Expiration Dates

My eleven-year-old daughter has had a really nasty cold.  Last night, I told her to rub a little Vicks VapoRub on her chest to help her breathe.  She picked up the container and examined it.

"Mom, this expired in 2002.  It's ten years old."

I took the container and looked at it.  "No, it's not ten years old.  It's eleven years old!"

"Mom, this thing is older than me!"

"Wrong, again girlfriend.  You are six months older.  I think you need to work on your math skills."

She looked at me funny.  "And you need to work on your expiration date reading skills!"

Sunshine Award and Guest Blog Post

Today, I'm a guest over at Brian Hayden's Blog where I wrote an article about how to write an excellent query letter.  If you'd like to read it, please stop by.









In other news, I was nominated for the Sunshine award by Deanie Humphrys-Dunne.  Thank you so much, Deanie!  Deanie is a very nice lady, so be sure to stop by and say hello to her. 

I've received this award before, but since many of you are a little bit newer to my site, I'll participate so you can get to know more about me.  The rules are, include the logo on your page, thank and link the person who nominated you, answer 10 questions about yourself, and then nominate 10 more bloggers.

Here we go.  Ten things about myself:

1.  My favorite color:  Red
2.  My favorite food:  watermelon
3.  My least favorite food:  sauerkraut.  I can't stand the stuff!
4.  The most stupid thing I've ever done:  Walked through a train tunnel in Germany when a train was coming.  I really can't believe I'm still alive!
5.  Little known fact about myself:  I'm ambidextrous
6.  Something on my bucket list:  Skydiving.  I know I'm a little crazy, but jumping out of an airplane sounds fun!
7.  Thing I like doing the most:  Playing and teaching violin, viola, and piano.  It's my passion.
8.  Number of times I've moved in my life:  Nine.  I'm getting ready for move number 10 to Atlanta, Georgia.
9.  Favorite place in the world:  That's a tough one.  For SCUBA diving, I'd say Cozumel, Mexico, but for an all-time general favorite place, I'd say Paris, France.
10.  Former occupation:  I was a PADI Scuba diving instructor.  I had a lot of fun doing it, and I even got to feed sharks. (I guess that goes along with wanting to jump out of an airplane.)


As for the other sunshiny bloggers, I'm not going to follow the rules, because I'm the Mom and I make up my own rules!  And besides, I think you're all sunshiny so I can't just pick ten!  If you want this pretty flower to put on your page, then go ahead and take it and use my ten questions (with your own answers, of course!)

Thanks again, Deanie!

Cat Drama

We had a little excitement at my pad yesterday. It involved some cats and some dogs.  I bet you can't guess which ones.

I looked out my front window and noticed an unfamiliar cat sitting on my front porch.  I opened the door, thinking the cat would get scared and run off, because you know how scary I can be!  But no.  That cat thought he was going to walk into my house and make himself at home.

"Excuse me," I said.  "This isn't your house.  And Bootsy is going to get a little upset that you're here."  (Bootsy is my cat, in case you didn't know.)

As soon as I had uttered those words, Bootsy showed up.  As promised, he was not happy.  His panties were all in a bunch upon seeing the visitor.  He arched his back and hissed.  The other cat reciprocated.  Bootsy charged.  The cat ran off - right into the backyard where Schultz was patrolling. (Schultz is our German Shepherd.) Schultz went nuts when he saw the new cat!  He went into full chase mode, barking his head off.  He chased the cat into our neighbor's yard -where two more dogs awaited.  One of which is the infamous cat killer!

I have never seen a cat move so fast!  Somehow, he managed to escape the manic beasts.  He ran as fast as he could across the street, behind some houses, never to be seen again.

Afterwards, the dogs wagged their tails and Bootsy sat in the driveway, calmly licking his paws.  Well done, boys!   

Where Jelly Comes From

"Mama," my eight-year-old son said.  "Where does jelly come from?"

