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Word of the Day: Bombilate

20 Nov




On the last day of school before Thanksgiving break, math teachers be like:  “I can’t take much  more of you drooling on yourself and bombilating like an Amazon drone with an attachment disorder!”





All Hail Genius Dad!

9 Jan

I’ve already got a list of things I plan to do when Weasel hits the tweens.  Things that will make her question her origin.  Like pretend to be deaf at parent teacher conferences.  Laugh if you want….but the “Deaf Ruse” is one of the most popular tools in my manipulation tool bag.

My regular readers should recognize this story:

Picture it.  A full flight, crammed in between a mouth breather and an elderly woman with a colostomy bag.  The oh-so-not-perky air attendant swears to holy god that there aren’t any pillows left, all the blankets are in first class and no more snacks for coach.  Enter in the Deaf Ruse.  I call the air attendant over, nodding quickly to let her know I was a wee bit challenged, then commenced to making jacked up hand signals and mouthing, “May I please have a pillow?”

Oh hark, the change in demeanor!  I got a pillow, a blanket, two more snacks and liquor.  If the air attendant had been paying attention, she would’ve noticed that I was listening to my iPod.  They don’t screen ‘em like they used to.

Anyway…let me tell you about Dale.  He’s a stay-at-home dad who came up with a genius idea that would humiliate his 16 year old son down to the ground.  Every morning when the bus would come to pick up the kid….here’d come dad.  All dressed up in crazy stuff.  CRAZY!  Every single day…waving at the bus!  Some major news outlets caught wind of his shenanigans and invited him to come on down…Inside Edition, Good Morning America, Fox News.

Dale had the good sense to blog about all this mess.  You can see his cacophony of  costumes over at Wave At The Bus.  Dale…you’re one helluva guy!

What I Learned in Amish School

8 Jan

The summer before my 8th grade year, my family moved out to the eastern shore of Maryland.  It’s weird out there.  Everyone eats crabs and talks funny.  For instance:

You say water:  They say wooter.

You say house:  They say hoose.

The public school system must’ve been liken to Auschwitz, because my parents got the brilliant idea to send me to a Mennonite/Amish school located in Delaware.  My first thought was that I had become a victim of parental cruelty.  Really?  A Mennonite school?!

For those of you who have NO idea what “Mennonite” is….the easiest way to explain it is this:  Amish Light.  They’re similar to the Amish, only they can drive cars and have electricity.  There are more differences, but those are the most obvious.

I don’t remember my first day.  The fact that I was even permitted to attend had me skeptical from the beginning.  Like these folks were in cahoots with the parental units.  Grades 1st thru 12th were all in the same room and we all studied with the Pace curriculum.  Our desks had partitions on either side to prevent chatting and whatnot during study hours.  The beauty of it all was….you got to work at your own pace.  When you completed your goal, you put up a little flag and a teacher would come over and give you permission to check your work in the Answer Book which sat on a table in the middle of the room.


I got busted halfway through the year for cheating.  C’mon.  You put the Answer Book 3 feet from me and expect me to maintain my moral character? My parents were quoting the “What Would Jesus Do” thing LONG before there were bracelets.  My response of, “How would I know?  I don’t wear sandals” was never fashionable.  Not even back then.

Amish school had some kickin’ honor roll trips.  Of course I was on the honor roll!  We visited Washington D.C. and Philadelphia.  Yeah, there were gawkers.  Not because of the plain dresses and bonnets….but because of the big-haired chick with the silk Miami Vice jacket walking amongst them, daring anyone to say anything.  I got real protective of my people.  I say “MY” people, because that’s what they were to me.  In all of my 12 years of education, those two years spent in Delaware were when I felt most welcomed.  A peaceful sense of belonging.

I used to feign illness because they didn’t have a school nurse.  No.  You got to go lay on the sofa at someone’s home and listen to the women sitting around the quilt loom, talking smack about the younger girls with their rising hemlines and how they couldn’t sew a straight stitch even if someone held a gun to their head.

During harvest season, the boys left school to help run the farm.  If someone was in need, the community came together and took care of them.  They built houses in a day, plowed fields with horses and mules, grew and raised their only food source and never once did you hear a complaint.

Remember a few years back, when that idiot walked into an Amish school and shot everyone?  Then the Amish community came out and gently said they forgave the man?  People were horrified to hear this!  They couldn’t conceive of it!  But it didn’t surprise me a bit because the Mennonite and Amish are those rare souls who walk their talk.  They don’t speak of love and peace, then smack you in the face.

Never once did these people judge me.  Never once did they make me feel like an outsider or an outcast.  It didn’t matter that we wore different clothes and led different lives.  For those few hours we spent together every day, we were all the same.  I felt loved.

I marvelled at their tin lunch pails that carried whatever was in season.  Fresh tomatoes on thick slabs of homeade bread with freshly churned butter.  Water in vintage thermoses.  In the winter, there was warm soup and crusty bread.  They eyeballed my Twinkies and bologna, no doubt feeling sympathy for my lack of good sense, resulting in a chronic case of constipation.  And one day a month….there was Hot Meal Day at the school.  All the Mennonite women would come early and start cooking.  By lunchtime, there’d be a full meal with dessert.  And we ate until it was all gone.

I come from a very musical family and grew up playing the piano and singing and I have to say that the Mennonites taught me the most about music.  They don’t use musical instruments.  They’ll give you the key on a pitch-pipe, then you sing in that key.  It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.  The perfect harmony, the richness of their voices.

There are times when I wish I could go back to that place of simplicity.  During my freshman year, I was one slice of cornbread away from snagging an Amish dude and converting my worldly ways.  But then my parents thwarted my plan by announcing we were moving back to Ohio.  I know, I know….there are Mennonites and Amish people in Ohio….but they weren’t MY people.

