I was scanning the headlines the other day when I came across some shocking news.
“Major cutbacks at Sandman Incorporated”
Across the nation, thousands of Sandmen have received their walking papers.
“All I got was this pink slip and a reminder not to let the door hit me on the way out,” says one disgruntled former Sandman.
“They said I was sleeping on the job. You try working the night shift, Bud!” screamed another newly unemployed sleep worker.
"I'm FIRED?! But, I can put anyone to sleep anywhere, anytime. I got skills, I tell ya!"
Thousands more Sandmen have seen reductions in hours, salary as well as benefits.
Morale is down.
“I can’t believe you need a Master’s Degree to qualify for this flea bitten job!”
There has been talk of a merger with a popular over the counter sleep remedy.
The impact is great.
People everywhere are laying awake at night, wheels a turnin’, hoping their sandman will come. And, sometimes his arrival never comes. Apparently, there have been rolling Sandman blackouts in a feeble attempt to decrease spending.
Public outrage is intense.
“I have three kids under five! I can’t afford to have the Sandman skip my house.”
“Why don’t they outsource, Dam Gummit?”
“What about those unskilled workers? I mean, how hard is it to toss some sand around?”
On a positive note, all the media coverage has shed some light on a previously unknown world.
“You mean there really is a Sandman?”
“That’s sweet. How exactly do you land a Sandman gig?”
“Do they run a background check on these fellas?”
Needless to say, the Tooth fairy has been shaking in her boots.
Yep, things have been tough for some of our nocturnal magical creatures.
Think Santa’s safe?
Eek.
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Humor. Show all posts
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Friday, gotta love the guy!
I think I have a crush on Friday.
By mid-week, I get weak in the knees anticipating his arrival. On Thursday, it begins to sink in. He’s coming!
And, when he arrives, I embrace him and cover him with wet kisses! Oh! Friday! Friday! Friday! My favorite, favorite day!
Friday is that kind of a guy. He fills your head with promises of lazy Saturday mornings, breakfast in bed, picnics in the park and nights out on the town.
He’s a bit of a lady’s man, really. All over town, ladies bat their eyelashes his way, hoping he’ll pay them a visit. And, although he is a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type, there does seem to be enough of him to go around. He never seems to disappoint. I mean, who complains about Friday?
And, I’ve never known anyone to fight over the guy. Rather, everyone is thrilled just to get their tiny piece of the pie. “Thank God!! It’s Friday!”
As a matter of fact, I think the men are in on this, too. There seems to be a collective sigh heard around the world upon his end of the week arrival.
Everyone is giddy. A little lighter. More relaxed.
Then, he leaves us as quickly as he came, hand in hand with Lady Sunday. Heartbroken, we’re left with some boring guy named Monday. You know the type. All work and no play. Nose to the grindstone. Beady eyed. Cranky. And really teed off that he missed the party.
What a gigolo, that Friday guy, huh? A regular Good Time Charlie.
Sigh.
But, we always take him back, don’t we?
By mid-week, I get weak in the knees anticipating his arrival. On Thursday, it begins to sink in. He’s coming!
And, when he arrives, I embrace him and cover him with wet kisses! Oh! Friday! Friday! Friday! My favorite, favorite day!
Friday is that kind of a guy. He fills your head with promises of lazy Saturday mornings, breakfast in bed, picnics in the park and nights out on the town.
He’s a bit of a lady’s man, really. All over town, ladies bat their eyelashes his way, hoping he’ll pay them a visit. And, although he is a love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type, there does seem to be enough of him to go around. He never seems to disappoint. I mean, who complains about Friday?
And, I’ve never known anyone to fight over the guy. Rather, everyone is thrilled just to get their tiny piece of the pie. “Thank God!! It’s Friday!”
As a matter of fact, I think the men are in on this, too. There seems to be a collective sigh heard around the world upon his end of the week arrival.
Everyone is giddy. A little lighter. More relaxed.
Then, he leaves us as quickly as he came, hand in hand with Lady Sunday. Heartbroken, we’re left with some boring guy named Monday. You know the type. All work and no play. Nose to the grindstone. Beady eyed. Cranky. And really teed off that he missed the party.
What a gigolo, that Friday guy, huh? A regular Good Time Charlie.
Sigh.
But, we always take him back, don’t we?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Dino Mom
Sometimes I feel like a dino-mom.
Ancient and over the hill. Big and scaly. Roaring and cranky, too.
But, then my little dino-child comes around with a curiosity for all things dino.
“Mommy, what’s this?”
“Who’s that?”
“Why? Why, Mommy, why?”
She skips and dances, humming a tune. She throws her arms around me and professes her love for my dino-mom self.
Then, I smile and think that maybe being a dino-mom isn’t too bad.
Maybe a dino-mom is the best kinda mom to be.
I then go about my day less grouchy, less roary and somehow less ancient.
Later on, I sit down to share a cup of coffee with the T-Rex-mom up the street.
‘Cuz, you know, there’s always a bigger and badder dino on the block.
Kinda made me look like a harmless newt.
Ancient and over the hill. Big and scaly. Roaring and cranky, too.
But, then my little dino-child comes around with a curiosity for all things dino.
“Mommy, what’s this?”
“Who’s that?”
“Why? Why, Mommy, why?”
She skips and dances, humming a tune. She throws her arms around me and professes her love for my dino-mom self.
Then, I smile and think that maybe being a dino-mom isn’t too bad.
Maybe a dino-mom is the best kinda mom to be.