Since my brain was a little fried from attempting to write synopsis's for five of my manuscripts, I gave him this brilliant answer:  "Jelly comes from jelly trees.  Four times a year gobs of jelly squirt out and are collected by Keebler elves. (Keebler is a brand of cookies, and elves are their mascot, in case you're not from the USA.)  The elves put the jelly in jars, ship them to your local supermarket, and then you buy it.  Okay?"

Bubba gave me a sideways look.  "Mama, that's not right."

"Why isn't that right?"

"Because Keebler has nothing to do with jelly.  It's Smuckers (a jelly-making company in the USA)."

Oh.  I had to think quickly.  "Well, Keebler sells the rights to Smuckers, so Smuckers can put its name on the label.  Then everybody lives happily ever after.  The end."

Bubba laughed.  "Mama, you're crazy!"

I can't argue with that!

Dirty Dog

We've had a lot of rain here in Cincinnati.  And I bet you can guess what that means.  Mud.  Lot's of it!

I made the huge mistake of letting our hundred pound German Shepherd outside, unsupervised.  I figured he'd just do his business, sniff around, and come back inside.  Wrong!  He found the biggest mud puddle and ran back and forth through that thing.  When he showed up at the back door, he was absolutely filthy.

"Schultz!"  I hollered.  He cocked his head and looked at me.  Then he let his big pink tongue roll out of his mouth and gave me a big doggy grin.

I just shook my head.

Schultz was so dirty, you couldn't even tell that he had red and tan fur.  He looked like a completely black dog.  I let him dry off in his crate before I hauled him upstairs for a bath.  Of course he just had to shake himself, plastering the walls with mud.

After I had gotten the water ready in the tub, I released him from his crate.  "Go have a bath," I said.

He charged upstairs, leaving behind a trail of muddy footprints all over the floor and carpet.  Then he jumped into the tub.  But he didn't stay there.  He jumped out and ran through the hall, leaving even muddier tracks. 

"Schultz, get in the tub!"  I yelled.

He shook more mud onto the walls and went back into the tub.  I quickly closed the door.

Do you know what it's like to wash a hundred pound male German Shepherd?  No?  Well, you probably don't want to know.   Let's just say, when I was finished, I needed a bath, because I was covered in mud!

After I had washed the creature, I surveyed the mess.  The tub was black.  The walls were covered with mud splashes, the toilet was covered with mud splashes.  And of course the walls and carpet were covered with mud.

Now, most of you know I'm in the process of trying to sell my house.  Does anybody out there want to buy my house which is now plastered with mud and dog hair?

Ugh!

X-ray Vision

Last night, my eight-year-old son was supposed to do some star gazing for a school project.  Unfortunately, the weather was not very cooperative.  A thick blanket of clouds covered the sky.

"Bubba," I said.  "You're not going to be able to see anything tonight."

He stared up at the sky.  "Oh yes I can, Mama.  I have x-ray vision!"

I laughed at the  little man.  "Really?"

"Yeah."  He pointed to a spot over the trees.  "The moon is right over there," he said.

I looked at the spot.  I didn't see anything.  "Are you sure about that?"

He nodded.  "Just keep watching."

I did.  And guess what?  The clouds cleared for a brief nanosecond, and the moon appeared right where he said it would.

I guess the kid really does have x-ray vision! 

Wimpy Mama

Yesterday, I took my kids to the dance studio.  My daughter, of course, had the lessons.  My son had to come along for the ride.  And let me tell you, he absolutely hates sitting around!  So what did he do?  He went outside on the parking lot and started doing push-ups and sit ups.

"Bubba, what are you doing?" I asked.

"Exercising."

I guess that was pretty obvious.  "Okay.  Why are you exercising on the hard asphalt?"

"I'm trying to get everybody else to come out and exercise with me."

I looked at the kid.  "Bubba, nobody is going to want to come out and do sit ups and push-ups in the middle of a parking lot!"

I guess I was wrong.  Two seconds later, another little boy and his dad came out.  The boy got on the ground next to Bubba and started doing push-ups.

