A Schmoopy Mother’s Day Post

Someday, when I’m old and senile, trying to remember if I’ve taken my fiber supplement and if today is pinochle day or bridge day, I hope I never forget these moments from Mother’s Day 2008, arranged birth-orderly by son:

Boy #1
The look of disappointment in your eyes as I walked in on you preparing breakfast in bed for me. We both knew that I’d spoiled the surprise but seemed to come to a silent agreement of “I know nothing!” as I yawned, stretched my arms, and loudly declared, “I’m still tired–I’m going back to bed!” The toast was more like warmed-up bread and the fact that I don’t like Raisin Bran wasn’t helped by the fact that it was Generic Raisin Bran–but still it was the sweetest breakfast I have ever had the pleasure of eating. I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I hadn’t taken my thyroid pill yet and I’m not supposed to eat for an hour after taking it–Neither protesting taste buds nor underactive thyroid would destroy #1’s moment to shine on Mother’s Day. No matter that you called me LAZY twice this week in a prepubescent haze of frustration. Today you are my little boy who just wanted to make Mommy happy. Mission accomplished.

Boy #2
Your adorable I’m-trying-not-to-smile pursed-lip half-smile as you handed me a paper sack and your husky voice said, “Happy Mother’s Day.” I didn’t have the heart to tell you that I’d already eaten breakfast, courtesy of #1, but fortunately the second course of breakfast consisted only of a Special K breakfast bar, a packet of tea, and a picture of me, with my beautiful red pouty lips and brown yarn hair, in bed. Next came two more cards, thanks to a thoughtful and creative kindergarten teacher, and then another card “because I wanted to give you one that I made at home,” this one expressing love the best way that a 6-year-old can: “I love you more than God.” Someday, sweet boy, we’ll discuss that you should really love God MORE than Mommy, but for today, I will take that as my biggest compliment to date.

Boy #3
The aura of independence that surrounded you as you sat on the floor, late in the afternoon, trying to play a game of solitaire Cootie. How you studied that game board, trying to decide what to do and the look of intrigue as you realized the countless combinations of Cootie parts! Then came “Play with me, Mommy!” and I knew there was nothing that I’d rather do with my baby-who’s-no-longer-a-baby on Mother’s Day.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, people, in some ways it was still business as usual: I washed a blanket my dog had peed on in his crate; scrubbed a stock pot with spaghetti from 2 days ago; cleaned up #3 after he announced at the playground, “I’m poopy!”; dug 2 pairs of shoes, 2 magazines, one of my freelance style manuals, and a baseball out from under the couch after #1 and #2 had surprised me by “cleaning” the living room; said, “Well, I don’t feel sorry for you because I told you guys to stop because someone was going to get hurt” at least 14 times; and yelled, “Why are there 5 Tootsie Pop wrappers on the floor?”

BUT, I also spent a beautiful hour watching my three boys at the playground help one another climb up rock walls, race across “river stones” and play a retro game of hide-and-seek. And not one yell, one cry of, “Mom–he hit me!” or “It’s not fair–he won’t let me play!” Not one it’s-so-hard-to-be-the-youngest scream of frustration. Just a blue sky and a good day for being brothers. And a GREAT day for being the mother of brothers.

Thanks, boys, for a laid-back, around-the-house, remember-why-it’s-good-to-be-a-mommy Mother’s Day. From the words of #3: “I love you all the days.”

KREATIV Licensing Gone Wrong…So, So Wrong…

Husband needed a haircut. BAD. He usually goes to a place in the mall, but of course, I had to open my mouth and suggest he go to someplace cheap in town this weekend. How hard can it be to cut a guy’s hair? I thought. Yeah. I was looking forward to seeing him walk in the door because I was really getting tired of the fuzz growing down his neck in the back–plus he usually looks super-cute with a fresh, short cut! USUALLY, being the operative word. No offense to Husband because I love him very much and think he is perpetually sexy, but DAMN, he got screwed. I’m pretty sure the haircut involved placing a bowl on top of his head. Picture this guy, but minus the mullet in the back.
(To the poor guy whose picture I just stole off Google images to exploit for my own (and your) entertainment, I apologize! My only hope is that this was you back in ’88 and that you are now a super hot underwear model and are able to look back on this photo and laugh.)

