Mario rides again!

I think I've fallen into some weird parallel timewarp universe! I'm sitting in my living room with 3 teenagers, this time 2 girls and 1 boy, laughing at them playing MARIO! Yep, the original!

The only thing that would make it more perfect would be if Bug was here to whip all their butts. That boy was one brick-bashing wizard!

Somewhere I have a video of Twig at age 3 sitting on the floor, holding down the jump button singing, "Here comes Peter Cot-ton Tail. Hop-pin dowwwwwn thuh bunny traiiiil..." If I can ever find it and figure out how to get it onto here, I'll post it for you. He was soooo cute!

Funny how one old game can evoke so many great memories. Wonderful how that same old game is now making some great new ones.


Peace, Blessings, and Boing! Boing! Boing! Boing!

Teen driving revolutionized by Ford! (???)

My Girl has finished her driver education course, but is really balking at taking the test to get her learner's permit. It is the strangest thing I've ever seen in a kid! To give her some credit, she and The Boyfriend were T-boned a couple of months ago, which scared her pretty bad. Thank God that's all it did! In a weird way, I'm sort of glad she's in no hurry. I'm not sure I'm ready to unleash her on the motoring public just yet!

Oh, what's that? I forgot to tell you there was a Boyfriend? Ummm.. sorry... Well, there is. And he's 22. And he's one of the best things that has ever happened to her so pick your jaw up off the ground and get over the fact that I am, indeed, allowing my 17-year-old daughter date a 22-year-old college senior. You'd just have to see them together to know how good they are for each other. Besides, that's not what this post is about. Yes, I promise more details in the near future, but for now, on with why I brought up this whole driving/wrecking thing to begin with...

It seems that Ford Motor Company thinks it has come up with the solution all parents have been clamoring for since the first time the first teenager put pedal to metal. They have devised a feature that will let parents set limits for teens. AN 80 MILE AN HOUR LIMIT! Go ahead, pop over there and read the article and then come back. It is short, but fascinating! (Note: if you right-click and select "Open in a new window" you won't lose this post to go read the article. And you know who you are that needs that advice to keep you from accidentally closing the windows and having to log back in because you are afraid to have the computer remember you for fear that someone might hack your computer and hijack your passwords.)

Welcome back!

Ok, so they've got a pretty valid reason for setting the upper limit at 80. I can see where once in a while one might have to accelerate up to 80 to get out of the way of a wreck. IF ONE WAS ALREADY GOING 70+ BEFORE THE INCIDENT HAPPENED!!! And they said that "Just lopping it off at exactly 70 mph was felt to be too limiting." TOO LIMITING???? I THOUGHT THAT LIMITING THEIR SPEED WAS THE WHOLE POINT?!?!?!?! GRRRRR! As far as I'm concerned, 60 is plenty fast enough for the first six months they are on the road alone. There are plenty of surface roads to get from here to anywhere without having to ever get on a freeway.

They go on to say that they are going to make "...use of technology, and through the magic of software, we're able to build features on top of the features we already have." COOL IDEA! Love that anti-theft thing, but how about asking mothers what that new build should look like. As a matter of fact, I won't wait for them to ask. Instead, I am sending the following suggestions in an email to their Public Affairs Department.

According to the article, "In addition to speed limits, MyKey also will limit the volume of the audio system, and it will sound a six-second chime every minute if seat belts are not fastened. The chime sounds for adult drivers, too, but ends after five minutes to avoid annoying adults who adamantly don't want to wear seat belts." (aka IDIOTS)

Really?? You can do all that with a smart key? WHOA NELLY! Then how about programming that sucker to:

-- Allow PARENTS to set the max speed for their child based on when and where they will be driving using a formula of maximum SAFE speed plus 10. (With a maximum of 65 for emergencies only.)

-- Send parents a text message EVERY TIME the speedometer climbs past the maximum safe speed. Better yet, include their GPS location in the message. Might as well know where they were breaking the rules while we are at it!

-- Allow NO radio or sound system of any kind if they go over their parentally-determined speed limit. Yep, that's right -- JUST CUT IT COMPLETELY OFF!

If keys can be smart, then why not seat belts?

