Magical Chicken Noodle Soup

Note: I wrote this a while back, but I have more draft blogs than posted ones, so I'm using them to keep you (and me) entertained. 

I've been known to misuse the words "epic" or "magical" or even "amazing", but this is not the case here.  You'll see why...

I also don't dabble in the "Dark Arts" at all ever, but somehow I made a MAGICAL chicken noodle soup the other night.  No, really. 

It was one of those nights where I didn't know what to make, so I came home, stared at the contents of my refrigerator, and settled on chicken noodle soup.  No recipe.  No expectation of it turning out delicious. 

So, the family sat down to their steaming bowls of soup (which I did not eat - that's how I can confirm that it's magical.  You'll understand in a minute.), and ate.  My little one had one bowl, my older daughter had two bowls, and my husband had three bowls.  Some amalgamation of the stories of The Three Bears and Little Black Sambo has popped into my head, but anyway...

Next thing I knew, both kids were asleep before bedtime, and my husband was passed out on the couch.  I was the only person awake at 8:00pm.  **Magic** is the only explanation.  That. Never. Happens.  The dogs were bugging me, and I considered feeding them some to see if they'd also go away and fall asleep, but I decided against that. 

You know you want the recipe, so here it is with pictures of all of my magical ingredients. 

Disclaimer: If you don't make it exactly to the recipe, then you might not have the same results.  Even if you do, results may vary.

First, get your magical Rachel Ray stainless steel pot.

Make sure you have a magical bamboo spoon. 

Finally, gather the following magical ingredients.

Once you've done all of this, do the following exactly how I tell you - or there will be no magic.  Trust me.

Step one: Chop everything that is choppable except the noodles.  Spend as little time as possible doing this step. 

Step two: Drink a glass of wine.

Step three: Put everything but the noodles in the pot, cover, and let it cook until it's finished.  Season to taste.  

Step three-and-a-half: Refill wine glass.

Step four: Add noodles and let it cook until they're done.   

Step five: Serve. 

Wooden Spoon: Use to stir AND to threaten your children if they come in the kitchen to tattle ONE. MORE. TIME.

Bon Appetit!



My Kids On Voting...

I have plenty to say about voting, but you'd probably rather hear what my kids had to say about it.  I'll sum my opinion up at the end. 

My kindergartener reminded me last night that I needed to vote today, and she and her big sister had plenty of advice on who I should vote for.  When conversations like this happen, I kick myself for not having an always-on GoPro in my car or on my person, but I'll do my best to capture the spirit of the conversation:

Note: ALL CAPS is more enthusiasm than yelling.

A: Mom, You know you need to vote for governor tomorrow.  I think you should vote for GEORGE WASHINGTON! 

E: NO!  He takes your money!

A: No he doesn't.  He'll make a GREAT governor.

Me: Uncle Sam takes your money, not George Washington.

E: Why would our uncle take our money?!  (We don't actually have an uncle named Sam in our family).

They argued about who will make the best governor in a heated "Nuh-uh!" "Uh-huh!" exchange...

Me: Actually, neither George Washington nor Uncle Sam are on the ballot, so I can't vote for either of them.  (I had to explain what a ballot is.  If you need my explanation, just ask for it in the comments.)

A&E: WHAT?  WHY NOT?!

Me: Well, George Washington is dead, and...

A:  WHAT?!  George Washington DC is dead?  I mean, George Washington FROM D.C. is DEAD????  What happened to him?

Me: He was born like 300 years ago.  He died a long time ago.  Dead people make terrible governors.  And Uncle Sam isn't a real person.  He was a character created for...

A: I know how to spell H.E.B.!  H  E  B.  hehehehe

 

Well, I lost them after that, but I'm encouraged that they recognize voting as an important thing at such an early age...even if they DO want to vote for dead presidents and cartoon characters.

 

I'm so OVER the Easter Bunny!

And the more I think about it, I'm over Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, too.  (Elf on the Shelf is real, so I'm not including that guy in my rant.)

