I played the board game Life with the kids on Thursday night.
At one point, Son #2 was driving around with his wife, who he named "Pink," and his two sons when he landed on the square announcing that he had a new grandchild. He was psyched.
Son #1 then asked, "Wait, how can you have a grandchild when your two boys have been stuck in the back seat this whole time?" followed by, "Oh no! Are you thinking what I'm thinking? About your wife?"
Good Lord. How can something so simple and otherwise family friendly go so horribly awry?
Showing posts with label ramones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ramones. Show all posts
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Psycho Therapy
In another have-kids-lose-privacy moment, I hopped out of the shower today to find Son #2 sitting on the toilet, lid down, waiting for me. Shocking for me today. Worth a lot of $ in therapy for him 20 years from now. His problem/not mine.
"Hey mom, can I invite Robert over?"
"Sure."
"If he comes over, try not to walk around the house naked, okay?"
What the . . . ?
Oh yeah, I'll have to remember that. Note to self: try to restrain yourself from removing all clothes in front of eight year old boys. I just hope it's not as difficult as it may sound.
Here's where I should put a clip of a Bare Naked Ladies song but I despise them so I'm giving a nod to a much preferred Ramones tune that's also somewhat appropriate. And Grannie will love it too -- not as much as her love for Dokken but you can't have everything.
"Hey mom, can I invite Robert over?"
"Sure."
"If he comes over, try not to walk around the house naked, okay?"
What the . . . ?
Oh yeah, I'll have to remember that. Note to self: try to restrain yourself from removing all clothes in front of eight year old boys. I just hope it's not as difficult as it may sound.
Here's where I should put a clip of a Bare Naked Ladies song but I despise them so I'm giving a nod to a much preferred Ramones tune that's also somewhat appropriate. And Grannie will love it too -- not as much as her love for Dokken but you can't have everything.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Fear Factor
Can't. Seem. To. Get. My. Sh*t. Together. Lately.
Where to start?
We had a bit of drama in our house during the last week of school when Son #1 dis-invited me from the fourth grade poetry slam. Why? Because I embarrass him. Nothing I do, per se, just my entire being and presence thereof (i.e., nothing I can change short of moving to Guam which I am considering). The next day he apologized and asked me to come but it was a bittersweet event for me. I wanted to cry the entire time because I was a) grateful to be there and b) acutely aware that I wasn't really wanted or needed. Thankfully, the hubby was his usual hilarious self, quipping quietly to me as each kid performed, so the day was not shot.
Another recent weekend my girlfriend Yammikins came to visit. We spent one day at Niagara Falls riding the Maid of the Mist and going on the Journey Behind the Falls. Very cheesy but fun. At the end of the day, Son #2 and I went to the haunted house that we were steered away from last year -- the woman manning the cash register had warned us that it was too scary for little kids. He complained the whole way home last year and insisted on going this year. So we did.
Pitch black. Narrow hallways. Dingy mirrors. Things that bump into your face. Costumed men jumping out. Noises. Touches.
Son #2 was freaking out. He wanted me to carry him. (He's eight; I'm not that strong.) After what felt like an eternity of holding hands and walking very, very slowly while Son #2 whimpered, I asked one guy who jumped out at us, "How much further do we have?" He responded, "You're about a quarter of the way through." Holy crap! We continued for another few minutes, frantically trying all of the exit doors that we located, until the next dude scared. us. "Would you be willing to help us out of here?" No problem. He walked us through the maze, flashlight on, garden hoses hanging from ceiling fully illuminated, telling us what was going to happen. "At the bottom of these steps, you're going to step on a mat and a big, loud, blast of air will hit you in the face." Even knowing this piece of information, and seeing the mat, didn't stop Son #2 from panicking.
When we finally exited, we needed to sit down for a minute outside with Yams and Son #1 because Son #2 told us that his legs were paralyzed.
Note to self: parenting means making decisions that are in the best interests of your children. Once again, I need more lessons.
I can't control my fingers I can't control my toes, oh no no no no no.
Sorry dude. Put me in a wheelchair. I wanna be sedated, too.
Where to start?
