Good MORNING, radio listeners!!

 

Old ass radio. Or 'vintage' if you prefer.

Old ass radio. Or ‘vintage’ if you prefer.

After two days of crying because of this, I was due a day of smiling, and some gut-busting laughter. That opportunity came today, after I picked The Beans up from school.

Every Thursday is ‘banking day’. Which roughly translates into ‘an excuse for our school district to make you pick your kid up early‘, I believe. I could be wrong, though. It’s happened before…on occasion. Anyway, because they get sprung early, we’ve made a sort of ritual out of the afternoons by going to Fro-Yo immediately after school. They get a treat before starting homework, I get to ‘check in’ on Facebook from somewhere besides my living room, so people think I have a life. It’s a win-win.

Well, today was an extra special treat.

On the way to Fro-Yo, we were listening to Radio Disney. Not such a strange thing, except today I was driving The Man’s car, and he doesn’t have the fancy-schmancy XM Satellite radio like my mom-mobile does. The music was coming through on AM1110, an AM station…complete with static. The hilarity ensued when….

Butter Bean asked, “What’s that noise, Mommy?” I reply, “That’s the radio, sweetie.” Sugar Bean chimes in with “You know, it’s the satellite causing the static.” Immediately, I correct her and say, “No, this car doesn’t have XM. The music is coming through on an AM station, and they can be static-y”. With that, Sugar Bean says “It figures. Why is this station even on right now? I mean, it’s an AM STATION. Don’t they only come on in the morning?” She said it with just enough certainty, there was no doubt she really believed it.

I almost peed my pants and crashed the car simultaneously, because I was laughing so hard. Seriously. Did my kid just say that? It was gooood, people. Priceless, in fact. I needed to tell someone right then.  So I called my sister. Both because I knew she would laugh her ass off with me, and also because she raised 2 daughters who had ‘those’ moments too, and wouldn’t think I had birthed a child whom I believe is quite smart, only to discover she the village idiot at the ripe old age of 12. The Man was at work, and unreachable,  so sharing this bit of comedy with him was out of the question 🙂

My sister reminded me of a conversation, that took place between my niece and I, while I was home visiting with Sugar Bean, who was only a year old, circa 2000. Meaghan was 15 or so, and I was 29. We were hanging out discussing the fact that she was the hardest person in the world to get out of bed for school every morning, despite the obnoxious alarm clock she owned.  Her alarm clock would wake the entire house, by blasting the Nickelodeon jingle “Nick, nick, nick, nick, na-nick, nick, nick….NICKELODEON!!!” at a decibel level that may not even be legal. They lived in rural Alabama, in a fairly large house and Meaghan’s room was upstairs. Everyone who slept downstairs could hear it. Their house sat on 110 acres, and their neighbors could hear it. Despite it being on her nightstand; she never stirred. Never hit the snooze button, if it even had one. And no, she isn’t deaf. Shocking, I know. Each morning started with someone else barging into her room, banging on the alarm clock until it shut up, and literally dragging her out of bed. Every. Morning.

Anyway, as I was complaining about the alarm clock waking the baby up every morning, she rebutted by saying, “Hey now. I love that clock. It’s a really good one. I’ve had it since I was in the 4th grade, and never once had to replace the batteries.” As I sat in complete disbelief, I calmly said “Meaghan. Does it plug into the wall??” “Uh-huh,” she replied, smiling at me with her big blue eyes wide open. I just shook my head and said, “It’s electric, Blondie.” We both erupted in laughter, and I’m pretty sure I wet my pants. The laugh was absolutely worth it.

I vowed to never let her live it down.

Here we are in 2006, acting like complete goofballs. She's a gem :-)

Here we are in 2006, acting like complete goofballs.

the first married meal

For the last week and a half, I’ve had the ‘super flu/cold sent straight from Satan’s special collection’. Oh, joy…lucky me!! Felt, and looked like a big rig hit me, saw I was still moving, backed up and ran over me again just for fun. FOR TEN DAYS. But today, finally, I was feeling better. So I decided my family needed to be fed a meal that hadn’t come from the freezer, a drive-thru or a delivery man named Long Duck Dong. Now, I’m no super mom, but dammit….I try. Even more so when I feel guilty for slacking under the veil of multi-symptom whammo cold. Sooooooo…….imagine my dismay when this glorious meal of baked chicken, salad, and homemade, cheesy mashed potatoes (as opposed to our usual Idahoan Four Cheese from the pouch) was met with the following comments:

E: The chicken is good, but I don’t like the potatoes.

