My mother in law's "to do" list for last weekend.
'nuff said.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Sunday, June 2, 2013
A Mother's Day Story
This year, for Mother's Day, no one wished me a Happy Mother's Day all day. Even with prompting, the Howler stubbornly refused to acknowledge me as her mother (in her defense, I don't think she knows the "MF" word.)
I had to work that afternoon, and when I had been home from work for about an hour, the Howler finds me in the smoking lounge, reading. She begins to blather on about something--don't ask me what, I wasn't listening--and then she goes silent.
I look up from my reading to find her grinning at me.
She says, "Happy Mother's Day" and holds out a $1 bill.
I look at the bill; I look at her. I look back at the bill. I ask, "You couldn't even scratch 'happy mother's day' onto a piece of paper to wrap that in?"
She wiggles the bill at me a bit and snaps, "Do you want the money or not?"
I took the money.
Happy Mother's Day to me.
I had to work that afternoon, and when I had been home from work for about an hour, the Howler finds me in the smoking lounge, reading. She begins to blather on about something--don't ask me what, I wasn't listening--and then she goes silent.
I look up from my reading to find her grinning at me.
She says, "Happy Mother's Day" and holds out a $1 bill.
I look at the bill; I look at her. I look back at the bill. I ask, "You couldn't even scratch 'happy mother's day' onto a piece of paper to wrap that in?"
She wiggles the bill at me a bit and snaps, "Do you want the money or not?"
I took the money.
Happy Mother's Day to me.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Just Her
I love having a daughter. I really do.
BUT.
She's so WTF weird.
Really.
Tonight, I was reading, minding my own business, and I hear My Sweetie yelling for the Howler. He's in the kitchen, and she's where ever it is she is.
The words I can hear are "freezer" and "socks"
I don't want to know, and am very very glad I am in the basement.
Now, we spent the better part of this past spring finding all sorts of odd Howlerphernialia in the freezer. After finally spazzing out about it (at one point all the dishtowels in the house had been drenched and placed in the freezer. Considering that they were NOT frozen in a huge lump, it was obvious that it had been an entire day's mission to get them all in there and frozen.)
My Sweetie comes down to the basement and asks me if I could hear any of "that." I start laughing. He starts laughing.
We spend a few minutes saying, "that's your side of the family" and then come to the conclusion that this particular WTF is just her.
Just HER.
BUT.
She's so WTF weird.
Really.
Tonight, I was reading, minding my own business, and I hear My Sweetie yelling for the Howler. He's in the kitchen, and she's where ever it is she is.
The words I can hear are "freezer" and "socks"
I don't want to know, and am very very glad I am in the basement.
Now, we spent the better part of this past spring finding all sorts of odd Howlerphernialia in the freezer. After finally spazzing out about it (at one point all the dishtowels in the house had been drenched and placed in the freezer. Considering that they were NOT frozen in a huge lump, it was obvious that it had been an entire day's mission to get them all in there and frozen.)
My Sweetie comes down to the basement and asks me if I could hear any of "that." I start laughing. He starts laughing.
We spend a few minutes saying, "that's your side of the family" and then come to the conclusion that this particular WTF is just her.
Just HER.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
You're Invited...
Today when I got home from work, there was a card that had come in the mail. My Sweetie hasn't opened it yet, and he says, "I don't know who it's from."
I sez, "The Gator. She's inviting us to our house for Thanksgiving dinner."
He sez, "You are an ass."
I laugh, open the card and VIOLA!
We are officially invited to our own house for Thanksgiving Dinner.
HAH!
I sez, "The Gator. She's inviting us to our house for Thanksgiving dinner."
He sez, "You are an ass."
I laugh, open the card and VIOLA!
We are officially invited to our own house for Thanksgiving Dinner.
HAH!
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Dinner with My Spawn
Tonight for dinner, the Toad said he'd be here. So, when dinner was ready, we called up to Ass Caverns for him.
We used snooty accents, rolling our r's and elongating our vowels. He was amused.
He entered the kitchen, looked at me, and said, "Could you BE more obnoxious? Really?"
I laughed. Still using the snooty accent, I tell him, "Why, yes, I could be."
Again, he said, "Really? COULD you?"
Still laughing, I tell him, "Why yes, actually I could." Then I asked him if he wanted to throw down that gauntlet with me.
The Howler adds her two cents worth with, "Trust me, dude, you don't want to throw down anything with this woman."
We used snooty accents, rolling our r's and elongating our vowels. He was amused.
He entered the kitchen, looked at me, and said, "Could you BE more obnoxious? Really?"
