B16, who has been snarling a lot lately about his school workload, was in a good mood the other morning.
He was dressed in silky gym shorts and no shirt. A fluffy Christmas blanket was draped around his shoulders as he fried eggs, over-easy, for himself. His brother sat at the dining room table, school laptop open in front of him, engrossed in Garfield strips on GoComics.com as he ate cold cereal from a bowl. His attire was identical to his brother's, but his blanket was black, a fake fur affair that is his constant companion.
"Y'know, Mom, I know I complain a lot, but there are a lot of things I like about being homeschooled," B16 told me. "It's kinda cool that I can wear whatever I want." He grinned down at his blanket and silky shorts. "I can get up and make myself something to eat whenever I want." He nodded at the skillet in front of him. "And I can put on Christmas music while I study." He gestured cheerfully toward the stereo, where his iPod rested, pushing Michael Buble's silky voice through the speakers.
"And I get to hang out with B12." His eyes traveled across the kitchen and connected with his brother's. "That's one of the best parts. We joke around a lot. And I can beat him up whenever I want." He made punching motions at B12's head. B12 didn't bat an eyelid, just kept his eyes glued to Garfield as he replied, deadpan, "Yeah, that's my favorite part too."
"It's a pretty good life, y'know?" B16 summarized, picking up his plate. He paused, fork in hand. "Except for the school part. Now if I just didn't have to worry about THAT...."
It's not the first time that B16 has told me that one of the best things, for him, about homeschooling again, has been reconnecting with his younger brother. They really do have a good time together, and their laughter and joking around are contagious. And hard to stop! It becomes my unpleasant duty to constantly call them to FOCUS. Sometimes they have to separate, just to get anything done.
It even extends to Facebook, where they tease each other, and their sister, Blondechick, at college. I give you the following interchange:
B16 posted on Blondechick's wall:
Mucho PU ablo?
Blondechick:
Okay so I have to admit, I just put that into google to see if it actually meant something and google asked me "Did you mean, Michel Pablo?" STOP you're just trying to mess with me with yer fake spanish words.
B16:
Haha you got me. On a brighter note. "That fart smelled like the fart I farted a couple farts ago." The wise words of B12.
Blondechick:
Oh, how-I-miss-you-two. Monotone, bro.
B12:
Never art thou weak too strong as for the weak are the weak and the strong the strong. Some more wise words that won't do you any good.
B16:
Wise words, my friend!
Blondechick:
Thanks B12, I'm proud to say you have officially become your father's son. Only Dad [linked to her father's wall] has that kind of humor.
So there you have the culprit. My dear husband.
If only he was around to break up the joking during the school day. But he would probably just join in--leaving me with not two, but three unruly males.
I guess there are worse problems to have....
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humor. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 07, 2011
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
And Then My Six-Year-Old Had Her Tattoo Removed...
It's true. Chicklet6 (now 7) got a real, permanent tattoo this summer.
Actually, it was her ten-year-old brother who gave it to her!
He was seated on the couch, randomly swinging a pencil in the air, and unbeknownst to him, Chicklet was looking on over his shoulder. She leaned in a little closer, and took a pencil jab to the forehead.
That's his story, anyway.
After a quick assessment of the wound, I immediately turned to Google. From that fount of wisdom, I discovered that lead poisoning is not a concern. All pencils these days are made of graphite, of course, and apparently there is no such thing as graphite poisoning.
The main concern with a pencil wound, I learned, was the likelihood of a permanent tattoo mark.
And sure enough, after the wound healed, a black dot remained in the center of Chicklet's fair forehead.
Had B10 made his mark on any other part of her body, we'd have let it go. Hey, it would be a good story! But somehow, I didn't think she'd appreciate it much when she was Blondechick16's age...or my age, for that matter.
So a cosmetic surgeon performed a tiny punch biopsy, and she was left with one stitch, and eventually, the teensiest scar. It should fade to nothingness by the time she's of an age to be glued to her mirror.
Do you know what's sad? I don't think we even have a picture of her very first tattoo....
Actually, it was her ten-year-old brother who gave it to her!
He was seated on the couch, randomly swinging a pencil in the air, and unbeknownst to him, Chicklet was looking on over his shoulder. She leaned in a little closer, and took a pencil jab to the forehead.
That's his story, anyway.
After a quick assessment of the wound, I immediately turned to Google. From that fount of wisdom, I discovered that lead poisoning is not a concern. All pencils these days are made of graphite, of course, and apparently there is no such thing as graphite poisoning.
The main concern with a pencil wound, I learned, was the likelihood of a permanent tattoo mark.
And sure enough, after the wound healed, a black dot remained in the center of Chicklet's fair forehead.
Had B10 made his mark on any other part of her body, we'd have let it go. Hey, it would be a good story! But somehow, I didn't think she'd appreciate it much when she was Blondechick16's age...or my age, for that matter.
So a cosmetic surgeon performed a tiny punch biopsy, and she was left with one stitch, and eventually, the teensiest scar. It should fade to nothingness by the time she's of an age to be glued to her mirror.
Do you know what's sad? I don't think we even have a picture of her very first tattoo....
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Don't Mess With the Old Lady
I hear that this is a staged video--that really a blow like that couldn't make an airbag go off.
But isn't it great, anyway?
(Go on, you're got time: It's only 34 seconds long. And turn up the sound so you can hear the film maker snickering at the end!)
Friday, October 10, 2008
Love Story Part Two--And as Promised, My Most Embarrassing Moment
Part One
So we're both back on campus at the beginning of our junior year. Papa Rooster has decided No More Girls for him. I am determined to play the field and get to know all the boys I couldn't while I was tied up with Mr. Pre-Law. There is a square dance on campus on Saturday night.
I should mention that at Wheaton in the 80's and before, dancing on campus was not allowed. Unless it was performance dancing like ballet or folk dancing like square dancing--the only official exceptions. So this was as close to a "dance" dance as we got without breaking The Pledge that we had all signed, agreeing to abide by the campus rules.
My girlfriend and I decide to coordinate a group date. "Let's ask PR and Mr. A to get a group of guys together," my friend suggested. "They know everybody." By now they were no longer freshman class president and veep, of course. As a junior, PR was now VP of the Student Body and a BMOC (Big Man on Campus). Mr. A's foray into campus politics was a distant freshman memory, but they were still close--roommates, in fact, in a very cool off-campus house. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Let's ask PR and Mr. A," my friend suggested.
"Great idea," I responded eagerly. "But I don't know them that well--will you ask them?"
She agreed, we separated, I went to CPO to check my mailbox--and ran right into PR. So I decided to go ahead and pose the question myself.
"Hey, what are you and Mr. A doing on Saturday night? Deb and I want to get a group of junior guys and girls together to go to the square dance. Are you going?"
He told me he wished they could go with us, but they had tickets to Second City's comedy show in downtown Chicago. Disappointed, I didn't think much more about our conversation, but the encounter was full of meaning to him. Hey, he thought, she must not be dating Mr. Pre-Law anymore....