I would consider my past self as someone who believed that children should hang on to those magical, mythical present depositors for as long as possible.  But now that I'm a whole eight years into this shit, I'm ready to break the news to my kids. 

Before you blow up my comments with how and why I shouldn't shatter their magical childhood, don't worry.  I want to, but I won't.  Not yet anyway. 

So, as I'm planning the Easter baskets for the kids this year, two things happened. 

First

 I told Jay how stressed I was about all I had to do this Spring including the baskets, and he said, "Oh.  Those are easy."  To which I replied, "Great.  Then you are assigned Easter basket duty."  He said, "Fine.  I'll just go to Walgreen's and get one that's already made and ready to go." 

I didn't say anything back, but you know I cringed.  Because you just cringed when you read that.

Um, no.

Second

I made a list of what I wanted to put in their baskets.  I was going for simple and fun.  My list included sidewalk chalk, a birdhouse that they can paint, some seeds to plant, etc.  You know, crunchy mommy things.  Anyway, I started thinking about how creative and wonderful I am and how much they'll LOVE these baskets...that they get...FROM THE EASTER BUNNY?!  And I realized then and there that I'm completely over busting my ass to make this magic on behalf of someone/thing that doesn't even exist! 

They'll grow up remembering that they had great baskets and gifts, sure, but they won't be able to thank me on the spot for the things they love.  Selfish of me, I know, but those suckers are a lot of work, and I've done my time!

In conclusion, I'll probably let my husband buy the crappy baskets from Walgreen's...NEXT Easter.  This year, I'm going to let the Easter Bunny blow their mind one last time and look surprised at how amazing and creative that jellybean-pooping, boiled egg-dying, candy-hiding, spotlight-stealing rabbit is!

Bedtime Stories (Mine, not the Adam Sandler Movie)

I was in bad need of some me-time tonight, so I tried to cut the bedtime routine short.  I skipped baths, cups of water and reading a book.  BUT, they insisted on a story.  (For those who don't know, I have two girls.  E is 8 and A is 5.)  So here's how it went:

A: Mom!  Read me a story.

Me: I'll tell you a story.  Once upon a time, there was a girl named Aubrey who didn't go to bed like she was told, and she stayed up too late, and the night monster came and ate her. The end.
 
A: Really, mom?  That's not a real story.  Tell me a REAL story.

Me: Okay.  Once upon a time, there was a...(looking around her room for inspiration) dinosaur who lived in a cage.  And that made him very very sad.  So he bit through the bars, ran to the forest, and now he lives on our lot and eats all of the bunnies.  The end. 

The Inspiration

A:  Grrrr.  That's terrible!

E: Tell ME a story.
 
Me: Okay.  (Looking around her room for inspiration)  Once upon a time, there was a little girl who sewed.  And she sewed and she sewed and she sewed and she sewed and she sewed.  Then she stopped sewing because she realized she was hungry.  But when she stood up, she saw that she had sewed herself to the chair.  So she starved to death.  The end.

The Inspiration

E:  Ugh!  You know that's really going to happen to me now, right?  Tell me a REAL story about something REAL!

Me:  Okay.  Once upon a time, there was a mermaid...

E: THAT'S NOT REAL!

Me:  Okay.  Once upon a time, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and Santa Claus went on vacation...

A: And Jack Frost and the Sandman and Elsa and Ana?

Me: Yes.  All of those people and all of the other Disney characters.  And they went on vacation to Mexico.

E: MOOOOOOOM!

Me:  And they all went to dinner at Carlos & Charlie's.  They drank margaritas and ate Mexican food and sang all of their songs.  They all ate lots of chips and salsa.  What they didn't realize was that the salsa was made from ROTTEN TOMATOES!  So they all go sick and had diarrhea for a WEEK!    

E & A: EWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Me:  But they're all better now.  The end.  Goodnight.

Why women are crazy

Men.  And kids.  And mothers. 

The end.

