Funeral for a Triop

You may recall a couple of months ago, that my son had gotten some pet triops - tiny aquatic creatures from the age of the dinosaurs.  Well, sadly, one died.  My son scooped it out of the tank and put it in a soup bowl.  It stayed on the counter for a couple of days.

"Bubba, what are you planning on doing with this dead triop?" I asked.

"It has to have a funeral."

"Can we get on with the funeral, because I really don't want to stare and its lifeless body anymore."

"Sure, Mama."

He took the bowl and marched into the bathroom.  Then he lifted the toilet lid.

I stood by his side.  "Would you like to say a few words before you send him off to his watery grave?"

The boy thought a moment.  "Triop, you were a good pet.  Thanks for the memories."

I raised my eyebrows and nodded. "Rest in peace, Triop.  So glad I didn't have to take care of you!"

With that, Bubba dumped it into the toilet, pushed the handle, and flushed it down.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a triop funeral is conducted.

Doctor Dog

We haven't had a story about Schultz, my hundred pound German Shepherd, for a while.  He's been rather mellow, lately.  Not today.

Today, I had a blasting headache, and wasn't feeling too good. So I did something a little out of the ordinary.  I lay down on the sofa to rest.  Schultz came over, sat down, and stared at me.  I closed my eyes and ignored him.  What did he do?  He got up and sniffed me.  His big, wet nose was about an inch from my face.

"Schultz, leave me alone," I said.

He gave my cheek a lick with his big, pink tongue.

I turned my head.  "Go away!"

He stared at me for about five seconds and then went over to his bowl of water.  Slurp, slurp, slurp!  I knew what was coming next.

Two seconds later, he was standing over me, water dripping off his enormous jowls onto my face.

"Schultz!" I bellowed, bolting upright. "What the heck?"

I got up and gave him my mean mommy look.

He gave me one of his silly grins, with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.  He was obviously quite pleased with himself.

I shook my head.  "Thanks, Doctor Dog.  I'm standing upright, again.  You fixed me!"

He wagged his tail and trotted off.  

Mister Lucky

If you read my last post, you know my son, Bubba, broke his wrist.  His arm is in a cast.  This hasn't stopped him from having fun.

He was invited to a birthday party for one of his friends - a bowling party.

"Are you sure you want to go?"  I asked.  "We could just drop off the present and come home."

He looked at me like I had three eyeballs.  "Are you crazy, Mama?  I'm going.  And I'm bowling!"

All right, then.

I brought him to the bowling alley and stayed for a little while, just to make sure he was okay.  The boy got on his bowling shoes (with a little help), and grabbed a ball. This was a major challenge because he broke his dominant wrist. I thought for sure he was going to drop the ball on his big toe and break that!  But no.  He wobbled to the lane and heaved the ball on to it. I watched as it snaked along, bumping into the gutter guards.

There's no way he's going to get even one pin down, I thought.

Boy, was I wrong!  On the last bounce off the gutter guard, it made a dead aim for the center pin...and knocked all of them down!

I was in a complete state of disbelief.

Bubba turned around and gave me a big grin.  "See, Mama.  I'm even better with a broken wrist!"

One-armed Pirate

Yesterday, my son had a little accident with his scooter and broke his wrist.  He's now sporting a cast and sling.  Needless to say, it's a little tough for him to do basic things, like get dressed and write his name.

"Mama, I need a little help here," he said.

"What do you need, Bubba?"

"Help getting my shirt on."  We struggled at least five minutes, trying to get it on.  Finally, his arm was through the sleeve.

"Mama, is this how it is for pirates?"

I looked at the boy a little funny.  "What do you mean?"

"Like Captain Hook.  He had a hook instead of a hand.  And Long John Silver.  He had a peg instead of a leg. They must've had a hard time getting dressed!"

"Well, Bubba, I hadn't really thought of it, but now that you mention it, they probably did have a hard time. "

A few minutes later, my boy had to sign a birthday card for one of his friends.  I looked at the chicken scratch when he was done.  It looked like more than his name, but I couldn't figure out what it said, because it was so illegible.

"Dude, what are you trying to say, here?"

"It's my name, Mama:  Bubba, the one-armed pirate!"    

Mama DNA

I was driving my kids to the craft store to get some material for my daughter's school project.  We went along merrily (or as merrily as we could in the Atlanta traffic).  Suddenly, I felt a tug on my hair.  Then a pinch.

