Idiom Me.....

Ya gotta be quick witted around my house. My little daughters always have something up their sleeve. They’re a regular barrel of monkeys, those two.

Ya really gotta keep up with the best of ‘em. Stay on your toes. Keep your eye on the ball. Sometimes ya even gotta be scrappy around here.

I mean, I always try to keep ahead of the game. Outwit ‘em. Throw 'em for a loop. Head ‘em off at the pass.

But, sometimes they really give me a run for my money. Or simply put, knock me on my hiney.

At the end of the day, I guess you just gotta count your blessings and shine your best silver.

‘Cuz we all know who rules the roost around here.

And, it sure ain’t me.

A big thank you to my friendly idioms for lending a hand in this post. Sometimes a good idiom really knows how to take the words right out of your mouth.

Err…Or something like that…

Dino-Hearted

“It’s ruined! Just ruined!” My preschooler threw herself to the floor, sobbing loudly.

“I am sure we can fix it, honey,” I said moving in to investigate.

“It’s broken and it can’t be fixed!!” She thrust the purple, plastic T-rex into my face, shoulders heaving.

I closely looked for broken parts, but in the end, failed to identify the problem. Prominent fangs were sharply intact. Forearms were in attack position. And, the tail was in working order.

“He looks all good to me,” I reassured her.

“SHE is not good!!” And, then a shaky whisper… “She is hurt.” She pointed to the ferocious beast’s right hand. Sure enough, this prehistoric creature was missing a claw. The tip had snapped off. I can only assume it took place during a hunt, a feeding frenzy or some Jurassic showdown.

“Sometimes dinos break their claws, sweetie. They don’t mind.” I tried to reason with her.

“She does mind. She does!” My Princess Paleontologist wiped her tears. Then a final plea. “It hurts her little finger.”

So, needless to say, I took pity on the beastly creature.

Before I knew it, that dino was all bandaged up, claw in a swing, and re-situated amongst her Jurassic cohorts.

It’s not every day one gets to assist a predatory, prehistoric animal. I felt a little proud. A tab bit heroic, even.

Although, on second thought…… judging from the look on the Stegosaurus’ face, I kinda got the feeling I was doing a little aiding and abetting.

You might want to remind me to do a quick head count in the morning. Just in case.

Chocolate Bandit

He couldn’t be guiltier if he had been holding a smoking gun.

He was standing there wearing his boxers and a lopsided grin. And, he was holding the empty box of Dreyer’s chocolate peanut butter ice cream

“You wanted some?” He asked, attempting to display belated concern.

The gall. The indecency. The lack of civility.

“Scoundrel!” I muttered under my breath, turning on a swift heel.

Now, let’s hope he doesn’t discover the missing Hershey’s chocolate bar that was hidden in his top desk drawer.

Because, that would make me a hypocrite.

Or something. No?

A big thank you to Babymakin' Machine for the lovely shout out! If you haven't been over to visit her yet, what are you waiting for? Jen is so bright, funny and charismatic.....

Playing School

Now, when my little girls invited me to play Schoolhouse, I was under the impression that I would be the one at the chalkboard, ruler in hand.

But, oh, no.

My little ladies had something else up their sleeve.

I was directed to a footstool between Barbie Mariposa and Baby Alive. I was told to sit. Be still. And, heavens be, I had better listen up.

That schoolmaster appeared to be a bit uppity. Crochity, really. She stood in front of class, book in hand and she began her lecture.

On and on she went.

I started to doze off. Who could blame me? She was hard to follow. Kept hopping around topics. Frankly, I questioned her authority on the subjects.

The Dora footstool was jammed into my backside causing my lower extremities to grow number by the minute. I had to think of a plan. And quick.

I searched through my brain archive for escape plans and exit strategies.

I finally settled on the idea to fake illness and ask to be sent to the nurse’s office.

So, in a nutshell, that’s how I ended up lying here in the toddler bed tangled up in bandages with a thermometer up my nose.

