Thursday, May 26, 2011

My (Least) Favorite Things

1.  Strep throat.  I have the world's smallest tonsils (direct quote from a specialist) and yet this particular sickness plagues me.  Not fair. Curse you, Mr Strep, curse you!

2.  Yelling at me across the house.  If you'd like to yell something at me, please feel free to do so right in my ear.

3.  Talking right through a movie or television show.  Yes, Hobbes, I'm talking to you.  I don't care if you are indeed correct about everything under the sun and the whole of TV world and its experts are wrong, keep it to yourself.

4.  Being stuck at something long and boring without a book.  Horrors!

5.  Numbers.  The older I get the more they get mixed up in my mind.  Can you be dyslexic purely with numbers?  This is how bad I am:  if you leave me your phone number on my voice mail, I cannot retain the seven digits for the tiny space of time it takes to hang up the phone and attempt to dial it.  I can't remember a single highway number, and when you live in Michigan there's a new highway every three feet.  They all go to Flint or the Mackinac Bridge evidently.  I get stage fright when I keep score during a card game.  I don't like playing Cribbage because there are too many numbers involved.  Eighteen two, fourteen six, please kill me.

6.  Trying to pick out a pair of sunglasses.  Last year the pair I bought made Mike burst out in mid-sentence, 'I can't take you seriously when you look like Willy Wonka!'

7.  My least favorite movies of all time:  My Super Ex-Girlfriend, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, Made of Honor (sorry, Mariah), Gulliver's Travels, Wall-E  (I'm sorry, but I was so bored I wanted to slit my wrists with something dull just for something to do),  The Green Mile (yes, well-done, but I'm still having traumatic flashbacks and it's been a decade), Avatar (why this ridiculous "drama" that made me laugh like it was a comedy managed to win Academy Awards is beyond me.  Again, sorry if I offend anyone there).

8.  Otter Pop wrappers.  They are under piece of furniture.  And the little tippy tops that you have to cut off with scissors?  On every counter.  I'm pretty sure I haven't bought a pack of the little buggers for 2 years...why are they following me?

9.  Fruit snacks.  They're like crack for toddlers.

10.  Intermittent, slow, remarkably frustrating internet connections.  I'm beginning to think it'd be less irritating to not have internet at all than to have internet that works 50% of the time.

11.  Mayo and sweet pickles.

12.  Thinking too hard about where milk and eggs come from.  Honestly I have no problem with thinking about where meat comes from, that's the odd part.

13.  Lying with Gianni until he falls asleep.  I know, I know!!!  I'm supposed to enjoy it.  Stop making me feel guiltier than I already do.  You're here to be supportive, not judgmental, for cryin' in the night.  

14.  The guilt I feel for #13.

15.  Pop music.

16.  When my three year old hollers across a crowded room, 'Are you freakin' kidding me???'  Sigh.  Not to be outdone by "HOLY SNAP!"

17.  Dishes in the sink.  As often as I take a teen or small child or spouse by the hand and lovingly introduce them to the dishwasher and the dishwasher to the teen, small child, or spouse, they just can't seem to get along and instead refuse to acknowledge each others existence.   

18.  Not being able to finish a sentence without interruptions.  Maybe it's a mom thing.  Maybe it's 21st century thing.  Maybe it's a house parenting thing.  But someday I'd like to finish a sentence in whole without hearing 'MOM!' or 'AUNT MELYSSA!'  We tried taping a hand printed sign on our door that said 'If you are not in need of first aid, you will be after knocking on this door.'  It didn't work.

19.  Not being able to follow through on hand printed signs due to pesky state laws and something about child abuse, yadda yadda yadda.


Wednesday, May 25, 2011

There was an old boy who swallowed a frog

Gianni:  Mommy, I swallowed a frog.

Mommy:  Huh?  What?

He places my hand on his chest and says solemnly:  See?  Feel that ribbitting?

Mommy (feeling relieved):  Honey, that's your heart.

Gianni (looking relieved):  OHHHH!  It's just my fart?

Monday, May 23, 2011


Some women want diamonds...

...designer handbags...
...celebrity perfume... with labels I can't pronounce...


I want this rather desperately:

Wednesday, May 18, 2011


Today I was casually walking by the video rental section of my dear, dear local library.  Casual because rentals cost a dollar and I don't ever have a dollar, so I wasn't exactly browsing, I was really just strolling by while I waited for Anna to finish up her piano lesson at the church across the street.  Also, I was trying to find something thick and studious and philosophical so that the three issues of Redbook and People and US Weekly magazines I was carting around would be slightly less embarrassing at the check out stand.  But I digress.  The point is, my eye caught the dvd Fiddler on the Roof.

I grew up on Fiddler.  If I Were A Rich Man?  Yeah, my dad sings it all the time.  Matchmaker, Matchmaker?  Like the best romantic song EVAH.  

So, out of a sense of nostalgia and the realization that my little middler would love, adore and quite possibly memorize every line to this particular musical, I pick it up and look on the back.


Fiddler on the Roof is a classic story of Tevye and his family during turn of the century czarist Russia.


Are you flipping kidding me?

There were no nazis?

They weren't running from Hilter?

At the end when they leave everything behind and join the throng of Jews walking you mean to tell me they weren't on their way to a concentration camp?

My world has been rocked.

Topsy turvy.

Can I trust anything anymore?  Things I thought I knew?

Next you're gonna tell me that they didn't meet up with the Von Trapps as they all crossed the Alps together?  Instead they met up with evil Rasputin?  Was Yentl not there either?  Anastasia?  The singing bat? 


And history is my good subject.  You should see me at math.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

It's Opening Day of Thrift Shop Hunting

It's Spring!  It's Spring!  No more Snow Days!  No more being cooped up in the house, forcing everyone to sew and bake and read!  No more Monopoly!  No more Poker!  No, wait.  We're Baptists...we wouldn't teach our kids to play poker.

*whistling casually*

Yesterday I went thrift store shopping, which I just have to say, makes this girl giddy with happiness.  Especially when it's 5 for $5 day at The Salvation Army.  Now I'm not braggin or anything (yes, I am) but not only did I stock the girl's dresser with cutie summer clothes, but it's even gotten to the point that my boys, all of whom are OBSESSED with fashion, look forward to seeing what I pick out for them.  They pounced on my pile of $1 shorts and shirts with glee.  Even He Who Has No Blog Name - who didn't get anything because the guy has more clothes than a department store - picked through the pile and then asked me,

"This Goodwill place...can I come next time?"

Patience, grasshopper, patience.  You're can't handle The Goodwill!  Train you, I will.

Speaking of new clothes though, my firstborn baby girl woke up the other morning and presto chango, her feet had grown 21/2 sizes.

I would blog more but I have to go sob myself into oblivion now.

The only thing that make me feel better is if someone bumps up my followers list to an even 80.  I'm just sayin'.
This is my poor, poor Snookykin's hand:

He's been a brave little soldier.  It hurts me more than it hurts him.  I wince every time someone goes near it.  Please leave sympathetic comments below.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Once upon a time, a handsome prince had a steed that looked like this:

...and the steed had a very hot engine...
that caused a rather bad third degree burn on the handsome prince's right hand.

So the potion master mixed up a little cocktail of Demerol and Vicodin and sent him on his way.

And now the handsome prince believes himself to be married to:

And in his dopey, drug induced kind of way...
...he and Jennifer Nettles lived happily ever after.

The End.