The passenger behind me was pulling my hair.  That passenger was none other than my nine-year-old son, Bubba.

"Dude, what did you do that for?"  I glared at him in the rear-view mirror.

He was grinning from ear to ear.  "I have some Mama DNA now."  He held up a few strands of my long, brown hair.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes.  "What are you going to do with Mama DNA?"

He thought about that.  "Clone you?  You always say you need more of you to get everything done."  Then he shook his head.  Apparently he had a second thought. "But that would mean more grouchy Mamas."

Uh huh.  And he definitely would not want more of those!  

Travelling Lemonade Stand

My nine-year-old son decided it would be a good idea to have a lemonade stand.  He set one up in the driveway and waited for customers to arrive.  He waited.  And waited.  And waited.  Not one customer showed up.

Then he had a brilliant idea:  Take the lemonade stand to the customers.  He poured a cup of lemonade and walked to our neighbor's house.

"Would you like to buy some lemonade?"

The neighbor smiled and agreed to the purchase.

The boy went to the next house.  Same thing.  He kept going, back and forth, until he was out of lemonade.

When he came back into the house, he dumped is coin cup on the table.  He had made almost ten dollars.  "See, Mama?  It was a good day for a lemonade stand!"

Lost in a Whale's Heart

I took my son to the natural history museum. There was a special display about whales.  We stared at the giant whale skeletons and read all the interesting facts about whales.  Then we came to a full-sized replica of a whale's heart.  The thing was huge.  As big as a car!  Kids were allowed to crawl into it and explore.  Naturally, my son wanted to to just that.

I patiently waited as he disappeared into the heart.  I expected him to be out in a couple of minutes.  I waited. And waited. And waited.  What could be taking so long? I wondered.  I decided to crawl into the giant heart and find out.  I meandered this way and that, through the aorta until I came to a tiny room.  What do you think was inside?  A television!  I kid you not.  And a lot of little kids were parked in front of it, staring at the screen as whales floated by.  My boy was one of those kids.

"Dude," I said.  "I didn't bring you here so you could watch TV!  Let's go!"

"But Mama, this is educational!"

Right.

I led him out the left ventricle, back to the regular displays.

When we got out, Bubba looked around. "Mama, do you think they have a whale brain I can explore?"

Ugh!
 

Skating Rink

"Mama, I'm going ice skating," my nine-year-old son announced.

I looked outside.  The snow had melted.  I couldn't imagine what he was talking about.  Besides, the kid didn't even own a pair of ice skates.  "Dude, what are you talking about?"

He put on his coat and went out onto the back deck.  "Right here, Mama.  This is an ice rink."

It was indeed an ice rink.  Since the deck stays in the shade most of the day, the snow and ice was completely hardened, and as smooth and slick as a rink.   Bubba wobbled across the deck, wearing his tennis shoes.  He attempted a fancy spin, and promptly landed on his bottom.

"Careful," I said.

He grinned. "This is better than watching the Olympics!"  He did another fancy slide across the ice.  "What would you give me for that one?"

"A perfect ten!"

Bony Mama

I was helping my daughter study last night.  I parked myself on the ground, next to her bed and started quizzing her.  For some odd reason, she decided my leg would be a good resting place for her head.  She plopped it down on my shin.

"Ow!" she complained.  "Mom, what the heck?  Why is your leg so hard?"

"It's called a bone.  You clunked your head on my bone."

She made a face.  "My legs aren't like that.  I have some meat on my bones!  You're too skinny!"  She grabbed my leg.  "Look, Mom.  You're nothing but a skeleton!"

I laughed.  "No, I'm not.  But if you think so, then what do you recommend I do about it?"

"Eat more ice cream!"

(Now that's something I can live with!)

Noodle Heads

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Today, my son and I are sporting a new look:  Hair noodles.  (No, I'm not providing pictures of this new look, because I know they will end up plastered all over the internet!)

"Mama," my son said.  "Can I have some spaghetti noodles?"

"What for?" I asked.

"You'll see."

I gave him one of my squinty-eye looks and gave him a few uncooked noodles.

He promptly inserted one into his hair.  Somehow it stayed in place.  He added another, then another.  "I'm a noodle-head, Mama.  Do you want to be a noodle-head?"

"Um, not really," I said.

"Bend down.  I'm going to add some noodles to your hair."

I knew I wasn't going to get out of this.  I stooped down, and he inserted about five noodles into my long tresses.