Sunday afternoon, the day after the square dance, I was in my Williston dorm room relaxing with my two roommates when the phone rang. It was for me. "Hi, this is ____," the male voice began.
I couldn't think who ____ could be. I knew several _____s back home in Ohio, but at that moment I could only think of one guy with that name on campus, and I was a little surprised he was calling me. True, we had just gone to a movie together, but it hadn't been a date; we had just ended up walking in late together. We had talked for a little while afterward, but I hadn't picked up on any signs of interest. Still, that must be who this was?
The male voice cut across my mental gropings. "I was just wondering if you'd like to meet me at the Stupe tonight." The Stupe was the campus ice cream/coffee/sandwich shop where many a first date took place.
"Oh! Sure!" I responded.
"About 7 all right?"
"Okay," I agreed. (But WHO was I meeting??)
"So how was the square dance? Did you get a group together?"
(How does he know about the square dance? I never mentioned the square dance....)
"Oh, it was fine! Yeah...a group...We ended up going with my brother and some of his friends. They were all freshman, but we had a fun time."
"Oh, you have a brother who's a freshman? My brother is a freshman this year too!"
(No, he isn't! You told me your brother was still in high school. Who IS this??) "Oh, really?"
I decided to float a trial balloon. "So, are you all moved out of McManis yet?" (McManis was a guy's dorm on campus.)
There was a pause. Now the male voice sounded confused. "Nooooo," it said slowly, "I'm living off campus this semester."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I apologized. (What do I say now? Better be honest.)
"I'm sorry, but who is this again?" I asked, wincing and hoping it carried through in my voice.
On the other end, Papa Rooster says he let his head fall back and hit the wall. What a ditz, he thought. She's as bad as all the others!
"This is _____ ______," he said patiently. "Who did you think it was?"
"Oh!" I exclaimed. (Papa Rooster! Oh, my! He just asked me out! I was so flattered. Why didn't I think of him before? I guess because we had barely ever spoken. And now what does he think of me?)
I responded with the full name of the other boy with the same first name. "I just went to a movie with him last weekend," I babbled, "but I've never heard his voice on the phone before...or yours, either...."
"Well, do you still want to go to the Stupe with me?" PR asked, with something like--incredulity?--in his voice.
"Oh, yes!" I responded eagerly. "Even more so!"
That was what saved me. "Even more so!"
He liked that.
Stay tuned for Part the Third...
So we're both back on campus at the beginning of our junior year. Papa Rooster has decided No More Girls for him. I am determined to play the field and get to know all the boys I couldn't while I was tied up with Mr. Pre-Law. There is a square dance on campus on Saturday night.
I should mention that at Wheaton in the 80's and before, dancing on campus was not allowed. Unless it was performance dancing like ballet or folk dancing like square dancing--the only official exceptions. So this was as close to a "dance" dance as we got without breaking The Pledge that we had all signed, agreeing to abide by the campus rules.
My girlfriend and I decide to coordinate a group date. "Let's ask PR and Mr. A to get a group of guys together," my friend suggested. "They know everybody." By now they were no longer freshman class president and veep, of course. As a junior, PR was now VP of the Student Body and a BMOC (Big Man on Campus). Mr. A's foray into campus politics was a distant freshman memory, but they were still close--roommates, in fact, in a very cool off-campus house. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Let's ask PR and Mr. A," my friend suggested.
"Great idea," I responded eagerly. "But I don't know them that well--will you ask them?"
She agreed, we separated, I went to CPO to check my mailbox--and ran right into PR. So I decided to go ahead and pose the question myself.
"Hey, what are you and Mr. A doing on Saturday night? Deb and I want to get a group of junior guys and girls together to go to the square dance. Are you going?"
He told me he wished they could go with us, but they had tickets to Second City's comedy show in downtown Chicago. Disappointed, I didn't think much more about our conversation, but the encounter was full of meaning to him. Hey, he thought, she must not be dating Mr. Pre-Law anymore....
Sunday afternoon, the day after the square dance, I was in my Williston dorm room relaxing with my two roommates when the phone rang. It was for me. "Hi, this is ____," the male voice began.
I couldn't think who ____ could be. I knew several _____s back home in Ohio, but at that moment I could only think of one guy with that name on campus, and I was a little surprised he was calling me. True, we had just gone to a movie together, but it hadn't been a date; we had just ended up walking in late together. We had talked for a little while afterward, but I hadn't picked up on any signs of interest. Still, that must be who this was?
The male voice cut across my mental gropings. "I was just wondering if you'd like to meet me at the Stupe tonight." The Stupe was the campus ice cream/coffee/sandwich shop where many a first date took place.
"Oh! Sure!" I responded.
"About 7 all right?"
"Okay," I agreed. (But WHO was I meeting??)
"So how was the square dance? Did you get a group together?"
(How does he know about the square dance? I never mentioned the square dance....)
"Oh, it was fine! Yeah...a group...We ended up going with my brother and some of his friends. They were all freshman, but we had a fun time."
"Oh, you have a brother who's a freshman? My brother is a freshman this year too!"
(No, he isn't! You told me your brother was still in high school. Who IS this??) "Oh, really?"
I decided to float a trial balloon. "So, are you all moved out of McManis yet?" (McManis was a guy's dorm on campus.)
There was a pause. Now the male voice sounded confused. "Nooooo," it said slowly, "I'm living off campus this semester."
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I apologized. (What do I say now? Better be honest.)
"I'm sorry, but who is this again?" I asked, wincing and hoping it carried through in my voice.
On the other end, Papa Rooster says he let his head fall back and hit the wall. What a ditz, he thought. She's as bad as all the others!
"This is _____ ______," he said patiently. "Who did you think it was?"
"Oh!" I exclaimed. (Papa Rooster! Oh, my! He just asked me out! I was so flattered. Why didn't I think of him before? I guess because we had barely ever spoken. And now what does he think of me?)
I responded with the full name of the other boy with the same first name. "I just went to a movie with him last weekend," I babbled, "but I've never heard his voice on the phone before...or yours, either...."
"Well, do you still want to go to the Stupe with me?" PR asked, with something like--incredulity?--in his voice.
"Oh, yes!" I responded eagerly. "Even more so!"
That was what saved me. "Even more so!"
He liked that.
Stay tuned for Part the Third...
Thursday, October 09, 2008
October Love Stories
Mary at Owlhaven, inspired by my friend Megan at Fried Okra, is telling the story of how she and her husband met and fell in love--in installments. She's encouraging others to join her, and Jenni at One Thing is doing so, hilariously--which totally inspired me to join in. I've thought about telling this tale before...so it's time!
Papa Rooster and I think that the first time we met was at church. We were both freshmen at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois, and it was one of the first weekends we were there. Wheaton Bible Church had advertised a Sunday School class for college students that sounded really great--and was--and many of us were checking it out. I have a vague memory of meeting PR and his group of friends in the doughnut line in a basement Sunday School room.
