Gravity Works

Gravity does work, and I have the mess to prove it. My teen son feels the need to test the laws of science, over and over again. He loves to swing full buckets over his head in an arc, in the house, with the added, “Look Mom, it won’t spill!” Never mind the nervous stutter as I try to get him to stop, stumbling over my words in an attempt not to swear at him, “Um…oh…geeze…please…um...don’t…it’ll...um…make…mess…over...um...my…furniture”
The latest test tried (and failed, I might add) was to juggle an open, full gallon of chocolate milk. I’m still not sure what he was trying to do exactly, if just making a huge mess was it, well, mission accomplished! I think he was practicing a one handed juggle between the kitchen and dining room. The full open gallon of chocolate milk dropped and split open, dumping most of the milk all over my antique wool Oriental rug, and wood chairs, and kitchen cupboard, counter and floor. From the living room all I heard was a tell tale SPLAT, GURGLE, and an “Ops!” I rushed into the kitchen to see my teen rushing to save the rest of the chocolate milk, (screw the expensive rug that was Great Grandmas) and my husband just standing there, grinning. Did he think this was funny? Yes, and he was having a hard time not laughing. I guess I was the only one worried about the rug. Superwoman that I am, I saved the rest of the chocolate milk, and got towels down on the mess to save the rug.
To my teenager’s credit, he did mop, without too much complaining. I kept adding, “you missed some over here, a little further, a little further, a little further.” After a while, my son caught on to that little game, and said, “Um, Mom, I’m sure I didn’t spill this far from the kitchen. I think the floor is clean now.”
My kitchen and dining room floors are now cleaner, and I hope an important science and physics lesson has been learned. Gravity does work.

Our Pets

Well, Max's pet praying mantis, Monty, passed away yesterday. He was old for a bug. Now I have 24 crickets, that I have no idea what to do with. Do we now keep them as pets and feed them too? The choices boggle my mind. I'm kinda of new petted out at the moment. Our new kitten, Bigfoot has left me some homemade "presents" under the Christmas tree. I guess he WAS an outdoor cat, so the logical place to poop would be under a tree, but our Christmas tree? As for the rest of our pets, Bertha the dog, and Eve & Lilith the cats, are all fine. The older cats are afraid of the new kitten, he is a scary handful of fuzzy fur. Critters now out number people (if you include the crickets-do they count?)

Slippery As A Buttered Peacock

I went to my Sis-in-laws baby shower on Saturday. I had a nice time and it was fun to get to meet her friends. Elizabeth is very lucky, she has great friends. At the shower I was reminded of a funny pregnancy story. I was hugely pregnant with my 2rd son Oscar, and my skin was dry and itchy. I'm taking about the kind of itchy that only women in their last month of pregnancy can really understand. I decided to take an oil bath, and used a ton of baby oil along with 3 bath beads in our huge old claw footed bath tub. After a good long soak, I TRIED to get out of the tub. I just couldn't turn and get up onto my hands and knees and I couldn't sit up and use my legs to get up-yes, I was that huge. After a couple of panicky minutes, I called my husband, Max, to come and help me up. Calling him was my last resort. I really didn't want him to see me stuck in the tub, like a turtle on it's back. He showed up in the bathroom and after we laughed at the situation, he got down to the business of getting me out of the tub. Max tried to just lift me out, but I was just too slippery from all that oil. I kept on slipping out of his grip. It didn't help that neither one of us could stop laughing. I told him that I was "slippery then a buttered peacock." That didn't help, and the giggles started all over again. After about a dozen tries, he finally had to use a towel, between me and his arms to lift me out. It took over 10 minutes to get me out of that darn tub. Not only was I itchy, but now I was slippery and embarrassed too.

I'd like to introduce...

Well, we made it through another Christmas, and our family has grown with the season. I would like to introduce the newest family member…Bigfoot Fluffy Hershey; we’ll call him Bigfoot for short. He has a huge extra toe on each foot, kind of looks like he’s wearing white chopper mitts.
For Christmas, Santa was good to us all. Max got the camping supplies he wanted. I received a beautiful writing journal and Olivia on CD as read by Dame Edna. (I love that pig Olivia and hearing Dame Edna reading it is hilarious) Leif got his much-desired cell phone; Oscar got the pre-teen required gift of a MP3 player. Tess received her weight in Barbies (she can even launch Barbie puppies through the air), and Tom got a new game, but sadly not the moustache and beard that he so badly wanted. Tom also got a tattoo book of 500 tattoos, and now proudly wears 320 of them all over his neck, chest, arms and hands. Glad we got our family pictures taken before Christmas, looks like he should be working in the circus. We did venture out for the after Christmas Target Store sales, and were surprised to see that we were in fact one of the few people not wearing PJ’s out for shopping. Did I miss the wear PJ's all day memo?

