An Award - Oh My Heck

Now I know this isn't a jaw-dropping "Oh My Heck." But I was delightfully surprised to receive a blogging award from Linda at from See Mom Smile. I love reading Linda's blog and as she said, "We both have teenagers." Her story about her not so spiritual day at church was the funniest. I feel we would be great friends doing lunch every week if we lived a little closer. But one day I'm gonna visit her town and we're gonna do lunch for sure!

I would like to pass this award on to three other fun bloggers, one I know and the other two are blog friends:

Lisa at Blue and Shoe I know from high school. Her sister and I were good friends and Lisa was the younger (but still cool) sister. She never exaggerates a story in the name of humor. Her older sister is very funny, too, I don't know why she doesn't have a blog.

Glamazon Mormon Mom always has a great story, too. I know I can turn to her blog on a day I need a laugh, too. I think she may be my on-line twin.

Flea's World is fun and I feel that I have grown to know her and count her as a friend, though we have never met.

Hoppin' Down the Bunny Trail

"I'm gonna write the Easter Bunny a note and ask him if he'll put our names on our eggs and hide them so we can find them," Mimi says excitedly today.

"Wait a minute. I thought you didn't believe in the Easter Bunny," I remind her.

"No. That was just Santa Claus. Because I found my notes in your cabinet and those painted pieces of wood in Dad's closet," she reminds me. "Plus we don't have a chimney."

I remember blatantly a few weeks ago she announced she knew I was the Easter Bunny. And I said, "Yep." So is she having "Believer's Remorse"? Is she retracting her disbelief? Has she already had too much candy from the Easter Egg hunt on Saturday to remember she is a disbeliever now? Maybe I should get it in writing next time. "I, Mimi, no longer believe in Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. Therefore, you (the parents, er, uh, Mom) are no longer obliged to provide gifts, chocolate and money from this day forward."

Remember? I was taking this day off. I was going to leave rabbit turds (chocolate covered raisins) instead. Well, she did make me a birthday card. She did make me a "get well" card when I was sick. She also made me a watercolor picture of a rainbow and then got mad at me and got a marker and wrote "To Daddy" on it. So maybe she's the only one who deserves a little treat from the Bunny.

It reminds me of a time I bribed my kids to be good while we ran an errand and I would take them to get an ice-cream afterward. Well, they were little ..... brats..... and I told them that just because they were brats didn't mean I couldn't have a treat. So I bought myself an ice-cream cone and ate it right in front of them. I'm giggling to myself as I think about it because I was so fuming mad with them I'm surprised the ice-cream didn't melt from the steam coming out of my ears. So I pretended to enjoy that ice-cream cone as I ate my frustrations. Bahaha!

So, any suggestions? Remember, I have the 17 and 19 year olds that didn't acknowledge my birthday. I'm trying to be strong. Maybe there should be a movie "The Year Without the Easter Bunny." Maybe I could tell them Mother's Day will be a predetermination for Christmas. I feel so mean! I could always just put Jared in charge. I have this small fear he would make me look bad, you know, that he might spend more than usual and have this feast of holiday favorites. But then I think about how he takes over cooking dinners sometimes and the kids complain that it's not like mom's. Wishful thinking.

Who's the Betterest?

My Mimi, I had her trained when she was younger to announce that I was 29 years old. She would also answer a prompt of, "Tell them why we call you Mimi." Then she would say on cue, "'Cause it's me-me-me-me-me!" One day, she just quit saying it.

She was about three years old and she came up to me while eating a snack. I asked, "Where did you get that?"

"From the pantry," she answered in her cute little voice that sounded like she'd been sucking on helium.

"Did you ask if you could have that?" I asked.

She looks at her treat and says, "I asked myself and I said I could have some."

Clever answer, but I then ask, "Are you the momma?"

She tilts her head to the side in deep thought and says, "I'm the betterest momma."

Yep. I am in trouble. This is basically her personality in a nutshell. She can be my most loving child and my most hateful child at the same time. She has a competitive streak in her that she was born with. I think she gets that from her dad, because I don't have the energy or the self-esteem to compete with people.

One day when she was in preschool, four years old, I picked up the other little girl in our car pool and they were both dressed up beautifully for picture day. As soon as Bailey sat down in the mini-van Mimi asks, "Who do you think looks the prettiest?"

"I think you both look very pretty," I say, playing safe.

"But who's the prettiest?" she demands.

"You both are very pretty."

