Want to feel old in a hurry? Go to a fast food place. Any will do. The younger the workers, the better. Have your meal ring up to $19.99. Make a comment about bursting into a Prince song. Get a blank stare. Tell them it was probably before their time. And then hear them tell you that their mom likes that song. See? Instant old fart. This may or may not have happened to me in the past few weeks.
Tag-Archive for » humor «
Our boy is trying to assert his independence. He’ll turn 3 in about 10 days, so it’s no surprise. He loves to have choices, so we offer him one thing or the other and let him decide. But sometimes he’s pretty insistent that he wants something even when we say no.
Especially when it comes to Go-Gurt. I don’t know if I should be happy we introduced this into our household or not. The kid really loves it. So I let him have one or two each day. But he’s constantly asking for more. And since he can open the fridge, he goes and gets one and presents it to me for approval. In fact, a few days ago he came to me, smiled the sweetest little smile, rubbed noses with me, and then produced a Go-Gurt from behind his back.
He’s a smart one, already learning how to work mama over.
Yesterday was a battle of wills. Every five minutes he was asking for a yogurt, then crying when we said no. It had been that way all day – the whining and battling. We were all getting exhausted from it. Daddy sternly told him enough was enough, and the boy came over to me, whining and putting his head in my lap. Daddy then told him he’d better turn that frown upside down and put a smile on his face. Again, sternly. The instant the word “smile” came out of hubby’s mouth, my son put on the biggest, cheesiest grin you’ve ever seen. It was immediate. I looked at him, then looked at my husband, trying hard to stifle a laugh.
Hubby’s face was turning red as he tried not to laugh. It took only seconds before we cracked up. Things went from super-serious, you-need-to-stop-whining-child to full-on tears running down our cheeks. I have never seen that child change his demeanor so quickly. It really was hilarious. By the time we finished laughing, everyone was in a better mood. And our sides were hurting. A lot.
Do you know how painful it is to make a 9-months-pregnant woman belly laugh?
Totally worth it.
Shiver me timbers! Of course I couldn’t let a day like this pass me by. What day, you say?
Aaarrrrr, that would be International Talk Like a Pirate Day. What else, ya landlubbers? It gives me a bit of a chance to throw out me favorite joke of all time. Avast me hearties, and listen well.
A pirate walks into a bar with a boat wheel sticking out of his pants. The landlubbin’ bartender looks at him for a moment, then asks, “What’s with the boat wheel?”
Things have been slightly stressful here at casa de misspriss. We’ve had some financial setbacks that aren’t pretty. If I were actually working full-time, they would be tough, but we’d be back on our feet in a month, possibly two. Right now, it’s going to take much longer than that.
In addition to working outside the home, I’m working on my writing business as well. It’s going great. But I need more work. Trying to deal with that, keep up with the writing I do have, keep up with my job and the stuff going on there, care for my son (and actually be present), and somewhere in there actually spend some time with my husband… well, they’re starting to take their toll.
Tonight, we had the TV on. J was playing with the kid and watching a show while I did some writing. There was one unexpected moment in the show involving hypnosis, a bell, and clucking like a chicken. It tickled us a little just because we weren’t watching for it. And later, J was trying to make noises for the baby, but one of them didn’t come out right. And the harder he tried, the more he messed up. And before you know it, we’re both laughing so hard that neither one of us can make the noise.
It’s our banter and just being silly once in a while that keep me from cracking.
My husband is a funny guy. And I can even be funny sometimes, too. (I just wish I could translate that better onto paper.) More than that, though, I’m grateful that we can laugh together. After ten years, he still makes me laugh, still makes me sigh at his thoughtfulness and tenderness. But don’t tell him that. Let’s just keep him guessing.*
I didn’t realize I needed laughter tonight, but I did. It’s a much better way to start the weekend than the way I was headed.
*He reads this, so he’s going to see it eventually.
And I can’t stop laughing.
Found over at Scalzi’s.
I was so surprised to realize that it’s already Thursday. I’m not quite sure where my week went, but I know it was busy. Actually, I guess I do. I’ve been working hard this week. I’ve even gotten out of the house once. Maybe twice. Go me!
Even though I keep the diaper bag packed and ready to go, it still takes so much effort to get ready. Each time I get home, I immediately replenish the bag so I won’t have to if I’m in a rush next time. But I still have to time things. The best time to leave? Right after a feeding, of course. But I have to sometimes change the baby’s clothes. Get myself ready. Gather the diaper bag, baby, a blanket or two, my wallet and cell phone, and see what else I’m forgetting. Keys! Must have the car keys if we’re driving. Well, even if we’re walking because the seat and stroller are in the car. So I have to balance all of this, get down to the car, get it open, put everything down so I can strap the kid in. Oh, and I have to remember not to bash his head against the door frame. I haven’t done that, but since I manage to regularly hit my head, it’s probably only a matter of time before I conk his noggin.
And then, the strapping in commences. Oh my, how the child hates to be strapped in to his car seat. My normally bubbly, smiley boy turns into a screaming, crying hellion for a few minutes. Until we get moving. Must. get. moving. NOW. So I try to hurry, and fumble a lot because, good lord, the screams. You’d think I was boiling him in oil and dipping him in ketchup. Or something. But once I get him strapped in, I have to rearrange all of our accessories so they don’t dump out the instant I open the car door. (Yes, that has happened, why do you ask?) And then I have to get my frazzled self into the car, get it started and GET MOVING. He does settle down fairly quickly once we’re on the road.
But when we get to our destination, I have to reverse the procedure. Except, he stays in his seat and the whole thing pops into the stroller. Man — that thing, with him in it? Is heavy. And awkward. I know the middle of the back seat is the safest place, but it is darn difficult to crawl in there, pull the seat out of the base, lift it, and drag it back outside of the car and then lift it a bit higher to get it into the stroller. It’s times like these that I definitely remember my scar. Ow.
I think I once thought it couldn’t be that bad to get out of the house with a baby if you kept everything prepared. Hey, who listened to that and remembered it and decided to lay the SMACKDOWN? I realize I was young and stupid and had no idea. But do you have to remind me of that every time I try to leave the house???? Sheesh.
Oh, and my little angel? Is TEN weeks old today. Wow. This time is going by too fast. I wish I had the entire thing on video tape so I can play it over and over later. I want to remember how my heart melts each time that sweet little face looks up into mine and smiles. That makes all of it worthwhile, you know.
I guess I’ll have to tell you a story, one that my husband keeps teasing me about at every opportunity. If you’re not a parent, I warn you about the images I’m about to invoke. Just saying.
When I was in the hospital, I was afraid my milk would never come in. I had a c-section and was on medication for preeclampsia, both of which can delay milk production. The Wee One was losing weight like crazy and the doctors were worried enough to have me supplement. It was a difficult time, as I felt really overwhelmed, scared and depressed about the things that were going on. I also thought I’d never get out of that damn hospital (I was there almost a week).
And now, my milk is, um, abundant. One day, I was preparing to take a shower, trying to time my window of opportunity. Unfortunately, I failed. I heard the baby crying in the other room. I was occupied at the time. And I started leaking all over the place. In order to keep the floor from getting soaked, I tried to find something to staunch the flow.
So my husband walks in to the bathroom, baby in hand, to find me in all my glory: naked and holding two dixie cups over my leaking breasts. And he laughed all the way to the kitchen, where he told my mother the story. And has since told my best friend.
What does he tell me bra size is now? Double-Dixie Cup, of course. Ah, the joys of motherhood.