-- Come up with weight/size based seat belt alarms. If the weight in the seat is X then it's going to take a minimum of Y amount of belt yardage to surround it. Just buckling it and putting it behind you would trigger the shutdown of the sound system until all seat belts were properly fastened around all those chubby little tummies. And speaking of 'all those' ...

-- How about some butt alarms that count how many kids are in the car. I know here in Texas young drivers are limited on the number of passengers they are allowed to carry. Why not send mom a text message when the butt count exceeds that limit? AND CUT OUT THE RADIO until the butt count is corrected.

And if the keys, belts, and seats can be smart, why not the antennae?

-- Let's go ahead and rig the car so that cell phones don't work from inside it as long as the engine is running. And for safety's sake and Mom's peace of mind, why not add a communication system (including a phone cam!)that can only call three or four parentally programmed numbers: 911, Mom, Dad, and one alternate. How else are you gonna keep them off the phones?

So what I am proposing is what I call:

DAMAMA’S TOTAL MUSICAL SOLUTION

-- If the speed isn't immediately reduced or the infraction isn't corrected, within 30 seconds, automatically kill the car’s audio system and activate external speakers that blare nursery rhymes like I'm a Little Teapot, It's a Small World, and If you're Happy and You Know It. Or how about some Okie From Muskogee? Better yet, how about THIS. heh heh heh!! How quickly do you think that car could decelerate to 60 or under?? How fast do you think that seatbelt would click or somebody's butt would be booted out the door? Probably not nearly fast enough for the totally humiliated kid in the driver's seat! Definitely not fast enough to keep us parents from going prematurely gray.

It takes 8,460 bolts to assemble an automobile, and one nut to scatter it all over the road. ~Author Unknown

The elderly don't drive that badly; they're just the only ones with time to do the speed limit. ~Jason Love

May all of our children live to be old and slow. Like they think we are.

Why don't they make a pill for THAT??

They seem to have developed pills to modify just about every nuance of the human condition. Too angry? Too sad? Too happy? Gotcha covered. Tired? Hyper? Apathetic? Piece of cake! Anxious? Confused? Fearful? Easy peasy! Have a pain in your head? Your back? Your foot? Your pinkie? Take two and call me in the morning. But what about that most dread malady: PAIN IN THE BUTT PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVELY DEFIANT TEENAGER.

Come on, you recognize this. It's typically characterized by the repeated phrase, "Yes, Ma'am." followed by the total disregarding of whatever the request happens to be. Conversations with afflicted teens go something like this:

Mom - Girl, please remember to turn off your lights, TV, radio, fans, and lamps (all of which are on virtually all. the. time. if she's in the room) when you leave the house.

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

Mom - Please don't leave your dishes on whatever surface you are nearest when you finish eating. (Think couch, almost finished cereal, and two dogs. Not a pleasant thing to awaken to in the morning.)

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

Mom - Please ...

Girl - "Yes, Ma'am."

..."Yes, Ma'am."

..."Yes, Ma'am."

Does this sound familiar to you? On the surface they sound like the kindest, sweetest, most compliant and cooperative creatures ever to walk God's green earth. Upon closer inspection, though, every day you find the lights still on, the dishes still wherever, the clothes still on the bathroom floor, the whatever still being done or not done day after day after day after FRIGGIN DAY!!! And all of it accompanied by a sweet, polite, smiling, "Yes, Ma'am." I, personally, am to the point that if I hear that syrupy sing-song "Yes, Ma'am." one more time, SOMEBODY'S HAIR IS COMING OUT! What does it take to get them to put feet on that damnable response??

One would think that pharmaceutical companies would have JUMPED on this by now! After all, it is an ailment that, in one of its many and varied forms, effects every parent on the planet. It even has its own definition in the Medline Plus Medical Encyclopedia. Go ahead. Click over there and read it. I'll wait.....

.....



So what'd ya think? Did you notice that line about "A person with this disorder may appear to comply with another's wishes and may even demonstrate enthusiasm for them. However, the requested action is either performed too late to be helpful, performed in a way that is useless, or is otherwise sabotaged (why didn't they add IGNORED here???) to express anger that cannot be expressed verbally."? Sounds familiar, huh!?!?