I laughed. Still using the snooty accent, I tell him, "Why, yes, I could be."
Again, he said, "Really? COULD you?"
Still laughing, I tell him, "Why yes, actually I could." Then I asked him if he wanted to throw down that gauntlet with me.
The Howler adds her two cents worth with, "Trust me, dude, you don't want to throw down anything with this woman."
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
The Apple Never Falls Far...
The Howler has been having a small issue with some chicklet on the bus calling her names and saying mean things.
The Howler has shared her frustration with me. I have been all over it--giving the right advice (I know, I know! How weird is that?) and telling her, first, to ignore and to be nice.
That didn't work. (Shock & surprise!)
So, I next suggested she talk to the bus driver, when they got to school, since nasty chicklet is on the bus before-and-after the Howler's stop. So, she did. Apparently, one of the teachers also heard this nasty girl say something mean to the Howler.
That remains to be seen. (the Howler gets to move her seat, no further questions asked.)
Hopefully, that solves the problem. If it doesn't, ol' Mama Mumple is gonna be involved.
But that's not really what this post is about. What this post is about, is this: The Howler, after a particularly trying day at containing herself, was horrid to be around. I sent her to her room, for general annoyance. She knows that if she's sent to her room for general annoyance, she can come out whenever she is ready to stop the annoyance and be as decent to be around as any one 9 year old can be.
She never came out.
I went up to talk to her, and see if we couldn't get whatever the bug was, out. We had a nice, non-annoying chat, and at the end, I stressed to her that I want her to find NICER, FRIENDLIER, less-confrontational ways to communicate with people. I asked her if she knew why.
She responded with: "so I can be not as mean and grumpy as you are?"
God, I love that girl.
The Howler has shared her frustration with me. I have been all over it--giving the right advice (I know, I know! How weird is that?) and telling her, first, to ignore and to be nice.
That didn't work. (Shock & surprise!)
So, I next suggested she talk to the bus driver, when they got to school, since nasty chicklet is on the bus before-and-after the Howler's stop. So, she did. Apparently, one of the teachers also heard this nasty girl say something mean to the Howler.
That remains to be seen. (the Howler gets to move her seat, no further questions asked.)
Hopefully, that solves the problem. If it doesn't, ol' Mama Mumple is gonna be involved.
But that's not really what this post is about. What this post is about, is this: The Howler, after a particularly trying day at containing herself, was horrid to be around. I sent her to her room, for general annoyance. She knows that if she's sent to her room for general annoyance, she can come out whenever she is ready to stop the annoyance and be as decent to be around as any one 9 year old can be.
She never came out.
I went up to talk to her, and see if we couldn't get whatever the bug was, out. We had a nice, non-annoying chat, and at the end, I stressed to her that I want her to find NICER, FRIENDLIER, less-confrontational ways to communicate with people. I asked her if she knew why.
She responded with: "so I can be not as mean and grumpy as you are?"
God, I love that girl.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Bad Mommy
Last Monday night, the Mumples went for wings at a local watering hole. Wings were excellent...and after we ate, the Howler & I made a trip to the ladies' to wash our hands.
I don't spend much time in such watering holes, so I had forgotten what would be hanging on the wall in there. The Howler, bless her, noticed.
She asked me what those were for. (It was billed as a "tingler ring" LOL)
Being the Evil Mommy I am, I told her to ask her father when we got to the car.
It was soooooo worth it for the look on My Sweetie's face. I was laughing so hard, I couldn't even make up a believable story to tell her.
I don't spend much time in such watering holes, so I had forgotten what would be hanging on the wall in there. The Howler, bless her, noticed.
She asked me what those were for. (It was billed as a "tingler ring" LOL)
Being the Evil Mommy I am, I told her to ask her father when we got to the car.
It was soooooo worth it for the look on My Sweetie's face. I was laughing so hard, I couldn't even make up a believable story to tell her.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Duelling
We've already established that one of the definitive things about the Howler is that she goes to 11. Especially in volume/noise level. And that she loves music--the more annoying, the better. (of course, she cut her teeth on Steve Miller Band, and Pink Floyd, but that's a totally different story!)
A few Saturdays ago, she and Missy were listening to music in the kitchen. A veritable Dance Party, it was. And of course, we know that Missy is about as silent as the Howler.
First, it felt like an earthquake. Then, I prayed for a real earthquake--they found the Kidz Bop Christmas CD My Sweetie had so idiotically purchased for the Howler. (His rationale? There is no rationale when it comes to Kidz Bop.)
