In the middle of munching on corn-on-the-cob, hot dogs, and mixed fruit, Henry pondered.
Henry: Mommy, what's barf mean?
Me: It means throw up. Why?
Henry: I don't know.
Me: Who said it?
Henry: No one.
A couple minutes of silence passed. Then...
Henry: Mommy, are these corn guts?
Me: What???
Henry: These! Are these corn guts??! (He points to the half-chewed kernels still clinging to the cob.)
Me: Ummm. Yeah. No. I don't know. Why?
Henry: Yummmy guts.
This is the kind of stuff we, as parents of the H-Man, deal with on a daily basis. Life's just a series of questions. We, as parents, are his own personal Google. You think we're kidding? Just ask our friends Ted and Anne who served as our hosts during a 4th of July weekend in Indiana. The stuff H comes up with...no one could make it up. In fact, Anne started writing things down. I'm sure it'll be some of what we torture him with when he's older.
7.06.2009
6.29.2009
Eye of the beholder???
I'm the first to admit that I'm no supermodel. Let's get that right out there, right away. But I just witnessed something that I wish could've been recorded on video. I would've sent it in to Conan or America's Funniest Somethingorother. I wanted to turn around to the person standing behind me in line to say, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing? How incredibly Alanis Morisette-Ironic is this? How are you not having to pick yourself up off the floor from the side-splitting belly laughter??!"
Alas, no video. Not even a surrepticious cellphone camera. I'll have to make do with a written description, followed by a rather poor visual example that you'll just have to use your imagination to fully appreciate.
Picture it:
I'm standing at the checkout lane of the local Walgreen's, holding my sugarless gum and my spiral notebook for purchase. I hear the clerk say, "You ready to check out?" Perfectly normal. I say "Yes." She walks over, I get out my cash, she rings up the items, then I happen to glance up at her as she tells me the total.
That's when I see her. Truly see her. She has yellow hair, the color of a dirty dishtowel. Stringy. Partially pulled back with a ratty scrunchy, then further secured with a pink and red argyle-patterned headband that looks not unlike my dog's current collar. This woman of large stature, both in height and girth, has several teeth missing. I notice, because she gives me a big ol' "how 'bout stoppin' on yer way home and pickin' up some Colonel chicken for me an' the young'uns, Earl?" kind of grin. She smells of cigarettes and something not quite fruity, not quite floral. Perhaps a Glade air freshener. And to be quite honest, she could've used a lip wax and some eyebrow plucking. For starters.
As I'm giving her my money, I glance at her name tag. I honestly couldn't tell you what her name was -- maybe Brenda or Becky or something similar. It was her job title printed underneath her name that had me fumbling to keep a howl from escaping my tightly pursed lips.
I swear. I kid you not. It said...
"Beauty Advisor"
I suppose that if you're seeking beauty advice from a chain pharmacy...well, it is what it is.
Alas, no video. Not even a surrepticious cellphone camera. I'll have to make do with a written description, followed by a rather poor visual example that you'll just have to use your imagination to fully appreciate.
Picture it:
I'm standing at the checkout lane of the local Walgreen's, holding my sugarless gum and my spiral notebook for purchase. I hear the clerk say, "You ready to check out?" Perfectly normal. I say "Yes." She walks over, I get out my cash, she rings up the items, then I happen to glance up at her as she tells me the total.
That's when I see her. Truly see her. She has yellow hair, the color of a dirty dishtowel. Stringy. Partially pulled back with a ratty scrunchy, then further secured with a pink and red argyle-patterned headband that looks not unlike my dog's current collar. This woman of large stature, both in height and girth, has several teeth missing. I notice, because she gives me a big ol' "how 'bout stoppin' on yer way home and pickin' up some Colonel chicken for me an' the young'uns, Earl?" kind of grin. She smells of cigarettes and something not quite fruity, not quite floral. Perhaps a Glade air freshener. And to be quite honest, she could've used a lip wax and some eyebrow plucking. For starters.
As I'm giving her my money, I glance at her name tag. I honestly couldn't tell you what her name was -- maybe Brenda or Becky or something similar. It was her job title printed underneath her name that had me fumbling to keep a howl from escaping my tightly pursed lips.
I swear. I kid you not. It said...
"Beauty Advisor"
I suppose that if you're seeking beauty advice from a chain pharmacy...well, it is what it is.
6.28.2009
The voices inside and outside my head...
I'm having one of those days where I just want to be alone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want to hear any noise or incessant chatter. I don't want to hear the dog barking. I don't want to do anything but sit in a room by myself and just be in the quiet moment.
However, that hasn't been my day. In fact, that hasn't been my weekend. I went to a musical on Friday night, band practice Saturday a.m., a small-town festival and playdate with Henry on Saturday afternoon, TV shopping on Saturday evening and again Sunday midday, and a band concert on Sunday late afternoon. I just finished helping Henry with his piano practice. And all the while, all weekend long, I've been bombarded by every question a 5-year-old can ask, from "What are you doing?" (what he just asked me as I'm writing this) to "Why did Obi-Wan Kenobi disappear at the end of Star Wars?" to "When are you going to have more babies?" to "Can you name all the teachers you've ever had?"
