Monday, May 24, 2010

the mayor of crazy town attends a funeral for a sock

living in our house we have 2 grown ups - mom and husband, 3 children - #1, #2, #3, 1 dog - beagle, and 2 gerbils - squiqqy and ziggy. we also call them honey and the black one, or honey and the one that bites, or lenny and squiggy, or rex and the other one.  i actually don't really care what they are called. they are stinky, and they tend to bite.  it is kind of fun to watch them nibble on their sunflower seeds at night, but i could probably watch that on youtube for free and never have to clean the gerbil cage again.

we once had an afternoon when we had nothing to do. no baseball, no mommy working, no soccer. wow. sounds nice, right? wrong. we cannot be left home alone with nothing to do. something bad usually happens. on this particular nothing-to-do day, i sent #1 upstairs for a timeout 5 minutes after we got home from school. he returns immediately and he is panic stricken.

 mom, honey is dead, and the black one killed him!

oh, no, #1, i'm sure he's fine. the black one would never kill honey.

upon investigation, i find the black one eating honey. literally. i keep trying to get the very excited kids out of the room. #1 is crying, #2 is screaming, and #3 is yelling something about cowboy boots and underwear day.

i secure the scene and prepare to dispose of the body. i have in my possession a large black trash bag, rubber gloves and a bottle of mean green.  in the middle of removing the body (read - emptying the cage contents into the trash bag, body and all), #1 enters the room. 

are you just going ... to ... throw ... honey ... away...? ... ! ... ?

(actually, that was my plan, but, he'll never know.)

of course, not #1.  i was just holing him there until you got here.

we need to bury him.


yes, sniff, sniff, we should call a craftsman and have him deliver a special metal box to bury honey in.

while i would love to track down a craftsman and get honey a very nice metal box, i'm afraid that is going to be impossible because all of the good craftsman are finished working by 330, and it's after 4.

wwwwaaaahhhhhhhhh ....... sniff sniff sniff

how about if we find a special cloth to wrap him in for his funeral?  maybe like this very special bandanna?

oh, mom, that would be perfect! honey loved red.

now i remove honey from the trash can and very ceremoniously wrap him in the sacred red bandanna while #1 is silently praying. he wants to be a priest, you know, but only if he doesn't have to shave his head.  after en robing the body, i let #1 hold it, then i quickly shoo him from the room while i clean up. in case you don't know, i do not run a pet cemetery here.  and i'm not about to start today.  so, i quickly put honey back in the trash and wrapped something else in the bandanna.  then i put it away up high so no one would get into it before the funeral and accidentally discover the truth. now it's time ...

the back door opens and closes and small feet come walking in. it's #3.

mom, i'm done pooping.

huh? weren't you just outside?

yep. come wipe me.

ok. what's going on? (he is naked from the waist down except for his flip flops.)

i pooped outside just like we do at the farm.

we're not at the farm. at home we poop inside, in the toilet.


gross. who's going to clean up that mess?  (he puts his hand on my arm and gives my that i know you rode the short bus here, old lady, patronizing look.)

don't worry about that mom. beagle already ate all my poop.

enter husband. now were all here and we can proceed with the funeral. mom, husband, a keening #1, #2 who couldn't really care less, pants less #3, and poop-eating beagle.  husband digs hole and gently places bandanna in the bottom.  then he plays the newly downloaded taps on his iphone while #1 tosses shovels of dirt over honey. 

when questioned later that night by husband about what would happen when beagle dug up honey, i answered that we had just had a funeral for a sock. that's right. the old switcheroo.

fast forward to the next morning. #1 wakes up first and beagle wakes up. we tell #1 to let beagle outside, and he refuses. he is anxious that beagle will disturb honey's grave. husband is sure to explain that if she does, she will surely eat the body, so there will be no sense in searching for it. ever.

Friday, March 12, 2010

... and now i need new rubber gloves

warning: if you have a weak stomach, turn around now. do not pass go. do not collect $200. just run far, far away.  if you are a mother disregard the warning. you will be just fine.

yesterday, #3 had a great time smashing all the bugs in the bathroom. ants. thank you to whomever donated the blowpop stick covered in gum to the bathroom trash can. i strategically positon ant traps and remove trash.

today, more ants. awesome. #1 reports that they are coming out of the holes in the wall drilled by the bug man. holes were drilled to apply any powder to inside of walls.  maybe he just drilled holes and inserted blowpops to draw all the ants from the neighbors house into mine. they probably pay better.

also today, i was the lucky winner in the 'who gets to empty the trash smasher that we have been filling with trash for a week without a bag in it' contest. yumm-o.