My Sweetie decided at this point to defend himself, by turning on the stereo in the living room. He chose his weapon carefully--to counter attack Kidz Bop you've got to have something ... well, something.
He chose "Along Came A Spider" by the inimitable Alice Cooper.
Yeppers--I was sitting in the middle, praying for, well, anything, that would stop the insanity. Kidz Bop Christmas to the right. Alice Cooper (You'd look good in the trunk of my car, btw) to the left...I think whatever would've happened within the next 15 minutes would've been totally justifiable in any court of law.
A few Saturdays ago, she and Missy were listening to music in the kitchen. A veritable Dance Party, it was. And of course, we know that Missy is about as silent as the Howler.
First, it felt like an earthquake. Then, I prayed for a real earthquake--they found the Kidz Bop Christmas CD My Sweetie had so idiotically purchased for the Howler. (His rationale? There is no rationale when it comes to Kidz Bop.)
My Sweetie decided at this point to defend himself, by turning on the stereo in the living room. He chose his weapon carefully--to counter attack Kidz Bop you've got to have something ... well, something.
He chose "Along Came A Spider" by the inimitable Alice Cooper.
Yeppers--I was sitting in the middle, praying for, well, anything, that would stop the insanity. Kidz Bop Christmas to the right. Alice Cooper (You'd look good in the trunk of my car, btw) to the left...I think whatever would've happened within the next 15 minutes would've been totally justifiable in any court of law.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Whatever!
So, Mr Mumple is still off, until Wednesday. He picked the Howler up after school today.
He sez, "We have about a cute little girl. She came running to the car, all smiling and happy."
I sez, "Well, she likes you more than she likes me."
He sez, "Yeah. And I can see why."
He sez, "We have about a cute little girl. She came running to the car, all smiling and happy."
I sez, "Well, she likes you more than she likes me."
He sez, "Yeah. And I can see why."
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Poetic Justice is Served
Ahh, yes. The Holidays are upon us.
And this year, the Gator is the one who forgot stuff--cranberry sauce for one. She also forgot, yesterday AND today, to bring her napkins with turkeys on them.
Grandma is looking better than she's looked in a while, and my aunt (Gator's sister) was fairly well behaved. We all laughed and talked, and the guys watched football. Of course.
Not a bad day at all.
And after thinking about how pissy the Gator was the first 2 years we did the cooking, she wasn't nasty after everyone left at all.
There is a slim chance, a very slim chance, I can survive this season unscathed. And unGatorized.
And this year, the Gator is the one who forgot stuff--cranberry sauce for one. She also forgot, yesterday AND today, to bring her napkins with turkeys on them.
Grandma is looking better than she's looked in a while, and my aunt (Gator's sister) was fairly well behaved. We all laughed and talked, and the guys watched football. Of course.
Not a bad day at all.
And after thinking about how pissy the Gator was the first 2 years we did the cooking, she wasn't nasty after everyone left at all.
There is a slim chance, a very slim chance, I can survive this season unscathed. And unGatorized.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
It's Just Starting...
The Holidays. And I'm already ready, willing, and immensely able to beat down my mother.
First, while I know she's just doing her yearly, "Holiday Control Freak Out" I'm waaaay less tolerant of it than ever before.
Second, GET YER HEARING CHECKED AND GET IT FIXED, or quit asking me questions then NOT EVEN trying to hear the answer.
She was here today. Getting on my nerves. Then she asked, "What do you work on Monday?" and yes, I already know that regardless of whether or not I write it down, say it several billions of times today, and tomorrow, she's going to call at 6:30am on Friday, pissed off that I "did NOT!" tell her the correct schedule for Friday. Then we'll repeat this fiasco on Monday, except she'll be pissy because she was expecting the Howler later, rather than earlier. But I digress.
She asked about MONDAY. I can't find either paper I wrote it down on, and it had not yet made it to the calendar. So I say, "I have to go to my car and get it, the paper I have it written on is out there."
I go out to my car to get it. Then, I come back in.
I tell her, "I work 7 to 1"
"What?!"
"SEVEN TO ONE."
"Oh! Seventy One dollars? That's not bad!" (in her defense, the Roto Rooter guy was here to clear the drain...it had backed up, yet again, this week.)
Frustrated, I just say, "Yep." loudly.
"No, seventy one is not that bad at all."
Yes, I'm yelling at this point, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"
"What are you talking about?"
"MY SCHEDULE FOR MONDAY! WHAT did you just ASK ME ABOUT!"
"Oh, yeah. What do you work Monday?"