Last Thursday Morning (two months ago)

Hi!  I've been a little uninspired and/or inspired-but-afraid-my-post-might-land-me-in-jail for the past two months-ish.  I'm back now.  Calm down.

 

You may be wondering what could possible bring me out of hiding.  How fantastic could it be.  Brace yourself.  I had a morning last Thursday (two months ago) that left me so inspired, it only took me 6 days to put my experience into words.  And two months to post it! 

 

The Bus Stop

 

So...my driveway is the bus stop.  I spend as much time as possible out there bossing around other people's children when no other adults are around, and yet the children still like me.  Take my little neighbor girl:  We'll call her Suzy (because I like replacing s's with z's).  Seven-year-old Suzy ran to my door and hugged me as soon as she saw me.  Sweet.  She was excited to tell me about her new puppy:

 

S: Hi!  We got a new puppy!

 

Me: Oh yes.  I saw him.  He's cute.  He's a pit bull, right?

 

S: Yes!  His name is TITAN!  He has a brother at my cousin's named DEISEL!

 

Me:  Oh, he has a brother.  That's nice. 

 

S: Well...His name WAS Budweiser, but we changed it to Titan because my cousin's dog was named Bud Light, and he changed it to Deisel.  So when he did that, we changed our dog's name from Budweiser to Titan.

 

Me:  I think Titan is a much better name for a dog.  I'm glad you chose that name. 

 

S: (Proud as any snaggle-toothed 7-year-old can be) YEP!  His full name is Titan Budweiser Scotch. 

 

WHA? WHY? WHO?  Our dog's name (Schatzi Annie Cupcake Sprinkles) is ridiculous and long, but it's kid-appropriate, people!!!!

 

Estaban's Monte Carlo

 

On this very same day, I picked up my intern to take her to work, and on leaving her drive way, I backed into her neighbor's Antique Monte Carlo (before you get to gasp-y, we're in our mid-thirties, so shit we used to drive around in in high school almost qualifies for antique plates).  DOH!!  She told me, "His name is Steve, but his REAL name is Esteban Smith."  Really?  So I got an image in my head of what "Esteban" might look like.  And then I met him (to pay him for damages).  Here are the before and after pictures (neither are really Esteban, but you get the idea):

Esteban in my head

More accurate, but he was smiling
because I paid him $300 to fix his fender.

There is an obvious lesson here.  If your baby doesn't look like an Esteban, don't name him Esteban and get all of our hopes up.  Oh, and his last name is not Smith I later found out...Added comment bonus: What would you have named this guy? 
 

Fat Vegetarians ROCK their Blood Work!

So, I'm almost a year into my vegetarian lifestyle, and I'm thrilled to report that I'm in the excellent range for all of my stuff.  Stuff = blood sugar, cholesterol, liver function, IRON (for you haters), metabolism, etc.  NOW, if I only I could master the equation that is:

But, for now, I'm healthy, y'all!!  I'm not saying I haven't lost weight, but it's unclear if it's stress or the fact that I'm feasting on more plant-based foods.  If only Oreos and wine weren't accidentally vegan.  Well, most wine.  It's at least vegetarian if not vegan.  And I don't buy Oreos.  (How do my posts always end up with confessions??)

This is all excellent news.  Now for the bad news - for my husband, at least.  The doctor did not test my sanity.  I admit, it is probably not in the "optimal" range...but I urge you to ask yourself, "Would I REALLY like Jennifer if she wasn't bat-shit crazy?"  If you answered "Yes," then maybe you should ask yourself, "Would her blogs be worth reading if she wasn't bat-shit crazy."  I'm guessing that is a 100% "No."  See!  Crazy, but smart like a human!

 

 

There is a logical conclusion to this post coming riiiiiiiiight now.  Since A) I'm a fat vegetarian, and B) I STILL want to be a hipster, I'm going to go design my own ironic t-shirt.  If you want one, just let me know.  Here's my first draft.  I'll probably try to sweet-talk my brother into some fantastic artwork.  Sorry, Barrett.  I can only pay you in hummus. 