"But I'm your daughter, aren't you supposed to think I'm the prettiest?" pressing for her answer. I wouldn't give in. Sometimes I have to say, "It doesn't matter who is the prettiest, both of you are pretty" or "it doesn't matter who wins the game, as long as you had fun." She still asks questions like, "If you had to chose one daughter, who would it be, me or Ali." I then say, "I don't have to make that choice." "You love Ali more," she fishes or, "You think I'm dumb." I guess the good thing is I always know what she is thinking, no beatin' around the bush with her.

Ring a Bell?

OH MY HECK!!!

This is "Oh my heck Wednesday", right? You know the Pavlov and the salivating dog story, right? How Pavlov would ring a bell and the tester dog would salivate. Dogs don't usually salivate when they hear a bell, but because food would be provided when the bell would ring controlled stimulus brought uncontrolled responses.

I feel the need to share a funny childhood story. I was almost ten years old and my brother, Gene, was about six years old when we went to our grandparents' house in Virginia one Christmas. They owned this chihuahua named Coco. Gene was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out with his arms supporting him from behind when Coco decided to get a little excited on his arm. Yep, humping his arm. Gene laughed and laughed and shouts, "Grandma, LOOK! Coco's doin' an Indian dance!" My Gran shoos the dog and I remember her saying, "Get that nasty thang off there!"

A couple of weeks ago our dog, Copper was standing there and he looked strange. He looked as if he had done something wrong or he was in pain or something. I asked Mimi, "What's wrong with Copper?" She looked him over and said, "Oh. I know. He has a red thing sticking out of his weenie and he's embarassed."

I know I've mentioned Copper's girlfriend. His girlfriend is a lime green volleyball that I have no idea where it came from. Mimi asks me last week, "Why does Copper make his back go up and down, and up and down on that ball?" Here's my pathetic, wimp-out answer: "I think he's trying to make babies with the ball." My sweet tender-heart says as empathetically as she can, "Aw. How cute. Copper wants to be a daddy." C'mon, I wasn't ready to have "the talk" yet. We're still recuperating from Santa Claus and Easter Bunny!

Back to Pavlov and the dog. Somehow, this stupid ball finds it's way back inside my house. The other day, there it was and I kicked it toward the back door and called Copper, so he could go outside with it. I'm sensitive to the fact that a neutered dog still has needs, but not in the house. So I called him and he just stood there. I called him again and he just looked at me. "OH NO! No. No. No." I'm thinking. Well, like Pavlov's dog and his bell is Copper to his ball. He couldn't even walk. I'm sorry if I offend you with this picture, but it was too funny not to share. You can catch a glimpse of his girlfriend behind him.


I'm sorry. I couldn't resist. I hope no one is offended by dog woodies. It was just too sick to not share.

Yes They're Real and They're Fabulous!

We've had a bit of tragedy in my neighborhood and I don't know how faithful I'll be on my blog for this week. Some friends of ours 25 year old daughter took her own life Friday night and we're left in a somber mood. I'm reposting one of my favorites that I originally posted in Sept. '08.

Some people actually pay to have them! Not me! I like the more natural look. You can spot the fake ones from a mile away! People admire them whether they're real or fake as long as you show them off.


Both of my daughter's want some just like mine. My eight year old and 15 year old are already trying to grow them. I tell them to hold off until they're a little older and told my eight year old, Mimi, they look ridiculous on little girls. The kids at school are going to think she's a little different and what will her teacher think with her sporting them around?!


I guess Ali is old enough and they do come in handy at her age. Boys usually think they're attractive and even the girls like them. And can you believe even girls her age are getting fake ones? A lot of them are jealous when they see how pretty they are, but no matter how hard they try they can't grow any if their life depended on it. I still don't think they look very nice when they are fake and can't believe what some people will pay! And also how it's hard to find a certified professional or they may not look even.


I thought I would put a picture of them on my blog, just to prove to people they can look good natural, without modification. Ali didn't want hers posted all over the Internet, but Mimi and I are proud of ours au naturale!:

If You're "Happy" and You Know it

It's time for "Oh My Heck" Wednesday again. Well, this is a jaw dropper. This man, nicknamed "Happy" was arrested for burglary. He and another man told their victim they were policemen and took a computer. The person they robbed was able to identify "Happy" by his unusual tattoos. You probably shouldn't get tattoos when you're drunk - or when you plan on robbing people.