T: Me either.

G: I like them!! (brown noser)

Me: What’s wrong with them? I made them from scratch, just like you asked for.

E: There are chunks of Velveeta (said as if it were a dirty word) in them.

Me: And that is a problem, why?

E: Because Velveeta isn’t good in everything.

Me: Fine. Don’t eat them. But don’t ask for homemade mashed potatoes anymore.

G: I like them!! (brown noser now hoping for dessert)

E: I can’t believe you are upset with me because I don’t like the potatoes.

Me: Well, when you are married with children and you cook for them, you’ll understand.

T: When I get married the first meal I’m going to cook is lasagna. (I don’t know where this came from because she won’t even eat lasagna.)

Me: That’s great, baby. E, what are you going to cook for your first married meal?

E: Chicken pot pie.

Me: Frozen chicken pot pie?

E: Not all chicken pot pie has to be frozen, Mom. (12 year old eye-roll)

Me: Whatever. G, what are you going to cook?

G: (blank stare)

Me: G…I asked you a question. What will your first married meal be?

G: (realizing the dessert quest is futile) Can I be done?

Me: Sure. (G leaves the table).

T: I changed my mind. When I get married, I am going to Hollywood to get Chick-fil-A for my first meal!!!

Me: That’s my girl!!! (hi-fives all around)

Watch out world, my girls are already planning!!  That is, of course, because they are completely unaware that their father has no plans to let them date.

Ever.

why did you vote for me?

Had to get this one down on paper so all of you can smile as much as I did.

By now, most of you know, I have 3 daughters. All are gorgeous (y’all don’t mind if I brag, do you?) but each one has her own look.  My oldest two little pixies have light brown hair and dark brown eyes, and my baby has very blonde hair and blue eyes. Genes are funny that way. When you least expect it, someone hits the jackpot and lands ALL of the recessive ones.

You see, The Man has dark brown hair and brown eyes like both of his parents, but his paternal grandfather had crystal blue, as did his great-grandmother. As for me, I have hazel eyes. My father had chocolate brown, my mother had blue. Out of 6 biological children, 4 have blue, 1 has brown and 1 has hazel. Go figure. Daddy had dark hair, Mama had blonde. Mine was strawberry blondish as child, and brown as a young girl. Now….well….I…um…rely on the genius of my hair guy Bryan Kelly, to chase away the gray, and harness the color of youth 🙂 But I digress.

There is a  point to this, I promise.

As I was drying my sweet baby girl’s hair yesterday, she says, “Why did you vote for me to have blonde hair?” Stifling giggles, I replied, “Well, I didn’t. God did.”  Puzzled, she replied, “But how did it grow?”. Really? I’m thinking. To the best of my ability I explained that children don’t always look exactly like their parents. Sometimes they look like grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins,….mailmen, etc. Still, she pressed on, almost with tears in her eyes, remarking “But…I’m…I’m the only one. Why did it have to be me?” With that, I hugged her up, and said “Because you are special, and God wanted everyone to know from the moment you were born. Your hair was kissed by the sun, just like Rapunzel‘s!” A huge smile came across her face and those blue eyes twinkled like moon kissed ocean water in the Gulf of Mexico. She was satisfied, and I was thanking my lucky stars for Disney’s movie, Tangled”, which we had just seen. When you speak princess to a princess, you can never go wrong!!

leftover pizza. where does it belong?

Any thoughts? There is this question I have been grappling with for….oh…about 12.5 years now: WHERE SHOULD LEFTOVER PIZZA BE STORED? I say in the fridge, but The Man always puts it in the oven. And I always find myself staring at it, once discovered, all moldy and hard, with a “wtf” look on my face. This, after I have been pondering the fact that, somehow, 3 small people and a medium sized man consumed a massive amount of pizza after I search for it the fridge. Now that I think about it, this raises a question about me too: Why, when I know it’s going to be in the oven, do I always look for it in the fridge? I suppose it’s wishful thinking. LOL. Anyway, I should also add that for many years, The Man left empty beer bottles in the sink. And before you say it was his way of “collecting” them in one spot on the way to the recycling bin….don’t. This was way before we jumped on the green wagon. Now we drink wine, and those bottles don’t look as cool sitting in the sink, I guess 🙂 

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