Movie Quote Monday

"I really admire your shoes."

"What?"

"I love your shoes."

"What do ya mean?"

"And I was just thinking: as much as I really admire your shoes, and as much as I'd love to have a pair just like them, I really wouldn't want to be IN your shoes at this particular time and place."

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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

Reality

If any of the women who read this blog has The Uglies today, or even if you don't, take heed. We should all stop being critical of ourselves because THIS is reality.

Movie Quote Monday

(answering phone)

"Hello, you've reached the winter of our discontent."








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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

Corruption of the innocent

Somehow, I seem to have kept my children in a plastic bubble of sorts all of these years. I have no idea how I pulled it off, or even if it was deliberate.

There was one incident, about six months ago, when one of them said something like, "...that stupid toy..." or whatever it was they were talking about, and I swiftly corrected with "You mean 'that silly toy.'" And it was repeated back: "I mean, 'that silly toy.'"

Then, there was another incident where Jason said, "Oh, my God!" and I swiftly corrected with "You mean, 'oh, my gosh.'" And he looked at me appreciatively and repeated, "I mean, 'oh, my gosh!'"

And that's all. Really and truly, it is. I know! They are four and six years old. How have I escaped potty mouth for so long?

(Okay, I do think I heard one of them say "shit" once, but we ignored it, and it was never heard again. Obviously, that was learned on the schoolyard from one of the Other Kids.)

Also? When Drew, um, releases gas, he just ignores it. If I say, "What was that?" he looks at me like, "What was what?" When Jason does it and I ask him what it was, he bends completely over with his back toward me, touches his feet so as to give me the best possible view of his rear, and says, "It was my bum! It burped!" How cute is that? I mean...come on. Personally, I think this is how everyone under the age of eighteen should explain a release of flatulence to people.

The other day, however, one of Jason's classmates came home with him to play. She is a very sweet little girl, who happens to have an older sister (maybe ten years old?). We drive by Burger King, and she says, "Oh, look! It's Booger King! King of Boogers! HA HA HA! My sister always says that because she loves boogers! HA HA HA!" And Jason laughed hesitantly (because he has been taught to be polite), and I see in the rear view mirror that he looks a little bit puzzled. He doesn't know what "boogers" are. But he is intrigued.

Great. And so it begins.

At our house, the little girl announces, "I can burp, you know!" and proceeds to try to force herself to burp (unsuccessfully, but she makes a noise which she hopes will sound believable). And then she laughs. HA HA HA! So, Jason makes a noise, sort of like the one she made, and he laughs. HA HA HA!

Lovely. I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach.

The little girl went on to tell "jokes," like "What does a house and a tree make? An apple! HA HA HA!" Jason thought this was hysterical. So, he joined in: "What does a bird and a ball make? A popsicle! HA HA HA!"

And then things began to turn.

The little girl (heretofore called "LG"): "What does bird poop and a bee make? Dog poop! HA HA HA!" And Jay gives the hesitant little (polite) laugh. (Poop is funny?) LG: "What does a school and a lamp make? A FART! HA HA HA HA HA HA!" (LG apparently thought that one would bring the house down.) Jason: "ha ha...ha!...ahem..." (What's a fart?)

Brokenhearted and full of despair, I am now sobbing in the kitchen and swilling cabernet straight from the bottle. What is that stupid little girl doing to my child? Who invited that little shit here, anyway?? I mean...my GOD....

You know you've had too much caffeine when...

...you hobble around the house with one bare foot and one sneakered foot because you don't have time to put on the other shoe because THERE ARE THINGS THAT NEED TO GET DONE AND THEY NEED TO BE DONE RIGHT!!! AWAY!!!

...you decide to use the upright vacuum cleaner instead of the Roomba because it will save time.

...you develop an eye tic that lasts nine hours.

...your thoughts are wildly fragmented. (I should go to Home Depot...I think we need milk...and thumbtacks...I want to go to the movies this weekend...I wonder if Rudy Giuliani will run for President...Why is there a seagull in my backyard? We don't live near the ocean!...I love fried clams...I should scrub the grout in the kitchen floor...)

...you eat lunch, do a load of laundry, and give yourself a manicure simultaneously.

...your four-year-old comes to give you a hug and tell you he loves you, and you say, "Not now, I'm cleaning the toilet! Can't you see that?!"