The dad and I just looked at each other and shook our heads.

"Mama, you should do push-ups and sit ups, too!"

"No thank you," I said.

My boy looked at his new friend and said. "My Mama is a wimp!"

So there you have it ladies and gentlemen.  I am now officially a wimp!

   

Mama the Electrician

We are getting ready to put our house up for sale for our move to Atlanta.  One thing we're doing, is updating the light fixtures.  My husband came home with six of them.  "Do you want to put some of these up?" he asked.

"Do you want me to blow up the house?"  I answered.  Apparently he had forgotten how much trouble I had replacing a light bulb about six months ago.

"Woman, it's easy.  Just watch." 

He tackled the kitchen chandelier first.  He pulled down the old one, leaving wires protruding from the ceiling.  Then he did some cutting and scraping and connecting.  Then he put the new chandelier up.  Or at least he tried.  He took a look at it and said a few choice words, which I won't mention on my G rated blog.  "It's backwards," he explained.

Oh.  I definitely would have never known that.  An hour later, after many tries, and many more choice words, he got that thing up.

"Okay, woman.  Now you know how it's done.  You get to do the rest of them."

Uh, right!

Hungry Boy

My eight-year-old son was sitting at the breakfast table this morning, gobbling up his eggs when he posed this question:  "Mama, can a person eat a whole humpback whale?"

I looked at the kid.  "No, Bubba.  A whale is enormous.  I don't even think a polar bear could do that." 

"I bet I could," Bubba said. "Especially if there was a little bacon and butter on the side."

"Right, Bubba.  But I bet it would take you more than a day to do it."

He finished his breakfast and got up.  "I'm going fishing, now," he announced.  "You should start making the bacon and butter."

Sure, kid. I'll get right on it!    

Knuckle Barnacles

"Mama, do barnacles grow on knuckles?"

Huh?  I looked at my eight-year-old son, completely perplexed as to why he would ask me such a question.  "Bubba, barnacles are sea creatures that grow on hard things, like shells and shipwrecks."

"But, Mama, SpongeBob had barnacles growing on his toes!"

I knew this would have something to do with SpongeBob.  (He's an obnoxious sponge cartoon character, in case you didn't know.)  "Bubba, that's a cartoon.  It's not for real."

He grinned.  "Do you want to know how to get rid of barnacles that are growing on your toes?"

I didn't realize I had barnacles growing on my toes, but I went along with it. "Um, sure, Bubba.  Tell me how to get rid of the barnacles that are growing on my toes."

"Drink coffee."

Oh. 

So ladies and gentlemen, if you have barnacles growing on your toes, or knuckles, or any other body part, be sure to drink a nice hot cup of coffee.  You'll be barnacle-free in no time!

Sea Monkeys

"Mama," my eight-year-old son said. "I want a pet sea monkey."

"A what?" I said. I pictured some kind of aquatic creature hanging from stag horn coral munching on bananas.

" A sea monkey.  They were around during the time of the dinosaurs."

"Bubba, we're getting ready to move, and we certainly don't need any more pets!" (I'm trying to figure out how we're going to move the ones we have!)

"But Mama, they're really small, and I'll take care of them!"

"No, Bubba.  No sea monkeys!"

"But do you at least want to see how cute they are?"

I looked at the boy.  "Fine.  I'll take a look at them."

We pulled up a You tube video: 

 

 

 

Okay.  After about a minute of watching them, I've determined that I've had quite enough of sea monkeys!  What about you? 

 

 

     

One Smart Dog

It's time for another Schultz story.  In case you're new to this pad, Schultz is our hundred pound German Shepherd.  And he doesn't like taking his medicine.

We talked to the vet about this little situation, and the vet suggested that we coat the pill with peanut butter.  "He'll love it and think it's a treat," he said.

Okay.  So we disguised the pill in layers of peanut butter and plopped it down in front of the beast.  He gave it a quick sniff and started licking.  He licked until all the peanut butter was off.  All that remained was pill.  Then he walked away. 

