Tonight was the "fun" night to end a week of Vacation Bible School.
The Howler loves VBS. She likes the kids. She likes the singing. She likes learning the verses. She likes the games. She likes the themes. She loves her some VBS.
This one was particularly spectacular for her, as her age group was made up of about a dozen other girls from her school.
We were there, on time, for the program. It was cute, but, as mostly these kinds of things are, it was also an exercise in tedium. Thank God it only lasted about 20 minutes.
Our story tonight, though, features the getting ready to go part of the "fun."
The Howler decided she MUST wear jeans. She needs pockets. She must have pockets. Luckily, most of her jeans are actually denim capris (gotta love the waist to leg ratio she's got) and she needed a belt. Now, she has belts, but they don't go 'round her. I don't know why. I buy them only after putting it on her, and yet, by the time she wears it, it doesn't fit. (I'm tempted to just go to the Goodwill and buy some old ties. Seriously.) I loan her my tie belt (it's an actual belt, made to look like a tie) and as I get the belt on her, I notice a puffy pocket. I check the pocket.
Apparently, she believed she'd have an intense need for dental floss during the program.
I just don't get how her mind works sometimes.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Just a Thought
While walking through the mall with the Howler tonight, she pointed to a window display of clothing and said, "Hey, Mommy, do you think you'd look pretty in that if, you know, you were skinnier and ..... uh...."
"Younger?"
"Yeah. That."
I laughed the rest of the way through the mall.
"Younger?"
"Yeah. That."
I laughed the rest of the way through the mall.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
More OPK Ranting
So, last weekend, we finally had it out over the OPK.
The Howler, yet again, invited upteen children to eat at Mumple's Restaurant. (Never mind that there's no such place.) And, of course, Dolly, yet again, decided that since she couldn't choose what I'd be serving, she wasn't going to eat. She promptly disappeared, until serving time.
During the course of the previous two days, Dolly and Waif were a-coming and a-going through my doors much like the fabled Grand Central Station. I was livid, to put it mildly. When I turn around in my kitchen, I expect to NOT see their weasely little faces in my house. Especially when I never got even the slightest chance to utter "come in" in any language.
So, anyway, I'm not happy with what's going on (and coming in) my house; but the Howler, being the Howler, invited them to lunch anyway. I made it clear that I would decide what was for lunch, and, as I said, Dolly announced that she wouldn't be eating at my house. (Can I get an AMEN! to that?)
So, Waif, Blondie, and the Howler come in for lunch. Dolly, just walks in as they're finishing eating. She doesn't say anything--no, she just stands there, already INSIDE my house, waiting for me rush around and act like the thing I've most been living for is to hand feed her with a golden spoon.
Well, anyone with half a brain knows that isn't going to happen. I ask her if there's something she wants. She shakes her head "no," so I tell her to get out. She goes outside on the porch, but continues to stare at me. So I ask her again. She shakes her head "no" again. I walk into my house.
Next thing I know, my phone is ringing, and it's her stepmother. She's calling to find out why Dolly is at their house, crying and saying she got in trouble.
Needless to say, I'm fed up, I'm cranky as all get out, and I'm about done with walking on eggshells because of two children who aren't even mine. I let it all out. I tell her that since May, I have had to be on constant vigilance because her children are in my house, rooting through my cupboards and 'fridge, helping themselves to whatever strikes their fancy. I've caught them going through MY STUFF--in my bedroom AND my basement, dragging out to play with whatever strikes their fancy. And, that, on at least two occasions, Dolly has turned her pert little chipmunk nose up at what I'm serving for lunch...to show up and ask for some anyway. My house is NOT a restaurant or a free-for-all for these children. They're about a hair away from being told to never come back.
(for the record, I refuse to lock my doors when my daughter is outside playing--something that the Urchins' parents don't seem to have qualms about, btw)
The Urchins come up and apologize. I accept their apology, but, in all honesty, I'm not overly hopeful that any real change will be made.
