Tag Archives: mommy funny

My Daughter “Swears” Like Her Father

Once upon a time, my husband was fresh out of college and taught at a private Christian school.  Although we’d been married over a year and had our first child,  we weren’t much older than the 19 year old seniors, so tried hard to maintain a sense of maturity and dignity.  We had high ambitions for impacting the academic and spiritual lives of our students.

One fine day, my husband was called into the principal’s office.  Surprised, he sat down and watch the principal’s face contort and turn red as he delivered a message.

“I had a phone call from a parent regarding your behavior,” he began.

“Really?”  My husband couldn’t begin to imagine what crime he’d committed.

“Apparently, you swore in the classroom,” explained the principal with twitching lips.

“I Swore? But, I don’t swear,” explained my husband.  It wasn’t a standard adopted for the classroom, it was a personal standard he lived by. He wouldn’t have sworn even if he had smashed his thumb with the proverbial hammer.

“Well,” said the principal, “you used a word that’s highly offensive to a family and they called me to complain.  They insisted I speak to you about your classroom behavior.”

Worried he would be given his walking papers, my husband asked, “What did I say?”

“You used the F word,” the principal spoke and refused to let my husband defend himself.

He continued,  “You used the word….fff…fff…FART!”  With that he gave up trying to hold back his emotions and laughed so hard his office chair squeaked on its wheels.

With relieved laughter, my husband promised to never use the F word in the classroom again.

I think we forgot to teach this valuable lesson to our children.  I found this old worksheet from one of my daughters, who prefers to remain anonymous.

Beka's Poetry 001

Yep, a chip off the ol’ block.

My New Breakfast of Champions

 

Experts say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

A healthy breakfast starts the day out right and prevents that mid-morning slump. Since 1933, General Mills has promised that eating a healthy  breakfast can make you a Champion.  Their slogan inspires and sells.

As parents, we’ve repeated this expert opinion and bought those cereals. We’ve given the breakfast lecture repeatedly and freely advise how to make this a lifestyle commitment.

 

    • Get up early enough to allow time to eat.
    • Keep breakfast food on hand so you’re prepared.
    • Choose simple breakfast options so you’ll follow through.

 

We need to set a good example.  We need to fill up in the morning so we have the energy and ability to carry on until noon. A hungry mommy can be a crabby mommy.  Along with traditional healthy breakfast options, I keep my pantry stocked with dried fruits and nuts. I’ve tried a variety of breakfast casseroles, quick breads and instant options. There’s always a quest to make a healthy breakfast faster.

 

 

After friends visited Colombia and brought me a present, I have my new favorite ethnic breakfast.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Breakfast of Champions

 

This is MY favorite Breakfast of Champions, what’s yours?

CHILDREN RAISING PARENTS

I spent years teaching my little brood of six everything they needed to know to succeed in life. Well, I tried.  I’m not responsible if they choose to ignore the fountain of eternal wisdom spewing from my mouth.

But the times they are a-changin’.

The kids who grew up too quickly have now surpassed me.  They range from  10 to 25 years in age and treat me like  the baby of the family.  They worry about me, hover over me and advise me. It’s getting to the point where I’m not sure I can live without them, or if I dare.

I mean, what if I mess up?  What if I never learn to dress myself?  What if I say the wrong thing?

 

From a child’s view, parents mature into incompetence.  At the age you think you’ll be the matriarchal pillar of wisdom for the generations, you realize you’re just a few drools away from a toddler’s capabilities and impact. So, in humble submission to the older, wiser people in my life, I am submitting to their instruction.

~Ten Basic Life Skills I am Relearning~

1.  Walking

Over the holidays, I bought my first pair of real high heels. Ya’ know the real kind with the spikey heel and not the orthopedic chunk heels? I wobbled like a hobbled horse. Between laughs, the girls tried to give me pointers. And no, they weren’t laughing with me, they were laughing AT me. There’s a big difference, or so I tell myself.

date rinnai 011

(frantically telling my son “Get the shoes!”  “Make sure the shoes are in the picture!”)

Then, they settled for warnings. “Just don’t fall.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

Hey, like I used to laugh at them when they were learning to walk and would run into that corner of the coffee table?

I never laughed when they took off running and their big diaper butts waddled them right over on their little faces?

When they were going through puberty and their feet reached adulthood before their brains, I NEVER teased them about tripping on latitude lines, nor did I call their feet SKIS… more than once or twice. And let’s not even talk about how those SKIS smelled…

Like I laughed when someone was 16 and walked straight into a wall for no reason and got a huge egghead lump? Oh, maybe I did laugh, but thought they were old enough to handle it.