Kinda made me consider re-entering the work force.

Mamma Brain

So, anybody out there seen my…ah….my what-cha-ma-call-it?

I know it was right here a minute ago.….

Now, where the heck did it go?

It didn’t grow legs and run off with that darned thing-ah-ma-jig I lost last week, did it?

Do you think you could help me find it?

‘Cuz we are supposed to meet What’s Her Face at that park over by…umm…. Ahh…..by….ah?

I think I’ll flip out if I can’t find it. So, if you could help, I will forever be in your service.

You will? Thank you! I appreciate it.

Ah, what was your name again?


Mamma Brain. It has a language all its own, doesn’t it?

Crayola Who?

The crayon box had been overturned, and like fallen soldiers, the Crayolas were sprawled all over the floor.

I was picking up the ever popular Sky Blue, his head half worn down from repetitive use, when I hear some mumbling. Of course, I assumed it was the uppity Miss Raggedity. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to her non-stop complaining. However, when I glanced over to the toy shelf, I noticed she was snoring quietly, head on Andy’s shoulder.

I was shoving the seemingly unpopular Apricot Orange into the overstuffed box when I began to realize the voice was coming from the far corner of the room.

A Lime Green crayon was hopping up and down, waving her arms wildly, all the while tossing her complaints into the air.

“Not there! Not there!”she screeched.

On hands and knees, I crawled over to the little creature until she was right under my nose.

“Pardon me.” My voice had a bit of an edge to it.

“Everything is all wrong! You can’t just put it there! You just can’t!” She was near hysterics.

“Want to fill me in?” I was completely lost and my patience was running thin.

The Lime Green was getting red in the face as she began her colorful tirade.

“Everything’s out of order. Why, everyone knows the Evergreen doesn’t mix well with the Orange family. They haven’t spoken in years.”

“The Orange family?” I was beginning to get the picture. Just barely.

She continued. “And, don’t get me started on the Purples. You’ve put Violet on the far end, and Lavender and Fuchsia are nowhere near each other. In fact, the entire Purple family has been displaced!!”

I picked up that hysterical Lime Green and crawled back to the crayon box. I was Hell bent on lecturing the entire Crayola box about diversity and burying the hatchet when I heard another voice.

“There she is! Limey! Limey!” Rolling towards me was a rather worried looking Yellow Green. What resulted was a teary eyed reunion, a heartfelt apology and a long explanation about Limey’s lifelong battle with anxiety, paranoia and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I lent a sympathetic ear.

Then, I placed the assorted shades of green together, lightest to darkest. Figured she could use the family support.

Then, I put the crayon box up high in a cupboard. Figured she could use a little time away.

Then, I poured myself a good stiff drink.

‘Cuz if I am still hearing crayons talk in the morning, I might need to dip into Miss Limey’s medication myself.

Ever had a day like that?

A Goopy Little Bug

A flu bug has taken up residence at our house.

A nasty, germy, little bug.

Green and scaly, he has been diligently toiling away, working hard to cast his evil, goopy spell.

And, now?

High fevers and seal like croupy coughs all around.

Not sure how he managed to get past my flu barriers. My Lysol and hand sanitizer arsenal is most impressive.

Some say he caught a ride on my two year old’s lovey. He most likely seized his opportunity during one of her grocery cart rides.

Others say my preschooler brought it home from school, joyriding on one of her art projects.

Fingers have pointed at hubs. Lots of germs in office cubicles and Starbucks coffee houses.

Of course, it could have piggy backed on one of our library books. Lord knows the crowd at the library has been looking a bit sniffly lately.

Somehow, somewhere, there was a hole in our defense and the little buggy fella crept right in.

So far, he’s knocked out half the family. With all of the nightly coughing and hacking, I am teetering on the edge of wellness myself.

Looks like he can claim this house as another win. I think it’s time that cocky little beastie departs. And, soon. But, I hope he doesn’t boast about his easy win to his slimy pals.

