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!!

Mamapedia

Happy 2010! Hope all had a wonderful holiday and are starting an amazing New Year!

I had the honor of being featured on Mammapedia yesterday. I wrote about thinking caps and how easy they are to misplace. Happens everyday at the Mamma Talk humble abode.

While you're over there, you might want to consider submitting one of your old posts. They feature everyday Mammas everyday....

Secret Pocket

I have a secret….. I am afraid of my purse.

No, it’s not the stale Cheerios scattered at the bottom that gives me the creeps. Not the lost, dirty Kleenex that puts my hair on ends. And, it is not the gum clinging to the side that gives me the willies either.

It’s the secret pocket.

When I purchased this bag there were no warnings about a secret pocket. No tags advising to purchase at your own risk. No buyer beware. Nothing.

Truthfully, I had no idea that a secret pocket existed until …well, things began to happen.

It started with some spare change at Starbucks.

“Oh, thanks! I’ve been looking for the Nebraska quarter!” I naively chirped, tossing the coins into the “to be filed later” section of my purse. (Yes, that means they would be rubbing elbows with the “to be filed later” crumbling Cheerios partying in the deepest crevices of my purse.)

For days, I heard the coins jingle in my purse.

“Gotta file those..”

Then, one afternoon, I dumped my purse out…well, OK, my toddler dumped my purse out…… in the middle of the grocery cart, but that’s another story. The coins were gone. Missing. MIA. They had simply vanished. After a panicked swipe of my toddler’s mouth, I dismissed the odd occurrence. I filed it under “weird” …oh, and embarrassing…. and continued about my day.

Then, we had the lipstick incident. Things took a turn for the worse.

It was a certain lipstick that played a “now you see me, now you don’t” game with me in my purse for the better part of the week. Ordinarily, I would have just shrugged off the mystery and run to the local Walgreen’s for another quick purchase at the Wet and Wild display counter, but, Heck, budget’s tight these days! Gotta stretch that $1.99 as far as we can go…

So, here we go …another dumping of the purse. After shooing away a furry, 8 legged friend…or two…that had apparently taken up residence ….and averting my eyes from the gelatinous, gummy, quivering mass that seemed to be mating with my day planner, I came to the quick conclusion that this lipstick was NOT there!

My temper began to boil just beneath my “I’m-a-nice-person-who-once-worked-with-disadvantaged-youths” façade.

“Where is that freaky froupy nickel knucklebucker….” I searched my imagination for the most colorful swear words in my (limited and shrinking, thank you) vocabulary.

After a good working over, I tossed the purse to the floor. There was a clunk sound as it hit the ground. A clunk sound that shouldn’t be heard when yarn macramé hits linoleum. Grabbing the bag by her ( I hope it was a her) innards, I turned the whole kit and caboodle inside out to discover a hole in the stained, satiny inner lining.

A hole, as in a black hole, a time warp, a worm hole in space? Perhaps?

Peering through this hole, I found my lipstick! She was floating in a sea of Cheerios, between the macramé and satin lining, clinging desperately to a Nebraska quarter.

I was so happy to see her that I immediately swept her in my arms and kissed her. I applied her to my dry, colorless lips and promised to be a better Wet and Wild lipstick owner.

A hole in the lining! HA! Explains everything. Now, if someone could just explain the ransom note pinned to my lipstick’s chest, we’ll have a mystery solved.

Purse mafia, ya think?

This is a re-post. All this week I will be posting my favorite posts of 2009. Have a great New Year!

Hiss!

There’s something wrong with my mouth. It appears to have sprung a leak.

My days have been peppered with a variety of hisses lately.

“Shhhhhhh…Baby’s sleeping”

“Hisssssss, not in front of the children!!”

“Shuuushh! Do you need a time out?”

Of course, my years spent in the classroom afforded me lots of practice.

“Hisss! No talking!”

“SHhhh! You are speaking outta turn.”

“Shuuuuush! We are in the library!”

Hubby says I have two mouths, one for talking and one for…SHHH! The bloggers are listening.

All shushes are not the same.

* Machine Gun Shush- Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh-Sh- watch out! There’s a bullet in each syllable. Mama ain’t happy.

