Tuesday, June 24, 2008
We have a great little orchard near our house that has sheep, goats, ducks, and rabbits that visitors can feed. Monkey Man loves to visit and feed the animals as well as get ice cream at the quaint country store. We went yesterday when the weather was iffy - gray clouds then blue sky, then drizzles of rain, then sunshine. During a brief period of rain, I mentioned to Monkey Man that we would need to leave if the rain started to come down hard.
It was then that I felt like I had a 30 year-old with me when he replied, "When we go to the car, what we will have to protect us?"
Umm, maybe the grammar handbook in your back pocket, because where did you come up with that sentence?? I should slow down on the SAT prep courses that he's enrolled in. Or should I say, "in which he is enrolled."?
Friday, June 20, 2008
While lounging in our backyard during a makeshift pool party today (plastic kiddie pool, child-size
Walt got sprayed by a skunk about 3 weeks ago. It was the most horrific, nauseating, gag reflex-inducing smell ever, and smells nothing like the skunk smell in the air. No, on an animal – our dog – it smells like burning rubber, only so much worse it’s impossible to describe.
Walt decided to get into a little scuffle on the night of the Lost season finale, much to my husband’s dismay. What would we do without TiVo? We spent 2 hours douching our dog. Yes, you read that correctly. Douche is the new tomato juice. Our friend, Birdman, runs a doggie daycare/training facility and told us this. I had the privilage of buying 2 boxes of douche each containing 4 bottles. That’s 8 bottles of douche for the non-mathematicians in the audience. I’m sure I made that cashier’s night and was probably the topic of his blog. I’m probably known as the skank in town now. I have bigger problems – a skunked dog and an independence-seeking, test the boundaries 3 year-old – being the town whore is nothing.
Walt lived in the garage for 4 days post-spray until we felt like the smell was mostly gone. He has had about 9 bajillion baths and is fairly fresh smelling, living back in our house, and I want to keep him that way. When I noticed him by the shed, I told him to get away.
Monkey Man: “Mommy, why are you telling Walt to get away?”
Mommy: “Because I think the skunk lives under the shed and I don’t want Walt to get sprayed again.”
MM: “Can I go over there?”
Mommy: “No, I don’t want YOU to get sprayed! You would smell yucky.”
MM: “Then you’ll put ME in the garage?”
Surprisingly, that thought had never entered my mind. But now that you mention it...
Monkey Man lives on cheese sandwiches, particularly at lunchtime. Unfortunately, because of his peanut allergy, I can't keep peanut butter stocked up in the pantry like we're waiting for the Apocalypse, so we rely heavily on cheese. And since cheese goes bad (Did you know that? Was that news to you?) I can only keep a limited amount in the fridge and have to run to the grocery store once every hour to buy more cheese.
During one lunchtime, Monkey Man asked for a cheese sandwich. I remembered there being at least one slice left, but shockingly, his dad ate it and left his cheese-aholic son suffering cold sweats while beginning withdrawal.
Mommy: (hesitating slightly, putting on her biggest, warmest Mommy grin, bracing herself for a cheese meltdown) "Uh, buddy, we don't have any cheese."
Monkey Man: “Go to Shop Rite.”
Yes, sir, at your command, sir. It's a good thing this kid has us whipped into shape.
This Monkey Man comment is from late November, but since I started this blog in January it never made it into a post. Lucky for us, I wrote it down and now here it is.
Monkey Man was admiring the Christmas tree which was one of his favorite things to do once it magically appeared during naptime in our house. He looked at a small square ornament that was embroidered with a Nativity Scene. It’s very simple – it has 3 small figures inside a basic pentagon-shaped house with a star on top.
Monkey Man: "What is this, Mommy?"
Mommy: "It's the Nativity. That's Baby Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
MM: "Ummm, How ‘bout it’s a gas station?”
I knew Jesus was a carpenter and I guess a blue-collar guy (in a "I can work miracles" blue-collar way), but I had no idea he had his beginnings pumping gas at the neighborhood Hess station.
Friday, June 13, 2008
(A little background – she is not a bargain hunter but will go to a store, inevitably find something she likes on sale, then get to the register and find out it’s an additional 99% off. Like a dress she bought for a wedding. She was already getting it at some crazy cheap price of $25, but walked away paying $7! She frequently buys Monkey Man clothes - public shout out to Mom, Thank you! - and won’t accept my money because, “The shorts only cost $2.50 -That shirt, oh, it was just $3.00 - That snowsuit, don’t worry about it, I only paid $5.00.” I am both dumbfounded and thankful for her skill!)