It seemed like I always knew who he was, though, because his picture was plastered all over campus for the first few weeks we were there. I'm serious! He was running for freshman class president, and the running mate he picked was none other than Mr. A--the same fellow with whom he is now in a ministry partnership at our church! Who'da thunk it back in 1983??
Anyway, he and Mr. A were a sharp pair. PR had grown up in New York, near the city, and had a certain East Coast polish to him--I would later learn that he had played lead roles in musicals in high school and had considered going into theater at Wheaton, but he changed his goal to getting involved in Student Government and becoming freshman class president. Mr. A was a farm boy from Nebraska--a full Swede (while PR is half Norwegian). He was a character by anyone's measure, full of colorful exclamations like "Shoot the dog" and "Holy buckets!" He was smart, funny and likable; PR was serious, confident and outgoing. They were a great team, and they looked so cute in the picture on their campaign posters--a Miami Vice pose in the Edman chapel doorway, their hair parted in the middle and feathered back in the 80's style. ("That's when I had hair to part," PR always says when he sees that picture.)
And just for your viewing pleasure, what have we here??
(I know the guy on the left looks like he could be one of our children, so I better say that Papa Rooster is the one with the tie!)
Meanwhile, PR knew who I was from a picture too, although I had no idea of that fact.
Every fall Wheaton put out a publication with all the freshman's pictures in it called "Who's New" (also referred to in the guys' dorms as "Who's Next").
PR, like all the freshmen guys on his floor--and most of the sophomores too--had put in his time with Who's New and had picked out two girls he really wanted to ask out. Yep, I was one.
(Can you pick me out?)
(Hint: I'm not in the second row. And I look like I could be one of my children.)
(Answer: I'm in the center of the top row.)
However, a smart sophomore guy beat him to it and managed to tie me up for the next 18 months! That gave Papa Rooster plenty of time to take out all the girls that caught his fancy, but none seemed quite right for him. By the time he ended up his sophomore year, he was done with Wheaton girls.
It took me most of sophomore year to lose the lawyer, a really great guy that didn't dump easily, though I kept trying and changing my mind. (He is our attorney to this day. Estate planning needs, anyone?) That summer, back home in Ohio, I hung out with an overly self-confident local boy studying to be a doctor--but only because I was in love with his baby blue MG Midget convertible. And he liked to take me out to nice places for dinner, too.
It was a superficial relationship that was memorable for the one great quote I got out of it. Back at my house at the end of our third or fourth date, he noticed my salutatorian's trophy on the shelf. (In those days there was only one per graduating class.) (Just sayin'.)
"Wow," he said. "When I first asked you out, I thought you were just an attractive girl. Then I was pleasantly surprised to discover you were a good conversationalist and fun to be with. And now I find out you're smart, too! I got more than I bargained for!"
I had no idea how to BEGIN to take that. It was about the cockiest, most insulting series of compliments I'd ever received!
But I sure enjoyed the rides...
Only Baby Blue was much more dreamy.
So. Fall of our junior year. Papa Rooster was So Done with Wheaton girls, and I couldn't wait to date all the cutest, humblest guys I knew at Wheaton. Enter God.
Okay--that's a bit dramatic. But it was a strange circumstance that led to our first contact--and my most embarrassing moment EVER.
Stay tuned for Part Two!
Part the First
Papa Rooster and I think that the first time we met was at church. We were both freshmen at Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois, and it was one of the first weekends we were there. Wheaton Bible Church had advertised a Sunday School class for college students that sounded really great--and was--and many of us were checking it out. I have a vague memory of meeting PR and his group of friends in the doughnut line in a basement Sunday School room.
It seemed like I always knew who he was, though, because his picture was plastered all over campus for the first few weeks we were there. I'm serious! He was running for freshman class president, and the running mate he picked was none other than Mr. A--the same fellow with whom he is now in a ministry partnership at our church! Who'da thunk it back in 1983??
Anyway, he and Mr. A were a sharp pair. PR had grown up in New York, near the city, and had a certain East Coast polish to him--I would later learn that he had played lead roles in musicals in high school and had considered going into theater at Wheaton, but he changed his goal to getting involved in Student Government and becoming freshman class president. Mr. A was a farm boy from Nebraska--a full Swede (while PR is half Norwegian). He was a character by anyone's measure, full of colorful exclamations like "Shoot the dog" and "Holy buckets!" He was smart, funny and likable; PR was serious, confident and outgoing. They were a great team, and they looked so cute in the picture on their campaign posters--a Miami Vice pose in the Edman chapel doorway, their hair parted in the middle and feathered back in the 80's style. ("That's when I had hair to part," PR always says when he sees that picture.)
And just for your viewing pleasure, what have we here??
(I know the guy on the left looks like he could be one of our children, so I better say that Papa Rooster is the one with the tie!)
Meanwhile, PR knew who I was from a picture too, although I had no idea of that fact.
Every fall Wheaton put out a publication with all the freshman's pictures in it called "Who's New" (also referred to in the guys' dorms as "Who's Next").
PR, like all the freshmen guys on his floor--and most of the sophomores too--had put in his time with Who's New and had picked out two girls he really wanted to ask out. Yep, I was one.
(Can you pick me out?)(Hint: I'm not in the second row. And I look like I could be one of my children.)
(Answer: I'm in the center of the top row.)
However, a smart sophomore guy beat him to it and managed to tie me up for the next 18 months! That gave Papa Rooster plenty of time to take out all the girls that caught his fancy, but none seemed quite right for him. By the time he ended up his sophomore year, he was done with Wheaton girls.
It took me most of sophomore year to lose the lawyer, a really great guy that didn't dump easily, though I kept trying and changing my mind. (He is our attorney to this day. Estate planning needs, anyone?) That summer, back home in Ohio, I hung out with an overly self-confident local boy studying to be a doctor--but only because I was in love with his baby blue MG Midget convertible. And he liked to take me out to nice places for dinner, too.
It was a superficial relationship that was memorable for the one great quote I got out of it. Back at my house at the end of our third or fourth date, he noticed my salutatorian's trophy on the shelf. (In those days there was only one per graduating class.) (Just sayin'.)
"Wow," he said. "When I first asked you out, I thought you were just an attractive girl. Then I was pleasantly surprised to discover you were a good conversationalist and fun to be with. And now I find out you're smart, too! I got more than I bargained for!"
I had no idea how to BEGIN to take that. It was about the cockiest, most insulting series of compliments I'd ever received!
But I sure enjoyed the rides...
Only Baby Blue was much more dreamy.
So. Fall of our junior year. Papa Rooster was So Done with Wheaton girls, and I couldn't wait to date all the cutest, humblest guys I knew at Wheaton. Enter God.
Okay--that's a bit dramatic. But it was a strange circumstance that led to our first contact--and my most embarrassing moment EVER.