I love him. But ENOUGH.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Henry gets this need for endless blabbing from my side of the family. I've been known to yak for yakking's sake. So have several other relatives who shall remain nameless (Dad). As for the rest of the noise, a lot of it is my doing -- I signed up for this clarinet business. I wanted H to take piano. I am always willing to fight the crowds and masses for a few hours of shopping.
But UGH.
Not to mention...where'd my weekend go? In 12 hours, I'll be driving to work. At least it's a short week. We leave for Fort Fun to spend quality 4th of July time with good friends! Maybe I'll sic my inquisitive chatterbox on Queen Anne and King Ted for a couple days!
However, that hasn't been my day. In fact, that hasn't been my weekend. I went to a musical on Friday night, band practice Saturday a.m., a small-town festival and playdate with Henry on Saturday afternoon, TV shopping on Saturday evening and again Sunday midday, and a band concert on Sunday late afternoon. I just finished helping Henry with his piano practice. And all the while, all weekend long, I've been bombarded by every question a 5-year-old can ask, from "What are you doing?" (what he just asked me as I'm writing this) to "Why did Obi-Wan Kenobi disappear at the end of Star Wars?" to "When are you going to have more babies?" to "Can you name all the teachers you've ever had?"
I love him. But ENOUGH.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Henry gets this need for endless blabbing from my side of the family. I've been known to yak for yakking's sake. So have several other relatives who shall remain nameless (Dad). As for the rest of the noise, a lot of it is my doing -- I signed up for this clarinet business. I wanted H to take piano. I am always willing to fight the crowds and masses for a few hours of shopping.
But UGH.
Not to mention...where'd my weekend go? In 12 hours, I'll be driving to work. At least it's a short week. We leave for Fort Fun to spend quality 4th of July time with good friends! Maybe I'll sic my inquisitive chatterbox on Queen Anne and King Ted for a couple days!
6.26.2009
What's in a name?
I'm not really close to completing a novel. I've outlined. I've sketched out character back stories and dabbled with scenes and situations and plot scenarios. But we all know what's the most important part of any great novelist's entry into the publishing world.
The nom de plume.
I need a pen name folks. And here's where you come in. Those half dozen of you who bother to read my blog periodically might have fun with this one. I'm sure there's a Facebook quiz out there that covers this, much like the one that tells you what your porn star name or your private investigator name might be. I haven't come across one for writer pseudonyms, so I'm asking you to help me.
Why not write under my real name? I've joked that given the wacked out and/or smutty stuff I might come up with, it might be better if no one knew who I was! Plus, I need flash. Glitz. Pizazz. And, perhaps, something that Matt Lauer won't butcher when he interviews me on the Today show. (In order to keep my anonymity, though, would I have to be filmed behind a screen with my voice electronically altered?)
See. Just thinking ahead.
So start throwing the suggestions my way. You can offer explanations. Or you can simply list them and keep me guessing.
The nom de plume.
I need a pen name folks. And here's where you come in. Those half dozen of you who bother to read my blog periodically might have fun with this one. I'm sure there's a Facebook quiz out there that covers this, much like the one that tells you what your porn star name or your private investigator name might be. I haven't come across one for writer pseudonyms, so I'm asking you to help me.
Why not write under my real name? I've joked that given the wacked out and/or smutty stuff I might come up with, it might be better if no one knew who I was! Plus, I need flash. Glitz. Pizazz. And, perhaps, something that Matt Lauer won't butcher when he interviews me on the Today show. (In order to keep my anonymity, though, would I have to be filmed behind a screen with my voice electronically altered?)
See. Just thinking ahead.
So start throwing the suggestions my way. You can offer explanations. Or you can simply list them and keep me guessing.
*Shrugs*
I'm not heartless. Really. And I'm not oblivious to pop culture -- honestly, quite the opposite. I would wholeheartedly challenge anyone to a pop-culture pop quiz, any time, anywhere. I know more useless information about movies, TV, music, and news-of-the-weird than is wise to admit.
But I'm amazingly indifferent to yesterday's news shockers: Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are dead.
No one can deny that MJ was a musical and entertainment genius. I was one of those 50gazillion people who bought the best-selling album of all time. But if we're being honest, we also cannot deny that he was one freaky dude. Uh, maybe "dude" is even a stretch. The plastic surgery, the exotic pets, the carnival mansion, the hair on fire, the creepy adolescent sleepovers, the wardrobe malfu...wait, wrong Jackson. His death sort of seems anticlimatic after all that. And I kept hearing everyone say, "Oh wow, I can't believe he's gone." Seriously? You can't believe it? I'm actually surprised he lived as long as he did. He looked rather corpse-like the last few times I saw video of him. It sort of appeared as if his nose had already rotted off.
I think he should be the poster boy for the evils of what happens when child stardom goes bad. Bad. Bad. You know it.