And I was right--to a point. The Urchins decided over this past weekend, to prove just what assholes 7 and 9 year old girls can be. They invite Missy over for lunch (which didn't happen, of course--if their parents don't feed them, what makes anyone over the age of 3 think anyone else will get fed either?) and pointedly rubbed the Howler's face in it.
Then, later, they invited Missy over for an ice cream, and pointedly rubbed the Howler's face in that. Oh, wait--it gets better, and proves just what an evil and horrible person I have turned into: The little snots came up to my house and got fudgsicles.
When I found them with fudgsicles, I took the sweet treats right out of their hands. The looks on their faces was priceless--it ranged from mad (Waif) to hurt (Dolly). The shock on the Howler's and Missy's faces was pretty, too.
I told the Urchins that there's NO WAY they're going to be such ignorant rude little snots to the Howler then come up to my house for treats.
They admitted what they did. I told the Howler, with the Urchins standing there, that these WERE NOT her friends. Friends don't treat you that way, and that she is NEVER EVER EVER to give them so much as a stale goldfish cracker again. EVER.
They wandered home, and when My Sweetie asked me what just happened, I think he was one part happy I did it, and one part mortified and worried that lightning would be striking me dead any second.
Missy was staying for dinner, and going to spend the night. She insisted that she was going to go to the Urchins for dinner, though, because they had invited her. I was still raging (not entirely quietly, though) and asked her how her lunch was. She said they had invited her, but she didn't have any lunch. I asked her if she thought she'd get supper from them then? She didn't have an answer, but was still insisting that she was going to their house for supper. I told her that she could see if she could spend the night with them, then.
She stayed for supper, and the night.
Today, though, we are Urchinless, but instead of being a waitress, I am a butler. The Howler has a CD player on the front porch and all I ask is that they shut the wooden door when they're listening to music. The Howler rang the door bell and pounded on the door, yelling "OPEN THIS STUPID DOOR!" when the screen door was locked (she and I had just gotten home.) So, I opened the stupid door, and she shut the wooden one in my face.
Before two minutes was up, she was ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door again. Why? I don't know. All I know is that I spent 15 minutes opening and shutting the door, on demand.
I lost it. I yelled. I screamed. At my child and at other people's kids.
Am I having a bad day? Not entirely. I just know that at the time, I was able to walk back to what I was doing, only to be noisily summoned again. For no real reason.
The Howler is going to find herself grounded to her room for the next restofthesummer if this crap keeps up.
The Howler, yet again, invited upteen children to eat at Mumple's Restaurant. (Never mind that there's no such place.) And, of course, Dolly, yet again, decided that since she couldn't choose what I'd be serving, she wasn't going to eat. She promptly disappeared, until serving time.
During the course of the previous two days, Dolly and Waif were a-coming and a-going through my doors much like the fabled Grand Central Station. I was livid, to put it mildly. When I turn around in my kitchen, I expect to NOT see their weasely little faces in my house. Especially when I never got even the slightest chance to utter "come in" in any language.
So, anyway, I'm not happy with what's going on (and coming in) my house; but the Howler, being the Howler, invited them to lunch anyway. I made it clear that I would decide what was for lunch, and, as I said, Dolly announced that she wouldn't be eating at my house. (Can I get an AMEN! to that?)
So, Waif, Blondie, and the Howler come in for lunch. Dolly, just walks in as they're finishing eating. She doesn't say anything--no, she just stands there, already INSIDE my house, waiting for me rush around and act like the thing I've most been living for is to hand feed her with a golden spoon.
Well, anyone with half a brain knows that isn't going to happen. I ask her if there's something she wants. She shakes her head "no," so I tell her to get out. She goes outside on the porch, but continues to stare at me. So I ask her again. She shakes her head "no" again. I walk into my house.
Next thing I know, my phone is ringing, and it's her stepmother. She's calling to find out why Dolly is at their house, crying and saying she got in trouble.