"Hmmm, what tattoo should I get? The rose with my baby's mama's name? The tribal thingy? The eagle? No, I think I want to look permanently happy, but in a creepy kind of way." Really, what was he thinking? Maybe he's a clown in real life and he just got sick of putting make-up on day after day. "Look boys and girls, Happy is here! Happy the clown! Don't mind the razor stubble. Wait - where's his wig. I didn't order the middle-aged balding clown, I wanted the rainbow Afro."

You know, the more I think about it I think he went to the school of tattooing and got practise tattoos. Some little tattoo artist-in-training got some hours in on Happy. Maybe he bought the "Be Your Own Tattoo Artist" on "As Seen On TV." After a few beers to deaden the pain and a magnifying mirror, a tattoo pen and coloring book and Bob's your uncle. Anyway, I'm an artist and I cannot appreciate any aspect of artistic expression at all. A happy expression, but not artistic. Whoever did this is not an artist - a doodler maybe, but not an artist. They really need to stick to telephone books and spiral notebooks.

Hamster Heaven

This is a post from almost two years ago. I just thought you would enjoy it at this time of year.

Mimi, age 7, had this cute little dwarf hamster that she named "Chocolate Chip"that she absolutely loved. She was constantly holding it, loving it and would hold it in her hand and bounce it about eight inches in the air and catch it. I told her not to bounce her hamster like that and she said, "But I'm getting really good at catching!" Mimi loved Chocolate Chip so much I thought she was going to love her to death because she never put her down. She decided to give Choc Chip a bath in the sink without telling us about it until after the fact.

I was running errands one day and came home when Ali (14) announced that Mimi's hamster died. I knew her little heart would be broken. I decided to peek out the back door to make sure she was alright. She seemed to be doing just fine because my backyard was full of kids. The neighbor boy, age 6, was jumping on our trampoline with something in his cupped hand. I asked what he had when he produced the dead hamster. I tried not to freak out (but I did) and I asked Mimi, "Why didn't you and Daddy bury her?" She answered, "We did, but Tait wanted to see her."

I dug a hole a little deeper in the same spot in the yard and we buried her again. Her friend's mom came to pick up her daughter about a half an hour later and we couldn't find the two girls anywhere. I called every friend's I thought she would be at and couldn't find her. So we stood in the backyard and thought they would appear soon. We were right. They soon came running around the corner. Mimi had her hands behind her back looking guilty. I asked what she had behind her back and she said, "Nothing."

"You didn't dig up your hamster again, did you?" I asked. She pulled her hands out from behind her back and yes.......there was the hamster! I said, "Gross, Mimi! Why did you dig her up?" She said, "I wanted to visit her," as she rubbed the hamster corpse against her cheek. I had to control my gag reflex.

I buried the hamster again and told Mimi she need to let Chocolate Chip's spirit rest so she can go to Hamster Heaven.

The next day we went to church and afterwards, Mimi announced, "I'm going to change into my play clothes and go outside and play for a minute." She's not a good liar, so I wondered if the hamster would be exhumed again. I told my husband her plan and he said, "Do I have to bury her somewhere else in the yard?" I thought, that might be a little freaky if Mimi tried to dig her up again and it was gone. How do you explain that? So we got the video camera out and watched out of our bedroom window as she dug it up.



The next day we bought her another hamster, named Wiggles. "Rest in Peace" Chocolate Chip.

Home Hovering

Remember the story about the horrific public toilet that I had to use? Well, I didn't have to look much further than our children's loo. This one is Mimi's after she bathed the dog. Why are there three towels on the floor for one little dog I ask? There's a plastic box that she used as a bucket to gently rinse him.

Now there is no excuse for washing dogs in this bathroom. This is my two teenagers' bathroom. It's in the basement which is still under construction - notice the floor isn't finished being tiled? I'm actually standing in the toilet room where their shower is. So this is just the sink/mirror area they use to beautify themselves. I just don't get it. I don't do their laundry, so I'm sure they run out of clothes eventually and have to pick them up off the floor. I should mention most of the clothes belong to my son. The bathroom is between their bedrooms, so I don't know why it's so hard to carry them to their room and put them in their own personal dirty clothes baskets. I guess one toilet overflow and they might learn. Hmmm. I feel an April Fool's joke coming on. Fake doggie doo is seeming really funny at the moment. I'll let you know how it goes.

Well, after viewing these bathrooms, I'm thinking next time my own loo is occupied, I may just go to the neighbors rather than use the kids' bathroom. I'd have to hover there and I could just possibly get hurt.