Tag Archives: Humor

The Crazy Cave


I woke up today unprepared. But I knew I could wing it. And I knew there would be painting for history, which I knew would make the kids excited. Cave painting (per Susan Wise Bauer’s Story of the World Book One Activity Book) would be at 10:30, and I would be a hero. Who says it’s not worth doing projects when you homeschool?!?

At 10:30, we gathered together to rehash what we’ve been learning about nomads. I couldn’t wait to bust out the surprise activity.

But it was my daughter who “busted it out” first.

As we were discussing life for the nomads and cave dwellers, I turned in time to see my daughter dump terra cotta colored acrylic paint in a puddle on our white-ish carpet.

Dear toddler girl, this ain’t no cave.

By the end of the “history hour,” we had painted our cave paintings. We had also painted the carpet, three shirts, one pair of shorts, the sidewalk, the front porch, and a small section of the house. I could have guessed the shorts would get paint on them. (They were worn by my six-year-old who could figure out how to make a mess with an ice cube in a bathtub.) And my husband had been meaning to paint the house. (We just gave him a head start.)

Needless to say, we will not be painting again anytime soon. Maybe in a few….or 30….years….

As for other projects, I don’t know. My kids told me it was one of their favorite days of all time. But if you ever see me at a craft store, please stage an intervention. Or just paint my shirt and call me crazy.


When Mom Calls In Sick…


When I peeled myself out of bed yesterday morning, I discovered I had gained a headache, a sore throat, and an earache through the night. No matter. I had four kids waiting for me to be mom, so we moved on with the day.

I taught school lessons, made meals, cleaned messes, and started laundry. But it all took so long as I dragged slowly on through the pain. I have given birth four times, with almost no pain meds. I can handle anything, right?

Or so I thought. As the day went on, and aches and chills crept through my body, I realized I was going to need more than willpower to survive. I was going to need prayer and some ibuprofen.

I thought I might be better after a good night’s rest. But alas, today I woke up to an exaggerated version of my previous day’s “gifts,” and I realized I was going to need to get to the doctor. This is one of the rare moments I deem absolutely necessary to call in for back-up.

But “Back-Up” had jury duty.

And not only did my dear hubby have jury duty, he was hand-selected to be a juror. I had advised him to wear a shirt with a don’t-pick-me-slogan, like “Guilty Until Proven Innocent.” I would have gladly stitched up such a shirt for him last night. Hindsight is 20-20.

And so, as my dear husband is text-checking on us, I am sitting in an urgent care facility waiting with my 20 kids. (Okay, I only have four kids, but a two-hour wait with four kids and crawling germs everywhere feels like 20 kids!) Actually, they were well-behaved. (Lots of prayer went into that!)

When we were finally admitted to the exam room, and they had asked the typical hundred questions, we waited yet again. As my toddler walked about the room investigating which buttons she would push to entertain herself, I did the unthinkable. That thing you always wanted to do but never had the guts. Yes, I inflated an exam glove, much to the delight of my toddler.

When we had exhausted the fun of the “balloon,” the doctor was finally in. I didn’t have strep, and I didn’t have the flu. She took one look at my throat and my ears and said I had a severe sinus infection with “bulging ear drums” in both ears. And then she said the word I had waited all morning to hear…


Please, get them in me, make them work fast, and restore me to full-on mommyhood.

Well, as it turned out, it took a little while for the meds to make a difference. But tonight, as I started to feel better, it was as if a veil was removed from my eyes.

I surveyed the damage. It was something akin to a tornado that swept through the house. Grocery ads torn and scattered, matchbox cars littered the floor. Socks were strewn about, blankets thrown to and fro, shoes separated from their matches, books piled high, crumbs dotting the counters. I couldn’t believe it.

It’s funny. Sometimes I wonder what I do all day that keeps me running through this house like a “chicken with my head cut off.” Now I know — I’m a grocery-ad-protector matchbox-car-picker-upper sock-hamper-putter-inner blanket-folder shoe-matcher book-shevler crumb-sweeper. That is what I do.

And now I have sufficient drugs with which to do it.

A Christmas Sewing (mis)Adventure


I think I took a crazy pill about a month ago.

See, for the last few years, we have enjoyed getting the kids matching pajamas for Christmas. (We would often get them after Christmas for the next Christmas.) But last year, we had this baby girl. This meant that getting pajamas for three boys and a girl that matched was not going to be easy or inexpensive.

Unless I made them.

And so last year, I used some tutorials online and made sock monkey jammies for my four little kiddos. They turned out cute and were a lot of fun.

Well this year, I got the crazy notion to make all six of us matching pajama pants. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Then I went to pick out the material.

It proved to be extremely difficult to choose material for a guy in his 30s and a one-year-old girl. This should have been my first clue to not embark on this project.

But I chose and purchased material. Now I was committed.

Not having made adult pajama pants, I consulted my sweet sister-on-law that is an excellent seamstress. I call her my “sewing helpline.” We decided I should purchase some patterns.

I decided to make my pajama pants first. I had never used (or purchased) a pattern before. Mine was labeled “very easy,” while my husband’s was labeled “easy.” (I think they use those words to taunt and mock the beginning user.)

It took me a while to figure out the secret “pattern language,” codes, and structure. But eventually, I had some clue as to what I was doing.

And so after almost making the snowmen on my pants stand on their heads (directional fabric for your first go at this is not advisable, by the way) I managed to get a pair of pants that fit well and look decent. Getting to this point was not easy, as I am not a spatial person. At one point, I had to get into the partially-finished pants just to figure out what on earth I was sewing. (Is this the side of the leg or the inseam? Turn one leg inside out and insert it into the other leg?!? What?)