And anger that cannot be expressed verbally? Really? I'd actually rather be told that she didn't want to do whatever, and why, so that we could discuss possible alternate solutions before I have threatened to take her phone away for noncompliance. I'm not TOTALLY unreasonable. There have been a few times that I've been convinced to change my mind. Maybe then there wouldn't be any anger that needed expressing!?!?!?!

Did you notice the "Treatment" section? Therapy. Yep, it says, "Counseling may be of value in helping the person identify and change the behavior." May be of value?? MAY??? MAY???? Try, NOT!! Been there and done that so many times that the damn t-shirt is now ripped to tattered shreds and is being used to firmly secure my wrists to my waist so I don't beat her to a bloody pulp!

So now, with no hope of a better life through chemistry (Thanks, Cousin Howard! That's such an accurate phrase!), I'm forced to come up with my own treatments for this disorder. Here's a list of possiblities:

1. Boot in the Butt (BIB) - Apply pointy tip of right cowboy boot to posterior region of afflicted youth. This may provide only temporary relief for the patient, but will provide immeasurable pleasure to the caregiver. Note: having a criminal defense attorney on retainer might expedite the caregiver's release from post-treatment incarceration, but a cost/benefit analysis shows that it would damn near be so worth it as to be cheap at twice the price! (No, I wouldn't really do this but there are sure days when it's fun to daydream about!! LOL!)

2. Buy out - Offer to pay for compliance. Note: Ensure that compliance has been achieved BEFORE tendering any cash. Prepayment will only result in the drastically increased necessity for additional BIB treatments.

3. Ostrich-ization - This was the counselor's advice. Ignore it, it'll go away. Quit asking. Quit worrying. Quit caring so much! Way more easily said than done!

4. Treatment in Kind (TIK) - Start responding to their requests with, "Yes, Dear" and then promptly do something else. This will provide a great way for you to stretch those creative thinking muscles that have been long deadened by the tediousness of day-to-day life with PIBPAD teen.

5. Prayer - for patience. for peace. And a time warp that rapidly moves us to the day when THEY have their own teens and we can sit back and LAUGH OUR OLD, KNOWING BUTTS OFF!

NEWS FLASH! PROUD MAMA ALERT!!

I am officially floating on cloud nine! Daughter called and said that she made

CADET OF THE WEEK!!!

WITH A PERFECT OVERALL SCORE OF

300 POINTS!

I guess I'd better hurry up and introduce her officially so you will all know what a HUGE accomplishment this is. For a quick preview, you can read a little about her here. I do enough preaching and complaining in here that I thought it was about time I did some BRAGGING!

For the first time since October 18, 2007, I am optimistic about the possibility of ever having her home again... and I'm Walkin' on Sunshine!!

These tools are NOT for sharing!

My bloggy friend, Angela, posted a really good reason to password-protect your phone. After I quit laughing at the fact that she's now looking for a good therapist for one of her kids, I knew I had to tell about one particularly... mmmm... interesting Damama's World experience.

Over the years, Hubby and I have been open to monkeying around with (within limits) some different "things" in the intimacy department. I use the word "things" because the exploration has been definitely limited to the employment of a few different... mmmm... tools of a very shaky nature, and some very ... uummmm... interesting videos. Now, why it embarrasses me to tell you guys this, especially after what happened years ago, is baffling to me. Nonetheless, I find myself blushing over here! OK, moving on...

When Bug was a teenager he was looking for something in our nightstand and -- you guessed it -- found one of our toys. We'd been.. mmm.. playing a couple of nights before and had gone to sleep without putting it up in its proper, safe place. Hubby had been awake enough, though, to think about the possibility of one of the boys coming in before we woke up, and so had stuck it in a drawer. You know that old saying - Out of sight, out of mind. And so it was forgotten. Until Bug needed something that he thought he remembered seeing. In the nightstand. (Note; If you are wondering how I know when he saw it, it had to be this time because this was the only time we EVER failed to put it back! When we remembered it was there we laughed and congratulated each other on getting away with it! HA!)

