Monthly Archives: June 2011

bubbles….

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”Mom, how am I supposed to clean the dishes in the sink without dish soap?” the doll called me at work to inquire.  “Oh, yeah, I forgot.  I’ll buy some soap on my way home…but in the meantime you can add a little bit of water to the soap bottle to pick up some of the soap residual.”  “Uh, right mom” came her response in such a way as to tell me, “Sure, like I’m going to do that”.  True to my word, on the way home I stopped and purchased a new large bottle of dish soap, making a point of showing the doll, so she would no longer have an excuse.

The next morning while at work the doll called to inquire about the new bottle of soap. “Mom, how do you open this bottle of soap?”   “Lift up the top….or get your brother to lift the top” I said.  “I’ve been trying for a long time and I can’t get it to, oh wait, there it is, the boy opened it for me…”  “Okay, anything else going on?”  “No, except the boy is driving me insane…”  “Well that’s par for the course doll” I said before hanging up.

When I arrived home, I was happy to see all the clean dishes in the drying rack, waiting to be put away.  However there were bubbles sitting not only in the sink drain, but in the disposal drain as well. When I ran the water trying to disperse them, more bubbles grew.  Glancing up I noticed that newly purchased bottle of soap was more than half empty.  “Doll, um, get in here please…” I said.  Noticing the urgency of my voice she responded with a “Yes Mother…?”  Yes Mother indeed.  The doll only calls me “mother” when she’s trying to muster up an “innocent” sounding voice.  “Dear god, how much soap did you use?”  “I used that new bottle, see?”  “Are you aware a bottle of soap usually lasts like four months…a little goes a very long way?”  “Well, apparently that’s what you get for making me wash the dishes….” She said and walked out of the room.

Somehow I knew this would be my fault…

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trending treadmills….

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The family returned from Tennessee this evening.  Even though I knew they would be home, following a meeting I had attended; there was no doubt as I approached my house and found that every light inside the house appeared to be on.  As I opened the door, the doll and boy practically tackled me.  “Mommy, we missed you!” the doll exclaimed, while kissing my cheek.  The boy came over and made a doll sandwich, hugging us both, repeating what his sister was saying.  Made me think he was trying to say he missed me more than she.  Judging by their overall reactions though I think they missed me about the same.

“Mom, I saw a bear; and not one on TV either” the boy excitedly said.  “Well, I caught fish, with a net; they were small fish, but still….” saidthe doll as if competing over who had the cooler trip.  Then the boy lifted first his right leg then left,  to show me his knees and said, “Here’s the proof of my treadmill adventure”.   Squinting at the scabs I said, “Ewww, Okay, tell me how that happened again?”  The doll took the lead and said, “Well, I was on the treadmill first when I heard the boy say,  ‘Oh….that looks like fun’  and then he jumped on board the treadmill with me, but he tried to make it run faster.” Defending his actions he said, “I wanted to make her sweat, you know, get a better work out in…” “Uh huh, okay then what happened?” I asked. “Well first I jumped off.  The machine wasn’t going fast enough so I thought I’d jump back on at a faster pace and really get it going…” Then the doll picked up where he left off, “…and he climbed back on then slipped.”

Smiling at their recollections, I asked, “When you slipped, did the treadmill shoot you off into the closet or anything?”  “When he fell off it sounded like bum duh bum bum bum” the doll interjected.  “Yes, the treadmill threw me into the wall” he said in a matter of fact tone of voice.  “When I heard that bum de bum noise and him hitting the wall I realized he fell off the treadmill and asked him “Boy, are you okay?” said the doll.  “So you scraped your knees up pretty good huh?” I asked taking a good look at his scraped knees.  “Eh, the right side is the worst one, but on the bright side when I got shot off the treadmill and into the wall, I didn’t even leave a dent–which is good for Grammy since she’s trying to sell her house…”

Yes indeed.

name change….

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I’ve been thinking for some time about changing the name of my blog from Mean Mommy Memoirs to the “Stop It Mommy Memoirs” as I hear those words said to me, by the doll, on a daily basis.  Seems I live to embarrass her, so by her telling me to “stop it” I guess will magically induce me to actually stop.  Too bad for her, mean mommy doesn’t roll that way.

Their dad took the kids down to visit their grandmother over the weekend.  She lives down in Knoxville, TN; just outside the Smokey Mountain National Park.  So, they have been doing what we all would like to do all weekend: climb waterfalls.  When dad called me last night, they were eating dinner at Panera’s and handed the phone to the doll.  Evidently she had something to tell me.