I asked Husband why he didn’t ask his stylist to take off more in the front. He said, “I did. You should’ve seen it before.” *shudder* Husband said he thinks he got a Cost Cutters trainee, although she must’ve been in her second or third career because she was at least 65. He also said he knew it wasn’t going to be pretty when she kept dropping the scissors and dug the comb so hard into his scalp that it left marks. “Well,” I said, looking for the silver lining in this badly coifed cloud, “at least it didn’t cost too much.” Then Husband revealed that he’d had to pay $16 for his new Amish boy look! What? When did Crap Cutters suddenly get so high-falootin’? Who do they think they are–Fantastic Sam’s?

All this got me to thinking about a topic that’s been kind of a hobby of mine–collecting bad hair salon names. Why the interest? Who knows. I’m sure it started with a bottle of wine and a copy of the Yellow Pages, but at some point I began to notice just how bad the names of the majority of “beauty parlors” (for my readers over the age of 60) are. I’m talking horrible, horrible puns. Puns that should be illegal, or at least should carry a heavy fine. And then there are the misspellings. I’m assuming they’re on purpose, the salon owners taking pride in their creative licensing with the English language, but it’s hard to tell. I’ve compiled a short list of my favorites, categorized for your reading convenience. This list is by no means exhaustive. I anticipate that it will take me the duration of my life to explore all of the gems that exist across the nation. But enjoy this taste of What-Not-to-Name-Your-Salon 101…

Category 1: Puns using the word “cut,” “hair,” “shear,” or “head”
A Cut A-Head
A Hair Bit Better
A Shear Inspiration
Hair A Fair
Hair A-Peal
Hair Daze (Where you get a contact high while getting a trim…)
Hair it IZ (Wow–A clever take on the words “hair” and “here” AND a creative spelling of “is” AND all caps…I don’t know how they do it…)
Hair Port (I get it! It’s like the “airport” only a “hair port”…but no one’s flying or anything…)

Category 2: Spelling “cut” with a “k” or “cuts” with a “z” (Why?? Why??)
Cilla’s Sassy Kuts (I personally like my cut a little sassy!)
Craig’s Kurl-N-Post
Creative CUTZ (I especially like the ALL CAPS)
Crystal Kut-Away
Hair Kraze (Because “Hair Craze” would just be krazy!)
Kasual Kut Barber & Style
Kathy’s Kut & Kurl (Klever!)
KLIP Joint (Sounds like either something you smoke or part of an assault rifle)

Category 3: Never name your salon while drinking
Alley Cut
Angi’s Scissor Shack
2 Pretty Beauty Salon
4 Brothaz & A Sista Barba Salon (No, I did not make this up.)
A Great Cut (Say “Welcome to A Great Cut” in a monotone)
Aqua-Net Beauty Salon (Hmm…naming your salon after our favorite ’80s hair cement…I’m pretty sure I’d come out of there with my teased bangs reaching for the ceiling.)
Carla’s Chop Shop (Free side of pork with every cut.)
Connie’s Beauty Box (Seriously, doesn’t it seem like every hairstylist is named Connie?)
Cow World Hair Salon (Need I say more?)
Hair Arrangement by Norman (What exactly is “hair arrangement”?)
Hair Clinic (Is this the trauma clinic for bad haircuts?)
Hair Corral (Seriously, why the rampant use of “corral” when referring to salons???)
Hair Hut (Ditto for “hut”)
Hair Shack (Ditto for “shack”. You can’t have much pride in your place of business when you refer to it as a “shack,” can you???)
Hair Explosion (Wow. That’s gotta hurt.)
Hair Pen (As in a pigpen or a writing instrument?? So many layers!)

Category 4: Names that are trying waaaay too hard
Alpha & Omega of the Haircut (I’m not sure I think a haircut is worthy of being compared to our Divine Creator…)
Anointed Hands Beauty and Barber (Unless Jesus is giving haircuts, I’d rethink the name)
Annointed Hair (Okay–now I need to add a category: Names dripping in blasphemy!)
Cortex Layer (Sounds like something you’d learn about in anatomy class. “The cortex layer surrounds the brain…” Seriously, maybe it IS really a part of the body…I’ll have to google that.)

I guess part of my fascination stems from my curiosity of…why salons? Why don’t other establishments practice this name-slaughtering ritual? Why not banks? Who wouldn’t want to trust their life savings to The Money Hut or DOLLARZ R Us?

Until next time, dear readerz, stay KOOL…

Multi-Tasking Ain’t for Sissies!