Stay tuned for Part Two!
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
"I Will Survive"--the Homeschooling Version
This is for my fellow homeschoolers, just to give us all a little encouragement on the first day of school! For us, anyway. (The rest of y'all will enjoy the cleverness too.)
I don't know about you all, but I sure need to hear that reassurance sometimes!
HT: the Anglican homeschooling mom at Life on the Planet
I don't know about you all, but I sure need to hear that reassurance sometimes!
HT: the Anglican homeschooling mom at Life on the Planet
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Qualifiers and Disclaimers
It has come to my attention that in a previous post, when I threw out a dollar figure of $600,000 for a house that we looked at, it could have appeared, to the skimming eye, that that house was within our consideration.
I must correct this impression. I mentioned the figure as an example of a house that was so far beyond affordability as to be understood to be laughable!
Additionally, let it be known that we have not yet bought a house, nor are we certain that we will buy this house or any other. We have embarked upon the path toward buying one, shall we say. No more.
Let me further correct the impression I may have given that my dining room wallpaper stripping job is a fait accompli. Nothing could be further from the truth, as I discovered last night at around 11 p.m. Thinking I would just complete the job by making sure the walls were completely free of glue where the kids had worked, I discovered that while the newer glue comes right off, the older glue sticketh closer than a brother to the drywall. Only endless scrubbing and scraping, square inch by square inch, will remove the stuff. Along with the top layer of drywall, if one is hasty, so one must proceed with restraint.
At 1:30 a.m. when I finally called it quits, I'd only managed to free about 1/5 of the area to be painted from this foul, rock-hard substance. I fell into bed dreaming of scrapers and scrubbers and sprayers.
And of perky British accents. And clear enunciation and amusing metaphors and polysyllabic words with Latinate endings. For while I'd worked on my walls, I'd treated myself to one of my all-time favorite audiobooks, Right Ho, Jeeves. I've borrowed this one repeatedly from the library over the years--would have bought my own copy years ago if one had been available--because I think it's the masterpiece of the Jeeves and Wooster stories. It includes P.G. Wodehouse's most hilarious achievements: a speech given by the drunken Gussie Finknottle at the Market Snodsbury Grammar School, and the French chef Anatole's "mixed English" speeches of outrage at the same Finknottle "makin' faces at me" through the skylight of his rooms.
Therefore a further qualifier is needed. Having "what ho"ed all night with the best of them, I can't seem to bring this 'round to what you'd call my normal "writing voice." Therefore if you've detected a slight wordiness, a tendency toward the passive voice, and a preference for the stilted--you're on to it. P.G. Wodehouse does that to writers. Take in small doses.
I must correct this impression. I mentioned the figure as an example of a house that was so far beyond affordability as to be understood to be laughable!
Additionally, let it be known that we have not yet bought a house, nor are we certain that we will buy this house or any other. We have embarked upon the path toward buying one, shall we say. No more.
Let me further correct the impression I may have given that my dining room wallpaper stripping job is a fait accompli. Nothing could be further from the truth, as I discovered last night at around 11 p.m. Thinking I would just complete the job by making sure the walls were completely free of glue where the kids had worked, I discovered that while the newer glue comes right off, the older glue sticketh closer than a brother to the drywall. Only endless scrubbing and scraping, square inch by square inch, will remove the stuff. Along with the top layer of drywall, if one is hasty, so one must proceed with restraint.
At 1:30 a.m. when I finally called it quits, I'd only managed to free about 1/5 of the area to be painted from this foul, rock-hard substance. I fell into bed dreaming of scrapers and scrubbers and sprayers.
And of perky British accents. And clear enunciation and amusing metaphors and polysyllabic words with Latinate endings. For while I'd worked on my walls, I'd treated myself to one of my all-time favorite audiobooks, Right Ho, Jeeves. I've borrowed this one repeatedly from the library over the years--would have bought my own copy years ago if one had been available--because I think it's the masterpiece of the Jeeves and Wooster stories. It includes P.G. Wodehouse's most hilarious achievements: a speech given by the drunken Gussie Finknottle at the Market Snodsbury Grammar School, and the French chef Anatole's "mixed English" speeches of outrage at the same Finknottle "makin' faces at me" through the skylight of his rooms.
Therefore a further qualifier is needed. Having "what ho"ed all night with the best of them, I can't seem to bring this 'round to what you'd call my normal "writing voice." Therefore if you've detected a slight wordiness, a tendency toward the passive voice, and a preference for the stilted--you're on to it. P.G. Wodehouse does that to writers. Take in small doses.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Behind the Scenes of Godspell--or--What Directors Do
In the scene where Jesus asks the schoolchildren to help him tell the parable of the good Samaritan, Bantam8 and his buddy are the "rocky soil." They elbow their way to the front of the stage, holding their arms out like weight lifters and kissing their biceps, before delivering their line--"Rock solid, baby!"--and executing a chest slam.
They were practicing this scene when I happened to look in, and I noticed they weren't kissing their biceps. When I asked Bantam8 about it later, he said, "Oh, she changed it."
"Why?" I asked. "I thought kissing your muscles was a cute idea."
"Well, she said it looked like we were smelling our armpits."
They were practicing this scene when I happened to look in, and I noticed they weren't kissing their biceps. When I asked Bantam8 about it later, he said, "Oh, she changed it."
"Why?" I asked. "I thought kissing your muscles was a cute idea."
"Well, she said it looked like we were smelling our armpits."
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Library Overload
You know you've checked out too many books from the library when...
Your car beeps at you the whole way home because it thinks there is someone in the passenger's seat who hasn't put on their seatbelt.
Library fines are a part of your monthly budget.
You're on a first name basis with the library staff. All of them.
So are your children. All of them.
You have a revolving credit in their computer, from losing books, paying for them, and finding them again.
The metaphor for joy that first pops into your mind is the time that two videos for which you'd been searching your home for weeks turned out to be sitting on the library shelves all the time.
Your list of items checked out no longer fits on one page.
One of the numbers that pops up most often in your caller ID window is the local library.
That's because you, a homeschooling mom, and your son, a science fiction fanatic, are addicted to interlibrary loan requests.
In order to make a fire in the fireplace, you have to move 4 stacks of books and videos. (Two and a half are the library's.)
Your idea of hearthside decorating easily incorporates a couple stacks of library books.
Your children can build a road out of library books that extends nearly the length of your house.
Most of the books are on the ancient Romans and you think, "Ahhhh, how appropriate!"
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Tornado Safety: TMI?
*TMI=Too Much Information
Bantams 12 & 8 and I were studying tornadoes and tornado safety in Science. I told them about the terrible one in Xenia, Ohio--not far from where I grew up--that occurred when I was in third grade. I remember my teacher telling us about a man who was saved because he wrapped his arms around the toilet and hung on for dear life while the rest of his house was carried away by the tornado.
Bantam12's eyes widened and he said to his brother, who had just joined us, "So, Bantam16, let's clean the toilet really good so we don't have to hold on to...pee...if a tornado comes."
