Tuesday, February 24, 2015

From the Mouths of Old Ladies

I walked into my mother's room late after the kids had already gone to bed. 

Me: *serious face*
Mom: What's the matter with you?
Me: Mom, seriously, you have to stop cursing around the kids. 
Mom: What are you talking about, I don't curse around my babies!
Me: You told them to calm their little asses down today.
Mom: 'Ass' is not a curse word. 
Me: Mother *sigh*
Mom: It's not! Besides, they'll be in regular school soon. You want them to get there and not know any of the lingo? You should be thanking me. *walks out*


Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Farewell, Sheila

My phone rang first thing in the morning: 

Me: Hello?
Mom: Whatcha doin?
Me: Trying to get the big kids ready. What's up?

Mom: Oh *pause* well you can call me back.
Me: What's the matter?
Mom: Nothing, just a question. It's stupid, never mind. 
Me: What, mom?
Mom: Um, is there a famous woman named Phylicia?
Me: Like Phylicia Rashad?

Mom: Hmm, I don't think that's it.
Me: Don't think it's what?
Mom: People keep saying goodbye to her. 
Me: *pause* Ma, you mean 'bye Felicia'?
Mom: Yes! Who is that?
Me: It's just a movie reference ma, something old. 
Mom: Ohhh. Ok. *silence* I don't get it.
Me: It just means...um, the character was a nuisance...so the phrase is just kinda used when you're trying to say someone is annoying. So if you want to be rid of them, you'd just say "bye, Felicia."
Mom: Ohhhh, I'm hip to it now. That's funny. 
Me: Yes, it's hilarious *sigh*  I really gotta get the kids ready now.
Mom: Ok, well goodbye Felicia!

Me: No, that's not how you...forget it. Goodbye to you too, Felicia *sigh*

Saturday, February 14, 2015

Grandpa Daddy

My husband found gray hair in his beard. 

I suggested he dye the whole thing white and get a cane. He did not see the humor in him being the dirty old man and me the sweet young tenderoni for our Valentine's Day outings. 

Im pretty sure I'm on timeout. Since there's nothing else to do in the corner all day, I'm going to list the top 4 reasons, him going gray isn't a huge deal.

#1 - Men are notorious for getting hotter as they age.  While most women end up wrinkling faster than a dried out grape, men suddenly become "distinguished," "dignified" and "debonair" (and other words I'm sure don't begin with D) once a little salt and pepper pops up in their mane.

Age 49

Age 50

#2 - If he looks older, chances are we can make the most of those Senior Citizens discounts that seem to be handed out all willy nilly.  Old people get a lot of free stuff.  I don't know if its because they smell like Metamucil or nobody wants a gang of Depends-wearing OGs running amok in their business, but old folks are treated right.  I'm thinking if Big B decks himself out in his nicest leisure suit and a good pair of sensibly cushioned white shoes, we could hit up our local Denny's for the low-low.  This turns me on simply because I'm a gal who likes a deal.  Pancakes for close to Free.99?  Trust me, panties will be dropping.

#3 - Older men with younger, hot women (I'm talking about me, by the way...shut up) get major props.  Other guys think you're The Man, other women think you must be mysterious, a great lover, or hell...just rich.  Either way, win/win here.

#4 - Old people get to do whatever the hell they want.  They talk back, curse, fart and get to fall asleep at random intervals and nobody can say anything because elder abuse is a crime.  My husband loves doing all of the above. Playing an old fogey gives him free reign to crop dust whenever he likes and not get negative feedback from passersby.

So as you can see, there are a number of completely rational reasons for an otherwise young man to pretend to be older.  It's smarter, practical and economical.  Once he realizes all of this, I will await his heartfelt apology.  Until then, I'll bide my time in this corner *sigh* all alone.

Thursday, February 12, 2015


You people think you know what love is, but you don't. 

Love is not painstakingly combing through Pinterest to find just the right eggless cookie recipe for your hyper-allergic kid's Valentine's Day party. It's not deciding to bake said cookies after an afternoon of creating handmade astronaut Valentines for your other kid. Love isn't destroying the first batch of eggless treats and then opting to make another. Love's not even lulling the kids back to sleep when the second batch sets the fire alarm off at midnight. It's not finally finding success with the 3rd batch. It certainly isn't presenting your perfect pink chocolate chip cookies (practically made from unicorn tears and fairy dust) to your kid on a valentine themed platter with exhaustion in your eyes and dried pink dough under your nails the next morning.

No, my friends, that ain't love. Love is, upon hearing your dear sweet precious baby go, "Aw cute! You know I don't like cookies though, right?" not strangling her.

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

Where There's Smoke

I like to think of myself as the cool, levelheaded one in our relationship.  My husband is a panick-er.  An understated one, mind you, but a panick-er nonetheless.  So, it should've been no surprise to me that after calling him with a simple observation a few weeks back, he jumped to ridiculous conclusions.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Doctor Feel Good

Taking 3 kids to the doctor goes a little something like this.

Me:  Everyone sit, just sit.
Ashton (5):  Roman, don't cry when you get a shot.
Roman (2):  I don't wanna get a shot!

Me: Roman, you're not getting a shot.
Ashton:  It's ok, just be brave.
Roman:  Noooo!
Me:  Ashton, stop!  It's not even his appointment, it's you & PJ's check up.
Ashton:  And I have to get a shot?
Me:  You're gonna get a shot if you keep acting ugly.
Ashton:  What?!  *inaudible wail*

Me:  Stop, I'm kidding.  I mean, I'm not kidding.  I don't know if you have to get a shot, just calm down.
Roman:  What's this?
Me:  Roman, get out of the drawers.  Ashton, leave the baby alone.
Roman:  Can I see your phone?
Me:  My phone is not your toy.
Ashton:  What's this?
Me:  Give me that!  It's not a microphone, the doctor needs that to look in your ears.
Ashton:  My ears don't hurt.
Me:  I know, it's just...Roman, if you don't stop kicking that table, I'm going to kick you!
*door knob jiggles*
Doctor:  Hello?

Me:  Oh, I'm sorry.  The stroller makes it a little tight in here.  Hold on.
Doctor:  *through door crack*  Maybe you could...
Me:  Wait, I'll just move it a little...Roman sit down.
Doctor:  Well, here we are.  *stepping inside*  Hi guys!
Roman:  Mommy said she's gonna kick me.
Ashton:  And I'm only supposed to get a shot if I'm ugly.
PJ:  *perfect time to start crying*
Me:  Well...so good to see you again doctor.  *pause* You're going to report this, aren't you.