Posts Tagged With: silly

~ Varmint and Critter and The Bee ~

Posted on April 25, 2012 by mamaboe

What a weird evening.  I spent it at a spelling bee.

Both of my children entered the Monocacy Elementary School Spelling Bee.  Both of them made it to Finals.  Both of them made it to the winner’s circle.  Varmint got 3rd, and Critter got 2nd.

Understand something….let me be VERY CLEAR:   If it were not for Spellcheck, you would not be able to discern half of the words I write on Mama Boe.

Clearly they got their orthographizing talents from their father.

I was not looking for an entertaining evening.  I mean, let’s face it, I’ve gone from exciting nights out on the town in my 20’s to an evening at the elementary school spelling bee in my 40’s. I really did not have high expectations for the evening.

But talk about excitement! Holy. Stinkin. Moly! It was more stressful than going to the racetracks.  I mean, I was on the edge of my friggin’ seat.  And to have BOTH of my kids going head to head on the stage…there isn’t enough Xanax in the world for that kind of pressure.

Varmint got taken out by the word ‘Cemetery’.  Critter got taken out by the word ‘Stomach’.  Neither one of them will ever ever ever spell those words incorrectly again, that I can promise you.

And then at the end of the evening, the school had a raffle.  One of the prizes was “Vice Principal for the day.”  Critter won it, and was overjoyed.

Before we left, I asked Varmint how she felt.  She was pleased that she had given it a try, and pleased that she had gotten to the winner’s circle.  I could tell that she was a little disappointed, though.  I had watched her study the word lists, and watched her nerves and hopes throughout the process.  She was a real trooper and doing her best to be mature about not winning first place.

Then I asked Critter how he felt. He said it was good that he got Second place, because red is his favorite color and that was the color of the medal around his neck, but what he was REALLY psyched about was winning Vice-Principal for the day.

So, let me get this straight:  He survived longer than all but one of the many contestants on the stage after several gruelling rounds of spelling bee, but what he was most proud of for the evening was winning a raffle? Winning a game of chance?

I thought Varmint was going to punch him for sure.

It’s a good thing he’s fast.

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~ So What? ~

Posted on January 17, 2012 by mamaboe

So many of my previous posts have starred my son, Critter, and his many endearing antics. He is a handful and will most likely be the next Dick Van Dyke when he grows up. If we hear one of the cats cry out, or if there is the sound of breaking glass, or the thud of something heavy bouncing down the stairs, we generally look for him.

But I DO have another child. The beautiful and talented Varmint.

My dad used to call her his ‘Rosebud’ before he died. I call her ‘Varmint,’ ‘Peanut’, and sometimes, ‘Butthead’, but only on special occasions.  She is, without a doubt, one of the funniest, sharpest-witted 10.5 year olds I’ve ever met.

But Varmint is a worrier.

She worries about pleasing the teachers. She worries about pleasing her friends. She worries about pleasing the basketball coach. I’m pretty sure she’d worry about pleasing the mailman, given the chance.

(Oddly enough, by the looks of her room, she doesn’t worry too darn much about pleasing her Mama.)

This excessive worrying drives her to go above and beyond the call of duty on too many things. If anyone is ripe for an ulcer, its her. For example, at her school recently, each 4th and 5th grade child had to choose an historic figure in the Revolutionary war, and play the part of that person in a little “wax museum” for parents. Each kid had a lengthy report of facts about their character. And they read these facts. Well, MOST of them did.

Varmint memorized her page of facts, and acted it out as if she was Sarah Bernhardt.

“Why?” I asked?
“Because the teacher said she would like it if we had good eye contact while we were in character.”

I just stared at her. Lemme get this straight. The teacher mentioned eye contact is a good thing, so my daughter memorized a bizillion word essay to please her.  Understand that in preparation for this, we cried over this report.  We lamented over how much work it was.  We fought through each and every agonizing stressful moment of it.  ….and we didn’t have to??

I took a deep breath. “Alrighty Then.”

My goal now is to teach this child the meaning of “So What.”

It’s an important phrase that a wise woman once suggested that I, in my over-achiever, Type-A personality, adopt.  The point is that nothing any of us may fail at will result in end of the world. The universe will not implode if we screw up. (Probably.)