Needless to say, I'm fed up, I'm cranky as all get out, and I'm about done with walking on eggshells because of two children who aren't even mine. I let it all out. I tell her that since May, I have had to be on constant vigilance because her children are in my house, rooting through my cupboards and 'fridge, helping themselves to whatever strikes their fancy. I've caught them going through MY STUFF--in my bedroom AND my basement, dragging out to play with whatever strikes their fancy. And, that, on at least two occasions, Dolly has turned her pert little chipmunk nose up at what I'm serving for lunch...to show up and ask for some anyway. My house is NOT a restaurant or a free-for-all for these children. They're about a hair away from being told to never come back.
(for the record, I refuse to lock my doors when my daughter is outside playing--something that the Urchins' parents don't seem to have qualms about, btw)
The Urchins come up and apologize. I accept their apology, but, in all honesty, I'm not overly hopeful that any real change will be made.
And I was right--to a point. The Urchins decided over this past weekend, to prove just what assholes 7 and 9 year old girls can be. They invite Missy over for lunch (which didn't happen, of course--if their parents don't feed them, what makes anyone over the age of 3 think anyone else will get fed either?) and pointedly rubbed the Howler's face in it.
Then, later, they invited Missy over for an ice cream, and pointedly rubbed the Howler's face in that. Oh, wait--it gets better, and proves just what an evil and horrible person I have turned into: The little snots came up to my house and got fudgsicles.
When I found them with fudgsicles, I took the sweet treats right out of their hands. The looks on their faces was priceless--it ranged from mad (Waif) to hurt (Dolly). The shock on the Howler's and Missy's faces was pretty, too.
I told the Urchins that there's NO WAY they're going to be such ignorant rude little snots to the Howler then come up to my house for treats.
They admitted what they did. I told the Howler, with the Urchins standing there, that these WERE NOT her friends. Friends don't treat you that way, and that she is NEVER EVER EVER to give them so much as a stale goldfish cracker again. EVER.
They wandered home, and when My Sweetie asked me what just happened, I think he was one part happy I did it, and one part mortified and worried that lightning would be striking me dead any second.
Missy was staying for dinner, and going to spend the night. She insisted that she was going to go to the Urchins for dinner, though, because they had invited her. I was still raging (not entirely quietly, though) and asked her how her lunch was. She said they had invited her, but she didn't have any lunch. I asked her if she thought she'd get supper from them then? She didn't have an answer, but was still insisting that she was going to their house for supper. I told her that she could see if she could spend the night with them, then.
She stayed for supper, and the night.
Today, though, we are Urchinless, but instead of being a waitress, I am a butler. The Howler has a CD player on the front porch and all I ask is that they shut the wooden door when they're listening to music. The Howler rang the door bell and pounded on the door, yelling "OPEN THIS STUPID DOOR!" when the screen door was locked (she and I had just gotten home.) So, I opened the stupid door, and she shut the wooden one in my face.
Before two minutes was up, she was ringing the doorbell and pounding on the door again. Why? I don't know. All I know is that I spent 15 minutes opening and shutting the door, on demand.
I lost it. I yelled. I screamed. At my child and at other people's kids.
Am I having a bad day? Not entirely. I just know that at the time, I was able to walk back to what I was doing, only to be noisily summoned again. For no real reason.
The Howler is going to find herself grounded to her room for the next restofthesummer if this crap keeps up.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Ring the Freaking Doorbell!
This is another OPK rant. It's the same OPK, but I'm still ranting, so get over it. I'm not, but someone should.
I've already covered the part where Waif's voice is the equivalent to dragging your fingernails down a chalkboard, right? And I've covered the part where these too urchins from Hell aren't all that nice, right? And I've covered the part about how, two months ago, I caught them rooting through my kitchen cupboards and 'fridge, right?
Yeah, well, now, they're back to JUST WALKING INTO MY HOUSE. Yep. No knocking, no doorbells, no nuttin'. Just walk RIGHT IN, and look surprised when I turn around and see them.
They also, at one point today, came in to use the bathroom. They were rooting through my stuff--MY STUFF-- while down the basement using the bathroom.
OMG! Not only am I declaring my house a whine-free zone, but I'm going to tell those girls tomorrow that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES will they enter my house, unless I--and I do mean I --tell them they can come in.
If they think I won't throw them out-out-out of my house, they're gonna find out. I hate that these two are the only ones for the Howler to play with during the week, and I hate to tell her that she can't play with them at all, but this is ridiculous. I shouldn't have to tell these children (especially considering that one of them is actually MINE) what the rules are...
Hell, didn't I just spend the winter doing this with a different one?
Kill me. Kill me now.
I've already covered the part where Waif's voice is the equivalent to dragging your fingernails down a chalkboard, right? And I've covered the part where these too urchins from Hell aren't all that nice, right? And I've covered the part about how, two months ago, I caught them rooting through my kitchen cupboards and 'fridge, right?
Yeah, well, now, they're back to JUST WALKING INTO MY HOUSE. Yep. No knocking, no doorbells, no nuttin'. Just walk RIGHT IN, and look surprised when I turn around and see them.
They also, at one point today, came in to use the bathroom. They were rooting through my stuff--MY STUFF-- while down the basement using the bathroom.
OMG! Not only am I declaring my house a whine-free zone, but I'm going to tell those girls tomorrow that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES will they enter my house, unless I--and I do mean I --tell them they can come in.
If they think I won't throw them out-out-out of my house, they're gonna find out. I hate that these two are the only ones for the Howler to play with during the week, and I hate to tell her that she can't play with them at all, but this is ridiculous. I shouldn't have to tell these children (especially considering that one of them is actually MINE) what the rules are...
Hell, didn't I just spend the winter doing this with a different one?
Kill me. Kill me now.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
No Soup for You
We're polluted with OPK again. It's not so bad, really, if we keep the kitchen windows closed. (God, the Waif's voice is sooooooooooo annoying. I just keep wanting to scream, "Shut the f* up!")
But anyway, the Howler arrived home yesterday, and today, we are, of course, overrun.
And, at lunchtime, it was clear that these chicklets think that my house is a restaurant, and I am the Head Waiter.
The Howler came in and asked if two of the four opk could have lunch with her--now, these two, I don't mind feeding so much. Their families reciprocate and nobody's grocery bills go up or down in the grand scheme of things. I'm about to say yes, when I realize that Waif and Dollie, are unaccounted for.
I ask. The Howler informs me that they're asking their parents, but haven't heard back yet.
Great. Just flippin' great. These are the children who spent 3 days at the end of May rooting through my cupboards and refridgerator. These are the children whose parents think that "reciprocate" means that you give-give-give and they take-take-take. They think that two birthday parties this year (one hot dog, one handful of chips, one juice box, a piece of cake) and two popsicles a year are "fair trade" for two dozen lunches, a half dozen suppers, unlimited snacks, and several s'mores.
Part of me feels like a heel--I'm pissed because I'm now obligated to feed these children--children I KNOW probably aren't going to get lunch today. But on the other hand, I know that feeding them is like feeding the stray dog in the neighborhood. It's going to come back to bite me in the ass. Literally.
I end up deciding that lunch will be "on me," but it will also be entirely MY choice. Chicken noodle soup, bologna sandwiches, crackers, and water. Period. Sandwiches can be with or without cheese, and choices of condiments are available.
Dollie says she doesn't like chicken noodle soup, or bologna sandwiches and promptly disappears. Fine. That's one less I'm required to feed. Quoth my Sweetie, "Beggars can't be choosers."
So, two cans of soup, and sandwich "orders" are fixed. Dollie shows back up in time to eat, and asks for some soup. Bitch that I am, I've already divided the soup. No soup for you. I tell her she can have a bologna sandwich, which she rejects. Even after I tell her it can be with cheese, and condiments of her choice. No, thank you.
Waif then asks for crackers--even though she has a plate--a PLATE--of Goldfish crackers in front of her.
Apparently, beggars CAN be choosers.
But anyway, the Howler arrived home yesterday, and today, we are, of course, overrun.
And, at lunchtime, it was clear that these chicklets think that my house is a restaurant, and I am the Head Waiter.
The Howler came in and asked if two of the four opk could have lunch with her--now, these two, I don't mind feeding so much. Their families reciprocate and nobody's grocery bills go up or down in the grand scheme of things. I'm about to say yes, when I realize that Waif and Dollie, are unaccounted for.
I ask. The Howler informs me that they're asking their parents, but haven't heard back yet.
Great. Just flippin' great. These are the children who spent 3 days at the end of May rooting through my cupboards and refridgerator. These are the children whose parents think that "reciprocate" means that you give-give-give and they take-take-take. They think that two birthday parties this year (one hot dog, one handful of chips, one juice box, a piece of cake) and two popsicles a year are "fair trade" for two dozen lunches, a half dozen suppers, unlimited snacks, and several s'mores.
Part of me feels like a heel--I'm pissed because I'm now obligated to feed these children--children I KNOW probably aren't going to get lunch today. But on the other hand, I know that feeding them is like feeding the stray dog in the neighborhood. It's going to come back to bite me in the ass. Literally.
I end up deciding that lunch will be "on me," but it will also be entirely MY choice. Chicken noodle soup, bologna sandwiches, crackers, and water. Period. Sandwiches can be with or without cheese, and choices of condiments are available.
Dollie says she doesn't like chicken noodle soup, or bologna sandwiches and promptly disappears. Fine. That's one less I'm required to feed. Quoth my Sweetie, "Beggars can't be choosers."
So, two cans of soup, and sandwich "orders" are fixed. Dollie shows back up in time to eat, and asks for some soup. Bitch that I am, I've already divided the soup. No soup for you. I tell her she can have a bologna sandwich, which she rejects. Even after I tell her it can be with cheese, and condiments of her choice. No, thank you.
Waif then asks for crackers--even though she has a plate--a PLATE--of Goldfish crackers in front of her.
Apparently, beggars CAN be choosers.
Two Weeks
The Howler is home from Grandma's.
Tuesday night, Grandma called because my Howler was beside herself in emotional agony. She wanted to "not have to stay two weeks."
Now, for the last month, whenever the Howler said, "Two Weeks," her grumpy parental units said, "OK." That's all we said--OK--and she was the one repeating "Two weeks." Even as the car drove away, she's waving to us, saying, "See you in TWO WEEKS!"
So, last Tuesday night, she calls. She refused to speak to the horrid thing that is her mother--you know, the mean thing that would MAKE her stay TWO WEEKS OR LONGER. She cries to her soft-hearted, loving parent, Daaaaaadddddddddddeeeeeeeeee, and he tells her, "No, baby girl, you don't have to stay two weeks. I can't come get you until Saturday, though."
Apparently her response was that she didn't want to leave until Saturday, as long as she didn't HAVE TO stay TWO WEEKS.
She refused to speak to her horrid, make-her-stay-two-weeks-no-matter-what mother--the woman who spawned her, defends her against obnoxious opk, loves her unconditionally, the woman who NEVER uttered the words STAY TWO WEEKS--until Wednesday night.
But she's home--and she was happy to see me, too.
Tuesday night, Grandma called because my Howler was beside herself in emotional agony. She wanted to "not have to stay two weeks."
Now, for the last month, whenever the Howler said, "Two Weeks," her grumpy parental units said, "OK." That's all we said--OK--and she was the one repeating "Two weeks." Even as the car drove away, she's waving to us, saying, "See you in TWO WEEKS!"
So, last Tuesday night, she calls. She refused to speak to the horrid thing that is her mother--you know, the mean thing that would MAKE her stay TWO WEEKS OR LONGER. She cries to her soft-hearted, loving parent, Daaaaaadddddddddddeeeeeeeeee, and he tells her, "No, baby girl, you don't have to stay two weeks. I can't come get you until Saturday, though."
Apparently her response was that she didn't want to leave until Saturday, as long as she didn't HAVE TO stay TWO WEEKS.
She refused to speak to her horrid, make-her-stay-two-weeks-no-matter-what mother--the woman who spawned her, defends her against obnoxious opk, loves her unconditionally, the woman who NEVER uttered the words STAY TWO WEEKS--until Wednesday night.
But she's home--and she was happy to see me, too.
Toad's Story
So we all know that the Toad works in a fast food joint. The latest and greatest taste sensation from this Joint is a new burger (big shocker there, I know.)
He was in the drive thru two nights ago and this new burger was requested:
"I'd like one of the new anus burgers, please."
Now he truly knows the joys of working with the public.
He was in the drive thru two nights ago and this new burger was requested:
"I'd like one of the new anus burgers, please."
Now he truly knows the joys of working with the public.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Your Order Is Ready
*Disclaimer: This post is not about the Howler, or the Toad, but does explain the crazy in their DNA.
Today is the 4th of July--the Holiest of Holiday Picnic days. And, in keeping up our American appearances, we, the Mumples, sponsor a holiday picnic. We invite the usual suspects: my mom and (step) dad. And we encourage my mother to invite her mother and sister.
Grandma and Aunty are the ones who came to New Year's Day dinner a few years ago and ranted on and on about "illegal aliens"--giving me giggle fits because every time either one of them said "illegal aliens" all I could envision is a group of little green men without little green cards.
We've spent the day (even while I was at work) chuckling over this, because my Aunt has a tendancy to be more than a little, shall we say, eccentric.
Aunty shows up today with two plastic grocery bags, rattling with empty containers. She sits and chats with us a bit, then, when we're ready to eat, gathers up her bags, heads to the kitchen, fills various reusable containers with "fixin's" and asks for some tinfoil to wrap up her "one hamburger and one hot dog, each."
She repacks her plastic grocery bags, thanks us all for supper, and leaves.
I've been laughing like Muttley for almost 4 hours now.
Today is the 4th of July--the Holiest of Holiday Picnic days. And, in keeping up our American appearances, we, the Mumples, sponsor a holiday picnic. We invite the usual suspects: my mom and (step) dad. And we encourage my mother to invite her mother and sister.
Grandma and Aunty are the ones who came to New Year's Day dinner a few years ago and ranted on and on about "illegal aliens"--giving me giggle fits because every time either one of them said "illegal aliens" all I could envision is a group of little green men without little green cards.
Aunty calls me up yesterday to RSVP. She says she'll come over and bring containers for herself and Granny, and just take their picnic supper with her. She also, at that time, places her order--one hot dog and one hamburger, each, and all the fixin's, please.
Anyway, Grandma calls my mother back and complains that she won't be able to come because she goes to church at 5pm (I worked 'til 4, and the picnic waited on me.)
I'm dumbfounded. I mention it to my mother, and Mom tells me about my grandmother's call.It's makes a little more sense after that.
Now, we know that even without church, Granny ain't coming anyway--so my mom had suggested that Aunty can come over, eat with us, and bring some containers for us to send supper to Granny for after church. Aunty is Granny's ride to and from church anyway, so it's not like anyone would be put out over this arrangement.
We've spent the day (even while I was at work) chuckling over this, because my Aunt has a tendancy to be more than a little, shall we say, eccentric.
Aunty shows up today with two plastic grocery bags, rattling with empty containers. She sits and chats with us a bit, then, when we're ready to eat, gathers up her bags, heads to the kitchen, fills various reusable containers with "fixin's" and asks for some tinfoil to wrap up her "one hamburger and one hot dog, each."
She repacks her plastic grocery bags, thanks us all for supper, and leaves.
I've been laughing like Muttley for almost 4 hours now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)