Now I must tell you that Bug is an EXTREMELY intelligent guy. He was talking in full sentences by the time he was 18 months old. He was reading by the time he was 3. He started kindergarten at a 6th grade reading level. Being so intelligent, he knew enough to know right away he'd seen something he shouldn't have. So, unbeknownst to me, he just closed the drawer and moved on, storing the information in his cunning little brain for potential later use.

Fast-forward to 1999.

While working on a huge project for a large client, I found myself in need of someone who could not only think outside the box, but also worked cheap. 20-year-old Bug had done some work for me at clients' offices before, so as an employer I knew he was good at problem solving. As his mother I knew he needed a job. And as his chief financial aid officer I figured hiring him would actually end up saving me money in the long run. I was so proud of myself for coming up with such a win-win-win scenario that I forgot to remember that wicked, off-the-wall sense of humor that makes him so loveable.

Our team consisted of me, my wonderful right arm assistant DeeAnn, my quality control guru Bug, and 10 other very dedicated employees of the facility whose departments had volunteered them to become part of the group. The work was tedious, repetitive, and challenging all at the same time. We spent hours reviewing accounts for errors trying to tie mistakes that were being encountered together so the IT department could come up with solutions. With 13 people housed in a 12 x 16 room, tempers flared fairly regularly. But by and large you could not have asked for a better group of individuals to work with.

On one particularly difficult day in which people were complaining about their lack of personal space (primarily due to the fact that somebody had eaten Mexican food for lunch and you know the end result of bean consumpation!), a discussion broke out about most embarrassing moments. We all laughed as people talked about having ripped their pants, or spilled something on someone else, or having made a fool of themselves at various times. Then somebody mentioned how horrified she was to have walked in on her parents in the act. She said she never told anybody about it until just then. And that, my friends, is when Bug decided it was time to share his own little secret.

There, in a room, in front of 11 people who were supposed to look up to me as their project leader, my son grinned and said, "That's almost as good at the time I found the dildo in Mom's nightstand when I was a teenager." The room dropped into dead silence as everyone stopped, stared, and waited for me to react, and then errupted in loud raucous laughter when I said, "Well, you shouldn't have been snooping around in my drawers." And since I was not about to let him have the last word, I couldn't resist adding, "And which one did you find, anyway?"

At least I was nice enough not to tell them about his delight at having discovered his penis when he was only 2 years old. After all, a mom has to save some ammo for emergencies, right?!?

The moral of the story is:

If you are going to monkey around,

be sure to re-hide your bananas when you are done!

Lost Lambs Update

I have heard from 2 of my lost lambs in the past two days! Thank you all for the prayers. THEY ARE WORKING! KEEP IT UP!

Not angry – just not guilty. :o)

It has been pointed out that my Jailbird post sounded angry. Sorry about that. I’m really not angry about anything – Just very adamant about the fact that I’m not to blame for my kids’ choices that put them behind bars.

My strongest reason for talking about this stuff is so that other parents might understand that they aren’t to blame, either! Unless you happen to be the scumbag who introduced my 12-year-old son to pot. Then you can rot in hell for all I care! Or if you are the even worse scumbag who so seriously abused my daughter that she has both physical and mental scars that can never be erased. Then you can rot in the deepest, darkest recesses of the places so far below hell even the devil is afraid to go there!

Now, as far as I’m concerned, this chapter of my blog is closed to all future negativity. (As you can tell, I haven't published any of the negative comments, and won't, so give up!) As I tell all those I counsel – the best rewards come from the hardest lessons. There WILL be rewards for my children at the end of the lessons they are learning. There ARE definite rewards already for me.

I marvel at all the people who email me behind the scenes because they still can’t bear to talk about it openly. Even those brief notes are steps on their road to healing the hurts they’ve nurtured (often for many, many years) about raising what the world calls “bad” kids. As I tell them, if you fed them, clothed them, educated them, and loved them with the expectation that they learn through that love how to be caring, honest, hard working human beings IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT THAT THEY GOT STUPID!