“Guess what?”  “What?” I replied.  “I forgot to bring a change of clothing, so I’m wearing a pair of the boy’s shorts, without any underwear on”.  “Okay…anything else?”  ‘Nope that was it.”  Then she handed the phone back to her dad.  “So that was her big news?”  “No, the news was her reaction to having to wear the boy’s shorts, which she obviously didn’t tell you.  Great, now she’s giving me the evil eye…”  “Hello….what was her reaction?”  Obviously distracted by dinner and the other restaurant patrons he replied, “Oh, she put up quite a fit, you know because she’s a girl who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing a boy’s pair of shorts”.  “I see, are they falling down on her?”  “hmm Not too bad…but she’s distressed just the same.”

We talked for a few minutes longer until I realized I was keeping him from eating his sandwich and said goodnight.  I thought to myself, obviously my husband needs to take a course on descriptive storytelling and my usually overly descriptive daughter needs to lose her embarrassment.  I can hear her now, “Stop it Mommy!”

 

the chore list.. ..

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The experiment going on at my house concerns children doing their chores.  I’ve talked about it many many times, usually grousing, but still.  Two weeks ago, I paid the kids five dollars each for doing the chores, while I was at work.  I think it will be some time before I pay them for their work efforts, as at this point; they owe me money and a few new clothes.

The doll called me at work one day and asked, “What do you use to clean the kitchen floor?”  “Oh doll, I’ll wash the kitchen floor, that’s okay”.  “But, mom, I want to do it, I just don’t know what detergent to use.”  Mulling it over for a few seconds, I thought, “what the heck, what harm could she get into?”  You know when thoughts like that come into my head; instinctively I should say No…instead of yes.  But no…I said “Use some white vinegar, under the sink.  Just put a little bit in with the warm water”.  “Vinegar?  Wow mom, that stuff smells, that must be why it cleans right?” Chuckling with her, I agreed and hung up the phone.

Fast forward two hours when I arrived home to find the doll sound asleep on the couch.  The living room was filled with the kitchen chairs.  This was not a good sign.  “Doll, whatcha doin…?” I began before I turned toward the kitchen and saw the mess.  An inch of water covered the entire floor.  The boy, stood on the landing to the basement and said, “Hello mamma, I’ve been kinda trapped down here since the doll spilled the water”.   Turning back to the doll, who by now had begun to awake, I ask again, “What is going on here?”  “Oh that, the bucket spilled.”  “And you didn’t mop it up why?”  “I couldn’t figure out how to drain the water from the mop.”  “Okay, how about a towel from the bathroom?”  Looking at the floor she replied, “Oooh, I didn’t think of that.  I just thought the water would evaporate”.  “Maybe in a few days…” I said still in disbelief.

Looking over at the boy I asked, “Why didn’t you think of getting a towel to help clean up the mess?”  Typical boy fashion he replied, “But this was the doll’s chore, not mine.  Besides, I was busy looking up new cheats for my Pokémon game online.”

Shaking my head back and forth I grabbed some towels threw them at both kids and we began drying the floor.

Hair today….

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The boy needed a hair cut, plain and simple.  “But Mom, it’s summer…” his argument began.  “I know, but, your hair looks greasy all the time now” his father said.  Being twelve is just too darned hard.  What with new hormones flinging their way through his system; hair growth in areas never seen before; having to wear deodorant and now this?  “Your hair is too thick and flat.  It looks like you never wash your hair” dad emphasized.  “But all the kids are wearing their hair long…” the boy argued further.  He’s right.  The other kids are wearing their hair longer,  but the other kids are not my son.  “Sorry boy, but when I get off work on Thursday, we’re getting your hair cut” I said on Monday.  I thought if I gave him a few days to get used to the idea, he wouldn’t fight me as hard.

Then he got his glasses.  I may be bias, but those glasses make him look even better looking than before.  When he was a baby, I always said I have a “damn good looking kid”, now I can say I have a “fantastically good looking kid who can finally see”. But as he put the glasses on he remarked, “Uh, well, maybe I do need a hair cut…when I look through my glasses, I have to ignore the hair hanging in my eyes…”  Happy he’s finally agreed to the hair cut, we made plans to go Thursday after I came home from work.   But when I arrived home, the kids were gone.  My sister decided to treat them to some ice cream and craft shopping.  Little did she know the boy abhors crafts….unless there is something he can get away with, under the guise of crafts….  but that’s another story entirely.