In case you’re wondering, it’s REALLY easy to try to be clever and creative with my 3-year-old in the room. So seriously, abandon all high expectations for this post now. I think it will be best for everyone that way.

Let me just pull you into my world for a few minutes…

[Picture me sitting in my living room with my laptop and monitor I like to refer to as the “conjoined twins.” I’m reading emails and checking out a few other blogs for inspiration as I try to get the creative juices flowing. Boy #3 is playing castle in the room, which really just means he puts a knight, ogre, or even a penguin–no matter–on top of the castle and then knocks it off. Again. And again. All while making “grr” and “roooarrrppphhh” noises.]

Boy #3: Mom, what comes after tres?
Me: Cuatro.
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after cuatro?
Me: Cinco.
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after cinco?
Me: Seis.
Boy #3: Mom, what comes after seis?

I’m sure you can guess the rest…This continued for awhile, with me attempting to read, type, and speak bilingually simultaneously.

Boy #3: What’s “ret”?
Me: What?
Boy #3: What’s ret?
Me: Wet?
Boy #3: No. RET!
Me: Red?
Boy #3: No–ret!
Me: Honey, I don’t know what you’re saying.
Boy #3: Ret!
Me: Ret?
Boy #3: Yes–ret!
Me: Nothing.
Boy #3: Oh.

Seriously, what was that about? I swear he does this on purpose. I mean, he can speak two languages, for crying out loud–you can’t tell me he doesn’t know that “ret” isn’t a word! And of course I get no contextual explanation for this two-minute exchange.

Me: *sigh* Okay, Mommy’s going to get a couple things done, okay?
Boy #3: Okay.

[3-second pause]

Boy #3: MOOOMMMMY, GET ME SOME CHOCOLATE MILK, I SAID! NOW!
Me: Excuse me, you don’t talk to Mommy like that. I’ll get you some milk in a minute.
Boy #3: NO, NOW!!! I SAID I WANT IT NOW!!!

Now this is where a GOOD mom would tell you that she calmly waited out the crying, whining, and screaming to teach him that he was not the boss and didn’t get to make demands to Mommy…You can go ahead and guess what my response was…So after enjoying the 30 seconds of silence that occurred while he drank his chocolate milk, (well, if you don’t count that sound of Barney and his troupe of annoying, overexaggerated kids singing on the TV), I was startled from my creative trance by the sound of cereal spilling and rolling all over the floor.

Boy #3: Mommy, I spilled a “wittle bit of Weeseth Puffth on the fwoor!”

At that moment, I had a flashback of yesterday, when I came home from work to find Boy #3 standing in a manmade mountain of Special K Fruit & Yogurt (MY cereal, of course).

Me: Okay. I’ll clean it up in a minute.

Boy #3: (Having returned to his castle) Mom, this monkey doesn’t have a tail! MONKEYS ARE SUPPOSED TO HAVE TAILS!
Me: (Type. Type. Type.)

Boy #3: Mom, are you having a baby?

This I could not ignore.

Me: No, I’m not.
Boy #3: Then why did you get fat?
Me: I don’t know, honey. I guess I thought it would be fun.
Boy #3: Oh.

(pause)

Boy #3: I wuv you, Mom.

Me: I love you too.

Givin’ the Hoagie Some Love

Happy Hoagie Day! I hope you all had a day jam-packed with hoagierific fun! What? I’m the ONLY one who knew that today was National Hoagie Day? You’ve got to be kidding me! At our house, this ranks right up there with Christmas and National Hairball Awareness Day (April 29 if you’re wondering). I mean, if any sandwich deserves to be celebrated nationwide, it’s the hoagie! C’mon, people, can you stop being so selfish–worrying about the collapsing economy and the escalating death toll in Iraq–and just think of the hoagie for a day? Geesh!

Seriously, though, just who gets to decide “I think I’m going to create a national holiday today”?!? Obviously, anyone with an IQ of at least 30 and a buck in their pocket can. I mean, do we REALLY need a whole day to pay homage to the hoagie? Is it really THAT important? If declaring a national holiday is as easy as it appears to be, I’m announcing right here on this blog that beginning in 2009, I would like to add the following holidays to the calendar.