 

 

 







Don't copy me!

So it turns out that my four-year-old is a myna bird.  She LOOOOOOVES to mimic people.  I would venture to say it's her favorite thing.  Not only that, but she has an excellent command of the English language, so it is not even funny to throw big words her way. 

The other day, she was "copying" her sister until she was in a screaming fit of seven-year-old rage.  Fearing for my littlest one's life, I intervened.



Me: Stop copying your sister.

Brat: Stop copying your sister.

Me: Stop copying me.

Brat: Stop copying me.

Me: Seriously. I will pull over and leave you on the side of the road, and some stranger will pick you up.  Then you can copy the stranger for the rest of your life because you'll never see me again.

Brat:  Fine.  I'll copy myself.  I'll copy myself.

Me: Excellent idea.

Brat: Yes it is.  Yes it is.  I though of it myself.  I thought of it myself.



How does one get her own reality show, I wonder...?

My tiny therapist

Tonight, we were reading "Oh, the Places You'll Go!" by Dr. Seuss, and the kid had some questions.

"What is a 'lurch'?"

"Why does this book say 'guy' when I'm actually a girl?" (Not much is cuter than hearing my 4-year-old say "actually"...or recognizing that I own a tiny feminist.)

"What is a 'slump'?  Is it like being bummed?"

"Why is he moving a mountain?"

As you can see, it takes us a while to read a single Dr. Seuss book.

Anyway, nights like tonight, I catch myself explaining ideas to this kid.  Tonight it was "climbing (figurative) mountains".  I think, "Why are you doing this?  She thinks you are talking crazy,"  But I just keep talking. 

In my example, I explained that I have "mountains" and one of those mountains is being a good wife. Before I could even get into the "climb" of it all (because why else do we have children if not to have tiny therapists?), she said, "You know what I know?  You are a great mom.  That was a great mountain!  Now let's go to sleep."

Ahh.  It makes me wish I was four.  But if I can't be four, I'm extra-super-delighted that THIS four-year-old is mine!  Oh, the places this kid will go...

Friends

Today was kind of crappy, so I decided to dust off a post that never made it to press.  It reminded me that even on a crappy day, I have so much to be thankful for!

Friends...

No, not the show...the real thing.  I was driving home tonight from an evening of fund-raising and fun when something happened.  I just started crying.  Not because I'm sad or my life is incomplete, but because...just because. 

I suppose some of the tears were for people to whom I wish I could say one more thing - my dad, my first boss, my crazy aunt.  But mostly they were tears of joy.  Maybe, my heart is so full, something had to give. 

I have an amazing, full life.  Really, I do.  And a huge part of my amazing, full life are my awesome friends.  They laugh with me.  They cry with me.  They pray for me.  They even set me straight when I need it.  Some share my twisted sense of humor while others don't "get me" but choose to love me anyway.  A few friends will even wrap the preachers' houses with me.  Some sense when I need a pick-me-up, and others know how to let me down gently.  I can't imagine my life without them. 

To my friends, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A new tattoo?

I've been contemplating a new tattoo.  I'm not totally sure why, but it sounds like a good idea.  Maybe I'm mid-life and don't know it.  Whatever...that's not the point.  

The point is, I have been talking to my extremely anti-tattoo mom about it.  What to get, where on my body, etc.  I was considering a few things.

Maybe this somewhere on my back:

My (ex) best friend suggested this to cover my entire back (maybe because it looks like her a little...).  

"I think it's sexy.  In a very confident kind of way...for an asshole."  Her words, not mine.

I really REALLY love this, but it would require a flawless, 20-year-old back and about $600.

Anyway, you can vote in the comments if you like, but my mom decided to give her two cents.  She suggested I get a tattoo of a mermaid in honor of my sweet little wannabe Mer-child.  I thought it was a great idea...then I started thinking out loud:

Me:  I COULD do that! She would love it!  But then, I would have to get something for the little one.  Maybe a ballerina?  Or a Mermaid with a tutu?  I KNOW!  A ballerina mermaid with a wand, so it's a fairy princess ballerina mermaid.  That should cover everything...