"Schultz!" I said.  "Get over here and eat your pill!"

He gave me a look and kept walking. 

I picked up the slobbery thing.  "Schultz, come!"

He came, and I opened his ginormous mouth. I shoved the pill in and clamped the mouth shut with my hands.  When I thought he had swallowed it, I released him.

What did he do?  He hacked it right up and deposited it on the floor.

"Schultz!" 

I picked up the absolutely disgusting blob of a pill and pried the dog's mouth open.  "EAT IT!" I shouted and shoved it in there.

I held that mouth closed for a full three minutes until I was sure it was well on its way to Schultz's tummy.

Can you believe it? What a completely ornery, obstinate, impossible creature!   

Ancient Mama

"Mama," my eight-year-old son said. "Are you as old as a fossil?"

Hmmm.  I had to do some calculating.  "Yes, Bubba, I am as old as a fossil.  In fact, I was around to see the first Tyrannosaurus Rex hatch out of its egg."

He looked at me kind of funny. "Really, Mama?  Because that T Rex had to have a mommy and daddy T Rex to make him."

Oh.  Yeah.  The age old "What came first, the chicken or the egg?".

I gave that a little bit of thought.  "It was a mutation, Bubba. The parents of the T Rex weren't exactly T Rexes.  The baby I saw was the first real T Rex."

Bubba scratched his head.  "Mama.  You're making this stuff up.  And you're only forty-one, so you're not as old as a fossil."

Right. So much for my great story!





 

Make the Mama Smile Game

A few days ago I learned that my family and I would be moving to Atlanta, Georgia.  While I'm sure this will be an opportunity to meet new people and have new experiences, it is still sad.  I will have to leave family and friends.  And one of the hardest things for me to do is leave my students.  I've told quite a few of them already.  The news has not been taken well.  After they've picked their jaws up off the floor, almost all of them start crying.  Which makes me cry.  Ugh. 

Needless to say, my smile seems to have skipped town and taken a vacation.  My family is trying to bring it back .  They've devised the "Make Mama Smile" game.  Here's how it works:  Each member of my family takes turns doing something ridiculous in an attempt to make me smile.  The first person to make me smile, is the winner. 

My husband was up first.  I can't even remember what he did or said, but it didn't make me smile.

Then my daughter was up.  She did a goofy dance and made some faces.  That didn't make me smile.

Last but not least, was Bubba.  He came up to me and started tickling me. The tickle didn't get me - it was his infectious laugh.  I cracked a smile.

"I win!" he shouted.  "Bubba magic!"

Yep.  Bubba magic. 

Dancing Mama

My eleven-year-old daughter had another dance competition today.  Her team did awesome.  It was a national competition, and they won first place overall!

Anyway, last night we were in our hotel room, dressed in our pajamas and ready for bed.  My daughter wanted to watch TV, so we turned it on - to music videos.

The music made me want to get up and start dancing.  So I did.

"Mom, what are you doing?"

"Doing a Bubba dance," I replied.

She watched me and rolled her eyes.  "Mom, you seriously need to take dance lessons!"

So what did I do?  I busted another move. 

She totally cracked up.  "Mom, you're embarrassing me, and there's not even anybody else in the room!"

"Sorry, kid," I said.  "I'm just doing my job!"  

The Cup Song

Before I tell you my story, I have to share some awesome news.  I got an agent for my book, Big Hole to China!  To celebrate the occasion, I'm hanging out as a guest at SC Writer's blog.  If you'd like to read about my experience in writing the book, querying, and finding an agent, please stop by!

Now for the cup story.

Yesterday, my eleven-year-old daughter pulled a plastic cup out of the cupboard and started banging on it.  But it wasn't just any banging.  It was a well choreographed rhythm, complete with funky moves.

"What are you doing?"  I asked.

"The cup song," she replied as she whipped through it really fast.

"Cool,"  I said.  "Can you teach me?"