...you hear Nick Lachey singing and start rolling your eyes and yelling psychotically at the radio, "Get OVER it, Nick! I mean, my GOD! The girl was dumb as a stick!"

Beware the Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte. (Crack is probably cheaper, anyway.)

What a pain in the ass

It just took me five whole minutes to settle myself into a chair. I've been busy, you see. Busy flinging myself down flights of stairs with casseroles of broccoli. And now I am black-and-blue in the most inconvenient place for a person who can't do all that much walking and standing.

What happened was (because I know you are all dying to know), I slipped on the bottom stair while carrying a casserole dish containing broccoli (there might be a quiz, so remember, it was a CASSEROLE DISH containing BROCCOLI). Thus, I could not see my feet and could not navigate where to place my foot on the stair and I overestimated how large the stair actually was and okay I had a big glass of wine with dinner and that's probably why I slipped. Shoot me.

So, Paul heard me fall and ran at lightning speed to see what happened. I, of course, was curled up in the fetal position at the bottom of the stairs, wailing in agony, and rubbing my behind. He helped me up, picked up the (casserole) dish (of broccoli), and said, "Oh, too bad, it chipped." So now I feel even worse because my leftover broccoli (which was in the casserole dish) might have glass chips in it and it will have to be thrown away. The horror! (I come from a family who adores all vegetables, so it's a mortal sin to waste them.) Dragging myself up the stairs, rubbing my butt, and moaning about the possible loss of my broccoli (which was in the casserole dish), I begin to wonder where Paul went. I stumble into the kitchen, glass chips falling off my shirt, and I see him standing at the stove happily scooping himself seconds on pasta. THIRTY SECONDS after my near-death experience, and he's already back to being worried about his stomach. When I express my displeasure with his lack of concern, he's all flabbergasted and says, "What else am I supposed to do? I'm still hungry!" Ah. Well, okay, then.

In search of some genuine concern for my well-being, I call my mother today and tell her, "I fell on the stairs yesterday when I was bringing the broccoli [en casserole] downstairs to put in the refrigerator!" And she said, with concern, "Are you okay??" I said, "Yes, but..." And then she interrupts, with even more concern, "What about the broccoli? You didn't have to throw it away, did you?"

I know! I mean, food is very important on my list of, well, Important Things, but come on. It's kind of sad when your LIFE is less important to people than pasta and vegetables.

Anyway, my ass hurts. The End.

Movie Quote Monday

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces."


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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

Do I stutter?

Why must I say things multiple times before people understand what I say? I've always felt I had a good grasp of the English language...until I got married and had kids. I swear, the three people living in my house are trying their best to make me feel like I'm losing my flipping mind.

Getting the kids ready for school in the morning, this is me:

"Drew, come on. Time for school. Get your shoes."

(Drew wanders over to the couch.)

"Drew, I said 'Get your shoes.' "

(Drew looks over at me with a blank look.)

"Shoes," I say. "GET YOUR SHOES."

(Drew sits on the couch.)

"GET! YOUR! SHOES!!!"

Drew goes to get his shoes and shoots me a look over his shoulder like, "Okay, okay! Keep your pants on!"

"Jason, didn't I ask you to wash your hands?"

No response.

"Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you supposed to be washing your hands?"

"Oh. Yeah."

He continues to watch Curious George.

"Jason. Hands. Wash them. NOW."

Twenty-five minutes later, shoes are on, hands are washed, and we're out the door...well, almost.

"Come on, guys."

They veeeerrrrryyy slllooooowwwwwlllllly step across the threshold onto the front stoop and pause side by side for some unknown reason.

"Come on, guys. Let's go!"

Still pausing.

(Gee, what do we do now? Bend one knee and step down with the other foot onto the first step? Is that even physically possible? And what then? Should we do it again and again until we reach the bottom of the stairs? Won't we be tired? And what should we do once we get there? Which direction is the car? Is it that large, gray thing to the left with the four wheels and the booster seats inside, or is it the green thing with the leaves to the right that resembles a bush? Hmm. Best to wait for further directions from The Stutterer so as not to make a grave error in this multiple choice dilemma.)

"GO. TO. THE. CAR."

