Showing posts with label Wil Wheaton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wil Wheaton. Show all posts

Monday, July 2, 2012

My Parenting is so full of WIN.

My children recently had their semi-annual plaque scraping and professional tooth polishing appointment.  Even scheduled early in the day, we spend most of our morning there.  Three kids, three cleanings, one oral hygienist...Yeah.  It takes a long-ass time.  
 We came prepared, having brought a backpack filled with crayons, coloring books and reading materials, but it was the Mancala board that got the most use:
Mancala Tournament: Hour Two
By the time the last child was released with healthy teeth and gums, we were nearly starving.  I promised to feed the heathen spawn, so we headed to McDonald's.  (Where else can I poison my family for under twenty dollars?) On the way there, the girls decided that British accents were just what our boring old car ride needed.  The next twenty minutes on the interstate were very entertaining.  Did you know that anything and everything is not just funny in a horribly exaggerated accent, but freaking hilarious?
The fun didn't stop when we reached the drive-thru at McDonald's.  
While I wasn't savvy enough to order the food in my semi-convincing accent, I did greet the cashier who took my money with an enthusiastic "Ello Guvn'a!" making Madison nearly shoot a snot rocket at the windshield trying to stifle her laughter, while the two in the back brayed like donkeys.
Having still not had enough fun, we kept it up all the way home, the hilarity of the situation causing the two smallest campers to increase their volume with each word they spoke.  Finally, I had to ask them to bring it down a notch, saying, "You know what, guys? I don't think they yell everything in Great Britain. I can't recall the last time I heard someone announce: "IT'S TIME FOR TEA!"
Just then, the high pitched, and overly affected voice of Samantha piped up from the back of the van and yelled, "MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCHES!!!"

I'm still trying to decide whether that's a parenting fail or a parenting win.
 
Which do you suppose it is?
 
 
(If you are guilty of grinning at this, please share it with your friends.  If you thought it was a ridiculous waste of your time, share it with your enemies.)
 
 

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Did I just type that out loud?

Is there a chapter in How to Win Friends and Influence People for folks who live without a social filter?  Because I'm fairly certain I don't have one.

I mean, when you leave a comment on your husband's Facebook page that says "I watered the grass this morning. ;) "  no one could possibly look at that as innocently stating that you watered the new sod when there's an emoticon winking at the reader.  That simple semi-colon, close parenthesis smiley face, made it dirty.  I knew it and I typed it anyway.  Because I have no filter. 
  
This morning I made the mistake of buying mocha frappes for Madison and me.  I exclaimed upon the first sip "Omigod, these are better than sex" and immediately apologized to her, saying, "Jeez, Madison, I say the most inappropriate things to you, don't I? I'm so sorry, babe."
She replied with, "I don't mind. You can say them in front of my friends, too, you know. They think you're The Cool Mom."  Well of course they do!  They're teenagers!  They think the word "dingleberry" is funny.    *giggle*  Dingleberry.
Why do I say these things to my child?  If she grows up with an unhealthy attachment to coffee products, having been inadvertently corrupted by my frappe comment, I'll have Mommy Guilt.  Because I have no filter.
I'll give you another example of my filter-less existence.  Yesterday we took Madison to the orthodontist for her initial visit.  I sat filling out the forms while John read Sports Illustrated For Kids and Madison played on her iPod.  Halfway through my scribbling, this happened:

"Psst.  Hey, hon.  The question here asks "What is the reason for your visit".  I should put "Those teeth be crooked, yo."

John laughed and said, "Jacked up teeth."  

"Yes! Ha ha!" said I...and wrote it down.  "Jacked.  Up.  Teeth." 
Super proud of having the nerve to put his thought to paper, I felt it was only right that I should share it with him.  He looked at it and said incredulously, "You PUT that?!"  Then he shook his head.
 
Well, duh! Yeah, I put that!  It's funny.

They probably get tired of seeing the same thing every day. I wanted to make a memorable first impression.  I imagined that the doctor would look at it and think Well, I don't think I've ever seen that exact answer before.  And he would be correct. 

I think they're going to like us.


Because I have no filter.  






Do you have one?

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Sunday, May 13, 2012

I don't need Hallmark to tell me you love me.

It's Mother's Day.   Sugar Daddy had already left for work, but when I came downstairs, I found this note waiting for me on the computer.  
I know this means that he probably forgot to buy me a card, but you know what?  I don't need Hallmark to tell me how special I am to him when he's got the means to link words together all pretty like that.  
I do love that man.  So as Elliot said regarding E.T., "I'm keeping him."
This was my note:
For my Wife on Mother’s Day:

No fancy card is going to convey how proud I am that you are the Mother of our children. You help raise them with their best interests in mind. You do so much for them that I could never do, or do as well, like hair, “girl-talk” make-up, etc.. Since I work a lot, it’s so nice, and comforting, to know that there is stability here at home provided by you.

We are all thankful for what you do as Queen of this castle. WEAR YOUR CROWN PROUDLY TODAY!!

Love,

Gidget


To answer the question his closing words put in your mind, yes, I call him Gidget.  He's also often referred to as Princess Stephanie.   And sometimes Sharon.
*shrug*
It amuses me.
 
 
Did you get anything meaningful this Mother's Day?

 
 

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Death By Underwire, a.k.a. "These pasties make my thighs itch."

I get to keep my boobs!  (Yes, this is blog-worthy.)  I got those puppies squeezed in a mammography contraption last Friday and by Saturday afternoon I was holding a note in my hand telling me how fantastic my breasts are.   Okay, so their actual words were "your breast examination did not show any sign of cancer or any significant change since the prior study", but what they meant was "Damn, Erika, your boobs ROCK!"

WOOT!  Time to buy some new bras for my healthy (and completely awesome) rack!  

My mother had a tradition for years that every clear mammogram would be celebrated with fancy new duds for the girls.  I liked that.  So I adopted the tradition as my own.  *yoink*  Mine.  
Thanks, Mom.

New bras make me think about gravity and the defiance thereof and all kinds of things that make me question the awesomeness of my breasts. Whatever masochist came up with the idea that our breasts should not suffer the effects of gravity was a fool.  I mean, it's pretty inevitable.  Long boobs are Borg. I have to say, when Long and Low is one day considered fashionable, I will be super-ready for it and jump up and down to show my excitement, probably aiding gravity in its quest, but who cares?!   Resistance really is futile.  And at last I will be chic!

Since Stacy and Clinton haven't made the announcement that low riders are in, I'll make the world believe they've maintained their optimum height...for now.  But because my once bodacious ta-tas find themselves closer to the Navel Sector every year, Flopsy and Dropsy need a boost in the form of industrial strength hoisting.  I fed three children with these things.  They will never be perky again (without major surgery) so I torture myself daily with bras that could set off metal detectors. Eventually, my Xena the Warrior Princess get-up will get a chink in its armor, leaving me to risk puncture left and right. 
I can see the headline: Death by Under-wire.

But I put myself through it because they make my boobs look freaking awesome and those tasseled pasties make my thighs itch.

So thank you, breasteses.  Your gift for not trying to kill me is hot pink.  You're welcome. 



Do you celebrate the good results of your mammograms?  How?

Some Other Stuff I Wrote