mean, think about it. A cow's life is about as exciting as a potato on sedatives. What does a cow do all day but eat grass, make manure, and sleep? So when that calf got home after his little car trip, don't you know he was the talk of the barnyard? He's probably something of a bovine legendary myth by now. "Oh, your uncle Clovis met Buford, The Backseat Cow. 'Course, that was back when he was a bull, before the, uh, surgery. Some folks say that's what made him get the wandering hooves."
Really, the only time cows get any travel experience at all is when they get loaded up in a trailer for a ride to that Great Pasture In The Sky. And it's not like they know what's going to happen. They're probably all excited, "Oo, I hear that where we're going, we'll be surrounded by greenery." No one's going to tell them, "Uh, that greenery would be the lettuce between you and the bun."
Well, gotta run. I have to find out if having a day-care cow is a home business, for tax purposes.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
But buddyroe, you ain't seen trouble yet. Here's the scenario that should frighten you more than a nuclear bomb in a postal worker's basement.
Imagine a 50-year-old woman on her way to work. Global warming is making her hot flashes worse. She's been reduced to wearing those uglier-than-homemade-sin Crocs because her feet hurt. And they're generic StuffMart crocs, because she can't afford the real things since she just put $65 worth of fuel in her car. And now she can't get her morning jolt of caffeine because her neighborhood Starbucks closed?!
You're about to witness road rage taken to a whole new level.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Not that I would know anything about that.
Friday, June 27, 2008
1. Do not bother to look for street signs in Boston. There are none. At least, none on the street corners that you will specifically be looking for.
2. Traffic lights mean something entirely different in Boston than in the rest of the world. Green: cheer for the Celtics. Yellow: cheer for the Bruins. Red: cheer for the Red Sox. Feel free to make a left-hand turn across oncoming traffic no matter which team is highlighted.
3. If you see a yellow line on the road to the left of your car, it means that you are in the "chapping lane." The yellow line indicates that you may, at any given time, steer your vehicle so that half of it is in the neighboring lane of oncoming cars. Then, because some idiot up the street is turning left while cheering for the Red Sox, you will block oncoming traffic for a full 3 minutes, thereby chapping the other four hundred thousand drivers trying to go by you.
Gotta run. I'm using a computer at a hotel at which I'm not even staying. I think. There aren't any street signs, so for all I know, I'm in Quebec.