Mom:  How about you just go buy yourself a nice shirt?

Well played, mom.  Well played. 

Vanity Plate Advice

Some people don't think these things through.  Vanity plates can really affect the rest of your life.  Clever uses of vanity plates include:

"BUGCHIC" if you make a lifetime of driving VWs
"FSTBTCH" if you drive fast or put out on the first date
"TEXNFAN" if you LOVE the Texans
"AGGMOM" if you have a kid at Texas A&M or little kids who aggravate you
"ASSMAN" if you are a proctologist

You get the picture. 

Some other loves/like/habits, though?  Not so much.  Take this guy for example.  I'm sure his wife makes the best, and I'm sure it's delicious, but why advertise that you LOVE LOVE LOVE to eat:

That's a "W" not an "N".  Yes.  It says:

 

Gross, dude.  Gross. 

 

Vacation Week Blog Challenge

Written at 10:00 am in a massage chair:

My vacation week officially started today, so I am challenging myself to one interesting blog per day.  (I'll measure "interesting" by my own amusement level in case you are curious.)

Written at 11:26 pm on my mom's couch:

This was a great-sounding idea at 10 this morning while I was getting a pedicure and (surely) had something clever to tell you all; however, now that it's almost midnight, and my brain has melted from a day of getting my kids ready to go out of town...yeah, I got nothin'. 

But, Hey!  It's tax-free weekend, so I will most definitely have an adventure to tell about tomorrow!  In the meantime, here is a Freaking Mermaids! update.

I thought my plan was golden: have her say goodbye to all of her loved ones and her new kitten.  Drive her to a nice rocky hill (volcano) and then tell her to get out of the car and go live her dream.  My friends did not think that was a "Mom of the Year" type move, so they made lots of suggestions.  A favorite was to dress up like a mermaid myself and embarrass her to death, but they don't make mermaid tails in plus size.  (I know!  I was shocked, too!)  So, I made her a deal.  I told her that I want her to live her dream, but we have to compromise.  If she promises to stay a human until she graduates from high school, then I will take her to this volcanic moon pool (this is not a REAL thing, y'all) and she can jump in.  She TOTALLY AGREED!  Thanks to my friends for their advice!

Here's hoping she grows out of this over the next 11 years.  

FREAKING MERMAIDS!

Does anyone know of any books or movies (that are kid-appropriate...) that portray mermaids as ugly, evil, wretched, vile things???

My kid longs...LOOOONGS to be a mermaid.  It's all she can think about, and I can't convince her that she will never be a mermaid.  Even if God Himself visited her and said, "I am God, and I made you a human, and you will never EVER turn into a mermaid because I never made mermaids," she would not believe Him.  Not because he speaks in run-ons, so how could He possibly be the real deal?, but because she has seen mermaids on TV, SO. THEY. ARE. REAL! 

And she knows how she can turn into one. 

"How," you ask?

Step One: Ask your Nana to make you a mermaid tail from beautiful pink fabric. 

Step Two: While you wait for your tail, spend as much time as possible practicing your mermaid kick.  (AKA dolphin kick for you human swimmers out there.)  Reading a book before bedtime? Mermaid kick.  Laying on the floor watching TV?  Mermaid kick.  At swimming lessons?  Mermaid kick (even when you're told not to and you get kicked out of the pool).  Setting the table?  Mermaid kick - which looks like belly-dancing because she's standing up... 

When do you NOT mermaid kick?  When you're told to "BE STILL!"  Then, practice sitting how a mermaid would sit on a rock.

Step Three: Find a volcano, by an ocean, that is the right temperature inside.

Step Four: Wear your bikini (because cool mermaids ALWAYS show their midriff).

Step Five: Wait until the full moon, then JUMP INTO THE VOLCANO!

Here's where I had to intervene.  It went something like this:

Me: Alright.  If you jump into a volcano, you will DIE.