She slowed it down, and pretty soon I was doing the cup song.

Meanwhile, in the office, my husband was trying to work.  "Will you cut it out!" he shouted.

Um, yeah.

So, if you'd like to have a lot of fun thoroughly annoying somebody, do the cup song.  Here's how it goes:

  

Are Uvulas Important?

"Mama," my eight-year-old son said while having breakfast this morning.  "Are uvulas important?"

I tried not to choke on my food.  This was not a question I expected first thing in the morning.  "I believe they are, Bubba.  I think they help people swallow."

He thought about that a second.  "Oh.  Then how to sword swallowers swallow when they're not swallowing swords?"

Huh?  I had to think about that, which wasn't easy because my brain wasn't exactly fully operational at seven o'clock in the morning.  "I believe sword swallowers have uvulas."

"I don't think so, Mama.  Otherwise they'd never get the sword down there."

"Bubba, I think it's a trick."

"No, Mama.  They really do swallow swords.  I saw it on TV."

Right.

So ladies and gentlemen, what do you think?  Do sword swallowers have uvulas, and are uvulas important?    

The Day the DS Died

It's a dark day in my little man's world.  Bubba's beloved Nintendo DS has bit the dust.

"Mama," he said this morning.  "There's something wrong with my DS.  The light won't turn off and I can't work the controls."

"Maybe it needs a break," I suggested.  "You play it all the time."

"No, Mama.  It doesn't need a break."

"Okay," I said.  "Let me see it."

He handed it over.  I tried pressing buttons.  It didn't do anything.  Then I gave it a good whack, because that always seems to do the trick.

"Mama, you're going to break it!"

"Um, Bubba, it's already broken."

He gave me one of his sad faces.

"You're going to have to live without it," I said.

He walked away, feeling completely dejected.

Maybe he'll get an early birthday present.  But for now, I'm going to let him suffer the loss of his beloved DS.  (I'm such a heartless Mama!)

The Worm Experiment

"Mama," my eight year old son said.  "We need some newspapers, eggshells, and rotten banana peels."

"What?" I said.  I couldn't imagine why anyone would need rotten banana peels.

"We're going to do an experiment," he announced.

"What kind of experiment, Bubba?"

"A worm experiment."

That piqued my interest.  "Will we need worms for this?"

"Yeah, Mama.  Lot's of them."

I collected the newspapers, eggshells, and a banana peel, which I'm sure will be rotten in about two days.  Bubba collected the worms.

When we had all the materials, we dumped them into a container. 

"Now what?" I asked.

"Now we wait for the worms to turn all of this into compost."

Oh. 

Ladies and gentlemen, this little experiment might take a while.  But I'll keep you updated on how it turns out!

Dancing King

Yesterday I had mentioned that my husband and son were out of town.  They were in Baltimore for a family Bat Mitzvah.  (Unfortunately my daughter and I could not go because of her dance schedule.)  If you don't know what a Bat Mitzvah is, it's a Jewish "coming of age" celebration for thirteen year old kids.  Basically, it's like a wedding.  Huge!

Anyway, at the reception party, my son was the center of attention.  The little man danced from 7:00 PM to 11:00 PM non -stop.  My husband gave me the full report:

"Everybody stood around watching him," he said.  "Even the dance instructor was impressed with his rhythm and moves.  He won every prize in the house!"

I could just imagine it - my boy in a suit break-dancing on the floor!

My husband continued.  "All the chicks were digging him.  There was one blond girl about his age who told him he was cute."

"Great," I said.  "And what did Bubba do after she said that?"

"He spurned her and chased after the hot older dance instructor."

Oh boy.  Definitely a sign of things to come. I see big trouble ahead!

Cleaning the Air

My son left a little present in the toilet for me two days ago.  I didn't find it until today.  (He's been out of town with his dad.)   When I walked in the bathroom, I was assaulted by a putrid odor. 