I then go about my day less grouchy, less roary and somehow less ancient.
Later on, I sit down to share a cup of coffee with the T-Rex-mom up the street.
‘Cuz, you know, there’s always a bigger and badder dino on the block.
Kinda made me look like a harmless newt.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Birds, Bees and Some Naughty Laundry
I was once again grumbling over a hill of dirty socks, per usual.
The sweat was pouring down my face as I wrestled the darks and roughed up the whites. The teetering laundry pile was far higher than I had seen it before. I had been working on it all morning and barely made a dent. I surmised that the clothes must have had their way with one another because the rate in which it multiplied was maddening.
It was true, some laundry mating must have occurred.
And, I knew what I had to do.
I needed to find the Pappa of the bunch and promptly send him to Dr. Snippity Snip.
I dug and I dug, finally finding what I suspected to be the culprit.
He lay there, immodestly clinging to a pair of lacy panties.
A pair of flannel boxers, fly open wide, he was.
I grabbed him by the waistband and said, “No more fun for you, Pal!”
He responded with surprise, “Hey, lady, I was just getting to first base!”
I marched out to the garage and opened the trashcan.
He started to squeal. “Why you raining on my parade? What did I ever do to you?”
I looked him in the fly…er…eye….before saying, “The work around here is never ending! You and that funny business in the laundry basket are making me old before my time!”
Then he started to soften a bit. “Ah, doll. I never knew. How about a little foot massage? I can fix you up with a pair of athletic socks.”
I gave him another look and began to succumb to his charms.
“A foot massage?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” he assured me. “I’m in good with the whole sock crew. I can make you feel real good, little lady. “
Before I knew it, that rascal had convinced me to bring him back inside to continue with his date with the lacy unmentionables.
And, now, I’m sitting here with a single, one eyed, unmated sock named Gladys rubbing my feet while I listen to the laundry pile writhe and moan.
Kinda makes for an interesting afternoon.
The sweat was pouring down my face as I wrestled the darks and roughed up the whites. The teetering laundry pile was far higher than I had seen it before. I had been working on it all morning and barely made a dent. I surmised that the clothes must have had their way with one another because the rate in which it multiplied was maddening.
It was true, some laundry mating must have occurred.
And, I knew what I had to do.
I needed to find the Pappa of the bunch and promptly send him to Dr. Snippity Snip.
I dug and I dug, finally finding what I suspected to be the culprit.
He lay there, immodestly clinging to a pair of lacy panties.
A pair of flannel boxers, fly open wide, he was.
I grabbed him by the waistband and said, “No more fun for you, Pal!”
He responded with surprise, “Hey, lady, I was just getting to first base!”
I marched out to the garage and opened the trashcan.
He started to squeal. “Why you raining on my parade? What did I ever do to you?”
I looked him in the fly…er…eye….before saying, “The work around here is never ending! You and that funny business in the laundry basket are making me old before my time!”
Then he started to soften a bit. “Ah, doll. I never knew. How about a little foot massage? I can fix you up with a pair of athletic socks.”
I gave him another look and began to succumb to his charms.
“A foot massage?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” he assured me. “I’m in good with the whole sock crew. I can make you feel real good, little lady. “
Before I knew it, that rascal had convinced me to bring him back inside to continue with his date with the lacy unmentionables.
And, now, I’m sitting here with a single, one eyed, unmated sock named Gladys rubbing my feet while I listen to the laundry pile writhe and moan.
Kinda makes for an interesting afternoon.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Battling the Laundry Basket
I am quite certain laundry will be the death of me.
It’s always there keeping a sharp eye on me, tapping its foot and biding its time…
a growing laundry basket of neatly folded whites, snarling at my procrastination....
a teetering pile of towels, staring disapprovingly in my direction....
a mass of unmatched socks tangled together in a hopelessly lovesick pile.
Laundry doesn’t say a word, mind you. It never does.
Rather, it’s eerily silent.
But, its silence doesn’t prevent the judgment.
Oh, no. It stares down its nose, whispering quietly among itself.
It casts judgment with one cold stare.
Then, it sits and waits, growing fatter by the day.
Because it knows, in the end, it will win the war.
And, I sit avoiding its gaze and wishing it away….
only to attack it suddenly one day with brutal force, folding and putting it away.
“I’ll show you who’s in charge,” I say, as I manhandle the socks.
“You condescending old rag,” I curse under my breath.
“You try to keep on top of all this mess,” I lecture.
Then, the drawers and closets are once again full. And, I am quite happy to have won the battle.
I know. I know.
The war will rage again soon.
But, I can enjoy the cease fire in the meantime.
It’s always there keeping a sharp eye on me, tapping its foot and biding its time…
a growing laundry basket of neatly folded whites, snarling at my procrastination....
a teetering pile of towels, staring disapprovingly in my direction....
a mass of unmatched socks tangled together in a hopelessly lovesick pile.
Laundry doesn’t say a word, mind you. It never does.
Rather, it’s eerily silent.
But, its silence doesn’t prevent the judgment.
Oh, no. It stares down its nose, whispering quietly among itself.
It casts judgment with one cold stare.
Then, it sits and waits, growing fatter by the day.
Because it knows, in the end, it will win the war.
And, I sit avoiding its gaze and wishing it away….
only to attack it suddenly one day with brutal force, folding and putting it away.
“I’ll show you who’s in charge,” I say, as I manhandle the socks.
“You condescending old rag,” I curse under my breath.