National Poop Your Pants Day–Actually, my family likes to celebrate this holiday at least every other day. Boy #3 is especially fond of it. And he is soooo generous, he makes sure I don’t miss out on any of the fun. I have a feeling we will continue with the festivities well into the summer–and possibly through middle school at this rate. One can only dream…

National Throw Your Banana Peels on the Floor Day–This seems to be a popular one also around these parts. This holiday can get out of hand quickly, though, and then it can get downright ugly. Case in point: Last week I was gently awakened by the sound of Husband rolling down the last half of the stairs. Culprit? You guessed it–a banana peel. How cliche is that? (I’m pretty sure I saw the exact same thing happen on Tom & Jerry once. Except it ended with Jerry skinning Tom alive and using him as an afghan. Aah, the days of non-violent cartoons!)

National Take Your Cans and Bottles to the Redemption Center Day–You guys JUST missed this holiday. We celebrated on Saturday when we made the first attempt at clearing the jungle of junk that has been growing in our garage by taking back, I swear, 8 1/2 months worth of cans and bottles. For this holiday, I like to give myself a name reminiscent of our Native American ancestors–She-Who-Has-No-Shame. Picture this: My Chrysler Town & Country filled floor to ceiling, front to back, with Coke cans (I already told you once, NO, not Diet!) and an assortment of imported and fancy-pants beer bottles because Husband is apparently too good for Schlitz. I am praying the entire way to the redemption center because I have a vague recollection that it closes at 3:00 on Saturdays, and it is 3:14, and I would rather just leave my van for dead somewhere than drag all of those cans and bottles back into my garage. I think I experienced “giddy” for the first time in my life when I pulled in and saw that it was open until 4! Next came what I like to call “Honyock Aerobics.” This is when you make the 56 trips from your van, up the steps, and into the redemption center to bring in your empties. I just felt so open and vulnerable–I wanted to tell those standing around waiting (because OF COURSE there was a crowd that day), “Yeah, that was one HELLUVA party!” I did tip the poor little Mexican man who had to count all of my cans and bottles. Although he didn’t speak much English, we still managed to communicate as he handed me my $38 (I’m not kidding) and said, “Mucho dinero!” I didn’t know whether to say, “Thank you” or “I’m sorry,” so I just handed him $3, put my tail between my legs, and left. But not before I saw one of my 6-year-old students from AWANA staring at me and the mound of Guinness and Sam Adams behind me. Do I have “role model” written all over my face or what?

National Ignore All Other Responsibilities and Just Blog Day–I seemed to have stumbled upon this holiday last week when I started writing this blog…and it appears this one may last a while, as evidenced from my lack of sleep, Husband just sighing in bed because the light from the monitor and the clicking of the keys is keeping him awake, and the amalgamation of clean and dirty clothes that are now serving as a sort of multicolored rug that takes up my entire bedroom.

Before I eat my midnight snack (a hoagie–what else?) and hit the proverbial hay, I have to give a quick shout out to Husband’s friend Michael. It seems that Michael is under the impression that I’m a real writer and said he wanted a post written about him. Like that’s some sort of prize or honor. So I would like to humor him for humoring me by adding a national holiday for Michael: National Jerry Garcia Tie Day. Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how many Jerry Garcia ties he has in his closet. I don’t think I even knew Jerry Garcia designed ties until I met Michael. And we won’t EVEN go into his Hallmark ornament collection…

And since it’s officially May 6 now, I’ll sign off with more holiday well-wishes. Let’s see…May 6…Ooh, ooh! Happy No Diet Day! I ROCK at this one! Have some Ho-Ho’s and Funyuns on me!

I don’t know why they call it Hamburger Helper. It tastes just fine by itself!


Good crack-ass-of-dawn morning to you! Yes, it’s Sunday morning, and I’ve been up since 4:54. I’d like to say that it was because I wanted to get in a 5-mile run before dawn or meditate and write in my gratitude journal, but no, it’s because my dog is trying to kill me. Really. The barking–the incessant barking!–it’s all a plot to push an already mentally fragile woman over the edge once and for all. Somehow Teddy has discovered a frequency that only a woman can hear! That’s got to be it, because every night it’s the same thing.

Teddy: Bark! Bark! Bark bark bark bark bark! barrooooARK! Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark!

Me: (putting the pillow over my head) Okay, I just let him out an hour ago. Maybe he’ll stop barking if I just ignore him.

Teddy: Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark! Bark!

Me: (elbowing Husband in the back) Someone else has GOT to hear this. There is no way I’m the only one who’s hearing this. Maybe if I just lay still, someone else will get up and let him out…

Teddy: AaarooooooOOOOOO! Bark! Bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark bark!