It's not quite Thanksgiving, and I'm ready to kill her. (oh, yes, she also decided that the bread My Sweetie and I have already gotten--and she was already informed that we had--wasn't good enough for stuffing tomorrow. No. No, not at all. She had to make a SPECIAL trip to the store to get the *right stuff for stuffing*)
Kill me. Or kill her. But either way, someone's not having a happy anything this year.
First, while I know she's just doing her yearly, "Holiday Control Freak Out" I'm waaaay less tolerant of it than ever before.
Second, GET YER HEARING CHECKED AND GET IT FIXED, or quit asking me questions then NOT EVEN trying to hear the answer.
She was here today. Getting on my nerves. Then she asked, "What do you work on Monday?" and yes, I already know that regardless of whether or not I write it down, say it several billions of times today, and tomorrow, she's going to call at 6:30am on Friday, pissed off that I "did NOT!" tell her the correct schedule for Friday. Then we'll repeat this fiasco on Monday, except she'll be pissy because she was expecting the Howler later, rather than earlier. But I digress.
She asked about MONDAY. I can't find either paper I wrote it down on, and it had not yet made it to the calendar. So I say, "I have to go to my car and get it, the paper I have it written on is out there."
I go out to my car to get it. Then, I come back in.
I tell her, "I work 7 to 1"
"What?!"
"SEVEN TO ONE."
"Oh! Seventy One dollars? That's not bad!" (in her defense, the Roto Rooter guy was here to clear the drain...it had backed up, yet again, this week.)
Frustrated, I just say, "Yep." loudly.
"No, seventy one is not that bad at all."
Yes, I'm yelling at this point, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!"
"What are you talking about?"
"MY SCHEDULE FOR MONDAY! WHAT did you just ASK ME ABOUT!"
"Oh, yeah. What do you work Monday?"
It's not quite Thanksgiving, and I'm ready to kill her. (oh, yes, she also decided that the bread My Sweetie and I have already gotten--and she was already informed that we had--wasn't good enough for stuffing tomorrow. No. No, not at all. She had to make a SPECIAL trip to the store to get the *right stuff for stuffing*)
Kill me. Or kill her. But either way, someone's not having a happy anything this year.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It's a Form of Torture
The incessant talking.
She talks when I am talking. She talks when My Sweetie is talking. She talks during TV programs. She talks during commercials. She talks. And talks. And talks.
Yeah, I know. She's very much like her mother. But in my defense. I don't talk as much now. I do know how to be still. Honest. (I can, if pressed, produce signed affidavits to prove it.)
She also has to put her very own Howlerish spin on everything I tell her. It's a version of "are you lying?" I know it is. I think it's also a skips-a-generation DNA flaw...her grandmother the Gator has it too.
Oh, and guess who she spent the day with today? Yeppers. They went to the dollar store, after the ever so healthful breakfast of bacon and EZ Mac-n-Cheez. And such deals as they found--well, my girl came home with an attitude bigger than mine, and she was willing to share!
What a looooong winter we have in store for us.
She talks when I am talking. She talks when My Sweetie is talking. She talks during TV programs. She talks during commercials. She talks. And talks. And talks.
Yeah, I know. She's very much like her mother. But in my defense. I don't talk as much now. I do know how to be still. Honest. (I can, if pressed, produce signed affidavits to prove it.)
She also has to put her very own Howlerish spin on everything I tell her. It's a version of "are you lying?" I know it is. I think it's also a skips-a-generation DNA flaw...her grandmother the Gator has it too.
Oh, and guess who she spent the day with today? Yeppers. They went to the dollar store, after the ever so healthful breakfast of bacon and EZ Mac-n-Cheez. And such deals as they found--well, my girl came home with an attitude bigger than mine, and she was willing to share!
What a looooong winter we have in store for us.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Posey
My niece is 5 years old. She started Kindergarten this week. She's adorable as all get out, and this morning when I called to talk to her Dad, my brother, she just wouldn't get off the phone. Too funny!
Part of my conversation with her involved her telling me that her dad couldn't come to the phone because she was on the corded phone, and the cord wouldn't reach to him. (And you're going to get the same visual as I got.)
"See?" she said. "It's only this long and it needs to be that long."
Part of my conversation with her involved her telling me that her dad couldn't come to the phone because she was on the corded phone, and the cord wouldn't reach to him. (And you're going to get the same visual as I got.)
"See?" she said. "It's only this long and it needs to be that long."
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Been Thinkin'
My Sweetie & the Howler spent 3 days last week at my in-laws. Of course, they had to go to the County Fair while there--actually, going to the Fair was the main purpose of the visit, if you ask the Howler.