“You try to keep on top of all this mess,” I lecture.
Then, the drawers and closets are once again full. And, I am quite happy to have won the battle.
I know. I know.
The war will rage again soon.
But, I can enjoy the cease fire in the meantime.
Monday, December 27, 2010
A barnacle here and there
Had a whirlwind of a Christmas.
Some fun in the snow.
Sleigh rides.
Santa parties
Decorations
Cookies
And presents galore.
Now, I stand here in an ocean of discarded wrappings and bows, fighting a post-holiday bug.
I was just about to put my feet up when I heard a little voice…
“Mamma Talk….Mamma talk…..Mamma talk….”
Was that my blog calling to me?
Don’t leave me… Don’t leave me… Don't leave me...
So, I paid her a visit. It had been awhile.
Here she was, floating belly up, unattended, afloat on the bloggy seas. Barnacles were growing here and there and, at first glance, I thought there was little hope.
I immediately dove in and gave her a little resuscitation.
After a moment, she stood up on her shaky, spindly legs. She stretched and shook her head. Then, she wasted no time in chastising me for my neglect. She waggled her finger at me, hand on hip and eyes a glare.
She showed no mercy. Just would not let me up for air. She cursed my laziness and ripped into me venomously.
Yes. I know.
She’s a pistol.
But, the way I look at things, a blog's gotta have a little bite. So, in this case, I think I'll roll with the bloggy punches.
Give it your best shot, Mamma!
Got a couple of monkeys yourself? Looking for some bunkbeds? Be sure to check out this site.
Some fun in the snow.
Sleigh rides.
Santa parties
Decorations
Cookies
And presents galore.
Now, I stand here in an ocean of discarded wrappings and bows, fighting a post-holiday bug.
I was just about to put my feet up when I heard a little voice…
“Mamma Talk….Mamma talk…..Mamma talk….”
Was that my blog calling to me?
Don’t leave me… Don’t leave me… Don't leave me...
So, I paid her a visit. It had been awhile.
Here she was, floating belly up, unattended, afloat on the bloggy seas. Barnacles were growing here and there and, at first glance, I thought there was little hope.
I immediately dove in and gave her a little resuscitation.
After a moment, she stood up on her shaky, spindly legs. She stretched and shook her head. Then, she wasted no time in chastising me for my neglect. She waggled her finger at me, hand on hip and eyes a glare.
She showed no mercy. Just would not let me up for air. She cursed my laziness and ripped into me venomously.
Yes. I know.
She’s a pistol.
But, the way I look at things, a blog's gotta have a little bite. So, in this case, I think I'll roll with the bloggy punches.
Give it your best shot, Mamma!
Got a couple of monkeys yourself? Looking for some bunkbeds? Be sure to check out this site.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Vintage Blogging
It’s not every day that somebody leaves a comment suggesting I update my blog.
“Don’t people usually at least upgrade their header every once in a while?” ~anonymous
Well, let me formally respond.
We roll with the old school here on Mamma Talk.
We happily present a vintage blog.
We are classic. Timeless. Retro.
Are the columns too skinny? Well, scroll down, the way we did it back in the day!
Wondering where the tabs are? Don’t got none. Easy!
And, we are in mint condition, mind you. ‘Still in the package’. That’s us.
To suggest Mamma talk is outdated…. that she’s rubbing elbows with the dinos…..and perhaps even hinting that we’re not with it?
Are we old-ish around the gills, are we?
Think we run an old fashioned gig?
Type type type type type type type type type type type typeCHING!
Type type type type type type type type type type type typeCHING!
Are you saying our technical
S
K I
L
L S are lacking?
That maybe we are a bit CLuelEss, even?
That the Mamma is not aging gracefully?
Well, I beg to differ.
We may not be a trendsetter. But, we rise above the trends.
‘Cuz we run a classy joint here.
And a classy broad always acts her age!
“Don’t people usually at least upgrade their header every once in a while?” ~anonymous
Well, let me formally respond.
We roll with the old school here on Mamma Talk.
We happily present a vintage blog.
We are classic. Timeless. Retro.
Are the columns too skinny? Well, scroll down, the way we did it back in the day!
Wondering where the tabs are? Don’t got none. Easy!
And, we are in mint condition, mind you. ‘Still in the package’. That’s us.
To suggest Mamma talk is outdated…. that she’s rubbing elbows with the dinos…..and perhaps even hinting that we’re not with it?
Are we old-ish around the gills, are we?
Think we run an old fashioned gig?
Type type type type type type type type type type type typeCHING!
Type type type type type type type type type type type typeCHING!
Are you saying our technical
S
K I
L
L S are lacking?
That maybe we are a bit CLuelEss, even?
That the Mamma is not aging gracefully?
Well, I beg to differ.
We may not be a trendsetter. But, we rise above the trends.
‘Cuz we run a classy joint here.
And a classy broad always acts her age!
Monday, November 29, 2010
Dolly Hair Salon
“Mamma, I can’t find her hair brush!”
“Her hair brush?”
Silly of me to ask.
The doll’s nylon hair was standing on end, horrifically tangled and slightly gummy on one side. It was clear her grooming had been a tad bit overlooked.
“You’ll have to sort this one out on your own,” I said gently, before mentally adding, “….seeing that you were most likely the cause of this tendril travesty.”
I handed over a wide toothed comb and quickly extracted myself from the sticky scenario. I actually managed to enjoy a few moments to myself twittering around before my suspicions were aroused.
I suppose the endless running water should have sounded my alarm.
Not sure why the muffled giggles emanating from the upstairs bathroom didn’t quickly prick my ear.
What finally did lure me in was my three year’s old request for more of my fancy conditioner.
More?
In the end, the rest of my day was spent mopping a soapy floor and setting a dolly’s hair with my new hair curlers.
I figure, if she’s going to use half a bottle of my most expensive conditioner, we might as well give her the whole salon package.
Besides, there’s nothing like mile high hair on a naked Happy Holidays Barbie.
“Her hair brush?”
Silly of me to ask.
The doll’s nylon hair was standing on end, horrifically tangled and slightly gummy on one side. It was clear her grooming had been a tad bit overlooked.
“You’ll have to sort this one out on your own,” I said gently, before mentally adding, “….seeing that you were most likely the cause of this tendril travesty.”
I handed over a wide toothed comb and quickly extracted myself from the sticky scenario. I actually managed to enjoy a few moments to myself twittering around before my suspicions were aroused.
I suppose the endless running water should have sounded my alarm.
Not sure why the muffled giggles emanating from the upstairs bathroom didn’t quickly prick my ear.
What finally did lure me in was my three year’s old request for more of my fancy conditioner.
More?
In the end, the rest of my day was spent mopping a soapy floor and setting a dolly’s hair with my new hair curlers.
I figure, if she’s going to use half a bottle of my most expensive conditioner, we might as well give her the whole salon package.
Besides, there’s nothing like mile high hair on a naked Happy Holidays Barbie.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Get Your Freak On...
My girls like to bounce.
I turn on some music…
And they bounce.
They laugh and scream, too.
And run.
But, they mostly bounce.
They are most serious about the fun to be had.
There’s an immediacy in their actions.
A passion and zest that is just bursting from their insides out.
Lots of present moment thinking.
And joy.
No worries about the temper tantrum from earlier this morning.
No concern about the doctor appointment of tomorrow.
Just a passion for the bouncing and screaming and running back and forth
Deliriously
Across the floor
Over and over
Kinda makes me want to get my freak on, too.
‘Cuz I’m groovy like that.
Bow-chicka-bow-wow
I turn on some music…
And they bounce.
They laugh and scream, too.
And run.
But, they mostly bounce.
They are most serious about the fun to be had.
There’s an immediacy in their actions.
A passion and zest that is just bursting from their insides out.
Lots of present moment thinking.
And joy.
No worries about the temper tantrum from earlier this morning.
No concern about the doctor appointment of tomorrow.
Just a passion for the bouncing and screaming and running back and forth
Deliriously
Across the floor
Over and over
Kinda makes me want to get my freak on, too.
‘Cuz I’m groovy like that.
Bow-chicka-bow-wow
Thursday, October 28, 2010
In a Mamma Minute....
“So, how long is a minute exactly?” My five year old was eyeing me over her cereal.
I was deep into blogging, throwing her my usual stalling tactic. “In a minute. Darling!”
She continued her questioning. “Is a minute little or big?”
Hmmmmm?
Depends, doesn’t it?
Right now, it was medium-ish.
Later, while I’m on the phone, I am most certain it could be quite long-ish. And, when my nose is deep in a book, it might be a trifle longer even.
Mostly, of course, I like to think minutes are rather short in this house.
But, when I tried to remember when I last had a rendezvous with a short minute, I was at a loss…
Maybe minutes of the miniature kind were no more.
Defunct. Extinct. Banned, even.
The shame.
Well, that settles it.
No more minutes of any variety allowed in this house.
“In a second, darling!”
Might be hard to follow through. But I’m always up for a challenge.
Besides, a certain person of the miniature variety certainly deserves it.
I was deep into blogging, throwing her my usual stalling tactic. “In a minute. Darling!”
She continued her questioning. “Is a minute little or big?”
Hmmmmm?
Depends, doesn’t it?
Right now, it was medium-ish.
Later, while I’m on the phone, I am most certain it could be quite long-ish. And, when my nose is deep in a book, it might be a trifle longer even.
Mostly, of course, I like to think minutes are rather short in this house.
But, when I tried to remember when I last had a rendezvous with a short minute, I was at a loss…
Maybe minutes of the miniature kind were no more.
Defunct. Extinct. Banned, even.
The shame.
Well, that settles it.
No more minutes of any variety allowed in this house.
“In a second, darling!”
Might be hard to follow through. But I’m always up for a challenge.
Besides, a certain person of the miniature variety certainly deserves it.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Sweet A$$ Time
Sometimes, I waste time.
It’s not that I have a problem with it or anything. Actually, I’m rather fond of time, especially if it’s free and has my name written all over it.
Truthfully, I’m an enormous fan of time. I obsessively keep track of it with my schedules and calendars. I monopolize it. I wonder how it got away from me. And, I always want more of it.
If I could, I’d recycle it. ‘Cuz I’m green like that.
I’d re-do it ‘til I got it right. Those precious moments would get recycled over and over- Christmas mornings, birthdays and endless summer days.
I’d even reduce time a bit- throw away those ugly moments that are cowering in the closet.
I used to be pretty aggressive in my approach to time. (See “Wanted Dead or Alive- My Free Time”).
Now, as the girls are getting older and I have a few moments to myself while they’re in preschool and kindergarten, I have learned spare time does come….well….. in good time.
So, maybe I should re-phrase “wasting time”.
I’m not wasting it.
I’m savoring it.
Doing nothing. Feet up. With some chocolate.
Ahhh….It’s about time.
Don’t ‘cha think?
Sure took its sweet a$$ time, though.
It’s not that I have a problem with it or anything. Actually, I’m rather fond of time, especially if it’s free and has my name written all over it.
Truthfully, I’m an enormous fan of time. I obsessively keep track of it with my schedules and calendars. I monopolize it. I wonder how it got away from me. And, I always want more of it.
If I could, I’d recycle it. ‘Cuz I’m green like that.
I’d re-do it ‘til I got it right. Those precious moments would get recycled over and over- Christmas mornings, birthdays and endless summer days.
I’d even reduce time a bit- throw away those ugly moments that are cowering in the closet.
I used to be pretty aggressive in my approach to time. (See “Wanted Dead or Alive- My Free Time”).
Now, as the girls are getting older and I have a few moments to myself while they’re in preschool and kindergarten, I have learned spare time does come….well….. in good time.
So, maybe I should re-phrase “wasting time”.
I’m not wasting it.
I’m savoring it.
Doing nothing. Feet up. With some chocolate.
Ahhh….It’s about time.
Don’t ‘cha think?
Sure took its sweet a$$ time, though.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Mail Order Frog
I couldn’t believe it.
The frog had returned.
While taking out the garbage, I, once again, discovered a fat little frog huddled behind the trash cans, eyeing me nervously.
“Is that you again, buddy?”
He blinked. I took that as a yes.
“Did your lady give you the boot?”
He hopped towards me. Another yes.
“Need some help with another hook up?”
He stared silently, head cocked sideways. Maybe?
“Cuz there’s another pond around the block. I could take you over there, introduce you to the ladies.”
He hopped on my shoe. Don’t think I need to translate that.
So, that’s how I ended up as a froggy matchmaker. See, I’ve always had a thing for the underfrogs of the world.
Makes for a busy day…
“This matchmaker’s working overtime, fellas. Take a number. ALL tadpoles in the back of the line. No line jumping. No pushing. No shoving. No cutting. And, what’s with the grasshopper in the back? I don’t work with the creepy, crawly types, bud! You’re on your own.”
The frog had returned.
While taking out the garbage, I, once again, discovered a fat little frog huddled behind the trash cans, eyeing me nervously.
“Is that you again, buddy?”
He blinked. I took that as a yes.
“Did your lady give you the boot?”
He hopped towards me. Another yes.
“Need some help with another hook up?”
He stared silently, head cocked sideways. Maybe?
“Cuz there’s another pond around the block. I could take you over there, introduce you to the ladies.”
He hopped on my shoe. Don’t think I need to translate that.
So, that’s how I ended up as a froggy matchmaker. See, I’ve always had a thing for the underfrogs of the world.
Makes for a busy day…
“This matchmaker’s working overtime, fellas. Take a number. ALL tadpoles in the back of the line. No line jumping. No pushing. No shoving. No cutting. And, what’s with the grasshopper in the back? I don’t work with the creepy, crawly types, bud! You’re on your own.”
Monday, September 27, 2010
A bit of a mess...
Apparently, my makeup bag had been compromised.
Loose powder sprinkled the floor, an uncapped lipstick stood teetering on its head, and a liner had been formally introduced to a lash curler. My toddler sat amongst the mess clutching a powder puff and wearing a grin.
“Mommy, I beautiful…….just like Cinderella!”
I inhaled deeply, aghast at the mess. But, fortunately, I had a light bulb of a moment and made a quick recovery.
In my highest voice, I channeled her fairy godmother.
“Oh, Cinderella, whatever did you do?
Bippity boppity boo.
Here, kid, this paper towel is for you…”
She looked at me quizzically, glittery lashes fluttering.
I added emphasis, using a nearby toothbrush as a wand and took my voice up another notch.
“Clean up the goo.
Here’s a tissue.
You may be just two
But, it’s certainly true
You can help mommy too
(Was that lipstick new?
Oh, Boo-Hoo!)
Bippity boppity boo!”
Before she knew it, my little one had a broom in one hand and a paper towel in the other. She was a one woman musical cleaning crew, scrubbing the floor and happily hopping about to my directions.
See? Add a little Disney to anything and you get an instant solution.
That guy was a genius.
Looking for free diamond stud earrings? Just got these gorgeous babies in the mail.
Loose powder sprinkled the floor, an uncapped lipstick stood teetering on its head, and a liner had been formally introduced to a lash curler. My toddler sat amongst the mess clutching a powder puff and wearing a grin.
“Mommy, I beautiful…….just like Cinderella!”
I inhaled deeply, aghast at the mess. But, fortunately, I had a light bulb of a moment and made a quick recovery.
In my highest voice, I channeled her fairy godmother.
“Oh, Cinderella, whatever did you do?
Bippity boppity boo.
Here, kid, this paper towel is for you…”
She looked at me quizzically, glittery lashes fluttering.
I added emphasis, using a nearby toothbrush as a wand and took my voice up another notch.
“Clean up the goo.
Here’s a tissue.
You may be just two
But, it’s certainly true
You can help mommy too
(Was that lipstick new?
Oh, Boo-Hoo!)
Bippity boppity boo!”
Before she knew it, my little one had a broom in one hand and a paper towel in the other. She was a one woman musical cleaning crew, scrubbing the floor and happily hopping about to my directions.
See? Add a little Disney to anything and you get an instant solution.
That guy was a genius.
Looking for free diamond stud earrings? Just got these gorgeous babies in the mail.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
A little froggy luck
I discovered a frog hiding behind our trash can in the garage this morning.
He sat there cowering by the wall, golden eyes glued on me and a quick heartbeat in his chest. I tried to calm the panicky creature.
"You're OK, Bud."
Soon, Mr. Froggie had two more sets of eyes upon him.
"Mommy, what's the Frog Prince doing by the trash?"
"Froggy! Froggy!"
I explained that the frog had lost his way and needed a helping hand.
My gals were quick to search the garden for toadstools and lily pads, but came back empty handed. At a loss for what to do, my oldest suggested a nice, cozy box set up in her room.
In the end, however, we decided to release the critter close to a neighbor's pond. It must have been from here that he had escaped earlier.
"He's one lucky little frog!" My daughter observed.
As the sticky creature leaped to the edge of the pond, I could have sworn he looked over his shoulder to throw us an appreciative glance.
And, maybe I was seeing things, but I thought I saw another pair of golden eyes peering from the mossy pond, frilly eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously.
"You're right. He is one lucky guy." I agreed with my daughter.
And, I suspect he's going to get luckier as the evening progresses.
Ribbit!
You're welcome!
He sat there cowering by the wall, golden eyes glued on me and a quick heartbeat in his chest. I tried to calm the panicky creature.
"You're OK, Bud."
Soon, Mr. Froggie had two more sets of eyes upon him.
"Mommy, what's the Frog Prince doing by the trash?"
"Froggy! Froggy!"
I explained that the frog had lost his way and needed a helping hand.
My gals were quick to search the garden for toadstools and lily pads, but came back empty handed. At a loss for what to do, my oldest suggested a nice, cozy box set up in her room.
In the end, however, we decided to release the critter close to a neighbor's pond. It must have been from here that he had escaped earlier.
"He's one lucky little frog!" My daughter observed.
As the sticky creature leaped to the edge of the pond, I could have sworn he looked over his shoulder to throw us an appreciative glance.
And, maybe I was seeing things, but I thought I saw another pair of golden eyes peering from the mossy pond, frilly eyelashes fluttering flirtatiously.
"You're right. He is one lucky guy." I agreed with my daughter.
And, I suspect he's going to get luckier as the evening progresses.
Ribbit!
You're welcome!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Hey, bud, what's the big idea?
Don’t you love it when a fabulous idea lands right in your lap?
It floats down out of nowhere, bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to roll up its sleeves and get to work. It lends a hand where needed. Ingenuity and quick thinking are its tools of trade.
As for you?
Well, you gleefully surrender yourself to the fruit of its efforts, watching from a distance. Your feet are up with glass in hand as you watch it slave away, nose to grindstone.
“Now, there’s an idea!” you say, patting it on the back encouragingly.
You are the envy of others.
“Where do you get your great ideas?”
You inspire green eyed envy even from even your nearest and dearest friends.
“Wish I was the one who came up with that great idea!”
Every once in a while, you get a lemon of an idea, who, despite its best efforts, mucks things up, prompting some snide remarks….
“Hey, bud! What’s the big idea!?”
But, most of the time, those great ideas come from nowhere, are eager to please and are the most useful creatures to happen upon.
Serving as your indentured servant, they advance a home or work project, bloom a business and chase the heels of opportunity. These nifty creatures know how to light up a room. And, isn’t it particularly sweet when they not only pay a visit, but bring a knapsack and stay for an extended while?
Ever happen to you?
Yeah…umm……well, me neither.
It floats down out of nowhere, bright eyed and bushy tailed, eager to roll up its sleeves and get to work. It lends a hand where needed. Ingenuity and quick thinking are its tools of trade.
As for you?
Well, you gleefully surrender yourself to the fruit of its efforts, watching from a distance. Your feet are up with glass in hand as you watch it slave away, nose to grindstone.
“Now, there’s an idea!” you say, patting it on the back encouragingly.
You are the envy of others.
“Where do you get your great ideas?”
You inspire green eyed envy even from even your nearest and dearest friends.
“Wish I was the one who came up with that great idea!”
Every once in a while, you get a lemon of an idea, who, despite its best efforts, mucks things up, prompting some snide remarks….
“Hey, bud! What’s the big idea!?”
But, most of the time, those great ideas come from nowhere, are eager to please and are the most useful creatures to happen upon.
Serving as your indentured servant, they advance a home or work project, bloom a business and chase the heels of opportunity. These nifty creatures know how to light up a room. And, isn’t it particularly sweet when they not only pay a visit, but bring a knapsack and stay for an extended while?
Ever happen to you?
Yeah…umm……well, me neither.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Potty Me? Yes! Potty You!
Is there a light at the end of this potty training tunnel?
Because I feel like I’m sitting here alone and lost in this dark and dismal tunnel with a fistful of damp matches.
…Hoping beyond hope that the tide will turn...Dreaming of potty victory…Praying to the ceramic gods…
I have cajoled. I have bribed. I have waited. I have charted.
Finally, only to turn the other cheek…ahem.
However, I have learned that sometimes when you’re frustrated and over wrought…And, when you just can’t take it anymore as you are swirling down the drain hole of mamma madness…
Magic can occur…
“Bippity boppity boo…
Here’s some potty magic for you…”
FLUSH!
With all of the creatures lurking in my home,(here, here, here) why I hadn’t considered putting in a call to my Potty Godmother, I will never know. But, there she stood. She was dressed in magic fairy blue with a sparkling wand held high over the pot.
“Next time, child, give the Potty Godmother a call.
Buns are my expertise. I guide them. I train them. I get them to sit.
I show them. I teach them. I get them to sh*t.
You see, it’s my trade. My line of work.
Gimme a call before mom goes beserk.”
She left me with her business card and a feel for her wit.
Priscella, Potty GodMother
1-800-U2-CAN-SH*T
Because I feel like I’m sitting here alone and lost in this dark and dismal tunnel with a fistful of damp matches.
…Hoping beyond hope that the tide will turn...Dreaming of potty victory…Praying to the ceramic gods…
I have cajoled. I have bribed. I have waited. I have charted.
Finally, only to turn the other cheek…ahem.
However, I have learned that sometimes when you’re frustrated and over wrought…And, when you just can’t take it anymore as you are swirling down the drain hole of mamma madness…
Magic can occur…
“Bippity boppity boo…
Here’s some potty magic for you…”
FLUSH!
With all of the creatures lurking in my home,(here, here, here) why I hadn’t considered putting in a call to my Potty Godmother, I will never know. But, there she stood. She was dressed in magic fairy blue with a sparkling wand held high over the pot.
“Next time, child, give the Potty Godmother a call.
Buns are my expertise. I guide them. I train them. I get them to sit.
I show them. I teach them. I get them to sh*t.
You see, it’s my trade. My line of work.
Gimme a call before mom goes beserk.”
She left me with her business card and a feel for her wit.
Priscella, Potty GodMother
1-800-U2-CAN-SH*T
Monday, August 23, 2010
Put Up Your Dukes!!
The hysterics began slowly, building gradually and then peaked with one sharp, explosive piercing SCREECH!
Now, mind you, the panic would have been contained if the furry legged, multi-eyed beast of an arachnid had stayed in his corner of the tub.
But, oh, no.
This fierce bug had postured himself into a threatening stance. Perched on his hind legs, front legs balled into a fist, Spidey eyeballs rolling…..
And, pinchers pinching.
Not sure what this fella had in mind.
Guess he figured he could take me.
Maybe even thought I had it coming.
Perhaps he had planned to teach me a lesson.
Gimme a taste of my own medicine.
Serve me a knuckle sandwich even.
Typically, I am not one to back down from a fight. But, I just couldn’t see myself locking horns with this critter. Just not my thing.
I scurried off, tail between my legs, to fetch my hubby.
Hubby stomped in with his size 10 boots, eager to provide a quick and easy, albeit messy, solution.
And, then, I re-considered.
“Wait!”
Hubby hesitated, boot hovering over my opponent, quizzical look on his face.
“Ah…..um….I mean.…well…” I attempted to explain my thoughts.
Hubby raised an eyebrow.
“Ya gotta admire the spunk,” I said.
“Go get a cup.”
And, tonight, somewhere in our garden, a lone soldier returns home to the village, full of tales of bath tubs and gentle giants.
“…And, so, I gave her the ol’ one, two…See?
Tryin’ to mess with the likes of me.
Ain’t happenin’ on my watch. No, sir!
Next time, I’ll clock her where it counts…”
Now, mind you, the panic would have been contained if the furry legged, multi-eyed beast of an arachnid had stayed in his corner of the tub.
But, oh, no.
This fierce bug had postured himself into a threatening stance. Perched on his hind legs, front legs balled into a fist, Spidey eyeballs rolling…..
And, pinchers pinching.
Not sure what this fella had in mind.
Guess he figured he could take me.
Maybe even thought I had it coming.
Perhaps he had planned to teach me a lesson.
Gimme a taste of my own medicine.
Serve me a knuckle sandwich even.
Typically, I am not one to back down from a fight. But, I just couldn’t see myself locking horns with this critter. Just not my thing.
I scurried off, tail between my legs, to fetch my hubby.
Hubby stomped in with his size 10 boots, eager to provide a quick and easy, albeit messy, solution.
And, then, I re-considered.
“Wait!”
Hubby hesitated, boot hovering over my opponent, quizzical look on his face.
“Ah…..um….I mean.…well…” I attempted to explain my thoughts.
Hubby raised an eyebrow.
“Ya gotta admire the spunk,” I said.
“Go get a cup.”
And, tonight, somewhere in our garden, a lone soldier returns home to the village, full of tales of bath tubs and gentle giants.
“…And, so, I gave her the ol’ one, two…See?
Tryin’ to mess with the likes of me.
Ain’t happenin’ on my watch. No, sir!
Next time, I’ll clock her where it counts…”
Monday, August 9, 2010
'Twas a dozey kinda day....
We were having a dozy afternoon in the backyard
With Pappa in his swim trunks and I in my floppy hat.
Our gals were about to settle down
For a nice hammocky nap….
When out from our bedroom there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my lawn chair to see what was the matter
Away to the glass slider, I flew like a flash
Ran into the slider and felt like an a*s
My computer screen was emitting an eerie blue glow
And I began to shiver, sweat and scream, “Oh, Lord no…”
My very own Apple computer was yelling “COME HERE!!…
Your Mamma talk blog has been up all year.
Have you forgotten? Haven’t you ignored her enough?”
Then, my keyboard began to type up some stuff…
“You have a blog. A lonely blog, too.
She feels neglected and she’s feeling quite blue.”
Well, I tried to explain and I started to Boo-Hoo
“We were on vacation and the kids had the flu.
Besides, who blogs in the summer, see here for a clue.”
“’Enough,” screamed the ‘puter, “You know what to do!”
So, here I sit hoping and praying that this will do.
Some bad poetry and goofy off season fun.
Now, back to the wading pool. I was enjoying the sun!
With Pappa in his swim trunks and I in my floppy hat.
Our gals were about to settle down
For a nice hammocky nap….
When out from our bedroom there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my lawn chair to see what was the matter
Away to the glass slider, I flew like a flash
Ran into the slider and felt like an a*s
My computer screen was emitting an eerie blue glow
And I began to shiver, sweat and scream, “Oh, Lord no…”
My very own Apple computer was yelling “COME HERE!!…
Your Mamma talk blog has been up all year.
Have you forgotten? Haven’t you ignored her enough?”
Then, my keyboard began to type up some stuff…
“You have a blog. A lonely blog, too.
She feels neglected and she’s feeling quite blue.”
Well, I tried to explain and I started to Boo-Hoo
“We were on vacation and the kids had the flu.
Besides, who blogs in the summer, see here for a clue.”
“’Enough,” screamed the ‘puter, “You know what to do!”
So, here I sit hoping and praying that this will do.
Some bad poetry and goofy off season fun.
Now, back to the wading pool. I was enjoying the sun!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Blueberry Bandit
My daughter is a blueberry bandit. True, she is passionate about most fruits.
But, blueberries?
Blueberries hold a special power over my little one. Yes, I am afraid blueberries have attained movie star status in our home.
A blueberry sighting is followed by screeching, shaking, and near hysterics.
“Booooberriesss!!”
I am afraid she is a bit of a blueberry groupie.
“I love boooberries.”
She’s proud President of the blueberry fan club, even.
“More booooberries?”
She’s quite possibly crossing the lines into blueberry stalking...
“Where’d the boooberry go?”
Some say she’s criminal in her passion.
“Sweetheart, let Mommy wipe that blueberry stain off your face.”
You don’t think this could lead to blueberry OCD, do you?
“Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.”
Could this pave the way to addiction?
“Can I score some ‘boo off ya, bro?”
Hubs and I thought about going cold turkey. Pull the blueberry plug. Cut off the supply. Bite the blueberry bullet and stop the blueberry madness once and for all.
Lasted a day.
“Staaawberries?”
But, blueberries?
Blueberries hold a special power over my little one. Yes, I am afraid blueberries have attained movie star status in our home.
A blueberry sighting is followed by screeching, shaking, and near hysterics.
“Booooberriesss!!”
I am afraid she is a bit of a blueberry groupie.
“I love boooberries.”
She’s proud President of the blueberry fan club, even.
“More booooberries?”
She’s quite possibly crossing the lines into blueberry stalking...
“Where’d the boooberry go?”
Some say she’s criminal in her passion.
“Sweetheart, let Mommy wipe that blueberry stain off your face.”
You don’t think this could lead to blueberry OCD, do you?
“Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.Booberries.”
Could this pave the way to addiction?
“Can I score some ‘boo off ya, bro?”
Hubs and I thought about going cold turkey. Pull the blueberry plug. Cut off the supply. Bite the blueberry bullet and stop the blueberry madness once and for all.
Lasted a day.
“Staaawberries?”
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The Show Must Go On!
“Hurry! The show is about to start!”
I grabbed hubby’s hand and led him to our seats. Luckily, we scored front row and center seating, atop overturned laundry baskets in the center of the playroom.
The lights were dimmed and Hello Kitty flashlights illuminated the dancers. The jewelry box music played again and again as the dancers twirled spontaneously.
“Bravo!” Pops and I shouted which, of course, led to more repetitive twirling and scarf flailing. The dancers were decked in their best show time gear with crooked tiaras slipping, fluffy boas bouncing and plastic Princess pumps flopping.
The energy was pumping, the clapping was escalating and the dancers were bouncing.
And, then a slip occurred. A purple boa became entangled around a Cinderella pump. A bit of a domino effect occurred, with dancers landing atop of dancers. Tiaras left their owners and shiny plastic beads spewed across the floor.
The audience sat with baited breath and a touch of knuckle biting.
However, much to the dismay of the silent and shocked crowd, a quick recovery was made.
Sure, they were a bit disheveled. Sure, they had to make due with broken do-dads and ruffled boas. Sure, they had to rustle up some quick thinking and unrehearsed hustling.
But, even in a pink, Princess playroom, the show must go on.
Encore!
I grabbed hubby’s hand and led him to our seats. Luckily, we scored front row and center seating, atop overturned laundry baskets in the center of the playroom.
The lights were dimmed and Hello Kitty flashlights illuminated the dancers. The jewelry box music played again and again as the dancers twirled spontaneously.
“Bravo!” Pops and I shouted which, of course, led to more repetitive twirling and scarf flailing. The dancers were decked in their best show time gear with crooked tiaras slipping, fluffy boas bouncing and plastic Princess pumps flopping.
The energy was pumping, the clapping was escalating and the dancers were bouncing.
And, then a slip occurred. A purple boa became entangled around a Cinderella pump. A bit of a domino effect occurred, with dancers landing atop of dancers. Tiaras left their owners and shiny plastic beads spewed across the floor.
The audience sat with baited breath and a touch of knuckle biting.
However, much to the dismay of the silent and shocked crowd, a quick recovery was made.
Sure, they were a bit disheveled. Sure, they had to make due with broken do-dads and ruffled boas. Sure, they had to rustle up some quick thinking and unrehearsed hustling.
But, even in a pink, Princess playroom, the show must go on.
Encore!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