We had a bit of drama in our house during the last week of school when Son #1 dis-invited me from the fourth grade poetry slam. Why? Because I embarrass him. Nothing I do, per se, just my entire being and presence thereof (i.e., nothing I can change short of moving to Guam which I am considering). The next day he apologized and asked me to come but it was a bittersweet event for me. I wanted to cry the entire time because I was a) grateful to be there and b) acutely aware that I wasn't really wanted or needed. Thankfully, the hubby was his usual hilarious self, quipping quietly to me as each kid performed, so the day was not shot.
Another recent weekend my girlfriend Yammikins came to visit. We spent one day at Niagara Falls riding the Maid of the Mist and going on the Journey Behind the Falls. Very cheesy but fun. At the end of the day, Son #2 and I went to the haunted house that we were steered away from last year -- the woman manning the cash register had warned us that it was too scary for little kids. He complained the whole way home last year and insisted on going this year. So we did.
Pitch black. Narrow hallways. Dingy mirrors. Things that bump into your face. Costumed men jumping out. Noises. Touches.
Son #2 was freaking out. He wanted me to carry him. (He's eight; I'm not that strong.) After what felt like an eternity of holding hands and walking very, very slowly while Son #2 whimpered, I asked one guy who jumped out at us, "How much further do we have?" He responded, "You're about a quarter of the way through." Holy crap! We continued for another few minutes, frantically trying all of the exit doors that we located, until the next dude scared. us. "Would you be willing to help us out of here?" No problem. He walked us through the maze, flashlight on, garden hoses hanging from ceiling fully illuminated, telling us what was going to happen. "At the bottom of these steps, you're going to step on a mat and a big, loud, blast of air will hit you in the face." Even knowing this piece of information, and seeing the mat, didn't stop Son #2 from panicking.
When we finally exited, we needed to sit down for a minute outside with Yams and Son #1 because Son #2 told us that his legs were paralyzed.
Note to self: parenting means making decisions that are in the best interests of your children. Once again, I need more lessons.
I can't control my fingers I can't control my toes, oh no no no no no.
Sorry dude. Put me in a wheelchair. I wanna be sedated, too.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Gabba Gabba Sleigh
I’ve recently decided to take a deep breath when someone compliments me and ingest it. It’s been a rocky start but I dooooo believe it’s worth the effort.
Usually, when I get a compliment from a client, of course I say “Thank you” but I shallowly then think to myself, “Uh, that’s what you paid me to do.” Conversely, if I think I performed poorly on something (or at least could have done a better job preparing, presenting, listening, responding, etc.), I berate myself for hours, days, months, years: whatever it takes to feel really, really awful about myself.
But why do I, and others like me, allow ourselves to wallow in self-loathing over an overblown perception yet brush aside callously any real appreciation?
I need to put an end to this. Stuart Smalley here I come.
With that said, my favorite compliment over this past week of taking stock/giving thanks came from my coworker, Jenn. For an upcoming Christmas party at a not-for-profit agency for which I volunteer, each Board member was asked to come with a small “you-nique” gag gift that really reflects his/her personality. Huh?
I was at a complete loss for what I should bring. I don’t collect anything (but dust bunnies), have any hobbies, or really connect/associate myself with any one thing, etc. So I asked Jenn what she thought defined me with the hope of a gift-inspired idea. She thought for a few seconds and responded with a go-go dance move, “I kind of see you as a hippy chick. Like Goldie Hawn popping up on Laugh-In but with some punk rock thrown in.”
Love that! Love that! Love that! Problem solved.
Merry Christmas (I don't want to fight tonight).
Usually, when I get a compliment from a client, of course I say “Thank you” but I shallowly then think to myself, “Uh, that’s what you paid me to do.” Conversely, if I think I performed poorly on something (or at least could have done a better job preparing, presenting, listening, responding, etc.), I berate myself for hours, days, months, years: whatever it takes to feel really, really awful about myself.
But why do I, and others like me, allow ourselves to wallow in self-loathing over an overblown perception yet brush aside callously any real appreciation?
I need to put an end to this. Stuart Smalley here I come.
With that said, my favorite compliment over this past week of taking stock/giving thanks came from my coworker, Jenn. For an upcoming Christmas party at a not-for-profit agency for which I volunteer, each Board member was asked to come with a small “you-nique” gag gift that really reflects his/her personality. Huh?