A college friend of mine, who also works for a network news organization, described MJ as being "possibly the most famous person in the world." So I suppose that makes all this attention and fussing reasonable. I'm simply not feeling fussy.
And then there's Farrah, who had the unfortunate luck to pass away on the same day as the King of Pop, therefore ensuring that her death would forever be an "oh, by the way" in the '70s and '80s icon history books. In the scheme of things, she probably doesn't deserve anywhere near the to-do. She wasn't as world-famous. She only starred on "Charlie's Angels" for ONE season. Her death -- due to cancer -- had been expected for some time. She shacked up with another actor in a tumultuous relationship that spawned a son who always seems to find himself on the other side of prison bars. Still, she had been nominated for several Emmys. And HOW MANY of you women out there sported feathery Farrah hair? Admit it...someone out there has the pictures to prove it...fess up...
Someone in the media called it a "very sad day for Generation X." What is sadder? That these two individuals died? Or that the whole world seems to be obsessed with it?
But I'm amazingly indifferent to yesterday's news shockers: Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett are dead.
No one can deny that MJ was a musical and entertainment genius. I was one of those 50gazillion people who bought the best-selling album of all time. But if we're being honest, we also cannot deny that he was one freaky dude. Uh, maybe "dude" is even a stretch. The plastic surgery, the exotic pets, the carnival mansion, the hair on fire, the creepy adolescent sleepovers, the wardrobe malfu...wait, wrong Jackson. His death sort of seems anticlimatic after all that. And I kept hearing everyone say, "Oh wow, I can't believe he's gone." Seriously? You can't believe it? I'm actually surprised he lived as long as he did. He looked rather corpse-like the last few times I saw video of him. It sort of appeared as if his nose had already rotted off.
I think he should be the poster boy for the evils of what happens when child stardom goes bad. Bad. Bad. You know it.
A college friend of mine, who also works for a network news organization, described MJ as being "possibly the most famous person in the world." So I suppose that makes all this attention and fussing reasonable. I'm simply not feeling fussy.
And then there's Farrah, who had the unfortunate luck to pass away on the same day as the King of Pop, therefore ensuring that her death would forever be an "oh, by the way" in the '70s and '80s icon history books. In the scheme of things, she probably doesn't deserve anywhere near the to-do. She wasn't as world-famous. She only starred on "Charlie's Angels" for ONE season. Her death -- due to cancer -- had been expected for some time. She shacked up with another actor in a tumultuous relationship that spawned a son who always seems to find himself on the other side of prison bars. Still, she had been nominated for several Emmys. And HOW MANY of you women out there sported feathery Farrah hair? Admit it...someone out there has the pictures to prove it...fess up...
Someone in the media called it a "very sad day for Generation X." What is sadder? That these two individuals died? Or that the whole world seems to be obsessed with it?
6.24.2009
Rosie must be enjoying this...
There's something gloriously satisfying about reading a story about how ABC's "The View" star Elisabeth Hasselbeck apparently plagiarized a book she wrote. It's even more stupendous when I'm reading the story on FOXNews.com.
Take that, you prissy, self-absorbed, self-righteous, hypocritical beast.
Oh, I know, you naysayers, you Hannity lovers, you right-wing nutjobs...innocent until proven guilty. Fair. And. Balanced. (my ass)
Just wait until THAT day. If you think I'm giddy NOW...
Take that, you prissy, self-absorbed, self-righteous, hypocritical beast.
Oh, I know, you naysayers, you Hannity lovers, you right-wing nutjobs...innocent until proven guilty. Fair. And. Balanced. (my ass)
Just wait until THAT day. If you think I'm giddy NOW...
6.22.2009
Update on Presents for Pops
Thought I'd give you all an update on the Father's Day present situation.
Henry and I got Tim:
Fordlandia (a book...thanks for the idea Cherie!)
Band of Brothers DVD set
Green Day's latest CD
Chocolates and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts from Bochner
And I also got him an office voodoo kit. It's a little person-figure with pins, to torture coworkers, managers, etc. It probably wasn't the most appropriate, but it did get the biggest laugh. Henry also expressed interest in playing with Dad's "doll."
He also got to go for a bike ride, grill brats, and put together a jigsaw puzzle.
Hope he had a great Dad's day!
Henry and I got Tim:
Fordlandia (a book...thanks for the idea Cherie!)
Band of Brothers DVD set
Green Day's latest CD
Chocolates and chocolate-covered macadamia nuts from Bochner
And I also got him an office voodoo kit. It's a little person-figure with pins, to torture coworkers, managers, etc. It probably wasn't the most appropriate, but it did get the biggest laugh. Henry also expressed interest in playing with Dad's "doll."
He also got to go for a bike ride, grill brats, and put together a jigsaw puzzle.
Hope he had a great Dad's day!
6.19.2009
100x better than Brad
Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Aniston reportedly enjoyed an intimate dinner together recently. Can you imagine what kind of beautiful babies these two could create?
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