"But don't wax it!" Bantam8 advised.
***
Later, we were figuring out which part of the basement (where the boys reside) was the southwest corner--the safest place to go if there is a tornado.
"Too bad our bathroom isn't in that corner," Bantam12 remarked. "Then we'd be really safe! But I guess we can't all hold on to the toilet. And [Blondechick14] wouldn't want to anyway."
Bantams 12 & 8 and I were studying tornadoes and tornado safety in Science. I told them about the terrible one in Xenia, Ohio--not far from where I grew up--that occurred when I was in third grade. I remember my teacher telling us about a man who was saved because he wrapped his arms around the toilet and hung on for dear life while the rest of his house was carried away by the tornado.
Bantam12's eyes widened and he said to his brother, who had just joined us, "So, Bantam16, let's clean the toilet really good so we don't have to hold on to...pee...if a tornado comes."
"But don't wax it!" Bantam8 advised.
***
Later, we were figuring out which part of the basement (where the boys reside) was the southwest corner--the safest place to go if there is a tornado.
"Too bad our bathroom isn't in that corner," Bantam12 remarked. "Then we'd be really safe! But I guess we can't all hold on to the toilet. And [Blondechick14] wouldn't want to anyway."
Friday, June 22, 2007
Speaking of Moving...
...I am reminded of a section from one of my all-time favorite books of humor, Raising Demons by Shirley Jackson (yes, THE Shirley Jackson who wrote the chilling short story "The Lottery.") I first read this wry book, about a mom raising four kids in the 50's, when I was in 6th grade, and it has never left me. I love her long, elaborate sentence structure, wonderful details, and well-placed comedic turns.
Here is part of her moving story:
The phone rang, and when I answered it, it was a lady who introduced herself as a Mrs. Ferrier. She understood we were thinking of moving. I said we were not and she said oh, that was fine, because her husband had just been transferred to our town and they had been getting pretty desperate about a house. I said we were not moving and she said they were ready to take just about anything, and when could she come and look around our house? Because, she said, they were living at present with her cousin, all three children, and they were getting so desperate they really didn't care what they got, so long as it was a roof over their heads. I said it was our roof and we planned to keep it over our own heads, and she said would it be all right to drop around tomorrow? I said no, and she said about three, then, and thank you and goodbye.
...When Mrs. Ferrier stepped inside our front door at one minute before three that afternoon it was perfectly clear to me without hesitation that we were not going to become fast friends. She stood just inside the door, looking around. She looked at the hall closet, half closed, at the flotsam and jetsam lining the stairs on both sides, and at the wallpaper in the hall, which was the cabbage rose design we had chosen with Mr. Fielding nine years before. She closed her eyes for a minute and then, with me following, went on into the living room, where the library books still sat on the green chair and someone had left a jacket on the television set. "Nice large room, if it was fixed up," Mrs. Ferrier said. In the dining room she tapped the table thoughtfully, perhaps looking for termites, and pulled back a curtain to see if the room overlooked the road, glancing briefly at the dust on the windowsill. In the study she nodded to my husband, turned competely around once, and then remarked that we seemed to be making no practical use of the space in our house. "This room would be much larger," she said, "if you took out all those books."
Mrs. Ferrier thought the master bedroom should have faced west, and she barely put her head inside the smaller bedrooms. "They would be much larger," I told her, "if we took out the beds."
Mrs. Ferrier fixed me with her cold eye. "If you took out the beds where would you sleep?" she wanted to know, and I followed her meekly downstairs.
"Well," she said, "...Say it takes you a month to get out--I'll have the carpenters here on the first of May."
"I hardly think--"
She smiled at me, which did not make me like her any better. "I thought someone had told you," she said. "I was a Fielding before I married. I told the family that it was a pity to have the old family house falling apart in the hands of strangers; we owe it to the town, after all to have Fieldings living here. So we are coming home again." She sighed nostalgically, and I unclenched my fingers from the stair rail and said as quietly as I could that I was sure the villagers would be dancing in the streets when they heard that the Fieldings were coming home again. "Goodby," I added firmly, opening the front door. "I'll see you in a day or so, then," Mrs. Ferrier said, and of course I did not push her down the front steps.
With all of the furniture and books we have removed to make our house look more spacious, I often think of this passage. "The bedrooms would be much larger," I want to assure the imaginary potential buyer, "if we took out the beds...."
I also love the phrase "flotsam and jetsam lining the stairs on both sides." We have that too, when we're not selling a house!
And speaking of selling a house, our home has been listed for a week now, and we have yet to schedule one showing. I wasn't too worried before, but now that the weekend--prime time--is upon us, I am trying not to be anxious.
We're going to look at about 8 houses in Kenosha on Sunday, all farther away from the neighborhood we've been looking in. I think it will be fun.
I suspect God knows what He's doing with the timing of it all!
Here is part of her moving story:
The phone rang, and when I answered it, it was a lady who introduced herself as a Mrs. Ferrier. She understood we were thinking of moving. I said we were not and she said oh, that was fine, because her husband had just been transferred to our town and they had been getting pretty desperate about a house. I said we were not moving and she said they were ready to take just about anything, and when could she come and look around our house? Because, she said, they were living at present with her cousin, all three children, and they were getting so desperate they really didn't care what they got, so long as it was a roof over their heads. I said it was our roof and we planned to keep it over our own heads, and she said would it be all right to drop around tomorrow? I said no, and she said about three, then, and thank you and goodbye.
...When Mrs. Ferrier stepped inside our front door at one minute before three that afternoon it was perfectly clear to me without hesitation that we were not going to become fast friends. She stood just inside the door, looking around. She looked at the hall closet, half closed, at the flotsam and jetsam lining the stairs on both sides, and at the wallpaper in the hall, which was the cabbage rose design we had chosen with Mr. Fielding nine years before. She closed her eyes for a minute and then, with me following, went on into the living room, where the library books still sat on the green chair and someone had left a jacket on the television set. "Nice large room, if it was fixed up," Mrs. Ferrier said. In the dining room she tapped the table thoughtfully, perhaps looking for termites, and pulled back a curtain to see if the room overlooked the road, glancing briefly at the dust on the windowsill. In the study she nodded to my husband, turned competely around once, and then remarked that we seemed to be making no practical use of the space in our house. "This room would be much larger," she said, "if you took out all those books."
Mrs. Ferrier thought the master bedroom should have faced west, and she barely put her head inside the smaller bedrooms. "They would be much larger," I told her, "if we took out the beds."
Mrs. Ferrier fixed me with her cold eye. "If you took out the beds where would you sleep?" she wanted to know, and I followed her meekly downstairs.
"Well," she said, "...Say it takes you a month to get out--I'll have the carpenters here on the first of May."