Her: No I won't.

Me: Yes.  They are filled with lava.  You will die instantly.

Her: (As convicted as any person might be)  Not if it's the right temperature!

Me: *speechless*

I know, I know.  She sounds like a character from Girl, Interrupted right? 

HELP!!!!!

Bathroom Graffiti

I had the honor of attending a  luncheon with my family at a restaurant at the Beltway and Beechnut.  Truly an interesting part of town, so the fact that it had bathroom graffiti was...well...it was not surprising.  While the food was decent, the bathroom graffiti was the real treat du jour! 

I'm sure I became the talk of the table when I kept getting up and taking my  phone to the bathroom.  (I did this for you, reader, because I love you.)  So much to take in in one, ahem, sitting.  AND I almost got busted taking photos (with flash) in the stall when another restaurant patron walked in.  "Creepster is the new Hipster."  Pass it on.

I'd like to pose two statements/questions that cover almost all of these works of art. First, lawmakers might consider poor phonetic spelling of baby's names a Class B Misdemeanor.  Qs weren't really meant to be used THAT much.  Second, WHY do so many people carry permanent markers??  And why do those people think it's okay to write on walls?  Why??  I have lived to see 34 without EVER writing on some one's wall - well, except when I was three, and my mom told me I'd have to find a new home if I didn't quit that shit immediately.  (I'll share that story some other time.)

Alright.  Without further ado, here are the pictures and my commentary on this first edition of "Bathroom Graffiti".

Not sure about Tweety's use of symbols.  Maybe she's sneering at me.  Maybe she's almost a feminist...if. those two. plus signs. will. just. touch. the. circles. of. LIIIIIIFE!  I already like her, but that blob next to her artwork cried a little bit.  See the tear?

Look at these two BFFs complimenting each other on the bathroom wall.  "[Ber]anna's the best."  "No, girl.  You are.  'Qaliya got swag'."  "Hold up.  Let's go get these made into tattoos!"  "I'll call Tweety!" "Naw.  That hoe is practically a feminist."

       
Oh yeah?  I <3 albert moost.  *smh* Canadians...

I'm going to need y'all to agree how to spell "Zayn".  Just zayin.  Az far az uzing "z" in playz of "s", I think it's charming...zaid no one ever.

Please.  Someone volunteer to give me a post-mortem, bathroom wall shout-out. Please. (You may volunteer to do so in the "Comments" section of this blog.)

AND FINALLY...

Do this.  Not because I say so, but because the Wing-ed Bear Head says so.  (By the way, this is one worthy of MY calf.)

Until next time...Keep thoze Sharpies sharp!!!

My observations

Sears needs an updated logo.  This late-eighties-neon-esque look will not do. 
 

The afternoon weather report on News 92 FM starts off, "This is MEATEATER-OLOGIST, John Dugowinski..."  What is a "meateater-ologist"?  I searched www.Google.com/images for that exact word, and here's what I found:

I'm guessing my "Filter Explicit Results" filter is on.  But my "Filter Creepy-Shit" filter is not.

McDonald's' food is a crime against humanity...except during Monopoly season.  Then, it is just fun because everyone wants to be a winner.  Are you "PEELIN' LUCKY?"  I am.

"Mayor Weiner" is a terrible idea unless a) his Chief of Staff's name is Mr. Oscar, b) they are always together, and c ) everyone addresses them with "Mr. Oscar, Mayor Weiner..."  Also, he looks like the bad guy from Ghost, so I don't like him.  WHO hires a man to kill Patrick Swayze?  I mean, seriously??

Rediculous Weekend

Ted is a rediculous movie.  Yet I watched the whole thing and laughed.  Shame on me.

In other rediculousness, I had to break the news to my seven-year-old that she can never be a real mermaid.  Not even if she looks at the moon while she is swimming in the ocean...(Wtf did she get that idea?) She still does not believe me.  Thank goodness my mom is going to help the situation by making her a life-like mermaid tail to wear in the bathtub.

