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…”

More than you ever wanted to know about the recorder

Wow–Day 2 as an “official blogger.” I never thought I’d make it this far! No, seriously, I didn’t really think past Day 1, which is why I have been frantically searching the Interweb for something to write about. I can’t bear the thought of letting down my 5 readers! I’ve come across blogs, some interesting, some inane, which I will save for another day. (I’ve really got you hooked now, huh?) Tonight, however, I will subject you to some disorganized thoughts sparked by everyone’s favorite $3 instrument.

This evening I had the pleasure of attending a music concert. What concert, you might ask? Billy Joel? Bon Jovi? Better. I had 4th row seats to watch my son and his fourth grade colleagues rock the house via …the plastic recorder. It was actually a really good concert, and I have to think that God created very special people to be elementary music teachers. The thought of being shut up in a classroom with 27 ten-year-olds armed with recorders makes me want to jump out of a window! Anyway, the concert got me to thinking, is there a future in recorder-playing? I mean, kids spend a year of their lives with these instruments and then just toss them aside the following year when the “real” instruments come into the picture. It’s like, “Hey, Recorder, thanks for breaking Joey in. I couldn’t take all that squeaking and squawking like you can, man. But now that he’s gotten it out of his system, I’ll take it from here.” And Joey lets his three-year-old brother slobber all over the poor selfless recorder as he gets lured away by a trampy trombone with a guilty smile. Where was I going with this?? Oh, right. So anyway, I got to thinking about the recorder and if anyone actually plays this instrument past the age of 10, and I have to say that I was blown away! (Pun intended.) Apparently there are organizations (such as the American Recorder Society) all over the WORLD devoted to people who enjoy playing the recorder for fun! And there are actually professional “recorderists” who, I guess, get paid to play the recorder?! Who knew? Apparently Pete Rose did, as this must have been his back-up career after getting kicked out of baseball. Obviously, parents aren’t buying this $106 recorder so their kids can run around the house with it playing “Hot Cross Buns” either. I just wonder, though, what makes people rediscover the recorder after it’s been lost in the bottom of the toybox for all those years…No matter. After discovering 61 regional organizations on Google Directory dedicated to the recorder and only 7 dedicated to the trombone, I’d say that the recorder has the last laugh.

Hello?? Is anybody there??

Ahem. (*cough*) Is this thing on? (*crickets chirping*) Okay…uh…Hi. Welcome to my first blog entry. If you’ve stumbled upon this blog by mistake, well, I’m sorry. And if you actually meant to read this, I just have to say—Seriously?! You’re reading this on purpose? I’m not sure whether to be flattered or frightened!

It’s 10:30 on a Monday night and I’m sitting at a kitchen table filled with an eclectic mix of the following: an empty Coke can (NO, I don’t mean Diet!), a bottle of Ozark white distilled vinegar, summer camp forms, a can of PerfectDuster air, a nearly gone bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal (I meant to say, ALL BRAN, of course), a hand-written list of the gems I need to collect to complete my Webkinz Crown of Wonder, 6 pretzel sticks, and a bottle of Tobasco sauce. If that’s not a conducive environment for producing an inaugural blog entry, I don’t know what is!

Why start a blog, you may ask? Well, the first reason is because every time I tell my mom a story about my day, which usually involves me being really embarrassed about something one of my boys said or did, she tells me, “You need to put that in your book!” After hearing that now for at least three years, I am convinced that she thinks I really do HAVE a book, and at this point I’m not sure how to break it to her that I don’t. I figure having a blog is the next-best thing to having a book (plus, I don’t really need a story, an agent, or talent), and I think I can retrain her fairly easily to say instead, “You need to put that in your blog!”

The second reason for starting a blog was because I had recently been looking for freelance writing jobs, and I was starting to feel like a big loser because I didn’t have “blog-writing experience,” which was required on nearly every posting! So, yes, I’m basically using you to beef up my resume. I have no shame.

Well, I guess that’s that. If you’re still with me and your eyes haven’t yet burned from reading such drivel, thanks for humoring me! It’s after midnight, and this chick’s gotta go to bed (I mean, I’ve got to go check out that new dance club downtown!)…aw, who am I kidding? No matter how hard I try, I will never live up to my idol’s standards. Britney’s set the “mom” bar WAY too high. (*sigh*)

# Contact info submission
url: boogersandburps.com
site_owner: Paula Reece
address1: 4102 SW Bluegrass Drive
city: Ankeny
state: IA
country: USA
postal_code: 50023
phone_number: 5153148203
display_email: paulareece@msn.com
site_name: Boogers and Burps
site_description: Where one mom finds herself in a life filled with boogers, burps, and all things boy.