‘Cuz we’re not going down so easy a second time.

As a matter of fact, that little bugger better watch his back.

That little rascal really cocked my pistol. And, this is one pissy Mamma hot for revenge.

Potty Whore

“Come on! Give it to me, Baby!”

“Come to Pappa!”

“Give it up, little lassie!”

The shocking words were emanating from the bathroom. Earlier, a toy had become lodged in the commode, resulting in a bit of a ….situation. Hubs was the first to go in equipped with a plunger, snake and a bucket. The rest of us could only listen to the resulting rodeo.

“Gosh dab durn it!”

“…Give it to me, Wild Pony!!”

“Take that, Potty Whore.”

Curious, I snuck a peek. He was hunched over, firmly tugging on a plunger, boot atop the pot, giving it his all. The tug of war was brutal. The pot seemed to have the home team advantage. It firmly stood its ground, calm and confidently poised in the middle of the powder room.

The sweat poured as his red face contorted with anger and creative utterances filled the air.

“Gonna buy Pappa a new pair of shoes!”

My husband was clearly the underdog, twisting and writhing around as he put all he had into the fight. Grateful my hunky hero had come to my rescue and happy to be on the sidelines, I nonetheless felt a bit helpless. I stood aside as the battle ensued allowing my worry to get the better of me.

“You want a piece of me??!” he hollered.

Clearly, this was what the potty wanted. A piece of him. She was holding her ground, not about to give an inch.

Finally, hubs stood, wiping the sweat from his brow. Turning to me he said, “Gotta let it sit awhile. Let her stew in it a bit.”

He retreated, boots stomping loudly. And I was left with a wet floor, a befelled plunger and a rather smug looking toilet.

The battle may have been lost, my potty friend. But, we will win the war.

Indeed.

I think it’s time a woman takes the wheel. Step aside.

*Author’s Note….Much apologies for using the crude “w” word. But, as you know, we only report the truth here on Mamma Talk. No editing, just a brutal dose of reality….Now pardon me, I’ve got some laundry fairies that need some wrangling….

The Doctor Will See You Now...

“Don’t worry. I fix you.”

The contents of the toy doctor’s kit was scattered across the playroom floor.

My two year old was performing a thorough medical exam on an unsuspecting teddy bear with a torn ear. The poor creature had been pinned down, throttled, gagged and bound….Ah……bandaged, rather….

His temperature had been taken. His reflexes checked. His ears probed. His eyes poked.

The violations hadn’t stopped there.

A complete dental cleaning and an ear exam were thrown in, compliments of the house.

In the end, that bear was given a lollipop and a balloon and was sent on his way.

He seemed happy with the services rendered. Sure, he walked a bit bow legged as he made his descent down the stairs. I thought I heard some light wincing as he re-joined the other bears on the shelf. And there may have been a slight grumble about the torn ear that didn’t really get fixed….

But, I am pretty sure he gave the thumbs up to the furry bunny as it was dragged into the exam room by its ear.

Now, if we could just talk Raggedy Ann out of her tree…Seems my little Doctor heard Miss Raggedy complain of a migraine earlier…

Anybody seen that redhead around anywhere?

To Kiss Her Fella...

My toddler was dressed to the nines. She had been rummaging through her Princess dress up bin and had come up for air bedazzled, bejeweled and bedecked.

Rhinestone earrings sparkled from her ears. A satin gown cascaded to the floor. A crown rested eschew a top her head. And her feathery purple plastic heels flopped haphazardly with each step.

The glamour. The pizzazz. The glittery, shimmery elegance. Pure class.

It absolutely took my breath away.

Her mood matched her attire as she broke into song.

“Cinderella, dressed in yella…Went upstairs to kiss her fella…”

Up the stairs she went, boa bouncing behind in her wake.

Apparently, she meant business.

Think a little parental chaperoning is needed in the upstairs playroom?

Ah………Be right back!!