"I hardly think--"
She smiled at me, which did not make me like her any better. "I thought someone had told you," she said. "I was a Fielding before I married. I told the family that it was a pity to have the old family house falling apart in the hands of strangers; we owe it to the town, after all to have Fieldings living here. So we are coming home again." She sighed nostalgically, and I unclenched my fingers from the stair rail and said as quietly as I could that I was sure the villagers would be dancing in the streets when they heard that the Fieldings were coming home again. "Goodby," I added firmly, opening the front door. "I'll see you in a day or so, then," Mrs. Ferrier said, and of course I did not push her down the front steps.
With all of the furniture and books we have removed to make our house look more spacious, I often think of this passage. "The bedrooms would be much larger," I want to assure the imaginary potential buyer, "if we took out the beds...."
I also love the phrase "flotsam and jetsam lining the stairs on both sides." We have that too, when we're not selling a house!
And speaking of selling a house, our home has been listed for a week now, and we have yet to schedule one showing. I wasn't too worried before, but now that the weekend--prime time--is upon us, I am trying not to be anxious.
We're going to look at about 8 houses in Kenosha on Sunday, all farther away from the neighborhood we've been looking in. I think it will be fun.
I suspect God knows what He's doing with the timing of it all!
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Now that we're planning to move away from the Land of Lincoln, it's easy to get all nostalgic. I've lived in the Chicago suburbs since I started college in 1983--that's 24 years, over half my life. Here's what all I'll be missing....
(HT: Kelly)
YOU KNOW YOU'RE FROM CHICAGO WHEN...
*You don't pronounce the "s" at the end of Illinois. You become irate at people who do.
*You measure distance in minutes (especially "from the city"). And you swear everything is pretty much 15 minutes away.
*you have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Des Plaines." (I used to live there, in fact!)
*Your school classes were canceled because of cold.
*Your school classes were canceled because of heat.
*Stores don't have sacks, they have bags.
*You understand that I-290, I-90, I-94, and I-294 are all different roads.
*You know the names of the interstates: the Stevenson, the Kennedy, the Eisenhower, the Dan Ryan, and the Edens. But you call the interstates "expressways."
*You refer to anything South of I-80 as "Southern Illinois."
*You refer to Lake Michigan as "The Lake."
*You refer to Chicago as "The City."
*You buy "The Trib."
*You understand what "lake-effect" means.
*You end all your sentences with a preposition, like "where you are at," "Where are we going to?"
*You know the difference between Amtrak and Metra, and know which station they end up at. (notice the preposition ending!!)
*You have ridden the "L"
*You respond to the question "Where are you from?" with a "side." Example:"WEST SIDE," "SOUTH SIDE" or "NORTH SIDE."
*You know what the phone number is to Empire Carpet!
*You know what Giordanos, Lou Malnati's, and Gino's have in common.
*You know exactly how many cars are "legally" allowed to turn left after the light turns red.
*You can distinguish between the following area codes: 847, 630, 773, 708, 312, & 815.
*You don't flinch when you pay the fifth toll of your 45-minute car ride on the highway.
I'd have to add:
*No matter what store the bag is from, it's a "Jewel bag."
*When referencing the suburbs, you always give a direction and if neccesary, a degree. Example: "northern suburbs," "far western suburbs."
*You know what time Traffic and Weather Together is, on which station, and how often it is repeated.
*You know somebody who knew somebody who worked for Al Capone.
*Your name is carved somewhere at the old Gino's East.
*"Wrigley" makes you think of buildings and baseball, not chewing gum.
C'mon, fellow Chicagoans--what would you add?
I'm gonna disable the spam filter dealie to make it easy for anyone to comment. Maybe we'll try it for awhile here and see what happens....
(HT: Kelly)
YOU KNOW YOU'RE FROM CHICAGO WHEN...
*You don't pronounce the "s" at the end of Illinois. You become irate at people who do.
*You measure distance in minutes (especially "from the city"). And you swear everything is pretty much 15 minutes away.
*you have no problem spelling or pronouncing "Des Plaines." (I used to live there, in fact!)
*Your school classes were canceled because of cold.
*Your school classes were canceled because of heat.
*Stores don't have sacks, they have bags.
*You understand that I-290, I-90, I-94, and I-294 are all different roads.
*You know the names of the interstates: the Stevenson, the Kennedy, the Eisenhower, the Dan Ryan, and the Edens. But you call the interstates "expressways."
*You refer to anything South of I-80 as "Southern Illinois."
*You refer to Lake Michigan as "The Lake."
*You refer to Chicago as "The City."
*You buy "The Trib."
*You understand what "lake-effect" means.
*You end all your sentences with a preposition, like "where you are at," "Where are we going to?"
*You know the difference between Amtrak and Metra, and know which station they end up at. (notice the preposition ending!!)
*You have ridden the "L"
*You respond to the question "Where are you from?" with a "side." Example:"WEST SIDE," "SOUTH SIDE" or "NORTH SIDE."
*You know what the phone number is to Empire Carpet!
*You know what Giordanos, Lou Malnati's, and Gino's have in common.
*You know exactly how many cars are "legally" allowed to turn left after the light turns red.
*You can distinguish between the following area codes: 847, 630, 773, 708, 312, & 815.
*You don't flinch when you pay the fifth toll of your 45-minute car ride on the highway.
I'd have to add:
*No matter what store the bag is from, it's a "Jewel bag."
*When referencing the suburbs, you always give a direction and if neccesary, a degree. Example: "northern suburbs," "far western suburbs."
*You know what time Traffic and Weather Together is, on which station, and how often it is repeated.
*You know somebody who knew somebody who worked for Al Capone.
*Your name is carved somewhere at the old Gino's East.
*"Wrigley" makes you think of buildings and baseball, not chewing gum.
C'mon, fellow Chicagoans--what would you add?
I'm gonna disable the spam filter dealie to make it easy for anyone to comment. Maybe we'll try it for awhile here and see what happens....
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Housing Update
So when are we moving?
Well, first we have to sell our house--and settle on the right house in Kenosha.
We haven't really advertised our home at all, other than putting a sign out in front, because it just wasn't ready to show...it's aaalllmooost there now. We need to put a couple of closet doors back on that we had removed for convenience, and there are still several more bookshelves that I'd like to pack up and be rid of too--it will definitely make things look bigger and neater in those areas. But since we got the most important painting done, we actually could show it now.
So yesterday, the kids and I drove around putting up flyers in stores and restaurants. We'll finish up today...and then we'll see what happens in the next week or so. We still have a lady who says she's planning to make an offer on it, but we haven't seen it yet.
Meanwhile, in Kenosha, the house we want is sitting vacant. There's an offer on it, but it's contingent on the sale of a house, so if our house sells quickly or if we decide we can afford a bridge loan, we could still get it if we can make a non-contingent offer. Now we've learned that the investor who owns it is in dire straits financially; he may have skipped town and there are liens against his properties. Depending on the details, which we're trying to find out, we believe God may be giving us the clear direction we've been seeking, by either shutting this door--if it goes into foreclosure it'll be unavailable for years--or urging us on in the timing.