Oh my gawd.  I'm thinking in Ted's voice.  This is terrible. 

And finally, my kids absolutely do not believe that "Jennifer" has been my first name my whole life. Rediculous.  They told me that if I was their kid, they would have named me "Sunshine of the Flowers of the Whole Universe Barbie Transformer Mermaid." Wow did I luck out or what?  But I would have loved to go by "Sunshine."

Friend Rules by My 7-Year Old

These are "Friend Rules" and advice as told to my 4-year-old by her big "stister" because she was having drama with her friend at pre-school.  

Background: This little friend yelled, "HUSH, GIRL!  HUSH!" in B's face and then wouldn't play with her for the rest of the day.  After many tears and much heartbreak, her sister came up with this list of rules:

First Rule Number One: Be nice to each other.

Second Rule: Do not hurt one uh-other.

Round Three: Be good and be nice and not hurt each other.

Round Seve-...Round One...Round Four: Be careful to each udders and others.

Round Five: Do not hurt anybody.

Round Six: Do NOOOOT eben put...Do not hurt anybody or others. Be kind to others.

Round Seven: Do NOT DO NOT hurt anybody.

Round Seven...Round Eight: You have to be kind.

Round Nine: Say "Look over there!  There's a butterfly!" and run away.

Round Seven...Round Ten: Run away if they are not nice.

Yes: these are quoted. No: she's not drunk. No: she didn't learn these from me. Well, maybe the distract-her-with-a-butterfly idea... Yes: it appears her favorite number is seven. Because she IS seven.

Such a nice list of suggestions...Much nicer than mine.  I taught B how to say, "Callate!" (cai-yet-te) since this friend speaks Spanish.  That way, she won't get in trouble for actually saying "Shut up!" which is a "bad word"...but only in English. 

My parenting advice book is due to be published next year. LOOK!  A giant butterfly!!

 

Would someone please come get my "Mom Card"?

It's not that I don't love being a mother.  I REALLY love my kids.  It's that sometimes I don't think I'm cut out for this.  Surely other mothers have felt this way.  -ish.  I'm hoping. 

Anyway, take today for example.  We get home, let the dogs outside, and my 7-year-old discovers some lizards doing the boomshakalaka on her little rocking chair.  How do I handle it?  Much like you'd expect Lilith from "Cheers" to handle it (Frasier's wife, remember her?) 

Kid:  Look, mom!  Lizards on my chair!  Uh...what are they doing?

Me:  They're copulating.  Leave them alone.

Kid:  Cop-a-lating? 

Me:  Yes.  They're making baby lizards.  Leave them be.

Kid:  Sister!  Come here and see these lizards!

Kid2:  Wow!  That green lizards is biting the brown lizard.  Let's stop him.

Me:  No!  Let's let them copulate in peace and quiet. 

Just when I thought I had made it out alive...

Kid2:  What's that mean?

Me:  Making baby lizards.  Inside.  Now.

Kid2:  Did you know lizards poop babies?  They poop them out of their butts. 

Me: Nap time.  Let's go.


I sure hope my kids grow up to be normal adults.  If they don't, I only have myself to blame.

My underappreciated feminist side

Today, I had a great idea while on the phone with my husband.  We were discussing salary differences between men and women.

Me:  Ugh!  I either need to get my MBA or grow a penis.  I think I will move away and become a half-naked vegan feminist and fight for women's right.  

J:  Would you really abandon your kids?

Me:  No.  You're right.  I'll take them with me.  They'll be little half-naked vegan feminists, too.  Might as well start them young.  

J:  Mmhmm.

Me:  I know!  I know, you can come, too!  You can be a half-naked vegan MAN who fights for women's rights.  You'll be on the cunting edge.  You'll be like the white guy at the March on Washington, but that's good because you'll stand out.   

Silence

J:  Did you mean to use that word?

Me:  Of course I did....Okay, well, I'll go get the kids.

I guess I will have to fight for women's rights fully clothed here from home.