With my “very easy” project behind me, which took many days because of the tiny amounts of time in which I had to work on this, I decided I had graduated on to the “easy” pattern. I sewed and ironed and hemmed and cut and deciphered. My husband’s pants had a “faux fly,” which I only really knew because I had texted my “sewing helpline” pictures of the crazy cuts and pattern. Nonetheless, I got all of his pants cut and sewn and had made a good looking “faux fly,” or so I thought. Then I held them up and there was no faux about it. There was a gaping hole. I had done something wrong.

I managed to rework it to get the faux part back into the fly, and I was quite proud of myself. I got the waistband attached, and measured the needed elastic. I got everything all worked out. The pants looked good. (They actually looked like pants, and that equals good in my book!) I was quite proud of myself.

And then I asked my husband to try them on.

When he did so, I had one thought: Was this pattern made when MC Hammer was popular? (I am quite sure “Can’t Touch This” played in my mind at that very moment.)

I was devastated. My husband, trying to console me said, “Don’t worry. These are not meant to be worn out of the house. They will be okay.” This, somehow, did not make me feel better.

I am moving on, knowing these are not as perfect as I would like them to be. It bothers me to know they look as they do.

I guess, on the bright side, my hubby can probably gain about 70 pounds and still have a pair of pants that fit!

At the very least, they will be good for a laugh.

Like that time I was twelve and made popovers that were so tough we used them as baseballs in batting practice. Oh, but that’s another story for another day….

If You Give a Mom a Kiss


A while back, I was lamenting the fact that I run around my house all day, bouncing from room to room like a ping pong ball, with very little to show for it. I would ask myself, “What exactly did I do all day?” It’s very much a case of Mommy Attention Deficit Disorder, which is a condition so many moms with young kids are prone to experience. We go on a mission to accomplish “this,” see “that,” and go on a mission to take care of “something else.”

This circular running around made me think of a book we’ve read a few times around here: If You Give Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff. I was inspired to write a little version of my own. Maybe you will be able to identify:

If you give a mom a kiss, chances are, she’s going ask for a hug.

While she’s giving the hug, she’ll look over her your shoulder at the pile of laundry that didn’t get done the previous day, and she’ll think, “I need to fold those this morning.”

On her way to attack the mountain of whites, she’ll remember she has a soccer uniform to wash. She will go to the hamper to get out the uniform and she’ll run downstairs. She’ll start the washing machine.

While there, she will think to clean out the dryer lint. When she goes to throw it away, she’ll remember today is trash day. She’ll take out the garbage.

Coming back inside, she will be asked for a drink. She’ll get you the drink, and she’ll think about how she needs to go to the restroom. She’ll head that direction.

On her way, she will step on some Legos. She will quickly put the Legos away, while thinking about the toys she would like to donate to the local charity.

While picking up Legos, she will see the potpourri of toys that have managed to wiggle under the couch. She will swipe out the toys. In doing so, she will find the missing remote and she will put it somewhere she knows she will remember.

When she does this, she will realize that the breakfast dishes were not all cleared off the table. She will put one dish onto the counter and will see that the dishwasher needs run.

She will look for the soap. When she does this, she will feel a little tug at her leg. Looking down, she will notice that a toddler has attempted to change his own diaper.

Seeing the mess will remind her that she forgot to start the washing machine. She will add the mess to the machine, and, this time, she will remember to put the soap in and the lid down.

Once this is done, she will remember the pile of laundry upstairs. She will go in to fold it and will realize she has a few children patiently waiting for her attention.

Her heart will melt a little, and so she’ll ask for some hugs. And, chances are, if you give her some hugs, she’ll want some kisses to to with it.

Bad Day on a Silver Platter


It was a rough day full of clumsy, bad parenting. Some days are steak, some are macaroni and cheese. Today was more like beans and rice.

At the end of our rough day, I got everyone ready for an on-time bedtime, thinking that would help “reset” us all. Everyone was all tucked in; I was singing to my baby girl.

Then she barfed on me.

We went to the bathroom to clean things up, and then it happened for the second and third time. Now vomit stretched across the bathroom floor. It was lovely.

I ran water to give her a bath and got her all settled. She was happily playing, enjoying her bedtime stall. Suddenly, the bathroom door popped open and in flew her big brother, age five. He was curious as to why we were taking a bath in what was, to him, the middle of the night.

He made quite an entrance – surfing on a pathway of vomit, wiping out. He stood up. His sister’s dinner covered his back. Into the tub he went.

The perfect end to the perfect day. (Insert sarcasm here.)

Actually, he came to me a while later, still unable to sleep from the excitement. I asked him if it had hurt at all when he had fallen. He said it hadn’t.

Then we looked at each other and burst into laughter.

It actually was a good end to a bad day, kind of like a cookie at the end of a bad meal.

But no one here wants cookies. Too many have been tossed.

The Spoken Word


It is an unwritten right of passage for the new parent: the day they swore would never come and, in a moment of desperation and lack of reasoning with a wee child, the words spill forth: “Because I said so.”

There are phrases we may expect to (but possibly hope not to) say to our child: “Say your prayers,” “Play nicely,” “Be kind,” “If you jumped off a bridge,” etc. But I can honestly say that, in my chaotic life, I have uttered words I never anticipated. Today was no different.

Today I said to my three-year-old little man, “No, that grasshopper cannot sit next to you as you eat your lunch.”

This joins a long list of “These are not the wise parenting words I thought I would be imparting to my offspring.”

So, I am curious. What are your instances of “Sentences you never thought needed to be said aloud?” Parenting sure has its moments, and sometimes it is so humorous to think of those precious moments when you look into your child’s eyes and say such profound truths: “It is not polite to aim our toots at others.”