This is a week of Thanksgiving. I am thankful for many, many things, but most especially my children… all of them. Even the ones that have disappointed me, hurt me, ignored me, used me, neglected me, and/or abandoned me. If you are one of them and you are reading this right now, know that you are still loved unconditionally. If you are one of my “lost lambs,” read this and know that you can come always home. God keeps giving me second chances – how could I do less for you? Xoxo (Dear readers - this relates to a very long and sad story that I would rather not go into. Please don't ask. Just pray for my lost lambs. Thanks.)

Peace, Blessings and fond wishes for a Grateful and Plentiful Turkey Day.

My Jailbirds - Answers to Meme queries

The fourth of my meme 8 has spurred some interesting questions. Here is a brief (well as brief as I am able to make it!) explanation.

My oldest son is 28, married, lives in Michigan with his wife and my two grandkittens, and is the assistant manager for some store there. I call him Bug for 2 reasons - he was always bugging me with very insightful questions that I didn't have answers to and he was fascinated with insects even as a small child. He and his wife (that still sounds strange to my Mommy ears!) are coming in for Christmas and I am so excited/nervous I can hardly stand it!

My 2nd is 25 and is, for at least the next 2 to 3 years, a guest of the Federal Prison System. He got involved with drug trafficking to support the habit he began when he was about 12. I always asked if a parent was going to be home at friends' houses. I always talked to the parent to confirm their presence... I never EVER thought to ask if the parent would introduce him to drugs!!!

By the time he was 18 we had spent close to $50,000 on lawyers, rehabs, counselors, fines, military school. We had also moved 2 times to try to get him into a better situation. NOTE TO THE WISE: If your child is hell bent on doing what he/she is going to do, moving will only provide an opportunity to find the same people wearing different faces in the new place. By the time he was 19 he was in state prison. By the time he was 21 he’d gotten out of state, reoffended and was in Federal Prison. He has not spent a birthday or a Christmas at home since he was 13.

THANK GOD his brain is now kicking in. Sadly, he’s realizing what a mess he’s made of his life. Happily, he starts college in January. Once again, it will cost us money, but we will gladly pay the price if it means he has a chance to straighten his life out for good. Right now he thinks he wants to be a counselor to try to guide kids away from the path he walked. I’m praying that his history will lend such credibility to his counsel that he will be able to spare other families the agony we have endured. He also wants to pursue his musical career. He writes some unbelievable stuff!

My 3rd is 16-1/2 and currently a guest of the County Juvenile Corrections Residential Facility. We adopted her at 11. We knew she came with a load of baggage and we will continue to stand by her and help her deal with her problems. However, after some reaaaaly bad stuff that happened in October, we told her that she would always have a place in our hearts, but she no longer (at least for a while) had a place in our home. When she went to court for her sentencing, we asked them to help us help her. The court, knowing that in the last 5 years we've spent over $30,000 on her counselors, lawyers, rehabs, psych hospitals, and medications (not including the adoption costs), agreed to keep her locked up, for her own benefit, until January when she should be going to military school. As long as she's confined and not out in the free using drugs or beating people up, she can't screw up her scholarship.

I do have to give her some serious credit, though, because when the judge asked her if she wanted to go home, she said flatly, NO. She explained to him that she knew she could not make it “out there” and feared she’d do something so detrimental that there would be no coming back from it. Her long term goals are to join the military, possibly the Coast Guard or the Marines. The school to which she has a scholarship will help her decide which is best. They will also help her learn self control and discipline in a way that we, as her parents, have been unable to manage. The program has approximately an 82% success rate with kids just like her. We are SO, SO, SO VERY BLESSED to have found it!

I am blogging all of this stuff because I know there are lots of families out there who deal with such issues, but are too ashamed or guilty feeling to mention it. I, on the other hand, have n.o.t.h.i.n.g. to be ashamed or guilty about. My children were raised with the right moral values in a loving, upper middle class home with both of their parents doting on them from the first moment we laid eyes on them. They were expected to do chores, earn an allowance, get good grades, tell the truth, and be respectful.

Were we perfect parents?? NO. Did we make mistakes along the way?? YES. But we always did the best we could with the tools we had, and EVERYTHING we EVER have done has been for the benefit and wellbeing of our children. PERIOD. We could have retired by now if it wasn’t for all the money we’ve spent trying to get them the help they need. But it’s not about the money – it’s about the LOVE. We could have thrown up our hands and walked away a long time ago, but that is not who we are. And it is definitely not in line with the moral values we want them to understand and live by.