2. Dressing Myself

“Mom, those jeans need to be worn with flats.”

“You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

”Um, that needs to be worn with skinny jeans.  No, I mean skin tight skinny jeans.  You can’t have knee wrinkles.

Even hubby, “Nobody at work dresses like you.”

“It’s OK if all that tummy blubber hangs over your jeans.  It’s called a muffin top.”

3.  Talking

They use their cool words, then turn to me with a smug explanation.

As if I couldn’t figure out what “perfs” or “sup” means.  C’mon, I know I was born a bajilion yesterdays ago, but I can still figure out things in context.  It’s just when they change the meaning of words that I get a little confused.

These words now mean something good: wicked, sick, tight, fat, killer, filthy, gnarly, dope, redunk, and boss. Even though I can’t say it at the airport, if “you du bomb” that’s really good.

When my son says “brah” he isn’t talking about unmentionables he shouldn’t mention.  He’s addressing another male species, usually his father, who isn’t impressed when called unmentionables.

If you’re a “noob” it’s not horrible, but not exactly good, and nobody can define it, but everybody knows what it is.  It’s a noob.

Even if a word was invented and used cleverly by my generation, a patronizing discussion will still follow. “Mom, do you know what this means?”

4. Safety from  sharp objects

They take all my scissors and my paring knives.  Even fingernail clippers and nail files must be dangerous, I’m not allowed to have those, either.  I never have a problem getting through security, my kids take all my dangerous items before the airport officials can.

5. Public Behavior

They now sneak out to shop and have coffee without me, and I assume it’s because of my behavior.

Well, I don’t know what they’re worried about, it’s not like I’m going to throw myself down and have a tantrum or climb the library shelves, like some people I know.  When they take me out,  I’ve never peed in anybody’s front lawn, or picked my nose and wiped it on the wall, like some people I know.  I’ve never stolen suckers from the grocery store, eaten coupons or broke a bottle of cooking oil, like some people I know.

But, I might talk too loud and I might need help with social skills.  See #1, #2 and #3.

6. Eating

“Mom, did you know you should be reading the labels to find out the sugar content of cereals?”

“Did you know iceberg lettuce has no nutritional value and you should be eating dark green leaves?”

“Whoa, Dude, didja’ know too much salt isn’t good for you?”

Na, na, na, na, na, na, na.  I can’t hear you!  Your lips are flapping and the wind is blowing my gray straggly hair all over, but I’m not listening! I’m gunna’ keep buying Fruit Loops and iceberg lettuce.  Wait, I haven’t bought those things in years…..

7. Matching

Apparently, your shoes and purse no longer have to match.  You can accessorize a brown purse with a *gasp* pair of black shoes.  You can wear random single colors today that aren’t in the same color palette. Unmatching is the new matching.

My daughter will wear brown boots, that look like cropped cowboy boots, a black jacket, a turquoise shirt, fishnet stockings and a cream skirt.  She’s adorable, but  I try not to stare, because in my mind, I’m painting those boots black, like they should be.

Now I know how my poor mother felt when I dared to wear white shoes after September 1st.

8. Basic Life Skills

Since I grew up without computers, technology is  a mystery.  Facebook?  Texting?  Instant Messenger?  Skype?  It was all invented to keep parents out of their lives. When I began emailing to keep in touch with my kids, they switched to Facebook.  When I got on Facebook, they moved to Twitter.  I haven’t moved to Twitter yet, but I’m wondering how many new places there are to hide and how long it will take me to find them.

Speaking of Twitter….really?  It musta’ been invented by someone who was sick of listening to their mom.  “Hey, if you can’t say it in 140 characters, don’t say it at all!”

I can keep it to 140 characters.

#Call your mom and tell her you love her.
#Buy your Mom a present.
#Send your mom to Hawaii with all new clothes.

#Maybe I should get on Twitter after all.  #It could come in handy.

blog 012

Beka researching scarlet Fever and study her states and capitals on this old cell phone. Silly me.  I didn’t think it was good for anything.

“Wow, Mom, you text slow.”  Ironic that this is coming from the teenager who types 20 words a minute using two fingers and has  100 errors, compared to my nearly 100wpm with two errors using all ten fingers.  Since when did typing lose its place in the world as a necessary skill?  Yes, I’m fully aware they call it “keyboarding” now but you’re still not learning how to use all your fingers and “keyboard” without looking!

9.  Bathroom Habits

“Mom, since we’re going shopping, why don’t you just go potty now so we don’t’ have to find a bathroom as soon as we get there?”