It’s got to be a hormone thing. Testosterone must somehow filter the noise. That’s the only way to explain how the same four males can sleep through that racket every…single…night.

So I’m up! Might as well take advantage of it and surf the net without three kids hovering over me asking me when they can play World of Warcraft. Yes, my three-year-old even has a character on WOW. I’m pretty sure he’s the youngest geek on the Internet. I’m not proud.)

In an effort to bring you enlightening and entertaining content, I’ve been stumbling upon other people’s blogs to see what they’re writing about (or to plagiarize from them, either one). Okay, so I just hit this button to randomly find a blog, and seriously, every other one has to do with FOOD! I had no idea that so many people were completely obsessed with food. And not just eating it and writing about it, but taking pictures of it! They must live a completely different life than I, because I can’t imagine ANYONE wanting to read about my culinary experiences! Here are just a few to check out if you’d like to feel really inadequate:

Cupcakes take the cake—This one is all about, you guessed it, cupcakes! All cupcakes, all the time. Who knew there was so much to discuss about cupcakes? The only thing I can think of to debate is whether the multi-colored paper liners or the silver foil liners are best…

Cupcake bake shop by chockylit—What?! Another blog about cupcakes? I must’ve been living under a rock, but I had no idea cupcakes were so hip and complex! Reading the latest post, I don’t think this chick and I could be friends. The recipe is for “chocolate cupcakes stuffed with strawberry chocolate ganache and frosted with chocolate glaze and buttercream” and the entry says, “This one was for a 2 year old’s birthday party.” Excuse me? This is what you serve at your 2 year old’s party? I thought everybody just went to Wal-Mart like I do and bought Blue’s Clues cupcakes with frosting that stains the kids’ teeth. Isn’t that a rite of passage?

Although I do love my cheese, I don’t think I’d really have THAT much to say about it, but apparently someone does—hence Serious Cheese. I wonder what they think about Velveeta…Okay, I just saw a label called “homemade cheese” and had to check it out. Yeah, we soooo do not live in the same world. Here’s what they say: “But one thing this cheese does have going for it is simplicity. Heat milk to temperature, add culture and rennet, mix well, and leave it until tomorrow. Can’t really get much easier.” Can’t it?? Oh, I beg to differ. I’m pretty sure that throwing a package of Kraft cheese slices into your cart is MUCH easier. I mean, seriously. Where does one even find “culture” and “rennet”? I’m fairly certain I’ve never run across them at my local Fareway store …

Let’s get wokking! is a blog written by a stay-at-home mom who cooks all this food for her family. Wow, do I feel like a loser after reading this one. I don’t stay home, but even if I did, I don’t think I’d ever whip this up for my boys:

Were I to have a food blog, this is pretty much what it would look like every day. All you foodies out there–enjoy!

Aah, another recipe for my fellow gourmet cuisine lovers. This one was not only a treat for the palate, but it also cooperated with our fine dining budget…It was inspired by a leisurely trip to the local market. Armed with my environmentally friendly canvas bag (because it’s very convenient to bring 37 of these bags with me to the store each week), I began scouting out the perfect ingredients for a memorable meal. I was starting to perspire, thinking that maybe I had lost my culinary touch, when I spotted it. Aisle 3. Right between the macaroni & cheese and rice–the answer to my prayers. Hamburger Helper. On sale for 10/$10 (or 1 for $1 for those you who don’t want to do the math). But which to choose? There were so many varieties–all colors, flavors, and sodium quantities. I scanned, squeezed, and smelled. I held them up to the light. I tapped on the boxes to see which were freshest. I even opened a few boxes and sampled a bit when no one was looking. And then I made my choice. Cheesy Hashbrowns (Naturally Flavored). Each serving providing 21% of your daily sodium and 30% of your daily fat. What could be better? I think I may send this recipe to Rachel Ray…

Oh, the buzzing—the infernal buzzing!