As for those who think we somehow did something that screwed them up: I REFUSE to allow anyone to make me feel like a bad parent or a low life because of my kids’ choices. I REFUSE to hide my “dirty laundry” in an effort to avoid offending anyone, including the miscreant kids who dirtied up the stuff to begin with! My husband and I live by, and taught our kids to live by what we call the headline test: If you would be embarrassed to have it splashed across the front page of the newspaper, then DON’T DO IT!

If you are a parent with perfect children, get down on your knees and thank your creator that you were so awesomely blessed. If you are the parent of a child who, like ours, has spent a good part of life with his head stuck up the wrong part of his anatomy, take heart. If you know you did the best you could, then hang in there and believe that God is in control and things will eventually all balance out. If I didn’t have that to hang onto, I’d have to be locked up now. In a rubber room. With a nice clean white coat to help me hug myself to sleep.

Speaking of sleep – I’m going to bed and try not to have nightmares about what could be happening to my kids in places where I can’t protect them. A mother’s job, truly, never, never, ends!

As always – Peace and blessings, and sweet dreams.

THEY DIDN'T FORGET!

About the time I hit the publish button last night my phone rang. It was my Twig (the food critic) calling me at 11:30 to tell me happy birthday and that he loves me! Then, as I was hanging up from that call, my cell phone announced that I had a new voice mail. It was Bug (the anatomy specialist) with his wife, Lady N, hollering in the background, both wishing me well. The timestamp said 8:31 p.m. my time. That's 9:31 their time. (Why, then, did my cell phone carrier take THREE hours to get it to me?? grrrrr!!)

So, I must now offer up my apologies for having thought that perhaps they'd forgotten... I must further eat serious crow because I DID forget Lady N's birthday which was on the 9th. I can only offer up the very lame reason (definitely not even a lame excuse) that this is the first birthday she's officially spent in our family... I've only been her mother-in-law for about a year now. OK, so they've been together for two of her birthdays... OK, so I'm a big heel all the way around. Can I claim Old Timer's Forgetsey?? Better yet, I think I'll just head over to that gift certificates website and pop them a belated something or other.

Well - it's off to Walgreens to check out the Wrinkle Decreaser recommended by Lucille over at http://whosgoingtotellyou.blogspot.com. I figure, what's it gonna hurt to at least TRY to conceal some of them?? LOL!! But before I spend a wad of money on that name brand product, I'm going to make sure it's not the exact same stuff they put in hemorrhoid cream. No, wait hemorrhoid cream is for puffy eyes... OH HECK! Now I'm completely confused. Maybe I'll just buy both. Then I'll be covered from top to bottom! Believe me, it cannot hurt!!

BY ANY OTHER NAME…

He was 3-1/2 years old and, having "discovered" himself, had managed to irritate his little male part to the point where it burned when he tinkled. Not knowing this yet (after all, he was my first born and who knew that they actually did that at that age!), I feared he might have a bladder infection and so scheduled an appointment with the most wonderful pediatrician in town, Dr. O'Brien.

Now, part of the reason I loved Dr. O so much was that he was a very straightforward, no-bones kind of doctor. If he thought I’d benefit from being scolded about how I was parenting, he felt it was his duty to scold away. And I appreciated the help, being a first time mother and all. Anyway – on this particular day, on the way to the appointment, I suddenly remembered one of Dr. O’s favorite scolding topics: using the proper names for body parts. How many times had I been told that in order for children not to grow up embarrassed by their bodies, the parents must instill in them the knowledge that there were no bad parts… just normal parts with medically correct names and functions. And as the good listener I was, I had promptly begun, early on, referring to my son’s privatest part as his weewee. Now here we were, on the way to the doctor and my wonderfully intelligent, very verbal 3-1/2-year-old was about to tell the very stern doctor that his weewee hurt when he pee-peed.