"Ugh!  That's disgusting!" my daughter said when she got a whiff of it.  She immediately ran and found two bottles of perfume.  She sprayed a half a bottle of one, and a half a bottle of another. 

"What are you trying to do?" I asked.  "Kill me?"

"No, Mom.  That's the worst smell I've ever smelled in my life!  I'm trying to cover it."

Right.

I plunged some more, trying to get the toilet unblocked.   It took me a full hour to get that thing to flush. 

Meanwhile, my daughter got three more cans of air freshener and sprayed them.  Then she got some Lysol and Scrubbing Bubbles and sprayed those.

It smelled absolutely awful.  Even Schultz, our German Shepherd, was gagging.   (I quickly let him out of the house so I wouldn't have any other messes to clean up!)

As I finished cleaning up, my daughter came with yet another bottle and started spraying.

"That's enough, already!" I said.  "We're going to end up with lung cancer breathing all these chemicals!"

"But Mom, it's water!  I'm cleaning the air, now!"

(So ladies and gentlemen, if you were planning to visit my abode today, I would highly advise that you do something else.  I have opened all the portals, and am now abandoning the ship!)   

The Half Birthday Cake

Yesterday was my daughter's half birthday.  (Can you believe it's already been six months since her infamous chocolate birthday party?)  To celebrate the occasion, I made a cake.  After it came out of the oven, I put it on the counter to cool.

Schultz, our giant German Shepherd, came up and gave it a sniff. 

"Leave it alone, Schultz.  It's not for you," I said.

Schultz walked away, so I figured it would be safe.

While the cake continued cooling, I went for a two mile run.  When I came back, I had a little surprise waiting for me.  One layer of the cake was on the floor, half eaten.

"Schultz!" I bellowed.

He shuffled into the room with his head held low.  A few pink crumbs were stuck on his nose. 

Apparently he thought that a half birthday cake meant half was for him.

I just shook my head and sent him to his crate.  Then I frosted the remaining half and we all enjoyed a half  piece of half a cake during the last half of my daughter's half birthday.

 

Cookies and Mashed Potatoes (and other random things)

"Mama, you broke my dream machine," my eight year old son said to me this morning when I woke him up.

"Sorry, Bubba," I said. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Cookies and mashed potatoes."

I tried not to laugh.  "Really?  Was it a good dream?"

"Yeah.  Because mashed potatoes are my favorite food, and I was hoping for a cookie after breakfast."

(Keep hoping kid.  It's not going to happen!)

Then I went to my daughter's room to wake her up.

After she cleared her morning groggies, she had this question:  "Mom, what's the difference between a hippy and a groovy? "

Huh?

"Well, a hippy is a dude from the seventies with long hair.  He usually wears bell-bottom pants and funky shirts.  I have no idea what a groovy is."

"I think he's a surfer dude," my daughter suggested.

Okay.  Whatever.  I have no idea where this conversation came from, but if any of you have an answer to what the difference between a hippy and a groovy is, please let me know!





Finally, I'd like to share my daughter's new favorite song:  It's number one on the charts and it's called the Harlem Shuffle.  She made me watch this video last night. ( I think the dude in the orange pants might be a groovy.)       

 

 

All I could do was shake my head and wonder what this world is coming to.  They call this music?  I think I'll go listen to a Beethoven Symphony now.  You all have a nice day!

Busted Frog

My frog doesn't usually make the headlines.  But he's been so obnoxious for the last few days, that I just have to tell you about him.

It started a few days ago when I bought him a new brand of blood worms.  I don't know what's in those things, but ever since he started eating them, he won't shut up.  Day and night he croaks at the top of his little froggy lungs.

"Croaky," I said walking over to his swamp.  "That's enough.  I can't even think because you're croaking so loud!"

He croaked some more.

I brought our German Shepherd, Schultz, up to see him.  I figured the sight of a giant dog would interrupt whatever short circuit pattern was going on in his brain. 

Schultz sniffed the swamp.

And Croaky kept croaking.

