Category Archives: Humor

A Metamorphosis of Sorts

When I was 13 or 14, I sat in my upstairs bedroom on a rainy night and started to read A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. I met the protagonist, Meg Murray, and realized that apart from her braces and whizzing math brain, she was me! I devoured the book, and the others in the series and I can say confidently that Meg Murray is a big part of why I am the nerdy girl that I am.

Today I stepped out after dinner to clip some pussy willows for my kitchen window. I was wearing some gaudy leggings under a black knit skirt, and had thrown my favorite browny green blanket sweater over a grey shirt to keep me warm. As I put my feet into my bright floral rubber boots I had a sudden realization.

I am no longer Meg.

I have become Mrs. Whatsit.

The Homemaker’s Stages of Vacation

I have discovered that there are stages a woman goes through as she prepares for a family vacation. Through thorough research (I spoke to tens of women about it) and strict observation, I have determined the following to be the steps through which we approach the impending trip.

1. Utopia:

Beginning when the trip actually appears in black and white on a calendar, this stage can be as brief as a few minutes or last as long as up to days before the actual trip. It sounds like this: “It’s going to be WONDERFUL! and RELAXING! and I’m going to cook everything before we go, so I won’t have anything to worry about and the children won’t fight and their clothes won’t get dirty, in fact we won’t need many clothes because we’ll just be at the pool all the time and it will be WONDERFUL and RELAXING!”

2. Denial

“I have plenty of time to cook all the things and pack all the things and clean all the things. Plenty of time.”

3. Catatonic

Accompanied by lying  in the middle of a room, surrounded by partially completed tasks. “THERE ARE TOO MANY THINGS!”

4. Bargaining

“I promise if you don’t eat at all today you can eat anything you want when we’re on vacation! Anything! You want me to buy the cocoa sugar bomb cereal that turns your poop blue? I will, just as long as you don’t need anything at all for any reason all day. In fact, why don’t you just go to bed at 10 am?”

5. Denial

“Oh. Look. It’s only 3 am. I still have three hours to finish up the last of the packing, scrub out the oven, wash all the walls and sew myself a classy beach cover-up. Plenty of time. I can sleep in the car on the way.”

6. Panic

“Did I turn the iron off? Did I turn the oven off? Did I remember the bathing suits, toothbrushes, underwear . . .? What if it snows? I didn’t pack anything for snow. What if there are no blankets for the beds? Did I remember pajamas? What did I put in the suitcases? Is there anything in the suitcases? WHAT IF I PACKED EMPTY SUITCASES?!?”

7. Peace

“Oh this is nice. We should do this again.”

I may, or may not have based this solely on what has happened in my house this week and what I anticipate happening over the next 48 hours.

In Which My Nocturnal Mind Proves Itself More Interesting Than My Daytime One

I have always dreamed in technicolor lunacy, but some nights are more bizarre than others. Last night, for instance, was stranger than it has been in a while, all the more because I still remember about half of it.

It all began in my parent’s house – at least in my dream it was my parent’s home, despite the fact it was a log cabin with a lean-to kitchen and not at all like any home in which my parents have lived. So here we are in my parent’s log cabin, and I walked into the lean-to kitchen to get a drink of water, and there was a beaver in the sink. I asked my parents if they were aware that they had a beaver in their sink, when the beaver sat up and looked at me. A raccoon came out of a cupboard and began chasing the beaver around the kitchen and into the living room. My father took a long time trying to put .357 ammunition in his snub-nosed stainless steel.22  revolver (everything about that is quite funny) before announcing that he couldn’t actually shoot the beaver, because he had to go to work. As if to fill in the gaps, my brain then put him in a Chick-Fil-A manager’s uniform. As he walked out the door (presumably to Chick-Fil-A) he told me to call my brother and have him do it. Confused (I don’t have a brother) I asked, “Do you mean Brian?” (my brother-in-law) To which my father answered, “Sure. Brian could do it too.”

I don’t know what happened to the beaver and the raccoon, because the next thing I knew I was back in my neighborhood visiting my friends Brenda and John who had retired from their jobs in Georgia and decided that a seminary neighborhood in St. Louis was the perfect retirement community for them. As they were giving me a tour of their place, I noticed fresh sheet rock on walls in their basement. “Oh. Jesse let you build walls?” I asked. “We’re not renting,” they answered. “We bought.”

So I walked up the hill from their place and over to the Brown’s where I invited them for dinner (which we really need to do). The Browns are seminary friends of ours in real life, but don’t live ANYWHERE near us. Anyway, I invited them to dinner, and in discussing seating arrangements for our combined children, Rebecca said to me, “Well, you have three kids and we have four, so that’s only one extra child.” Baffled, all I could think to respond was, “I don’t think that’s how math works.” We then moved on to planning time. I told her we were thinking about 5:30, and she said, “Ooooooh. That’s early for my kids. We usually eat around 10:30.”