“Mom, you feeling OK? You were in the bathroom for a long time.”

“If you have a tummy ache, you probably have to use the bathroom.”

 

10.  Gaining self-confidence

“Don’t worry, Mom, everybody makes stupid comments.”

“You really look good….for your age and everything.”

  

Kids, I really love you and appreciate your efforts in raising me.   I know it’s a lot of work.  But it’s only fair I warn you.

 

Watch out.

Some day soon I’ll be a teenager…….

Making your home sing Mondays

What Joy Is Mine

The Life Of Faith

I Am An Old, Old Mommy

I started my family when I was 21, but I looked younger.

People marveled at how young I looked when I had my 3rd child at 26.

When I was 31, being spotted in public with my 5 children was like being spotted by the paparazzi.

Or so I told myself.

“Are these all yours?”
”You don’t look old enough to have five kids!”
”You look wonderful for having 5 kids!”
”You look like one of the kids.”

It was some kind of amazing for a little while.

When I had my 6th child at 38, there were no more comments about my age.

There were looks.

You know the looks.

People are wondering about your life, wanting the story, but are too polite to ask, so they just stare.

I could hear the little gerbil wheels in their minds. Was she mine?  Was she one of the teenage daughters’?  Why would I want so many kids?  Didn’t I know what caused it?

When hubby and I would go out in public and take all the kids, people would stand in the parking lot and watch kids pour out of the Suburban.

You could see their heads nod and their lips move.

I actually was impressed so many people could count to six. 

People let me know how thankful it was ME and not THEM.  I was thankful it was not them, either.  I wanted this child.

The hands that held her were just a bit more wrinkly, but my touch had so much love.

The legs that shuffled to her crib in the middle of the night were a bit more creaky, but eagerly went to the precious child we’d prayed into our lives.

It seems my age confused more than just strangers, it even confused little Rebekah.

IMG_0089
(Don’t let this picture fool you.  I’m pretty sure I combed her hair once in awhile.)

She was very observant of all the people around her and in her 3 year old frankness would stare until caught. We quietly told her not to stare, or would gently turn her gaze away with our fingertips. One day she was enthralled with a beautiful toddler girl and an equally beautiful young mother strolling by us in the grocery store.

“Look Mommy, she’s with her big sister,” she said, pointing to the little girl who was only about a year younger than herself.

“No, honey, that’s her Mommy,” I replied.

Rebekah was confused and looked from the other mom’s face to my own several times before protesting again.

“No, it’s her sister,” she insisted.

I laughed that Rebekah comprehended her 18 year old sister, Jana, was closer in age to the young mom than I was. Rebekah had been taken on many exciting excursions with her older sister, but always came home to an older mommy. She didn’t understand that some children have young mommies and some have young sisters.

I  explained  I used to be a young mommy and looked like that other Mommy when Jana, Daniel and Bethany were little kids. But,  I kept having kids and kept getting older. Now, I was her Mommy, but was an older Mommy. I finished loading the rest of my groceries onto the conveyor belt, while I enjoyed the sensation of being able to fill a toddler’s precious mind with my words of wisdom and unravel life’s great mysteries for her.

That other mommy might be prettier.  She might be younger. But, like wine and cheese, I was aged to the perfection granted only to older mommies.  I was wise. I was experienced.  I could answer any question a toddler could throw at me.

Or so I told myself.

Light chuckles from a man proved I had an amused audience ahead of me. His laughter  punctuated Rebekah’s final I’m-gunna-win-this-conversation-statement.

"OK, Mommy, but I know it’s her sister."

 

Making your home sing Mondays

What I Really Wanted For Christmas

It was a pretty great Christmas for our family.  We opened a lot of presents, ate a lot of cookies, and spent a lot of time together.  Our vacation officially is over today because everyone is back to work and school.

After each holiday, there’s always a bit of a disappointment, as I pack away the decorations and get my home back into order.

Sure, I got the Barbie I wanted for Christmas. 

christmas 2012 275

But once all these packages were opened, I realized there were a lot of things I wanted that I didn’t get.

Call me spoiled.

Call me a dreamer.

But, whatever ya’ wanna’ call me, I gotta’ let you know there were things I really, really wanted for Christmas, but didn’t get.  Same thing happened to me last year.

This is what I really wanted for Christmas.

1. Magic Carpet.  Who wants to face Seattle traffic?  Why can’t I fly above the city with my hubby when we wanna’ go somewhere?  Instead of looking for a parking place and then paying exorbitant parking fees, I’d just roll it up, tuck it into my oversized purse, and off we’d go. Should reduce my insurance, too, ‘cuz no fender benders in the sky.