First of all, I have to apologize to my loyal readers who noticed that an April 30 post was mysteriously missing. The truth is, coming up with blog ideas for TWO WHOLE DAYS IN A ROW just wore me out and I was in bed by 9:30. I did get up early this morning, however, to add a post because I knew your whole day would’ve been thrown into a funk if you didn’t get to start your morning with my little morsels of bloggy goodness. 🙂

At the moment I’m trying hard to channel some creative energy, but I’m finding it difficult because of this annoying techno-buzz coming from my 1-month-old 19″ flat-screen acer monitor. I was sitting here enjoying the quiet that only happens when all of the planets align and my children are all sleeping (in their own beds), my cockatiel is not staring at a bone-dry water cup, and my dog has finally passed out from the exhaustion of endless barking, when—no surprise here—something in my house has to break that undeserved silence. This time it was the monitor. I’m pretty sure the poltergeists are trying to talk to me through the screen.

You might wonder why a monitor that I’ve had for only one month is torturing me with the buzz of despair. Ah, yes, let’s explore that question. It seems that I have some sort of computer curse. Shall we take a stroll down memory lane?

It all started with Laptop #1. A smart and sexy MacBook Pro with a 15-inch screen and a finger pad to die for. Sadly, he met his demise when Husband “accidentally” dropped him all the way down the stairs. Onto the hardwood floor. I suspect he was becoming jealous of the way I stroked his keys and let him sit on my lap.

Laptop #2 isn’t nearly as glamorous as #1, but I couldn’t resist a cheap thrill. Although I believe this Lenovo has taught me, if anything, that you get what you pay for. Despite the fact that he’s terribly awkward with horrible social skills, he still didn’t deserve to be disfigured as he was. First came a near-drowning when Husband spilled a glass of beer all over him, rendering his keys useless. Fortunately, however, the Lenovo customer service rep either didn’t understand or just didn’t care and sent me a new keyboard free of charge. (I’m pretty sure that “bathing in beer” is not covered by the limited warranty!) This bliss was short-lived, though: Boy #3 had discovered the joy of torture. He started picking off the keys, sometimes dragging out the torture, and other times ripping off 3 or 4 letters or punctuation marks as quickly as you’d rip off a Band-Aid. Now all that’s left are F2–F12, 2, 3, 4, 6, and U. Doesn’t leave much left to work with. I can write “2 4 U” (“two for you”) or “U2” (“you too” or Bono), but that’s about the extent of my literary capacity. Fortunately, though, we did splurge for a prosthetic device for #2. Although he can’t really get around like he used to since the external keyboard ties him down, at least we can communicate again.

Enter Laptop #3—a newer version of #1, but this time with a shiny, glossy screen and some upgraded features. She turned a year old in February (yes, this one’s a “she”), and she’s been everything I’ve ever wanted in a laptop. We spent many hours together at the local coffee shop writing show-stopping life insurance copy and dreaming about the future. Then came the horrible accident. Another fall, but this time at the hands of Boy #2. I can still hear the heartbreaking sound of metal on wood followed by the word no mom wants to hear uttered: “Whoops!” I rushed her to the Genius Bar at the Apple Store. Diagnosis? Broken screen. Cost? $1100. Response? Buy separate monitor instead for $150 and join the two like Siamese twins. Is this convenient? No. Doesn’t this union create a dangerous intertwining of cords and connectors? Yes. But up until last weekend this was bearable. That was when, as curse would have it, Dog decided that no computer or computer accessory under this roof should go unpunished, and he proceeded to jump on the table while he was trying to kill my mother-in-law because she wouldn’t let him gorge himself on garbage (which is a whole separate story that I’m too emotionally exhausted to go into) and KNOCK THE MONITOR–you guessed it!–onto the hardwood floor. Long story short (or short story long): I’m pretty sure that’s why my monitor is now buzzing.

Sorry, but I can’t listen to this anymore or I’m going to go “tell-tale-heart-Poe” on everyone. I’m going to bed.

Happy @&?%#ing May Day!


Oh, crap. It’s May Day. Does anyone else think that this holiday was created just to make us frazzled moms feel even guiltier? It happens every year. It’s not that I don’t realize that May 1st comes after April 30; I just always seem to have other things on my mind and it’s not until I come home and find our porch filled with beautifully bedazzled May baskets overflowing with popcorn, candy, and flowers that I give May Day any thought. Then it’s straight to my cupboard to see what I can scrounge up to appease the guilt gods. Let’s see…If you find a sytrofoam cup (YES, I care about the environment, but they’re cheap!) filled with the following items, you’ll know it’s from us:
dried beans
chili powder
stale Peeps left over from Easter
taco seasoning
Canine Carryouts (Beef flavored!)
a slightly bruised apple

Ding-Dong! “Oh, kids, we got a May Basket…I think…”