Knowing that I’d get “the look” as soon as Bug told his symptoms, I figured it was better to start his medical education late than never. “Doctors have the funniest names for our body parts,” I began. “Really?” he said. “Yep,” I replied, “like they call your head your cranium.” At that he giggled, so I couldn’t resist the urge to repeat it silly-style, “currraaaaaaaneeuuummm.” His sweet, beautiful laughter served to encourage my instruction. Moving from the head down the rest of the body, I told him as many of the medically correct names as I could remember – right down to the part in question.

“And they call your weewee a penis,” I said in the same sing song voice I’d used a zillion times to conclude bedtime stories... and they all lived happily ever after – the end. Little Bug sat there for a few minutes, mulling over this new information and then asked what, to him, was a very logical question: What do they call your hiney?

I WENT BLANK! “Ummmm… let me think…” I stalled. I swear to Pete, the ONLY word I could think of was A__hole. Thinking that that probably wasn’t the best thing to teach a 3-1/2 year old, I copped out and told him that I couldn’t remember so we’d just have to ask Dr. O when we saw him. Patting myself on the back for skating the issue so deftly, I started to reach for the radio volume knob when the little light bulb in his eyes clicked to bright. “I KNOW!” he said , very delighted with himself that he’d figured it out. “You do?” I asked. “Uh huh,” he beamed. “So what did you figure out?” I asked anxious to see what his awesomely creative mind had come up with.

“POOPUS!” he exclaimed! “Poopus??” I marveled, “Why do they call it a poopus?” “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s a poopus ‘cuz if you pee with your penis, you gotta poop with your POOPUS!”

Works for me!! Now I have to get off my poopus and go finish unpacking my kitchen!

Peace and blessings to all!

HOWL-O-WEEN Bad Joke of the Day

What did the baby vampire say: WAAAAA!! WAAAAA!! I WAAAAANT TO SUCK YOUR BLOOOOD!!!

Courtesy of my youngest... at the dinner table... when he was 6. See - we did sit down to dinner like normal people!

HAPPY HALLOWEEN, ALL!!

CAN WE EAT THIS?

3-05-08 - Edited to correct typos that were bugging the crud out of me!!

For the first 22 years of my current marriage, I could catalog the number of meals I cooked on one page of a 12-month calendar. Early in our marriage, I learned that Hubby liked cooking and was pretty good at it, too. For him, it is a rather cathartic way to wind down. (Yes, he has brothers. No, you don’t want to meet them!) I could (can) also cook and actually have given hubby lots of lessons and pointers over the years. But for me it is definitely NOT a pleasurable experience.

It never ceases to amaze me that I can walk into a fully stocked pantry and stand there for an hour unable to figure out where to start. Mr. Proud Pan can walk into an almost empty pantry and find enough stuff to create a near gourmet-style meal! His creations are not only tasty, but also beautifully presented. With mine, you should consider yourself lucky if I take out plates and spoons to use while you dig your meal out of the pot on the stove. Presentation is just not that important unless it’s a special occasion…then I’ll actually go to the trouble of taking down the good plates and silver for you to use to dig your meal out of the pot on the stove! Just kidding! Even though I detest the job to the very core of my being, I do know how to set a table and cook a great meal. It’s really just the planning part that hangs me up… unless I’m realllllly hungry.

One day when the boys were 7 and 10, I came home starving from a long day at work during which I’d been too busy to get any lunch. Knowing that Hubby was going to be working late, I decided to go ahead and cook dinner so it’d be ready when he got home. I very quickly decided on my favorite comfort foods: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn, and hot rolls. By the time Hubby got home, I’d also, for some unknown reason, decided that we should eat old-style: at a pre-set table with knives, forks, napkins and matching plates and glasses. With the table set and the steaming hot food ready and waiting, we all sat down to eat.

As three of us started dishing food onto our plates, I noticed that 7-year-old Twig was just sitting there staring. He first looked at the food, then at his dad, then at me, back at the food back at me and then back at his dad. I was almost to the point of asking him what the heck he was doing when he finally spoke. That's when I realized that this was the first time in his young life that he had ever actually seen me cook a whole meal. No wonder that with great skepticism and in all seriousness he asked, “Dad, can we eat this???”