2. Can of Invisible Spray.  Since the kids have found all my hiding places for all my things that I have to hide from them – chocolate and scissors and pens and tape – I want a spray that with one ozone-ruining poof could make them invisible from my children and save them from inevitable extinction.  The spray has to work on me, too, so if I don’t feel like answering, “Mom, where’s my _____________?” for the 187th time, I won’t have to.

Adapting a song I remember from Laugh-In when I was a little girl,  the theme song for this spray would be “AND PPPFFFTTT, MOM WAS GONE!”

3.  Booger Resistant Paint. Paint has changed since I had started having kids.  Now you can buy mildew resistant paint for your bathroom.  You can buy chalkboard paint and magically turn anything into a  chalkboard. Kids haven’t changed.  Kids and grandkids alike have this inability to discern the difference between a tissue and a wall.

C’mon, work with me, people, it’s not that hard.

Tissue is usually white 8×8 square piece of soft paper to blow your nose on.

A wall is a mixture of 2×4’s, sheetrock and siding that holds your roof on the house.

But, until children of all generations learn this lesson in discernment, I want paint that instantly repels nose candy.

My walls will say, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, repels off me and stays stuck on you.”

4. Teflon Carpet.  OK, if they can make pans that nothing sticks to, why I can’t I have carpeting like that?  This is 2013 and we put man on the moon decades ago.  Can’t they come up with a way to keep women from having to dig raisins out of their carpet fiber?

5.  Self-Cleaning Toilets.  I put a toilet brush right next to every toilet.  Every bathroom is stocked with cleanser, glass cleaner, toilet bowl cleaner, and jumbo containers of disinfectant wipes. Clearly, it’s not working. After having company last time, I went into the bathroom and was mortified by our toilet.  EEWWW.  I will spare you the details. I was thinking how horrible they must think we are, until I realized it might have been the company that left the bathroom in that state???????

6. Peace and Quiet.  OK, those gorgeous Miss Universe contestants can try to wax eloquent about world peace in a dress that cost more than a rocket launcher, but I would settle for peace on a much smaller scale.  I’d settle for peace between the offspring. I’d settle for not hearing those little bickerings over who ate the last cookie, whose turn it is to do dishes or who is the coolest.

If I can’t have peace and quiet, I would like the arguments to change to topics such as “Who’s going to buy Mom the most expensive birthday gift?”
”Who’s going to weed the entire garden without being asked?” or
”Who’s going to clean the three toilets on a weekly basis until death do us part?”

7.  Alice.  I want my own Alice. Ya’ know, the Brady Bunch Alice? Someone to make all the meals meals, pack lunches, do the laundry, grocery shop and break up fights between the kids.  She must be willing to wear sensible shoes, an ugly uniform, and live in a 10×10 room. So what did Carol Brady do with all her free time?  No wonder her hair was always done and she could walk around the house in a cool outfit without a hair out of place.  Without Alice she would have looked more like Phyllis Diller.

8. Boomerang Bed.  The sheets and blankets should fly back into place the moment I hauled my bum out of bed each  morning. At 48 years old and  I’m tired of making my bed.  According to my calculations, I’ve made a bed over 16,000 times!  If you count the times I made the beds up for my kids, that number increases.  Since I’m pretty sure I made my bed every day without grumbling from the time I was 5 years old, I won’t count for a large margin of error on my estimation.

9. Garbage Bags with Legs.  Do you know how many times I’ve had to say “Take out the garbage!  It is flowing all over the floor, it stinks and it growing maggots?” Too many.  It would be so much easier on my lung capacity if the garbage bags could take their own sniff and weigh test to determine when they should jump out of the can and march themselves straight to the dumpster.  Then they would automatically summon the next garbage bag to dutifully take its place in the empty garbage can.  Oh, that would be bliss.

10.  Talking Refrigerator.  Instead of mommy having to say, “Hey, close the door, it’s been open so long the food is room temperature” the fridge would do my nagging for me.  It should be programmable to nag according to the needs of the frustrated matriarch or patriarch of the family to say such things as ~

“Did you eat your fruit and veggie quota for the day?” 
“You spilled that milk, now wipe it up!  Pronto!  And don’t you sass me none!”
”That gum goes in the garbage can, not in here!  Last time you did that I had lime green smudges for weeks.’
”That pop is full of harmful chemicals and the carbonation decreases lung capacity.”

Since kids usually believe anybody other than their parents, a talking fridge would probably aid in the overall health of all of my children.

And if they listen to the fridge about their nutrition, I’ll add other instruction, as well.