I don’t know if any of that is as hilarious to y’all as it is to me, but at the very least it will prove to you that what you had always suspected about the fragility of my sanity is absolutely true.

Sleep Texting

I have come a long way from not knowing how to text! While I do use my phone for making calls, I text as much, if not more, and it is the exclusive way in which Jonathan and I communicate while he’s at work. I also tweet via text message which is a great way to post a quick cute moment without getting distracted by the entire internet world at my finger tips.

Thursday night I was falling asleep waiting for Jonathan to come home from work, but didn’t want to go to bed because I had some yogurt in the crock pot yogurting. (That’s a technical term.) Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and sent Jonathan a text and I went to bed. At some point in the night I woke up to find Jonathan in the bed with me and asked him if he’d looked after the yogurt. He didn’t know what I was talking about, but graciously got out of the warm bed and put the yogurt in the fridge for me.

The next morning I discovered why he was so confused when I found this in my twitter feed:

I had two thoughts, after I laughed at myself. The first was that the twitterverse really let me down by not caring for my yogurt as I requested. The second was to be pleased I’m not given to texting intimate things to my husband. I might have ended up with my own version of Weinergate.

Two Things Too Cute Not to Post

Cute thing #1

The mackerdoodle often makes up her own songs. Most of the time they have more words and meaning than the average pop song, but sometimes – especially when she’s tired – they are nonsense songs of non words. Last night  at bath time she was  singing such a song very loudly that my only choice was to either tell her to be quiet, or join in.

I chimed in to her tune with nonsense words of my own, and she burst out laughing.

“Mama!” she said, laughing so hard she could hardly get the words out, “that is NOT how that song goes!”


Cute Thing #2

One of our neighbor doodles was playing at our house this morning. He’s the same age as the cheesedoodle but has a lot more words, so many more words than any other child their age that I don’t even compare them. It’s nice. Anyway, it was fun having him around the house, and hearing him play. While he was with us I needed to change the cheesedoodle’s diaper and neighbordoodle wandered into the bathroom.

“Can you give cheesedoodle privacy while I change his diaper, neighbordoodle?” I asked.

He nodded and said, “OK” and ran down the hall to the living room. In a flash he was back with a toy pony.

“Here. This pivasee? Here cheesedoodle. Here pivasee.”


I really love my life right now.

So . . .

So, back at the beginning of my blog, I realized one day that I had started the last 28 or something posts with the word “So.”  Then I discovered that the more I tried not to do it, the more I ended up doing it.  I briefly considered renaming the blog “So . . .” and making that my official starting word so that it looked purposeful instead of redundant, and as soon as I decided to do that of course I couldn’t.

Anyway I had never considered that it may be a word with which I begin a lot of sentences, until I began to notice my mackerdoodle doing it.

At first it was when she was playing.  “So, I’m going to the store.  You want to come Floga?”

Then it showed up when she was considering something.  “So, what about Nana and Papa?  When we going to see them again?”

But lately she’s been trying subtlety.  Or at least, subtle for an almost three year old.  Yesterday she leaned on my knees with her elbows, looked at my coffee mug and then looked at me and said, big brown eyes wide and pseudo-innocent, “So-o-o-o-o.  I like coffee.  (beat)  With chocolate soy milk.”

This morning took the cake.  She was sitting on the floor with a shoe in her hand and looked up at me.  “So, this is only one shoe.”  We agreed that she was holding only one shoe.  She kept looking at us and after a moment of expectant silence followed up with, “So.  I have two feet.”

My Daughter’s Observation on International Cuisine

Wednesday morning was the first sunny day we’ve had in WEEKS, so we took the opportunity to get out of the house and went to a local playground (towel in hand) to let the mackerdoodle work out her cabin fever.  On the way she made some comment or other from the back seat, and Jonathan remarked that she was being true to her Canadian heritage.

“I no yike Canadians,”  she immediately asserted.  When asked for clarification she was insistent and unapologetic.  “I no yike Canadians.”   She repeated it several times while shaking her head emphatically.

We kept asking her in different ways why she didn’t “yike” Canadians.  Finally she told us: “Canadians eat bugs stead peyut budler.”

Jonathan looked at me as I roared with laughter.  “What on earth did she just say?” he asked.

I translated: ” Canadians eat bugs instead of peanut butter.”

“Why would she say that?” he asked.

I tried to explain this page from one of her favorite stories:

Apparently when I say “Green Alien”, she hears “Canadian.”  Even when we explained that Nana and Papa and Grandma and Grandpa and Aunty Melissa and Uncle Brian and all her cousins were Canadians, she still shook her head.  “I no yike bugs.  I yike peyut budler.  Peyut budler toast.”

So all you crazy Canadians, if my daughter ever tells you that she “no yikes” bugs and that she “yikes peyut budler” you’ll know why; and if you get a chance to read “I Love You Stinky Face“, please do so – just articulate better than I do.


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