The second choices aren't as ideal, so we're praying that something else comes on to the market soon, if this doesn't work out.
And why haven't we rushed to list our house with a realtor? Well, with six kids, you can imagine that the high-traffic rooms really needed some paint before we could show it, and I'm not being the least bit perfectionistic or anal when I say that! Our friend had limited time, but he got all the main rooms and most difficult areas done--the ceiling of our great room, the double-tall wall on the landing. However, he ran out of time to do...
THE BASEMENT.
The final frontier.
We have a large rec room down there, which we've used as a bedroom for three boys for the last four years.
'Nough said, for some of you parents of boys, right? For the rest of you, here are the visuals:
The basic decorated wall--mediums include pencil, pen, marker and a foamy sticker that has been partly picked off. Note the dents and nicks that lend texture to the surface.
The whimsical Tic-Tac-Toe design--a recent addition.
Here we have the gouge, a motif repeated on the ceiling as well as the walls. The artists used any of a number of blunt objects to produce this effect.
The colorful marker scrawl was used rarely, but with exuberant effect, as one can see from this example.
The eye is immediately drawn to the colorful orange crayon design, but don't miss the texturizing dents and scratches, or the perfectly circular indentations lower down, an elegantly subtle effect created by Airsoft pellets fired at short range.
This bas-relief was produced by an obsessive sculptor in possession of a brand-new pocket-knife. He made at least 20 studies before producing this, his most deeply-carved masterpiece.
The photos don't show them, but every wall and the ceiling was covered in pinholes too, from years of tacking up artwork to inspire this artistic team, as well as to display more serious artistic efforts by individual members of the team.
One container of vinyl spackling was not enough.
After days of helping to render their masterpiece paintable, the artists have promised not to repeat the feat in our next house.
Well, first we have to sell our house--and settle on the right house in Kenosha.
We haven't really advertised our home at all, other than putting a sign out in front, because it just wasn't ready to show...it's aaalllmooost there now. We need to put a couple of closet doors back on that we had removed for convenience, and there are still several more bookshelves that I'd like to pack up and be rid of too--it will definitely make things look bigger and neater in those areas. But since we got the most important painting done, we actually could show it now.
So yesterday, the kids and I drove around putting up flyers in stores and restaurants. We'll finish up today...and then we'll see what happens in the next week or so. We still have a lady who says she's planning to make an offer on it, but we haven't seen it yet.
Meanwhile, in Kenosha, the house we want is sitting vacant. There's an offer on it, but it's contingent on the sale of a house, so if our house sells quickly or if we decide we can afford a bridge loan, we could still get it if we can make a non-contingent offer. Now we've learned that the investor who owns it is in dire straits financially; he may have skipped town and there are liens against his properties. Depending on the details, which we're trying to find out, we believe God may be giving us the clear direction we've been seeking, by either shutting this door--if it goes into foreclosure it'll be unavailable for years--or urging us on in the timing.
The second choices aren't as ideal, so we're praying that something else comes on to the market soon, if this doesn't work out.
And why haven't we rushed to list our house with a realtor? Well, with six kids, you can imagine that the high-traffic rooms really needed some paint before we could show it, and I'm not being the least bit perfectionistic or anal when I say that! Our friend had limited time, but he got all the main rooms and most difficult areas done--the ceiling of our great room, the double-tall wall on the landing. However, he ran out of time to do...
THE BASEMENT.
The final frontier.
We have a large rec room down there, which we've used as a bedroom for three boys for the last four years.
'Nough said, for some of you parents of boys, right? For the rest of you, here are the visuals:
The basic decorated wall--mediums include pencil, pen, marker and a foamy sticker that has been partly picked off. Note the dents and nicks that lend texture to the surface.
The whimsical Tic-Tac-Toe design--a recent addition.
Here we have the gouge, a motif repeated on the ceiling as well as the walls. The artists used any of a number of blunt objects to produce this effect.
The colorful marker scrawl was used rarely, but with exuberant effect, as one can see from this example.
The eye is immediately drawn to the colorful orange crayon design, but don't miss the texturizing dents and scratches, or the perfectly circular indentations lower down, an elegantly subtle effect created by Airsoft pellets fired at short range.
This bas-relief was produced by an obsessive sculptor in possession of a brand-new pocket-knife. He made at least 20 studies before producing this, his most deeply-carved masterpiece.
The photos don't show them, but every wall and the ceiling was covered in pinholes too, from years of tacking up artwork to inspire this artistic team, as well as to display more serious artistic efforts by individual members of the team.
One container of vinyl spackling was not enough.
After days of helping to render their masterpiece paintable, the artists have promised not to repeat the feat in our next house.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Semicolon's Saturday Review of Books is up; I linked my review of Gilead.
***
In yesterday's quick Thank You!! post, I used the phrase "our fair sex." Wondering if it should be in quotes or not, I googled on the phrase, and came across this, which in hindsight is just too good not to share. It's a short speech Samuel Clemens made to a bunch of newpapermen, the 1868 "Toast To Woman."
If you enjoy Twain, please, go read the whole thing. If you aren't sure whether you enjoy Twain or not, I shall inflict this sample upon you (color-coded by me so you skimmers won't miss the best lines):
***
In yesterday's quick Thank You!! post, I used the phrase "our fair sex." Wondering if it should be in quotes or not, I googled on the phrase, and came across this, which in hindsight is just too good not to share. It's a short speech Samuel Clemens made to a bunch of newpapermen, the 1868 "Toast To Woman."
If you enjoy Twain, please, go read the whole thing. If you aren't sure whether you enjoy Twain or not, I shall inflict this sample upon you (color-coded by me so you skimmers won't miss the best lines):
Wheresoever you place woman, sir -- in whatever position or estate -- she is an ornament to that place she occupies, and a treasure to the world. [Here Mr. Twain paused, looked inquiringly at his hearers and remarked that the applause should come in at this point. It came in. Mr. Twain resumed his eulogy.] Look at the noble names of history! Look at Cleopatra! look at Desdemona! look at Florence Nightengale! look at Joan of Arc! look at Lucretia Borgia! [Disapprobriation expressed. "Well," said Mr. Twain, scratching his head doubtfully, "suppose we let Lucretia slide."] Look at Joyce Heth! look at Mother Eve! I repeat, sir, look at the illustrious names of history! Look at the Widow Machree! Look at Lucy Stone! Look at Elizabeth Cady Stanton! Look at George Francis Train! [Great laughter.] And, sir, I say with bowed head and deepest veneration, look at the mother of Washington! She raised a boy that could not lie -- could not lie. [Applause.] But he never had any chance. It might have been different with him if he had belonged to a newspaper correspondent's club. [Laughter, groans, hisses, cries of "put him out." Mark looked around placidly upon his excited audience and resumed.]