I was at a complete loss for what I should bring. I don’t collect anything (but dust bunnies), have any hobbies, or really connect/associate myself with any one thing, etc. So I asked Jenn what she thought defined me with the hope of a gift-inspired idea. She thought for a few seconds and responded with a go-go dance move, “I kind of see you as a hippy chick. Like Goldie Hawn popping up on Laugh-In but with some punk rock thrown in.”
Love that! Love that! Love that! Problem solved.
Merry Christmas (I don't want to fight tonight).
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Christmas in Hollis
Today's video is being brought to you by another guest blogger: Son #1! Welcome.
Question: Hey my friend, what do you like so much about Run-D.M.C.?
Answer: Don't know.
Question: Don't know? I thought for sure you would pick The Ramones, "Merry Christmas I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight" (another great choice, I may add). Why "Christmas in Hollis"?
Answer: I don't know. The music. Sheesh.
Alrighty then. Thanks for blogging with me. And I 'll tell you why I like it: It was a letter from Santa and the dough is for me!
Question: Hey my friend, what do you like so much about Run-D.M.C.?
Answer: Don't know.
Question: Don't know? I thought for sure you would pick The Ramones, "Merry Christmas I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight" (another great choice, I may add). Why "Christmas in Hollis"?
Answer: I don't know. The music. Sheesh.
Alrighty then. Thanks for blogging with me. And I 'll tell you why I like it: It was a letter from Santa and the dough is for me!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Monkey Turns Seven
Happy birthday Monks!
Son #2 is on the couch wearing a blue robe (that's covered in basketballs, footballs and soccer balls). He's wearing a Clone Trooper face mask, holding his drum sticks, and singing the Ramones, "shoot 'em in the back now."
It doesn't get much better than this. You just never know what to expect with kids.
Speaking of which, while trick-or-treating the other night, I warned the kids, "Do NOT say anything bad about the candy anyone gives you." Why? Because last year an old man was handing out Necco wafers and all the kids were saying, "Ew." To his face.
This year all went well until we got to one house where Son #1 didn't say "Thank you." I asked, "Dude, did you even say thanks?"
"No, she smelled like Subway."
Subway. Eat Fresh. And stink up the house, apparently.
Son #2 is on the couch wearing a blue robe (that's covered in basketballs, footballs and soccer balls). He's wearing a Clone Trooper face mask, holding his drum sticks, and singing the Ramones, "shoot 'em in the back now."
It doesn't get much better than this. You just never know what to expect with kids.
Speaking of which, while trick-or-treating the other night, I warned the kids, "Do NOT say anything bad about the candy anyone gives you." Why? Because last year an old man was handing out Necco wafers and all the kids were saying, "Ew." To his face.
This year all went well until we got to one house where Son #1 didn't say "Thank you." I asked, "Dude, did you even say thanks?"
"No, she smelled like Subway."
Subway. Eat Fresh. And stink up the house, apparently.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
We're a Happy Family
I just received a tongue-in-cheek email from my sis that had "out of office" replies such as "I am currently out of the office at a job interview and will reply to you if I fail to get the position" and "I have run away to join a different circus."
It reminded me of a little gem that was actually distributed at my old company and was entitled, "99 Things to Say to Create a Happy Department." The quotes are so motivating that I thought I would share some of them in order to help those of you who may be facing employee morale issues of your own. Some golden nuggets that you might want to try on for size include:
Too farcical to be true? I wish. However, I just Googled the author, Arzella Dirksen, and found a copy online (sans comic illustrations of smiling people in business suits). Maybe I'll send Arzella my resume. I need some one to remind me of how super I am.
It reminded me of a little gem that was actually distributed at my old company and was entitled, "99 Things to Say to Create a Happy Department." The quotes are so motivating that I thought I would share some of them in order to help those of you who may be facing employee morale issues of your own. Some golden nuggets that you might want to try on for size include:
- That's not half bad!
- You've got your brain in gear today
- Well look at you go
- That kind of work makes me happy
- You must have been practicing
- I knew you could do it
- You're really going to town
- You're moving at Internet speed
- You're doing that much better today
- You did it that time!
- You did a lot of work today
- Congratulations! You got it right!
Too farcical to be true? I wish. However, I just Googled the author, Arzella Dirksen, and found a copy online (sans comic illustrations of smiling people in business suits). Maybe I'll send Arzella my resume. I need some one to remind me of how super I am.
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