My boy stepped back to inspect his work. "You look great, Mama.  I think it's the best hair style I've ever seen on you!"

Great.  (I guess I should be grateful they're not snakes!)  

The Great Hamburger Search

You may have heard that Atlanta, Georgia got blasted by ice and snow.  That didn't stop my boy from wanting to go out in search of a good burger.

"Mama, can we go to Five Guys?"  he asked.  (That's his favorite burger joint.)

"Bubba, there's some nasty weather heading our way.  It's not a good idea to go out right now."

"But Mama, I need a hamburger!"

I shook my head.  "Ask your dad."

He did.  And my husband, being the crazy person he is, decided it would be a wonderful idea to go to Five Guys.

The boys headed out as the snow clouds gathered.

Two hours later, they returned.

"That was a wild goose chase," my son announced.

"Is that right?" I asked.  "What happened?"

"Five Guys was closed!"

I laughed.  "No way.  You're kidding!  How could they do that?  Didn't they know you needed a hamburger?"

Bubba scowled. "Even McDonald's was closed!"

I shook my head. This was serious. "So you didn't get a hamburger?"

"Yeah.  We got one. But we had to drive a million miles- all the way to Chili's!"

Bubba's Milkshake

Bubba was in the kitchen, again.  (And no, it wasn't with his helicopter!)

"Mama, I'm going to make a milkshake!"

I looked at the kid.  "Do you know how?"

"Of course, Mama.  It's easy!"

I let him go to town on it.  He pulled out the blender.  Then he grabbed some moose tracks ice cream, blueberry yogurt, ice cubes, milk, and...orange juice.

"Bubba, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Yes, Mama.  I watch you do this all the time!"  He dumped it all into the blender and pressed the "blend" button.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall, watching this most interesting spectacle.

When he was finished, he got a glass and poured his concoction in.  He took a swig.  He wrinkled up his nose.  "Mama, I think you bought a bad batch of yogurt.  This doesn't taste right!"

Of course.  Blame it on the Mama!  

Moonless Book Release and Whipped Potatoes

My blog friend, Crystal Collier's book, Moonless, has just been released as a hard copy book.  I'm helping to spread the word.  It's a really good book.  If you haven't read it, check it out!




BUY IT HERE

Also, Crystal's publisher provided a $2.00 off coupon, good until Feb. 14th! Book link: https://www.createspace.com/4550104
Coupon code: LQJM3F84
And now for the story:

My son was playing with his remote control helicopter.  "Mama, check out how good I can pilot this thing!"

I watched him soar it around the room, landing it on the coffee table.  "Nice job!" I said.

While he played, I put out the dinner:  Pork chops, green beans, and mashed potatoes.  I turned around and was about to take out the rolls from the oven, when I heard a funny sound.  I looked over my shoulder to see what it could be.  And do you know what I saw?  A tiny helicopter sitting in the middle of the mashed potatoes, with its propeller spinning.

"Dude!" I exclaimed.  "What do you think you're doing?"

"Whipping the potatoes!"

Oy!  

The Moron Test

"Mom," my twelve-year-old daughter said.  "Do you want to take the moron test?"

I tried not to laugh.  "I don't think I need to take the moron test.  We already know I'm one of those."

She handed her iPod to me.  "Take it anyway."

I looked at the screen.  "What am I supposed to do?"

"Follow the instructions.  If you can't do that, you're a moron."

I suppressed a giggle and read the first instruction:  Press the red button.

I did. Somehow I managed to do that correctly.

I was then given a series of tasks to complete - ordering the sizes of ducks from biggest to smallest, tapping colored circles, and adding numbers.  Progressing through these tasks successfully, I was given the rank "average mammal."  It was time for the next level.

"Tap the screen five times," it said.

I did.  The iPod did nothing.  "What's the problem?" I asked.

My daughter took the device from my hands.  "You're supposed to tap it five times."

"I did," I said.  "But it's stuck here."

She tapped it one more time.

"FAIL!" the screen blared.

My daughter threw the iPod on her bed. "Moron!" she shouted at it.  "That's the dumbest test ever!"

Carbon Dioxide Balloons

Last night, when I was playing Frisbee with my son, I noticed a red balloon on the ground under one of the bushes.  I figured my kids had something to do with it being there.

"Dude," I said.  "Why is there a balloon under the bush?"

"We did an experiment, Mama."

"An experiment?"  I couldn't wait to hear about this one.

"Yeah.  We made carbon dioxide balloons and released them into the wild."

