Jun
06
5 yr old: Mommeeeee? Will you wipe my butt? I can’t wipe it like you do
Me: Why is that?
5 yr old: Because I might get poop on my hand
Me: *stifled giggle* Dude. That’s what soap and water are for
5 yr old: *indignant* Noooo…that’s for when your hands are dirty
Me: Um…I think having poop on your hands totally qualifies as “dirty”
5 yr old: Nuh uhhh
Me: Uh huhhh
5 yr old: NOOOO! Dirty is when you have dirt on your hands!
Me: So you don’t think you need to wash your hands with soap and water when they have poop on them?
5 yr old: YES I DO!
………..
HAAAA! See what I did there?
I should have been a trial lawyer.
Or a Jedi.
YES. I KNOW HE’S FIVE.
Whatever. It totally counts.
May
25
This is a paraphrased and slightly embellished version of a conversation I recently had with a phone survey person.
•••
Phone Solicitor: Hi, I’m calling from Company XYZ. This is a survey. We’d like your opinions on (insert product, service or industry here) and it will take about 10-15 minutes. If you’re…
Me: You want me to take a TEN TO FIFTEEN MINUTE survey? *incredulous*
Phone Solicitor: Yes, we can begin right now if you’re ready
Me: Whoa, hold on… You said this will take 10-15 minutes, right? Are you paying me for my opinions and 10-15 minutes of my time?
Phone Solicitor: Well, no, it’s voluntary. We’re not offering any compensation
Me: I’m sorry but clearly my opinions are worth something if they’re paying you to call me and ask for them Get the whole story »
May
13
You know…sometimes you just want to write about stupid shit and you really wish you could because you don’t want to think about your friend Josh, who just spent six weeks in a psychiatric hospital after the men in the white coats came and took him away because he lost his mind doing bath salts.
You really want to talk to him but he hasn’t come over since he was released, probably because the last time you saw him he was all paranoid and delusional and you had to have your husband tell him not to come over anymore. You have kids to consider and even though they love Josh, they can’t be around someone who is constantly searching your house for imaginary intruders and begging you to tell him what the secret number is and slipping you notes containing warnings about your family’s impending assassination.
Get the whole story »
May
01
A couple days ago I took my son, daughter and my daughter’s friend to the movies. We went to a theater in our historic district which bears an uncanny resemblance to Bourbon St in New Orleans. There are bars, restaurants, nightclubs and shops all up and down 7th Ave, the main drag. I think the only thing missing are the booby bars every 100 yards.
During the day it’s pretty tame with mostly tourists and business people walking around, so as I searched for a parking spot on 7th Ave, I didn’t even stop to consider that my ten year old can now read or that 7th Ave isn’t the most kid-friendly spot in town.
While we were stopped at a light, I heard her say to her friend “Look! Look! Look at that sign.” Me being the nosy parent that I am, I turned to see what she was looking at. I saw nothing unusual so I asked her what she was talking about. She pointed to the window of popular gay club that was too far back for me to see.
“What? What does it say?”
Get the whole story »
Apr
21
It’s that time again; the time known as after-the-blogging-conference; the time in which I spend what few quiet moments I have mentally composing a post that will effectively convey my experiences at said conference (all while trying, rather unsuccessfully, to hit the ground running and get back into parenting mode).
For the last few conferences I’ve attended, however, I haven’t written that post. I just didn’t have that much to report, which is a polite way of saying my personal experience really wasn’t awesometastic enough to make the effort. Get the whole story »
Apr
18
Dear Shmoo,
I’m writing this while you’re still with me. I just don’t think I’ll be able to find the words later and frankly, I need to pass the time until the vet gets here. Sitting on the floor crying, like I have much of the morning, just makes my head hurt. But at least you’re here sleeping in my lap and we can spend this last bit of time together.
Not sure how aware you are of things but Daddy came home for lunch today, I told him we had to let you go and we cried.
You were the kitty that won him over, despite a raging cat allergy, seventeen years ago. All the other animals are gone. You are the last of my first babies. Soon that part of my life will be over for good. Get the whole story »