Christmas Hunting

Christmas shopping requires just the right amount of guts, and I always move with my elbows out. If you have ever gone to the 5:00 AM morning “Black Friday Sales” you know what I mean. They open the doors, and in everyone rushes— all going for the same gift item. You know the one, the one that everyone wants. The one that the store advertises for half the regular price. The one that they only have two of on the shelf. The one that the store employees have stashed in the back room for themselves. Me and seventy-five other moms all rush for that perfect gift, all going for those two toys on the shelf. The store doesn‘t even have the decency to put them in the regular spot. Oh no, the Elmo toys aren‘t in the toy section, but in the automotive area. Who in their right mind would look for toys in the automotive section? That‘s when it hit me, and I figured out the conspiracy, the Big Plan. Those sneaky bastards. I’ve got their game all figured out. They enjoy watching people scurry, watching us battle over $10.00 deals. The store employees are getting their revenge for having to be there so early, and who can blame them. It’s so early that I didn’t even really get dressed. I just put sweats on over my
pajamas, all in the hopes that I can go back to bed when I get home. Those poor employees have only just started that eight hour shift. I guess I should cut them some slack, if only they weren’t enjoying this so much. I can see them laughing, “Sure, the Elmo toys, they should be in the toys department.” Oh right, I fell for that trick before. They won’t get me twice.
Ask any sleepy looking employee the question, “Where are those $50.00 computers?”
The answer will always be, “We must be out of those already.” Already? You opened up three minutes ago, how could they be out already? It’s enough to ruin Christmas. Who needs peace on Earth and good will towards man, what I need is a computer for my teen and an Elmo for my toddler. That’s my holiday dream. How can my child not get that perfect gift, how will she ever cope, how will I cope, I wonder?
Wait a minute, what about that Elmo. I bet that it is somewhere weird this year. Last year, the latest Elmo toy was in the hair care area, just maybe…Yes, score, I found it, it was in a strange area again. However, someone else has found the pot of gold also, and in the rush, I remember the trick of all great bargain shoppers— shop with your elbows up. This self-defense trick is the only protection I have against that ninety-pound grandma going after MY Elmo. See that toy on the shelf? Yes, that last Elmo. I must move quickly if I want to snatch it up before the grandma next to me gets any funny ideas. Victory is mine. The season will be wonderful after all.
The blessed morning arrives, and the stockings are hung by the chimney with care. All the kids get the perfect gift from Santa. Who gave me that ugly sweater that is two sizes too small? Luckily, the gift receipt is included, so it is off to the store again. Bah humbug, now for that returns line…

All I Want for Christmas...

We saw Santa on Saturday and the kids asked for their dream Christmas gifts. So far, I'm right on track. Tess wants make-up (just like Abby's gift) Leif, my teen wants a cell phone, and Oscar no longer believes in Santa, so he wouldn't even play along and ask for something, and Tom, my 6 year old Romeo, asked for a new leap pad game.
The other item that Tom asked for is a bit more tricky. My boy wants a moustache and beard. I'm not making this up, he really wants to be able to grow facial hair for Christmas.
This is the same boy that was massaging the shoulders of the girl in front of him in class. The teacher teased him that maybe he should give everyone a massage, starting with her. Well, my boy said "sure." He proceeded up to the front of the classroom. He (intimately) tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear and started rubbing her shoulders. My boy has moved from 10 year old girls to 30 year old women. I don't know where he gets that from-OK, I do have an idea where he gets it from.

That Bratty Pluto...

That Bratty Pluto, “It got what was coming to it. Pluto was getting too big for its britches. And Saturn will haunt our dreams…”
These phrases were really heard from a cable show about our planets that Leif was watching last week. I couldn't stop laughing when I heard Alex Baldwin narrating the show about our planets. “Pluto deserved what it got.” I had no idea that “Pluto was getting too big for its britches” I guess it deserved to be down graded from a planet to a gas ball. In addition, I don’t know about you, but Saturn does not haunt my dreams, thank you very much!