I raised my eyebrows.  "Is that so?"

He nodded. "Do you want to see how?"

"Sure," I said.  We went inside. He took a pop bottle, filled it with water, then added baking soda and vinegar.  He quickly attached the balloon to the bottle.  What happened next, was that the balloon expanded.  He took it off the bottle, keeping the neck of the balloon closed so the air wouldn't escape.  Then he marched outside and released it.  The balloon zoomed through the air and landed under another bush.

"Very nice," I said.  "Now you can march around the house and clean up all the balloons you have released into the wild!"

(If you'd like to do the experiment, you can find the instructions here.)



One more thing before I go:

 Here's a shout-out for  Alex's promotion

 

CassaFire is on sale from 4-10th February. 

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The Hypnosis Stone

My son had a school field trip yesterday, where he got to "mine" gemstones and learn about them.  He came home with a bag full of assorted blue, green, red, and purple gems. He dumped them out on the kitchen table.  "Mama, which is your favorite?"

I took a look and picked up an aqua-colored stone.  "This one."

"Do you know which one is my favorite?"

"No, Bubba.  Which one is your favorite?"

He picked up a topaz-colored rock with brown stripes.  "Take a look at this one."  He held it in front of my face and slowly moved it across my line of vision. The stone was like a holographic image. As he moved it, the pattern on the surface of the stone seemed to change. "It's a tiger's eye," he explained. "Do you know why I like it?"

"Because it's fancy?" I asked.

He nodded.  "And because I can use it to hypnotize you!"  

Bubbles!

It's official.  I've completely lost my mind!  But you probably already knew that.

Here's the Mama's dumb move of the day:

I started the dishwasher this morning, as I usually do.  Everything seemed to go as it usually does.  Except about ten minutes later, I noticed bubbles coming out of the sides of the dishwasher.

Hmmm,I thought. What's wrong here?

I stared at the bubbles as they got bigger and bigger and oozed out onto the floor.

Then it dawned on me.  I had put Dawn liquid soap in the detergent containers, instead of dishwasher detergent!

I quickly stopped the machine and opened it up.  You don't even want to know what it looked like!  I muttered a few choice words and commenced bubble-popping operations.

An hour later it was cleaned up - but I seriously think I should be institutionalized before I cause the entire house to fall down!  

Guest Blog Post and Foot Letters

Today, I'm in two places at once.  Okay.  Not really.  But I am a guest over at Jodi Desautel's blog.  If you have a moment, please stop by for a visit!

Now for the story:

Last night, when I was tucking my nine-year-old son into bed, I noticed he seemed to be having a fixation with his feet.

"Dude," I said.  "Why are you playing with your feet?  It's time for bed!"

"Mama, there something really interesting going on here."

I raised my eyebrows.  "Apparently. What is so interesting about your feet?"

"There are letters on them.  Look, Mama."  He traced some lines on the sole of his foot.  "This is the letter 'A.' Do you have a letter 'A' on your foot?"

"You seriously want me to take my sock off and see if I have a letter 'A' on the bottom of my foot?"

"Yes, Mama!"

I sighed and inspected the bottom of my foot.  Sure enough, there was a letter "A" on the bottom.  "Are you happy, Bubba?"

He shook his head.  "Look.  Here's a letter 'M.' Do you have a letter 'M'?"

I looked.  I did.  "Yes, Bubba.  I have a letter 'M.'"

"Mama, do you know what that means?"

"No, Bubba, I don't."

"It means we're related!"

Imagine that!

Out of Energy

My nine-year-old son bought himself an electric scooter a couple of days ago.  He'd been asking for one for a couple of years.  I finally told him he could have one if he bought it with his own money.  That's what he did.

We brought it home and I put it together.  He hopped on and started scooting up the street.  If you are unfamiliar with electric scooters, they look like regular scooters you push with your feet, but they are much heavier.  Normally, you start them by pushing with your feet, until they reach a speed of 5 miles per hour, and then the electric part kicks in, and you can just stand on it and let the scooter go by itself.  Eventually, they run out of power, and need to be recharged.

Anyway, my son scooted up and down the hills of our neighborhood.  I followed.  When we were a considerable way from home, the scooter conked out.  My son had to use old fashioned leg power to scoot up and down the hills.  This was apparently exhausting.

"Mama," he complained.  "You have to stop, because me and this scooter have something in common."

"What's that, Bubba?"

"We're out of power, and can't go another inch!"