The croaking continued last night.  Do you know what it's like trying to sleep with a noisy African clawed frog?  Impossible!  It's like being outside in Africa on the banks of the Nile river, except without the crocodiles. 

I got up and shined my flashlight into his swamp.  And guess what?  He kept croaking!

So ladies and gentlemen, I need a little help here.  Does anybody have any ideas on how to activate a frog's "off" button?  I'd really like to get a good night's sleep tonight! 

Defective Chickens

 Before I start my story, I want to let you know that I'm hanging out over at VS Grenier's blog, Indie and Debut Author Interviews.  If you'd like to know more about my book, That Mama is a Grouch, please stop by and visit!

Now for the story.

 I made dinner last night and had it cooking in the oven.  My husband walked into the kitchen.  "Woman, something doesn't smell right."

"It smells fine," I said.  Actually, I couldn't smell a thing because my nose was stuffed up from this wonderful cold I have.

He peeked in the oven.  "What are you cooking?  Defective chickens?"

"They're Cornish hens," I replied.

He made a face at me.  "They're defective chickens, and I'm sure they're going to poison me if I eat them."

I looked at the guy and shook my head.  "They're fine."

He didn't believe me.  "How long were they in the refrigerator thawing out?"

"Five days." 

"Five days?  Woman, those things are going to kill us!"

He went back into his office, and I sat at my computer thinking about what it would be like to die from eating defective Cornish hens.  I came to the conclusion that it probably would not be good.  So I got my coat on and went to the grocery store where I bought a roasted chicken - the regular kind - not Cornish or defective in any way. 

And the defective chickens?  Well, they made a little trip out to the garbage can, where they can be used to control the raccoon population.




Okay, one more fun little thing:   My blogger friend, Pat Hatt, wrote a cool little book featuring many of his blogger friends as characters, including yours truly.  The book is called, Tune at High Noon.

Guess who I am?  The duck!  Do you remember the surgery I had in December which made my lips look like a duck bill?  Well, dear Pat decided to immortalize the look.  That's what I get for opening my big mouth (or bill)!  I'll be remembered as a defective duck forever.  Thanks Pat!  

  

April Fools

My kids usually try to pull some kind of prank on me on April Fools day.  I've come to expect it, and am on high alert.

Yesterday, on April Fools day, I got up bright and early to get the kids ready for school.  I walked into my daughter's room.  "Time to get up," I said.

She rolled over and groaned.  "Mom, we don't have school today."

"Yeah, right," I said.  "You're just trying to play one of your April Fools jokes on me."

"Mom, I'm serious," she said.  "My friend said so last night."

"Well then, she's playing an April Fools joke on you.  Now get up and get ready."

I got my son out of bed, and prepared breakfast.

Both kids sat at the table with grumpy faces on.  "Mom, we don't have school!"

"Why wouldn't you have school?  It's Monday, and you already had a week of Spring break."

"Because it's April Fools day, and nobody wants to go to school on April Fools."

I shook my head.  "Fine.  I'm going to call the school and see if you're right."  I got on the phone. 

And guess what?  The school was closed!

(I guess I'm the April Fool...again!)

Dumb Easter Bunny

I hope you all had a nice Easter.  We had a grand time at my pad.  It all started bright and early when my kids ran downstairs to see what the Easter Bunny left in their baskets.

I heard them, but didn't feel like getting out of bed.  About a half hour later, I got dressed and went down to see what they were up to.  What they were up to was trouble. On the kitchen table in front of them, were their Easter baskets.  Empty Easter baskets.  All that remained of the candy that was inside were wrappers. And those were strewn all over the kitchen table.

"You guys did not seriously eat all your candy for breakfast, did you?" I asked.

"No, Mama, there are a couple pieces left," my son said.

I gave the boy one of my mean mommy faces.  "You're not allowed to eat chocolate for breakfast!"

"But Mama," he said.  "You're the Easter Bunny.  If you didn't want us to have chocolate for breakfast, you shouldn't have put it in our basket!"

Argh!