Not enough time to finish homework? So What?
Not straight A’s in class? So What?
Art Teacher doesn’t like your work? So What?
Hair a bit out of place? So what? Its not the end of the world!

Perspective is a hard thing to maintain. We are so tiny in this universe. Our biggest problems don’t amount to much at all. But in the day to day minutiae crap, we forget this! So I try to live with “So What” and not get wrapped around the axle about the small stuff if I can help it. And she so desperately needs to learn this, too. Soon. VERY SOON.

Now, Critter, on the other hand…..

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~ Walk All Over Me, Please. ~

Posted on January 16, 2012 by mamaboe

I have a fetish.

I’ve had it for years, and its slowly gotten worse. I know I probably need some kind of group therapy for it, but I am a horrible listener (which explains this blog,) and I imagine that rolling my eyes during a group therapy session would go over like a turd in a punchbowl.

And I’ve been known to roll my eyes. Its a bad habit I’ve learned from the masters ~ Gwen, Garrick, and sadly, Troy.

But when it comes right down to it, I really don’t WANT to change, so group therapy or any 12-step program would be wasted on me. (Its kind of like the idea of dieting is wasted on me. I really don’t want to. Counting points, counting carbs, counting calories….WHATEVER. I would rather count the minutes until my next meal.)

Ok, here it is, my big confession. Please don’t judge me.

I ADORE DOOR MATS.

Yes, I said it. Door Mats.

Have you ANY IDEA how difficult it is to be a closet Door Mat Adorer? It’s nearly impossible! Door Mats are right out front, not in some stinkin closet!

“Why?” you ask? “Why, Pam? Why Door Mats? Why not Salt and Pepper shakers, or Tea Cups, or Historic Coins or Irish Spoons? Who in the world collects Door Mats?”

Talk about an opportunity to control a first impression! Door Mats ARE the quintessential first impression! I love to change them to fit my various Moods. I have some to reflect the season or Holiday. (WIPE YOUR FEET! This includes you, Santa!). I have some to reflect my philosophies. (Enjoy Life!) But my favorite is ridiculously simple, and leaves everyone who passes over it smiling. It reads simply,

“Hi, I’m Mat.”

It’s so silly, and it speaks to everyone.

That’s what people relate to, really. We humans love Silly. And not just any silly…we love Simple Silly. Arrogance tunes people out. Simple Silly endears. Like a Golden Retriever. Not the brightest bulb in the box of dog choices, but argueably one of the most loveable.

I wish I had more doorways so I could get more doormats. Is that wrong? Do I need an intervention?

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~ My Side of the Bed: A Tale of Woe ~

Posted on January 14, 2012 by mamaboe

Lets make one thing perfectly clear.  My husband is a Captain, Station Commander, Firefighter, Task Force Team Member on the Maryland Task Force One Urban Search and Rescue Team, and Paramedic.  This means he is gone at least one night out of three, and often two nights out of three (because he has to work overtime to support his wife’s Dollar Store Habit…its very sad).  It makes sense, then, that HIS side of the bed gets less use.  Add to that, before we were married, My side of the bed got use from yours truly for… the better part of a decade. In short, my side of the bed has been USED.  His side of the bed is only slightly used.

Why is it, then, that the fact that MY side of the bed being sunken, soften, lumpy,  SMOOSHED and creaky makes me feel rather, um, LARGE.  Why is it that his side of the bed being firm and straight and downright comfortable makes me feel chagrin?  I mean, heck, look at the first paragraph!  The disparate usage alone would create the glaring differences in the conditions of our individual sides.   Common sense demands that it would have to be a very special mattress that did NOT show a difference in the usage wear and tear.

And yet, I can’t help but draw a similarity to the condition of my side of the bed, and my used, lumpy, soft, smooshed and creaky body, and his side of the bed with his firm, straight and comfortable body.

Its just not good for my self-esteem.   Something must be done.  The way I see it, we can either buy a new mattress and use it until I crush it, too, or he can be a good sport and gain some gosh darn weight. He’s in his mid forties, for pity’s sake.  He can let it go a little bit.  Soften around the middle.  Maybe love me enough to actually sport a muffin top or something to prove to the world that his wife can actually cook.

Its more likely that we’ll get a new mattress.

*** Sigh ***

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