I repeat, sir, that in whatever position you place a woman she is an ornament to society and a treasure to the world. As a sweetheart she has few equals and no superiors -- [laughter;] -- as a cousin she is convenient; as a wealthy grandmother with an incurable distemper, she is precious; as a wet nurse she has no equal among men! [Laughter.]
...But, jesting aside, Mr. President, woman is lovable, gracious, kind of heart, beautiful -- worthy of all respect, of all esteem, of all deference. Not any here will refuse to drink her health right cordially, for each and every one of us has personally known, and loved, and honored, the very best one of them all -- his own mother! [Applause.]
Saturday, January 20, 2007
What Do Large Families Drive?
Okay, family and friends who think WE drive a large vehicle...
Check out this family's 1997 stretch Suburban limo! They got it after it was retired from airport shuttle duty at 200k miles. It has 8 doors, one on each side of the four rows of 3-passenger bench seats, and a huge cargo area in the back. It's around 26' long and takes up two consecutive parking spaces! They only drive it on occasions when they need room for others, as their family of seven can normally fit in a Sienna minivan.
This bad boy makes our white 2003 Chevy Express 15-passenger van look...short. And kinda... humble. She might have to tiptoe out of the way in embarassment, if they ever met up!
Yes, she's a she. Her name is Minnie--pun intended. Our '94 Plymouth Grand Voyager is a boy, named Vinnie--Vinnie the (mini)van--get it? I mostly drive Vinnie, and we only take Minnie when our whole family is going somewhere together. Papa Rooster drives a '98 Ford Taurus Wagon, which, in a pinch, can hold us all, since it has 8 seatbelts (2 benches and a two-seater bucket in back). The Taurus never really got a name that stuck though.
For the whole thread on what big families drive, visit Danielle Bean.)
Check out this family's 1997 stretch Suburban limo! They got it after it was retired from airport shuttle duty at 200k miles. It has 8 doors, one on each side of the four rows of 3-passenger bench seats, and a huge cargo area in the back. It's around 26' long and takes up two consecutive parking spaces! They only drive it on occasions when they need room for others, as their family of seven can normally fit in a Sienna minivan.
This bad boy makes our white 2003 Chevy Express 15-passenger van look...short. And kinda... humble. She might have to tiptoe out of the way in embarassment, if they ever met up!
Yes, she's a she. Her name is Minnie--pun intended. Our '94 Plymouth Grand Voyager is a boy, named Vinnie--Vinnie the (mini)van--get it? I mostly drive Vinnie, and we only take Minnie when our whole family is going somewhere together. Papa Rooster drives a '98 Ford Taurus Wagon, which, in a pinch, can hold us all, since it has 8 seatbelts (2 benches and a two-seater bucket in back). The Taurus never really got a name that stuck though.
For the whole thread on what big families drive, visit Danielle Bean.)
Friday, November 10, 2006
Be Insulted
This is just too much fun. I think I'll make my kids memorize a few of these, and then make a new rule that only insults of the Shakespearean variety be allowed in our home.
Thou vain flap-mouthed boar-pig!
[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
(HT: Mental Multivitamin)
***
That kind of genteel dialogue would sure beat the usual fare around here:
"Mom, [Bantam7] called me 'stupid,' " Chicklet4 shouts at me.
Bantam11, in an attempt to pacify her, says soothingly, "Then HE is stupid. He's stupid, and you're cute."
Chicklet4, mollified: "Actually, I'm pretty."
Thou vain flap-mouthed boar-pig!
[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.
(HT: Mental Multivitamin)
***
That kind of genteel dialogue would sure beat the usual fare around here:
"Mom, [Bantam7] called me 'stupid,' " Chicklet4 shouts at me.
Bantam11, in an attempt to pacify her, says soothingly, "Then HE is stupid. He's stupid, and you're cute."
Chicklet4, mollified: "Actually, I'm pretty."
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Google Giggle
With Halloween nearing, my sitemeter reveals that I've been averaging around one hit per day by folks Googling "crazy makeup." The culprit--this post, I'm certain.
Until the last three days, when I've been hit not only by six searches for "crazy makeup" but by searches for "pictures of Lucy's Narnian cloak," "white witch makeup" and "evil Tumnus." Guess that's understandable, given the blogging I've done about our latest production!
And in the same short time period, here are a few other Google searches that resulted in someone actually coming to my blog:
How to tell difference hen rooster
lyrics country "spaghetti plate" drop
nonstandard countertop size
habitual multitasking is it productive
how does a rooster get a hen pregnant
letter to relatives getting married
drake-the-butler
hen rooster wedding
hilarious poems on computers
tiger lily fancy dress pattern
Go figure. Or go Google!
Until the last three days, when I've been hit not only by six searches for "crazy makeup" but by searches for "pictures of Lucy's Narnian cloak," "white witch makeup" and "evil Tumnus." Guess that's understandable, given the blogging I've done about our latest production!
And in the same short time period, here are a few other Google searches that resulted in someone actually coming to my blog:
How to tell difference hen rooster
lyrics country "spaghetti plate" drop
nonstandard countertop size
habitual multitasking is it productive
how does a rooster get a hen pregnant
letter to relatives getting married
drake-the-butler
hen rooster wedding
hilarious poems on computers
tiger lily fancy dress pattern
Go figure. Or go Google!
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Don't You Need a "Deep, Throaty, Genuine Laugh" Today?
Okay, I have totally swiped this from Island Sparrow, but she says it's making the Internet rounds, so I figure it's fair game. Since this is sometimes sort of a lit-blog wanna-be (not lately...) and I know I have readers who will appreciate this:
"...Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their
collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school
essays.
These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers
across the country. Here are last year's winners....."
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides
gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances
like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar
eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like a colony of E. Coli, and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a
surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag
filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an
eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city
and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when
you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka
at 4:19 pm. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who
had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was
the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap,
only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,
but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land
mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender
leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around
with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells,
as if she were a garbage truck backing up."
Now I wonder if my teacher/professor/homeschooling readers have any to add?
"...Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their
collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school
essays.
These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers
across the country. Here are last year's winners....."
1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides
gently compressed by a Thigh Master.
2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances
like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a
guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of
those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country
speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar
eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
4. She grew on him like a colony of E. Coli, and he was
room-temperature Canadian beef.
5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes
just before it throws up.
6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.
8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated
because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a
surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.
9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a
bowling ball wouldn't.
10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag
filled with vegetable soup.
11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an
eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city
and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.
12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.
13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when
you fry them in hot grease.
14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across
the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having
left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka
at 4:19 pm. at a speed of 35 mph.
15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences
that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.
16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who
had also never met.
17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was
the East River.
18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap,
only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.
19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.
20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil,
this plan just might work.
21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not
eating for a while.
22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either,
but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land
mine or something.
23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender
leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.
24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around
with power tools.
25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells,
as if she were a garbage truck backing up."
Now I wonder if my teacher/professor/homeschooling readers have any to add?
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