”Go take out the garbage.  The maggots have to go.”
”Go make your bed.”
”Stop arguing with your siblings.”
”It’s your turn to clean the bathroom.”
”Stop eating in the living room.”
”Go find a kleenex!”

”Your mom?  No, I don’t know where to find your mom, her chocolate, scissors, pens or tape. I haven’t seen her since she got that Magic Carpet for Christmas.”

Yes, I’d truly be happy if I’d been given What I Really Wanted for Christmas.

I Look Like a Barbie Doll

In a mother’s life there’s a sad, sad turning point,
when you stop being the joy and delight of your child’s life,
and they’re embarrassed
around you
regarding you
over you
near you…

Pick any preposition and add yourself,
to describe the dimensions of their embarrassment.

We were going to run a quick errand.

OK, I’m not telling the whole truth.
It’s never “a” errand, as in one,
and it’s never quick.

Anyhoo, we were on our way out the door when the winds of affection
changed directions in the climate of my 9 year old, Rebekah.

“Are you going out like that?” she asked.

Ignorant of my most recent faux pas, I asked, “Like what?”

“Maw-aw-aw-awm,” she informed,
(the longer it takes to say mom, the bigger your offense)
“you have a stick in your hair!”

Barbie Hair 003

When we were busy doing school in the backyard,
soaking up the last of the summer sunshine,
I was getting too warm.

Barbie Hair 004

So like the Prairie Momma I am,
that’s my name on my other blog,
I twisted up my hair and stuck a stick in it.

There wasn’t a pen or a chopstick nearby,
so I just made do.
I always impress myself when I can
improvise in primitive conditions.

To pacify her, I pulled the stick out and continued on my merry way.
Apparently, I forgot to comb my hair.
(And that wasn’t embarrassing?)
After all, I was on an errand mission.

Barbie Hair 008

When we got home, my hair was STILL wrapped up in a bun.

My newly grown curly hair and my wiry gray hair
have changed my hair into Barbie hair,
but not new Barbie hair.

Old, icky, abused-too-much, left-in-the-toy box-too long hair,
like my Quick Curl Barbie.

Except she was born that way.

The marketing propaganda that build up expectations that couldn’t be fulfilled.

The commercial promised hours of fun with this gorgeous blonde Barbie.
Instead, her hair didn’t hold a curl and she had constant bed-head.
Matted, twisted, frizzled, I-can’t-do-anything-with-it bed head.
By the time our Christmas tree was taken down,
I had a Barbie with a brand-new body and destroyed hair.

Since Mattel had changed the neck joint structure,
I couldn’t put an older Barbie head with good hair
on the newer doll.

I was stuck with the hair.

Now I’m stuck with my hair,
but this generation says bed head is cool.

According this blog,
by someone younger and trendier than me,
I was only a stick away from being cool.
She fixes her hair the same way,
but finishes it off with hair elastic,
sparkly tie or a strand of her own hair.

So, why should my daughter be embarrassed
in my presence
around my presence
regarding my presence
over my presence
near my presence
since I look like a Barbie doll with very cool bed head!?!

 

Oh Where is My Scissors?

Other than The Song That Never Ends,
there is only one other song I can’t tolerate,
Veggie Tales “Where Is My Hairbrush?”

Not only are the lyrics and the bouncy tune
stuck-in-your-head-forever-and-ever annoying,
it’s a simple truth I don’t want to be reminded of.
(I know I’m no ‘posed to end a sentence with a preposition,
but when I’m thinkin’ about this topic I get so frustrated
I can’t think where my brains should be at.)

This song reminds me that I have a hairbrush and it’s missing a lot.

Even if I buy EVERY PERSON in the house their own hairbrush, mine is always better,
because it’s easier to find.
Afterall, I always put it in the same spot, so the kids know where to find it.

Instead of taking the time to look for their own misplaced item, they “borrow” mine.
The same theory applies to my scissors, my tape,
anything that I use on a daily basis and have trained myself to put away.

Not only as I missing items, I’m being plagiarized.

Apparently, Lynn Johnston is peeking through my windows
and cartooning all the things that go wrong in my life.

I make frustration, she makes money.

My mom mails the plagiarized cartoons to me in support.

(click to enlarge)

If I ever find my scissors and my tape, I’m gunna’ cut out brown paper and tape it to my winders.

(That’s Kansan for windows, jest in case ya’ didn’t know that.
My recent trip down south gots me still speaking that there way.)

That lady ain’t gunna’ make no more money offa’ my misery.

But, I  can’t stop her jest yet.

Got me some scissors to find.