They left on Wednesday. It was peaceful & quiet here. The Toad pretty much ignored me, and I enjoyed that. The neighborhood terrors were all kept at bay, and I very much enjoyed that. I even managed to spend some QT with my mom--who fed me a tasty good dinner, too. I got the bed and it's covers all to myself (unless you count the bickering cats) and it's all good, actually.
They came home on Friday, and it occured to me while I was at work, that while I missed the Howler, I missed My Sweetie more. Waaaayyyyy more. Of course, the Howler has gone on week-long visits to the in-laws before, so I am used to her not necessarily being here. But this was different: comparing the two missing-you feelings, I was more lonely, and looked forward to seeing my husband than I did my daughter.
Is that weird? (I know it's not wrong, but is it weird, that I feel that way, and I admit it?)
What makes me think to post this is that today, on Facebook, there's a "LIKE" thing going on where "My Kids Are My World! Click Like & Post This If You're Not a Completely Sucky Parent" thing going 'round. Because the 25,000 over "LIKE" things about how great, fantastic, wonderful, second-coming my kids are. Son or daughter, I don't find either of them to be the end-all-be-all of my existance. (Truth be told, the Toad needs to move out. Soon, as in yesterday soon.)
Sure, today I am very worried about how school is going for the Howler--in part, a totally unknown entity in the teacher and add that 3rd grade is a tough year anyway...yeah, I worry.
It just struck me on Friday that so very much more of our culture is directed at our love for our children, rather than at the primary relationship with my husband (finally caught that little brain fart, sorry!). Even people who have known me for a very long time still seem put off or uncomfortable with the fact that I don't feel the need to be strapped to my children, EVER. And that find children, mostly, annoying. I like 'em best when they're like zoo animals--pretty to look at, but not close enough to do any damage.
My Sweetie, though, is pretty to look at (okay, handsome, if that makes you feel better) and I don't mind being close to him. Is that weird or what?
They left on Wednesday. It was peaceful & quiet here. The Toad pretty much ignored me, and I enjoyed that. The neighborhood terrors were all kept at bay, and I very much enjoyed that. I even managed to spend some QT with my mom--who fed me a tasty good dinner, too. I got the bed and it's covers all to myself (unless you count the bickering cats) and it's all good, actually.
They came home on Friday, and it occured to me while I was at work, that while I missed the Howler, I missed My Sweetie more. Waaaayyyyy more. Of course, the Howler has gone on week-long visits to the in-laws before, so I am used to her not necessarily being here. But this was different: comparing the two missing-you feelings, I was more lonely, and looked forward to seeing my husband than I did my daughter.
Is that weird? (I know it's not wrong, but is it weird, that I feel that way, and I admit it?)
What makes me think to post this is that today, on Facebook, there's a "LIKE" thing going on where "My Kids Are My World! Click Like & Post This If You're Not a Completely Sucky Parent" thing going 'round. Because the 25,000 over "LIKE" things about how great, fantastic, wonderful, second-coming my kids are. Son or daughter, I don't find either of them to be the end-all-be-all of my existance. (Truth be told, the Toad needs to move out. Soon, as in yesterday soon.)
Sure, today I am very worried about how school is going for the Howler--in part, a totally unknown entity in the teacher and add that 3rd grade is a tough year anyway...yeah, I worry.
It just struck me on Friday that so very much more of our culture is directed at our love for our children, rather than at the primary relationship with my husband (finally caught that little brain fart, sorry!). Even people who have known me for a very long time still seem put off or uncomfortable with the fact that I don't feel the need to be strapped to my children, EVER. And that find children, mostly, annoying. I like 'em best when they're like zoo animals--pretty to look at, but not close enough to do any damage.
My Sweetie, though, is pretty to look at (okay, handsome, if that makes you feel better) and I don't mind being close to him. Is that weird or what?
Friday, June 11, 2010
Gluttony
I am a glutton for punishment. Remember how I keep saying that I don't like kids? Remember how I say that my own children get on my nerves?
So what do I do to combat the infinitely stretching OPK hours of summer?
I invite them to my house! Yes! Insanity at its finest!
I invited my niece, Posy to come for the afternoon. Posy and her younger sister, Butterfly, loooooooove them some Aunt Mumple's house. Why? Because I am FUN. (It's one of life's many contradictions--I don't like OPK, yet OPK love my house, and me, by proxy, because it's FUN to be here. Go figure.)
(Butterfly doesn't always warm up to me, or my Sweetie, although she knows my house is chock full o'little girl toys. She usually has nothing to do with me, just plays quietly in the corner.)
Anyway, we invited Posy to spend the afternoon. Butterfly decided she wanted to come too--and since she is potty trained, ol' Auntie Mumple's got no reason to say "no." (What's a little insanity in the family?)
They're here. Posy is, at 5, a tattle tale. I presume that this has as much to do with being 5, as it does with being a girl. Butterfly is perfectly content to make her own fun.
Lunch was interesting: Posy & Butterfly are just a bit choosy. Of course, we know why, but that's not the point. When asking them what they'll eat while at my house, I was informed that they both just loooooooooove Uncle Jimmy's Pizza. (no, it's not called Uncle Jimmy's pizza. It's Uncle Jimmy that owns and operated the pizza place) Uncle Jimmy's pizza is so good because he puts, and I quote, "6 pounds of cheese on EVERY ONE!"
My brother duly corrected this, it's 6 kinds of cheese, but somehow, I like Posy's version better.
So what do I do to combat the infinitely stretching OPK hours of summer?
I invite them to my house! Yes! Insanity at its finest!
I invited my niece, Posy to come for the afternoon. Posy and her younger sister, Butterfly, loooooooove them some Aunt Mumple's house. Why? Because I am FUN. (It's one of life's many contradictions--I don't like OPK, yet OPK love my house, and me, by proxy, because it's FUN to be here. Go figure.)
(Butterfly doesn't always warm up to me, or my Sweetie, although she knows my house is chock full o'little girl toys. She usually has nothing to do with me, just plays quietly in the corner.)
Anyway, we invited Posy to spend the afternoon. Butterfly decided she wanted to come too--and since she is potty trained, ol' Auntie Mumple's got no reason to say "no." (What's a little insanity in the family?)
They're here. Posy is, at 5, a tattle tale. I presume that this has as much to do with being 5, as it does with being a girl. Butterfly is perfectly content to make her own fun.
Lunch was interesting: Posy & Butterfly are just a bit choosy. Of course, we know why, but that's not the point. When asking them what they'll eat while at my house, I was informed that they both just loooooooooove Uncle Jimmy's Pizza. (no, it's not called Uncle Jimmy's pizza. It's Uncle Jimmy that owns and operated the pizza place) Uncle Jimmy's pizza is so good because he puts, and I quote, "6 pounds of cheese on EVERY ONE!"
My brother duly corrected this, it's 6 kinds of cheese, but somehow, I like Posy's version better.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
So, Who's She Like?
We've been hearing this question about the Howler since she was born.
Unfortunately for her, she's very much like a lot of people: her mother, for one. Won't go into details, but the worst is the stubborn attitude. And it's not just from her mother, although too many people 'round here didn't know her father *back in the day* so they don't see it. (Oh, yes, but I can, and do. He ain't no easy-to-deal-with-once-he's-got-some-crazy-idear-inteh-his-noggin guy, either--but few believe me.)
The Howler has my hair. And I apologize for it every blessed day--she's got at least 2 cowlicks and her hair refuses to be tamed. That makes her look like me.
But, certain expressions are my sister all over again. And I can't blame my sister, because she doesn't live near enough for the Howler to have picked 'em up honestly. It's got to be genetics.
Same goes for her striking resemblance to one of Kevin's sisters. She is a Mini-Me for her aunt. One time, Aunt J showed pics of herself and the Howler to some newer acquaintances. They were surprised that she had never mentioned her daughter before. My mother-in-law also got out Aunt J's kindergarten portrait, and we all smiled as the Howler paraded around showing every one this bee-ooo-tee-full pitcher of herself...until she showed it to me, and caught sight of it from upside down. Then, even the Howler realized that the picture wasn't her.
Why am I tell you all this? Because last night an almost creepy resemblance thing showed up about 11pm. The Howler was sleep walking. You may thing this is no big deal, but it was scary, because she was talking, as coherent as she normally is, and walking around. I had to lead her back up stairs and get her into bed. I had to keep talking to her to keep her awake enough to not topple back down the stairs.
My Sweetie, after she was safely in bed, asked me what was wrong. He couldn't believe it--he didn't believe that she was sleep walking.
My sister sleep walks and talks. And when she does, it's really creepy sometimes, too.
Unfortunately for her, she's very much like a lot of people: her mother, for one. Won't go into details, but the worst is the stubborn attitude. And it's not just from her mother, although too many people 'round here didn't know her father *back in the day* so they don't see it. (Oh, yes, but I can, and do. He ain't no easy-to-deal-with-once-he's-got-some-crazy-idear-inteh-his-noggin guy, either--but few believe me.)
The Howler has my hair. And I apologize for it every blessed day--she's got at least 2 cowlicks and her hair refuses to be tamed. That makes her look like me.
But, certain expressions are my sister all over again. And I can't blame my sister, because she doesn't live near enough for the Howler to have picked 'em up honestly. It's got to be genetics.
Same goes for her striking resemblance to one of Kevin's sisters. She is a Mini-Me for her aunt. One time, Aunt J showed pics of herself and the Howler to some newer acquaintances. They were surprised that she had never mentioned her daughter before. My mother-in-law also got out Aunt J's kindergarten portrait, and we all smiled as the Howler paraded around showing every one this bee-ooo-tee-full pitcher of herself...until she showed it to me, and caught sight of it from upside down. Then, even the Howler realized that the picture wasn't her.
Why am I tell you all this? Because last night an almost creepy resemblance thing showed up about 11pm. The Howler was sleep walking. You may thing this is no big deal, but it was scary, because she was talking, as coherent as she normally is, and walking around. I had to lead her back up stairs and get her into bed. I had to keep talking to her to keep her awake enough to not topple back down the stairs.
My Sweetie, after she was safely in bed, asked me what was wrong. He couldn't believe it--he didn't believe that she was sleep walking.
My sister sleep walks and talks. And when she does, it's really creepy sometimes, too.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Newsflash!
The Toad FINALLY cleaned his room. This is great, because, since opening the window, the stench of Ass Caverns has been crawling down the hall.
This is great, because he actually did IT, not just said he did...or just did a quick pretend cleaning.
This is great, because we now know how long it has been since he did last clean (and My Sweetie did most of that) because he explained the detrius strata he discovered as loaded up garbage bags (about a dozen of them, I think--oh, now he's blathering while reading over my shoulder that "there was significantly LESS than a dozen." oops. Sorry. He, and the garbage bags, go 11. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Go to work already, and stop reading over my shoulder. I hate that.
Anyway, the bestest part of the whole thing was, at 11:15pm last night, in the drizzling rain, he left the building...then came back, with a previously disposed of garbage bag. Of course, it was the bag on the bottom of the can...the first one he gave the ol' heave-ho to.
He cleared the crap and clutter off the card table that has been illegally ensconced in his room...and that bag now contained his uncashed paycheck.
Classic. Mumple Classic. (Seriously, My Sweetie, God love him, spent two hours one Christmas night cracking his ribs on a dumpster...to try to find a light switch cover that we believed had been swept up in the piles of wrapping paper and tossed. And he's done searches through bags for discarded birthday and Christmas money, too.)
He kept reminding the Toad, "At least you didn't have to crack a few ribs." And, as an after thought, at least it was a bag of PAPER, even if it was a large bag of paper, because every grown up has had to dig through bags of garbage that were very much NOT paper.
I'm headed up there now to crack open windows and fight back the stench with Febreeze.
Wish me luck.
This is great, because he actually did IT, not just said he did...or just did a quick pretend cleaning.
This is great, because we now know how long it has been since he did last clean (and My Sweetie did most of that) because he explained the detrius strata he discovered as loaded up garbage bags (about a dozen of them, I think--oh, now he's blathering while reading over my shoulder that "there was significantly LESS than a dozen." oops. Sorry. He, and the garbage bags, go 11. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Go to work already, and stop reading over my shoulder. I hate that.
Anyway, the bestest part of the whole thing was, at 11:15pm last night, in the drizzling rain, he left the building...then came back, with a previously disposed of garbage bag. Of course, it was the bag on the bottom of the can...the first one he gave the ol' heave-ho to.
He cleared the crap and clutter off the card table that has been illegally ensconced in his room...and that bag now contained his uncashed paycheck.
Classic. Mumple Classic. (Seriously, My Sweetie, God love him, spent two hours one Christmas night cracking his ribs on a dumpster...to try to find a light switch cover that we believed had been swept up in the piles of wrapping paper and tossed. And he's done searches through bags for discarded birthday and Christmas money, too.)
He kept reminding the Toad, "At least you didn't have to crack a few ribs." And, as an after thought, at least it was a bag of PAPER, even if it was a large bag of paper, because every grown up has had to dig through bags of garbage that were very much NOT paper.
I'm headed up there now to crack open windows and fight back the stench with Febreeze.
Wish me luck.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Calling In Dead
The Toad's little friend, Jerkwood, has left the building. Apparently, Jerkwood (the nasty little troll) managed to piss off every friend he had. They all decided to have nothing to do with him, and stuck to it. Good for them! The Toad finally admitted that we were right all along (ahhhh, I guess we're hitting the part where we got A LOT smarter over the past few years.)
The Toad and his friends have been celebrating--not in an excessive, obnoxious way, but it's celebrating just the same. A collect sigh of relief, if you will.
The Toad also, several months ago, agreed to join a vocal group his former voice teacher was part of. Every night they meet for practice, she unfailingly calls to find out if he's going to be there (he's managed to attend about 50/50.)
Tonight, he announced, in front of the magpie like Howler, "if she calls, tell her I'm dead." When pressed for answers, he said, "I made plans with my friends and then I remembered...so I'm not going. If she calls, tell her I'm dead."
As grown ups, we did not agree to say this. The Howler, as the Howler, said nothing for a change.
Shortly after supper, the phone rang, and neither My Sweetie nor I answered it immediately. Upon climbing the basement steps (smoke break, if you must know) we hear the Howler on the phone.
"He said that if you called, we're supposed to tell you he's dead."
"Well, that's what he said, anyway."
"He's doing stuff, with people, at places." (another Toadism)
My Sweetie and I are now almost in pain from not laughing out loud. No, it's not very mature of us, and it certainly encourages the Howler at her most annoying...and most funny.
"No, I don't think he's coming to practice."
"Okay. Bye then."
My Sweetie tells me that I should call her back and explain. I maintain that, at 21 years old, I am not responsible for his idiocy any longer, I did not sign him up for that gig, he knew she would call, and he knew where he should be tonight.
I did not call her back, but I did call the Toad. He, of course, didn't answer. But when he did call back, I informed him of the most amusing turn of events, and encouraged him to be more responsible, mature, and careful about what he said within earshot of his magpie Howler sister.
Mostly, I just laughed.
The Toad and his friends have been celebrating--not in an excessive, obnoxious way, but it's celebrating just the same. A collect sigh of relief, if you will.
The Toad also, several months ago, agreed to join a vocal group his former voice teacher was part of. Every night they meet for practice, she unfailingly calls to find out if he's going to be there (he's managed to attend about 50/50.)
Tonight, he announced, in front of the magpie like Howler, "if she calls, tell her I'm dead." When pressed for answers, he said, "I made plans with my friends and then I remembered...so I'm not going. If she calls, tell her I'm dead."
As grown ups, we did not agree to say this. The Howler, as the Howler, said nothing for a change.
Shortly after supper, the phone rang, and neither My Sweetie nor I answered it immediately. Upon climbing the basement steps (smoke break, if you must know) we hear the Howler on the phone.
"He said that if you called, we're supposed to tell you he's dead."
"Well, that's what he said, anyway."
"He's doing stuff, with people, at places." (another Toadism)
My Sweetie and I are now almost in pain from not laughing out loud. No, it's not very mature of us, and it certainly encourages the Howler at her most annoying...and most funny.
"No, I don't think he's coming to practice."
"Okay. Bye then."
My Sweetie tells me that I should call her back and explain. I maintain that, at 21 years old, I am not responsible for his idiocy any longer, I did not sign him up for that gig, he knew she would call, and he knew where he should be tonight.
I did not call her back, but I did call the Toad. He, of course, didn't answer. But when he did call back, I informed him of the most amusing turn of events, and encouraged him to be more responsible, mature, and careful about what he said within earshot of his magpie Howler sister.
Mostly, I just laughed.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Because She Hates Us
A few weekends ago, the Howler and Missy discovered an evil so perverse, I have to blog about it: a 550 piece Christmas puzzle.
It was a gift from my sister, several years ago. We had managed, until recently, to NOT have it opened. With good reason. Do you know how evil a 550 piece puzzle is? And do you know the chances of keeping all 550 pieces of that puzzle findable in Mumpleland are slim and none?
Well, Missy & the Howler found it. They opened it. On the kitchen table, 45 minutes before suppertime.
Kill me. Kill me now.
They kept asking, "where did this puzzle come from?" and while my answer, "from Hell" probably wasn't appropriate for real-life, it is, somehow, very appropriate in Mumpleland.
The rest of the puzzle based conversation went like this:
M&H: Who gave you this puzzle?
me: My sister.
M&H: Why did she give it to you?
me: Because she hates me.
On Day #1 of Puzzle Hell, the Toad disagreed that my sister hates me.
Then he tried to help put it together.
He announced, "She does hate us."
It took 3 days, two adults, one Toad, and two little sqwacking beasts to put the thing together. And it will NEVER EVER need to be put together again.
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