Monday, January 18, 2010

My Hidden Talent

I have a hidden talent.  That means if I were to perform at a talent show that took place in a cultural hall, I would be booed off the gym floor and seek refuge in the mother's lounge hoping the odor of soured diaper would keep people at bay.  My talent? I can peel a banana like a monkey.  Impressed? I thought so.  My selfless side is peeking out today, so I am going to share with you this incredible ability.  Grab a banana as you normally would, turn it upside down, squeeze the end, and peel.  I think it's much simpler.  Leave it to us humans to complicate things when the apes already had it figured out. 

And they think humans evolved from apes.  Sheesh!

Friday, January 15, 2010

Employment Terminated!

Last month we received Christmas cards from friends and family which is always wonderful,but I noticed a little something on most of the cards that made me cringe inside. Here's an example: "Merry Christmas from the Smith's!" There! Do you see it? An apostrophe! Um, excuse me? Mr. Apostrophe? I understand you were invited to join the Smith family today. I regret to inform you your services are no longer needed. When the Smiths need to possess something and not be plural, your space will be waiting. Until then, we ask you to wait in line with the comma and semi-colon. Thank you.
Now that Mr. Apostrophe has been excused, the phrase should read, "Merry Christmas from the Smiths."  Ahh! Sweet relief!
Lesson to be learned? There is a time and a place for Mr. Apostrophe. 
Feel free to hire and fire upon demand.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Fun with Mom and Dad

I will now pay homage to the Dick and Jane primers, and to the classic break-down in communication between husband and wife.

See Mom go. See Dad sit.
See Mom work. See Dad recline.
See Mom work more. See Dad read.
See Mom work. See Dad doze.
See Mom fume. See Dad drool.
See Mom bang
around dishes in a
manner in an attempt
to let Dad know his
behavior is unacceptable. See Dad stir.
See Mom change tactics. Hear Dad snore.
See Mom nudge Dad. See Dad wake up.
See Mom scowl. Hear Dad say, "What's wrong?"
Hear Mom say, "Nothing." Hear Dad say, "Ok."
See Mom punish Dad for sleeping. See Dad clueless.
See Mom enraged. See Dad upset.
See Mom explode. See Dad react.
See them fight.
See argument escalate.
See argument resolve.
See Mom and Dad kiss.
See Mom go. See Dad sit.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Pets vs Kids

I have three kids and one cat (against my will, but here we are. The cat, not the kids.).  I don't understand people who have no kids and only pets and think the two are comparable. Really? Our cat lives in the garage.  We give it food and water every two or three days and it came potty-trained. Wait- did I just describe a cat or a kid? I get so confused...
Dan had a boss who was not married, but had a live-in girlfriend and they bought a kid dog. Dan had mentioned how sleepless his nights were and how much attention our baby (our oldest) required. His boss said, "I know what you mean! Our dog blah blah blah." Stop. Don't even try to compare my baby to your animal. They are not the same.  They will never be the same, no matter what you may think, ok?  Talk to me after your first kid, then MAYBE I'll be more sympathetic when you complain aobut your doggy and his naughty antics.
 Even though there's no fur or cute waggely tail, my child will give me hugs and say, "I  wuv you, Mommy." What does your dog say? I thought so. Barking and licks from a tongue (a tongue that also licks its behind and eats poop, mind you) don't count.

I have to go; the cat needs a diaper change.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Guessing Game

My husband likes to play guessing games. No, guessing game. “What song am I playing?” he asks as he flares his nostrils. In and out, in and out in some seemingly random movement that's supposed to match the rhythm of a song that I am to readily recognize. Early on in our marriage, he would stump me every time. Six years later, I'm wiser. Much wiser. It's the same song every time: “Jingle Bells.” I'm so good, that when he asks me now, “What song am I playing?” I don't even have to look.

Eyes on the back of my head.

Flare on, honey.