I see slow steps. I see more bewilderment with this strange world called Outside and this taxing exercise called Stepping Down the Stairs and this difficulty with Finding the Car.

I see SMOKE coming out of my EARS.

"GO TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE FOR GOD'S SAKE YOU GUYS ARE DRIVING ME CRAZY IF THERE WERE COOKIES STUCK TO THE CAR YOU WOULD'VE BEEN THERE TEN MINUTES AGO!!!!"

Let's not even get into how slow they are when it's raining. The harder it rains, apparently the more difficult it is to move one's legs. Must be, you know, the rheumatism acting up from the dip in the barometric pressure.

And then there's Paul.

For 11 years, I've been telling him that I cannot remember everything that everyone in the household has to do every day of the week. All I ask is that if he's coming home late, or going somewhere after work, or whatever else might keep him from getting home in time to save me from this hell that is our household at dinnertime prevent him from getting home from work at the usual time, to please let me know that day because -- let me repeat this for the umpteenth time -- I CANNOT REMEMBER EVERYTHING THAT EVERYONE HAS TO DO EVERY DAY OF THE WEEK. You'd think that seeing the 236 notes I have taped all over the kitchen cabinets at any given time with reminders for me about doctor's appointments, field trips, bills to pay, calls to make, etc., would keep this simple request fresh in his mind over the past ELEVEN YEARS. But no. Inevitably, Paul will come home two hours late one night and I'll be ripping my hair out and having a nervous breakdown because the kids are driving me insane frantic because I had no idea where he was. And he will look at me like I have two heads and say, slowly (because that's how one must talk to Karen in...order...to...make...Karen...understand), "Karen, I told you three weeks ago that I had a dentist appointment tonight at 6 o'clock."

Ahh. Silly me.

Ahh. Silly me.

Sorry, force of habit.

Sorry, force of ha- *bangs head on wall*

My current addiction, and some bonus recipes!

After my crackupuncture appointment this morning, I had about 10 minutes of free time before I had to pick Jason up from preschool, so I decided to treat myself to a $4 cup of coffee at Starbucks. Actually, I DETEST Starbucks coffee - even the smell of the place makes me throw up a little in my mouth - but I like the frou-frou drinks, as long as they're not strong and contain a lot of sugar and whipped cream. HA! Actually, that's a lie, because I'm the nonfat-sugar-free-no-whipped-cream customer that pisses everyone off with the list of instructions prefacing the actual name of the frou-frou drink. But I would LIKE to be the calorie-and-fat-oblivious customer who orders the Venti Praline Caramel Latte with whipped cream and chocolate shavings (oh my God does that sound good or what?).

Man, do I go off on tangents.

So, I noticed they have a "light" version of frappuccinos, and I decided that sounded mighty tasty. I asked the Coffee Barista (as I've heard they like to be called) if they contained sugar, and she said they do contain some, but it's reduced and they add Splenda, and it's made with nonfat milk. Great! So I ordered a medium (tall? whatever) light caramel frappuccino, and oh, let me tell you folks: It was to DIE for. I think I had a frou-gasm on the way back to the car. They have to be lying that this stuff is "light"! Ah, who cares. I am going to be so broke by the end of the week.

In other earth-shattering news, I think Jason is going to be a chef. When I picked him up from school, he was all about recipes for some reason. "Mommy! Do you know how to make a cake? You need flour, sugar, a couple of scoops of tuna, and a batch of honey! Then you put it in the oven for nine minutes until you see three Os* and then you take it out of the oven and then you eat it!"

Hmm.

And here's a couple more Secret Recipes he shared with me on the ride home:

Apple Banana Soup

one apple
one big banana
2 scoops of tuna

Mix it all together, and eat it with a spoon!

Squash and Banana Chicken (which, oddly, contains neither banana nor chicken)

one squash
couple of teaspoons baking powder
one scoop of tuna
some fish
some lobster

Put it in the oven for seven minutes until you see the three Os.*

BAM!

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*The timer on the oven shows "0:00" when the time is up. Work with me here, people.

Movie Quote Monday

QUOTE #1:

"Honey, how are you doing?"

"Oh great, considering I desecrated your Grandma's remains, found out you were engaged, and had your Father ask me to milk him."




QUOTE #2:

"So you're monumentally busy?"

"No, not monumentally."

"She's gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen."


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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy