Monthly Archives: February 2012

I made cookies today.  It was to award myself for getting some things I’ve been procrastinating on, actually done today.  Things like:

A)  Putting the Christmas wrapping paper and bows away that were in front of, and blocking access to, my closet.  I’m excited because now I can wear something besides the same three pairs of sweatpants I’ve been wearing since Thanksgiving.

2)  Putting laundry away …. laundry that has been sitting in baskets and basically getting recycled and worn out of those baskets since, well, Thanksgiving.

III)  Sorting through my kids’ clothes and taking out stuff to give to charity. …clothes that they haven’t been able to wear since before, well, Thanksgiving.

It’s like Thanksgiving is a Bermuda Triangle of sorts for me.  I go in to the Holidays and get lost and disorganized and don’t come out for months.

I know its only three things, but actually, it’s quite a lot for me to accomplish in one morning.  I usually get so hung up in the ‘But Firsts’ that I rarely complete a task in the same day I start it.  You can call it ADD, you can call it procrastination, you can call it what ever you want.  I like to call it ‘But Firsts” because I get to say the word but(t).

What is a ‘But First’?  Well, lets see, I’m going to go to bed, but first, I’m going to bring the laundry up.  I’ll go down to the basement to do that, but first i need to go potty.  And while I’m in there I see we need a new roll of toilet paper.  I’ll fix that, but first I need to go to the closet to get a package of TP rolls.  While I’m in the closet, I see that we are short on bath towels.  I’ll bring some up when I’m in the basement to bring up the laundry.  But first I need to put a new load in the washer.  But first I have to put the load that is in the washer into the dryer.  And I need to fold the laundry, but first I need to iron some of that stuff.  But first I need to put the iron on and then I need to go find that new can of starch I bought.

See the problem?  I wander through the house in this never-ending mission, and accomplish pretty much nothing most of the time.  And yet, I’m so busy, I’m running up my own nose.

So now you can appreciate why the tasks I completed today were impressive.  And I celebrated by making homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies. (and the angels sang).

I wanted to make them in the shapes of hearts, so I painstakingly formed the dough into large obvious hearts.  And after they baked, I pulled out beautiful…. blobs.  Not hearts.  Oh yeah, that dough spreads.  I grabbed my pizza cutter and made little triangle cookies.  Hey!  Why not decorate them with some pink icing for Valentine’s month?  Great idea.  But first I need to go down to the pantry and gather the icing ingredients.  While I’m down there, I see all the sprinkles that might go well with this project.  So I get them.  But first….

yada yada yada….   Clearly I have impulse control issues.   Don’t be like me.

Finally, PHEW, I got upstairs and begin carefully decorating them.  Some were dipped.  Some were striped.  Some were dotted.  I had some with pink, red, or clear sugar.  Some with white sprinkles.  Some with peanutbutter chips I’d melted.  I made them so pretty. So enchanting. Sweet.  They were like something you’d see in Starbucks.  VERY trendy looking.  I was having a ball.  Sure, I made an unholy mess, but it would be worth it.

Troy, the love of my life, the man who would eat a stick of wood if you served it to him because he prides himself on being low-maintenance, walked in said,

“I like them better plain.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him, and shoved a cookie in his mouth, dainty sprinkles and all.

And I’m going to make him take the whole batch to work for the men (and woman!) at the fire station tomorrow…the pink ones, the sugary sprinkled ones, the very pretty white and red ones.  That ought to teach him to look a gift celebratory cookie in the mouth.

It’s a good thing he’s so dadburn handsome.

Next time, I’ll just serve him a stick.

With sprinkles.

There are certain words I love the sound of and I look for places to say them.  I love the way they roll off my tongue. Words like:

Pickle:  How can you say that word and NOT smile?  Say it fast several times in a row.  What a great word.

Amok:  I love this word because people mis-use it so well.  It originally meant a demonic, murderous frenzy, but its been mis-used so often, it also now means simply uncontrolled.  But when I hear people say, “The kids are running amok!”,  I can’t help but think of possessed children running around in a murderous frenzy.  Heads being chopped off and lobbed around, hatchets being swung hither and thither. My favorite is when a preschool teacher says it.  I just lose it!  Too funny!

Titillate:  It is purely impossible to say or hear that word and not think of boobies.

Boobies: Much funnier sounding than the word ‘boobs’.  Ask any 8 year old boy.  He’ll confirm that fact.

Thither: (As in, Hither and Thither.) I cannot hear this word without thinking about an effeminate man with a lisp.  Call me politically incorrect, but I just can’t.  I mean no harm, honest.

Zipper:  This word is like Pickle, in that its fun to say several times in a row.  Especially to a toddler.

Carniverous: Sounds like carnival, only yummier.  Either way, it puts me in my happy place.

Scoop:  I’m not sure if this one stands on its own, of if its funny because it sounds a lot like ‘poop’.

Do you think I’m spending too much time around my kids?  Or firefighters?

My Critter came home last week with a song in his heart.  And by that I mean he had learned, created, and morphed a mixture of songs he and his 3rd grade cronies have been singing at recess.  He allowed me to put the words down to share with you.  Its pure poetry.

Please read this with the tune of ‘Joy To the World’ in your head.

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen,  I present to you:

Critter’s Muse ~ A Compilation of 3rd Grade Boy’s Songs 

Joy to the world, Cause Barney’s Dead

I bar-be-cued his head,

Don’t worry about the body, I flushed it down the potty

and around and around it went

and around and around it went

and aroooouuuuund, arooooouuuund,

around it went.

Don’t worry about the tail, I fed it to a whale

and a munch and a munch it went

and a munch and a munch it went

and a muuuuuunch, a muuuuunch,

a munch it went.

Don’t worry about the weenie, I sold it to a genie

(and right about here, he inserts this poem, in spoken verse, which I think is extremely outside-the-box and artsy-fartsy of him.)

There once was a genie

who had a 10 foot weenie

and he showed it to the lady next door

she thought it was a snake

and hit it with a rake

and now its only 5 foot 4

(And then he reverts back to the singing, only this time using the tune from ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ (Or the ABC’s))

ABCD EFG

Barney is my enemy

Stick a rifle up his nose

Pull the trigger, there he goes (to the hospital)

And he still was not dead

So I took up a bazooka and

blew up his head

I went to his funeral

and threw some flowers

and threw a grenade.

The End

If you are wondering what our world will look like in the hands of the current 3rd graders when they come of age, look no further than the song above.

And run screaming to the hills.

Its been two complete weeks since Mamaboe.com’s inception, and in that time alone, the page has received nearly 6,000 views.

That is about 5,999 more than I ever expected.

I am astounded, and a little dismayed at the interest in my drivel.  Who would ever have thunk that my indirect, twisted thought process would be understood, let alone entertaining.  I mean, I know I have been a source of amusement to my family, but they have to be kind to me.  You guys could have just walked away…before it was too late.  You could have saved yourselves.  Think of all the time you spent reading my thoughts….and you can never ever have that time back.

I weep for you at the thought of it.

I am only human.  I can’t say that I remain modest and humble in the face of such unexpected success.   I’ll even admit that maybe my head got a little bigger than it should have.  I mean, if you look at it really, it’s not like I’m out there saving lives or doing anything remotely socially redeeming.  I’m just doing what comes naturally:  Spouting off every thought that comes….as it comes.   Without any forethought or afterthought.

Much like a toddler.

Come to think of it, you really shouldn’t let your kids read my blog.  We don’t want them to think it’s ok to be like me.  In fact, tell them not to be like me, but rather to strive for some kind of socially redeeming purpose in life.

Kids who have ignored their parent’s direction and are reading this blog anyways:  Do NOT be like me.  And if you ignore this warning, this is what most likely will happen to you:

So I’m in CVS in Poolesville, wearing what I had thrown on this morning to get the kids fed their scrambled eggs and cheese (heavy on the cheese) and off to school, with hair that had only dreams of being brushed, when a woman I have never seen before approached me.  She asked me if I was the writer behind Mamaboe.com.   Suspiciously I asked her if I was, would it be a good thing?  She began gushing – gushing – about how she has enjoyed reading my essays, and how she starts and ends her days reading them.  She thanked me for having the courage to write and put it out there for anyone and everyone to see.  She asked me if I had ever considered writing a book.

I am ashamed to tell you how fast my ego jacked up.  Fast and, not huge…. but gargantuous. I’m surprised I didn’t lose my balance due to the enormity of my head.  As she went on and on about it, I began thinking, “Wow.  I am that good.  I am courageous.  I am talented.  I am funny as hell.  I AM all that, and the bag of freaking chips.  I SHOULD write a book.”

I admit it, I was rather bloated.  Usually that has to do with my weight, (especially after a night of binge-eating Lo Mein), but in this particular case it was due to flattery that I was not expecting and not prepared to take with a grain of salt.

I barely had it in me to deign to thank her before I left her to go check out.   I mean, it’s not like I have time to talk to just anyone.

As the cashier was ringing me up, I wondered if she read my blog too.  And did she love me too?  And did she realize that here I was in the flesh for goodness sake?  Did she feel lucky?

I saw her looking at me for a moment as if she wanted to say something.  I could tell she really wanted to.  My head grew even larger.  I didn’t want to disappoint, so I opened the door for her.

“How are you?” I asked, in my most condescending tone.

“Uh, fine.” she answered.  “I don’t mean to be rude, but uh, you’ve got a little something on your shirt….uh…right on your…uh…”

I looked down.  There on my shirt at the exact spot of my left nipple was a piece of scrambled egg with cheese.  Not a small one, either.  And under it was a sizeable grease spot.

“I’m only telling you because I would want someone to tell me, and I know how embarrassing that can be.” She added, sympathetically.

With as much dignity as I could muster, I plucked the morsel from my breast, and popped it in my mouth.  Grease spot, I could do nothing about, but walk back to my car with one hand on my boob.

Ego Deflation:  Complete.

So I’m back to my normal sheepishly fallible self.  And I know I have at least one reader who will never look at my blog picture again without seeing egg-and-cheese boob.

It’s good to be back.

Did you miss me?