* Lullaby Shush- huuuuush… a kinder gentler shush, the place where all shushes are born; commonly echoed in maternity wards and baby nurseries.

* Librarian Shush- ssssssssshsssssshSHH!!- a long, continuous,snarling shush gaining in acceleration and followed by a sharp punctuation mark of a shush; translates to a firm warning, often precedes machine gun shush.

* Mommy Shush-ssssh-ssssh-sssssh-sssh-ssssh- a long series of rhythmic shushes, a reassuring hiss, An “Are you OK?” shush; usually accompanied by the patting of a back and smoothing of a toddler’s hair; often heard under playground equipment, bottom of stairwells and ends of long driveways.

* Daddy Shush-SSSHHH*T! – A firm, crisp shush, meant as a quick warning, it’s back end is blended with an expletive; often heard as a teeth clenched warning such as “Watch it!!...It’s gonna….SSSSHHH*T!”

* TSSSK-TSSSK-Tsssk- a cousin of Shhh. Translated to “No, no, not now.” Or “Don’t touch.” And occasionally meant to be an “Outta the way pronto” command.

* Shhhh should not be confused with the distant relative ssssssss, which is a crisis hiss, an ouch, breath holding inhalation hiss.

I am a talented husher. My knowledge and application of said hisses shouldn’t be underestimated. I am always ready to lend a hand at story time in the public library. I am equally available for crowd control at the bookstore. I am lots of fun at the movies. I am currently working on the ability to throw a hiss to the far side of a room without moving my lips (advanced hushing). It just might make me the fun one at parties.

Hiissss!

This is a re-post. It's Mamma Talk's year end review. I will be posting my favorite posts of 2009 this week. Feel free to join me. I'd love to read your favorite post!

Holiday Diva

This Holiday Spirit sure is a bossy one, isn’t she?

She storms in on Black Friday, demanding and shouting orders.

First, she does a number on your pocket book.

“Buy this. Buy that.”

Then, she has a thing or two to say about your home décor.

“More lights! More tinsel! More garland.…And, I don’t care if it’s your house, the electronic LED Santa is going over there!”

She monopolizes your social calendar.

“The office holiday party is this Friday, Breakfast with Santa is next Saturday….and don’t forget caroling with my mother tonight!!”

She prods you with guilt…

“You’re really going to just walk right past that Salvation Army guy?”

Takes over your kitchen…

“Out. I’m making Granny’s secret fruitcake recipe.”

Critiques your mood…..

“My, my….someone’s feeling a little Grinchy this morning!”

Piles on the homework…

“How are those Christmas cards coming?”

And, just when you’re ready to snap….Just when you’re about to wring her jolly, little neck….

She says the same thing…

“But, it’s Christmas!!”

Then, we nod our head in agreement, sob in our eggnog, and hop back on that holiday treadmill.

Sigh.

Don’t worry. Baby New Year is coming.

Hear he’s a real bundle of laughs.

New Year’s Resolutions, anyone?

An Affair to Remember...

What started out as a one man party has now turned into an army….

An army of single socks mingling in my bottom drawer commiserating in their loneliness.

I always keep them, you know.

If they don’t find their mate straight out of the dryer, I let them stick around.

I look them in the eye and tell them someday their prince will come. I promise them that if they go about their lives, chin up, there eventually will be a lover’s reunion.

“Don’t settle,” I remind them when I see one of them eyeing a less than desirable suitor.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” I lecture as I untangle a clingy polyester blend from a cotton athletic sock.

Other times, a different reminder is needed. “Let’s do try to stay within our own league,” I whisper to a worn out wooly who was whistling at a satiny hose.

I’ve always had a tender heart for the lovelorn. But, I do think things may have gotten out of hand.

It was a late Saturday night. Hubby and I had fallen asleep early watching a flick. I was lost in a dream about….ah, no matter.

Suddenly, I heard some rowdiness coming from the bottom drawer.

The closer I got, the louder it became.

I clearly could make out Disco music mixed with laughter and some….muffled groans?

I opened the drawer a crack and was horrified.

I don’t want to get into details, but let’s just say I have quite the wild crew residing in my bottom drawer.

Might be time to weed out the undesirables.

Anyone interested in a fishnet thigh hi?

She seems to be the root to this madness….been like a cat in heat since she’s lost her better half….