When they arrived home, their father walked in almost immediately afterward.  Good, now he could take the boy for the cut so I could finish some household chores.   When they arrived home a half an hour later, I hardly recognized my good looking boy.  For the first time in months, not only was he clean, he looked clean too!  Plus now he could see without bangs in his eyes and since his glasses framed his face in such a way he became more handsome than before.

inquiring minds…..

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The boy was fitted for his new glasses the other day, and wow! I didn’t think they could make him more handsome, but these glasses do.  As the woman got up to make an adjustment on his frames, she said, “I’ll make this work better with your astigmatism”.  “What’s ‘astigmatism’ mean?  The boy asked.   She replied, “That means your eyes are shaped like footballs, instead of like baseballs”.  Personally, I never knew that.  I thought it just described his near/far sighted eyes.  Looking at the boy I said, “Funny isn’t it….your eyes are shaped like footballs yet you dislike foot ball so…”  Giving me an evil look he said, “Ha ha mom…sooo…..funny, not.”

The boy accompanied his uncle to a carryout to pick up some much needed poolside supplies.  While in line waiting to pay, there was a man who had tattoos down both arms, looked like he hadn’t washed his hair in some time and also had piercings all over his heads.   The guy was looking at packaged small squishy rubbery plastic animals.  The boy, noticing what the man was looking at struck up a conversation with him.  My brother, a bit embarrassed was taken aback by the boy’s willingness to strike up a conversation with anyone.  Turns out the man was purchasing some of those toys for his daughter and was trying to find one she didn’t own.  “I never would have given that man the time of day” my brother said to me, “but your son never judged his appearance and ended up helping the guy out with his observations of the toys he was buying.”

milking the hurt….

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Tuesday morning as I prepared to leave for work, the doll came out into the living room and settled on a couch, in front of the television.  “Doll, I left your chores list on the kitchen table for you and your brother to share” I said.  “Mom, did you notice that I limped all the way out here from my bedroom?” she inquired.  Forgetting her ankle injury from the night before, I had to think why she would ask such a silly question.  “Did your daddy put ice on it last night?” I asked.  “Yes, but it still hurts” she replied.

I nodded to myself then went on to explain what chores she and the boy needed to complete and left for work.  About an hour later, the boy called to tell me “news” he felt I should know.  “Mom, I have thoroughly examined the doll’s ankle and it’s really swollen.   So, I’ve made her an ice pack, elevated her foot and am taking great care to keep her off her feet so don’t be mad when you come home and see no chores have been done.”

“Nice” I thought to myself then asked to speak to the doll.  “Yes Mom?”  “Is your foot really swollen?”  For a brief moment I began to think my lack of sympathies for her “accident” the night before were misplaced.  “Well, it hurts to walk on the foot, but the boy put an icepack on it for me….”  “Can you walk around?”  “Yes, but it hurts.”  Okay, put the boy back on the line…” I said, but not before she asked, “Mom, do we still have those crutches from when you broke your foot?”  Lying, I said no.  “Hello…” the boy answered.  “You do not have an injured foot.  You both were given chores to complete.  Get busy!”  “Yes momma”.  He said in reply.

When I arrived home, I found the boy very excited that he spent the entire morning coming up with a “cane” the doll could use to walk with.  Needless to say I was not happy.  “Doll stand up and come into the kitchen” I said.  As she stood she cried, “Great mom, now my ankle is making cracking noises…”  “Doll, if you do not get up and walk you will never be able to be a professional dancer…you need to walk off that injury.”  “Oh…I didn’t know that.” She said and began walking without the slight limp.

Later the doll and I walked over to her Girl Scout meeting three blocks from home.  The limp was hardly noticeable.  After her meeting, she came down into our basement to show me what craft they had worked on.  As she was telling me about some interesting stuff in the months ahead, she began jumping up and down in enthusiasm.  Watching both feet jump for joy, with no sign of a limp in sight, I said, “So your ankle is feeling better, huh?”  All of a sudden she landed with a limp.  “It still hurts…”  “But you were jumping up and down on both feet a moment ago…”  “No I wasn’t.” “Um, yes you were” I said with a smile.  “Nu uh mom, I only jumped on one foot….and it still HURTS”!  She exclaimed.  Laughing I said, “Whatever doll….”  Being caught she continued to say, “It still hurts” every time she saw me the rest of the night.

Yeah…it hurts, but isn’t it interesting how she lost her limp until she felt she needed it?