I paid IN CASH because I am a big spender and obviously walk around with loads of cash in my wallet, then ran out to my husband who was waiting with Monkey Man in our mall’s play area. I excitedly chattered about my purchase and I watched the other moms within ear shot come closer to hear.
Eyes wide and wallets open, several of them darted to the store to get their little ones cheap play clothes that will see about 4 wears then either become outgrown or so stained with dirt, watermelon juice, and the occasional chocolate ice cream that it won’t be a sin to toss them in the garbage when they’ve had enough.
I like Monkey Man to look cute and hip, but I also want to feed him and send him to college so I try to avoid the expensive children’s clothing stores. When he’s old enough to realize that “everyone else is wearing that,” like next year in preschool, then maybe I’ll cave.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Hubby took the Matrix to a meeting, which, in this family, is the “big car” – read: the car you use when you need to haul stuff. Our other car is a Nissan Sentra, not quite fit to haul stuff. But haul stuff I did, and in the trunk went 4 patio chairs. Stuffed in there. No rope, no bungee. Just God’s hand giving them a firm hold.
I live one mile from Target so I figured this would be very easy. I drove very slowly with my hazards on (just a side note - I hate when people do this, when they buy oversized things and try to put them in their trunk or on their roof and then they drive with their hazards on so that we can all watch for flying mattresses and airborne patio chairs. But, I wanted those chairs TODAY).
I got out of the parking lot and just as I was about to turn onto the main road, yes, you guessed it. Splat. All 4 chairs on the road. With a huge tractor trailer approaching the green light to either crush my chairs or kill me. I pulled over quickly, jumped out and hauled butt to those chairs and got them up on the grass. I put them back in the trunk and then, wouldn’t you know, a police officer pulled up behind me. He was a bit amazed at my lack of intelligence in the “shoving chairs in a trunk without tying them down” department. I nervously laughed and made jokes. He was VERY nice and friendly and, most importantly, without a ticket in his hand. I don’t even know if you can get a ticket for this, but if I had, I would have had to return the chairs to pay for the ticket. So thank you, Mr. Police Officer, because my chairs really do look quite nice on the patio.
Thank goodness for my nervous giggling and joking around. He commented that it was a good thing I was so happy and cheerful because otherwise he would have yelled at me (I will now thank Monkey Man for a good morning therefore leaving me happy and cheerful. Monkey Man totally got me out of trouble! Nice work, kid!). I am essentially a good girl, like to follow the rules, and have no intentions of landing myself in the slammer in this lifetime, so if the police officer yelled at me he may have needed to call an ambulance because I might have cried so hard I would have hyperventilated and passed out. Little did he know that he dodged that medical emergency.
Mr. Police Officer continued on with his good Samaritan ways and got a rope from his trunk and tied down my chairs. He then escorted me home and untied the chairs for me. I thanked him many times then wondered what the heck the neighbors were thinking. I’ll have to invite them over for a drink on the patio and explain the sordid story of their lawless neighbor.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Our fun consisted of an opening night reception at the
A few things I discovered after three glasses of wine:
- Contrary to what my husband thinks, I can flirt.
- The lure of ground beef. After 2 ½ years of hamburger-free living, I stood on line to get myself a mini-delicacy by one of the greatest pubs in Philly. Don’t ask me the name of it, remember I had 3 glasses of wine. I took one bite and remembered why I don’t eat hamburgers anymore. They bleed. At least this one did.
- Some editor guy told me that he had heard that the “hamburger” was actually an emu-burger. I don’t know if this was true, but I can tell you what IS true. This person then went on to ask me, “What is emu?” Sans 3 glasses of wine, I totally know it’s like an ostrich. After imbibing, I answered: “It’s like a llama.” For some reason, the first thing that popped into my chardonnay-soaked brain was the line in the song, If I Had a Million Dollars by the Barenaked Ladies - If I had a million dollars,well, I'd buy you an exotic pet - yep, like a llama or an emu.
Like I learned from the D.A.R.E. officer way back in 5th grade, alcohol really does impair the brain. If that editor remembered our conversation and learned what an emu is, an animal quite unlike a llama, I’m pretty confident I won’t be hearing back from him. Lesson learned: I will no longer try to make a sales pitch with the hooch in hand.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008