that kind of grossness is for amateurs.

the supreme almighty disgustingness started innocently enough. i heard small feet head for the bathroom. (yes the one with the ants. that's how we learned where they are coming from.)  after several minutes of silence, i began to worry. "are you ok?" um, yeah. "no, really. what's wrong?" um, nothing.

oh shit.

no shit.

holy shit.

did i mention there was shit?

picture in your head a small child around the age of 8 half naked holding a plunger in his hand with a look of complete shock on his face. 

what ... are ... you ... doing?

i need some help.

with what?

getting all of this to go in that hole.

he has poo on his feet, knees, cheeks (upper and lower), abdomen, hands, fingers, wrists, and the back of his elbow!

you do not use a plunger to jam the stuff in the hole.

oops. sorry.

then he had the gall to be mad at me when i threw his calvin klein under away.

i told him that if he wanted to save his underwear, he could scrub the manure out because i was not going to do it.

needless to say, the toilet is still not working and now i need new rubber gloves.

just think of this as a free birth control update.

Friday, February 26, 2010

it's the blue one

i am usually late. this has led me into many incidents.

one day i was getting ready for work and was very short on time.  i had recently run out of the product i use to make my hair so spectacular. i asked husband if he had any gel or anything.  "yes, in my drawer. it's the blue one."

i reach into the drawer and remove said blue one, dispense product into my hand and apply to my hair.

it is indeed the blue one. 

this is not standard hair gel with a blue tint.  it is i'm-trying-to-win-a-free-trip-to-the-superbowl-in-a-craziest-nfl-fan-because-i'm-such-a-huge-indianapolis-colts-fan-mohawk blue.

and it's not hair gel. it's hair glue.


"why didn't you tell me this was blue?!?"

"i said it was the blue one."

i needed to be at work 3 minutes ago.


i need to be at work 3 minutes ago.

i was saving that

the night before last, husband ws folding a load of laundry, and found something red.

and kind of crusty.

in the pocket of #1's school uniform pants.  what could it be?

it was also on some jeans, a few tshirts, socks, and a favorite sweatshirt.  all mine, of course.

the next morning, husband asks #1 "we found something red in your pants pocket last night. do you know what it could be?"  he shows #1 the newly decorated pants pocket.  "I have no idea. maybe that red crayon i was saving."

"well, it melted and got all over the clothes and some things got ruined." anything of mine? "no, just your mom's."  oh, good!

Thursday, February 25, 2010

we want more!

i know, i know.

i have a million more stories and will try to post regularly.  no promises, though.

in the near future, i will share some favorites, including "the drivers license", "the invitations", "it's the blue one", and others.

if i caused an incident for you, let me know and i'll write it up.

the poop deck

when i was a little girl, my dad called me calamity jane.  something was always going wrong.  well, i'll be 35 in may and my dad is no longer here, and everyday there is still 'an incident'.  sometimes more than one. 

i noticed it  few years ago.  my now 8 year old, aka #1, was potty training, and he simply could not be left unsupervised in the bathroom.  there were many days i ended up elbow deep in s**t crying on the bathroom floor wondering 'how did this happen?'  another one of his favorite tricks was to redecorate with a sharpie marker.  yes, this did happen more than once, and i think he passed this talent to his brothers.  husband insists that we will not purchase new furniture until we are 100% sure that all three boys are out of the sharpie phase.  not looking good since #3 just wrote on the couch two weeks ago with a dry erase marker.

my friend jj asked me the other day if i ever make it through a day with out an incident.  no.  now i am journaling them because some of my days are pretty outrageous.  as an example ... this morning i let beagle out at 645 am.  she began barking and howling like a complete fool.  it was 25* out.  i donned shoes and a coat and proceded to investigate.  she had chased the opossum back under the shed and wanted everyone to know. she would not come out.

i left to deliver #1, #2, and #3 to school and husband promised to return beagle to her kennel.  when i returned home, i received a phone call ..."are you home yet?" yes. "did you let beagle out of her kennel?" no. why? "she's filthy and needs a bath." great.

then i go to release the hound, and she's clean. woohoo.

not so fast.

#2 & #3 are outside playing when #2 reports that beagle has pooped on the deck (aka the racetrack) and she is eating her own vomit in the backyard.


i call beagle and realize that she is now covered head to to in mud as she has been protecting the shed again.  then i turn and see that she has also vomited in her kennel ... and it's full of sequins? what the hell did she eat?

i board up hole between fence and shed to prevent further muddiness, scrub poop off deck, wash dog, clean up sparkle puke mess.

man, i am livin' the life.