MY people taught me how to sew a blind stitch and make the perfect pie crust.  MY people taught me to color butter with pulverized dandelions.  MY people showed me how to make homemade ice-cream with fresh cream and rock ice.  MY people taught me that the most beautiful instrument in the world is your own voice.

Here I am…literally surrounded by those who taught me the lesson of acceptance and unconditional love.  I’m chubby because they hog-tied me and made me eat like a pack-mule after a long day’s work. But the coolest thing about these peole?  They’re all on Facebook.

The Interview and the Fat Man

4 Jan

I know you didn’t ask, but I feel inclined to share with you here today: My Worst Job Interview Ever.

(All names, locations, eye color, hair length and weight are pretty close to the absolute truth.  Only just fake enough to prevent me from getting my butt sued right off my body.)


Up north in Yankee Land, I used to be an escrow and closing officer.  Yeah.  Wore suits and everythang.  And pantyhose.  The nude colored ones.  Because there were rules saying fuscia fishnets were not permitted.  Anyway, when I moved to the south, I was informed that attorneys were the only people permitted to commit a closing.  But I was encouraged to apply for the job of Overworked Grunt.

So I mass-mailed my resume to every law firm within a 50 mile radius, then sat back and waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  Started hanging out in wig shops with Chinese people during the day out of sheer boredom.

After a couple of months I got invited to an interview at a local law firm and gladly accepted.  I got all gussied up in my black Christian Dior suit that I bought at Goodwill when they were having that Stuff-a-Bag-for-$5 sale…and off I went.

I’m not a fan of old houses that have been turned into an office facility.  It’s just weird.  This was one of those places.  I walked in and was greeted by a girl who had probably dreamed of going to college one day, but her red-neck boyfriend knocked her up their senior year and she had to go back for a GED because her parents were Baptist Republicans and couldn’t bear the shame of having people see their daughter of ill-repute wandering the halls of the local Christian Jesus school.

“Hey.  You have an appointment?”

“Why yes.  Yes, I do.  I’m scheduled for an interview at 1:30 with Mr. XXX.”

“Okay.  Well he’s not here, but Mr. Q will be doing his stuff till he gets back.”

“That’s fine.”

So she nods and hollers down the hallway….

“1:30 is here!”

Do I sit or stand, sit or stand?  I decided to sit.  Good thing too, because it took Mr. Q about 30 minutes to do his quarter bag of cocaine before he came sniffing around the corner, rubbing at his nose like he had lice up in there or something.  Oh this oughtta be gooood.

So he ushers me in to what would have been the parlor…had it still been an actual house.  There was a fireplace in there blocked up with some beige filing cabinets.   He scans over my resume, nods a couple of times.  While he’s busy rubbing his knuckle all up in his nostril, I take note of his earring and ponytail.  Not the “cool” kind either.  The old biker dude kind.  Like those creepy dudes who wear leather chaps and hats and say lewd things to the ladies who pass by.

“Now, you’d be working directly for me.”  Mr. Q informed me.

I nod.

“Yeah, I think this’ll work, I think this is good.  You think this is good?”

Again…I nod.  Only this time it’s slower.  Like, “Dude, you’re tripping me out and scaring me all at the same time.”

I figured now was the time to discuss pay…what with his being high and all.  I opened my mouth to speak, when all of a sudden, what to my wondering eyes should appear?  A fat, red-faced, short, sweaty, smelling like a ham sandwich, angry man who looked like he’d just been forced to pay his ex-wife more alimony so she could get her left deflated boob fixed.

He wiggled his fingers at Mr. Q as if to say, “Get out of my chair.”

So Mr. Q got out of  Fat Man’s chair and handed him my resume.  Fat Man scanned it over like a menu.  Mr. Q tentatively leaned forward and spoke.

“Um, I think April is going to work out here.”

Fat Man sat my resume down, leaned back, put his fingers together like the Godfather and shook his head NO.

“But sir, I’ve already essentially offered her the job.”

Fat Man flipped around to face Mr. Q.

“Well, you shouldn’t have opened your mouth, eh?”

Fat Man flips back to me.

“We’ll be in touch.”

I stand up and extend my hand to Mr. Q, who looks like he’s in the sad part of his cocaine high.  He mouthed the words, “I’m so sorry.”  I nod to let him know I’m sympathetic to his plight.

I’m halfway out the door when I pull a Columbo and turn around, like I’d just remembered something of great importance.

“I do feel I should let you know that another firm here in town has made me a generous offer, but I wanted to give THIS firm an opportunity to meet me before I made any final decisions.”

Oh look at Fat Man’s face.  His jowls were beginning to tremor.  He was like a little bald ‘n fat volcano fixin’ to spew something vile and un-christian.

Now, I’ll pause here to let you know that I have NO idea what happened after the jowl tremors.  I mean, I do….but it’s fuzzy.  I just remember getting nose to nose with this jackass while he screamed at me so hard that white spittle formed in the corners of his mouth.  Stuff about me being presumptuous and full of gaul and audacity.  Then me hollering back something about him not being able to afford me even if he got a loan and re-financed his house.

That poor little girl at the front desk gave me a ‘Take-Me-With-You-Please” look as I walked past her.  On my way out the door, I heard his screech:

“I’ll tell you this….I won’t forget your name!  You hear me?!  NEVER!”

Needless to say…I didn’t get a call-back.  I saw him at Walmart about a year ago.  He ran and hid out in the cat food aisle while I circled him like a white shark, pretending to look at fish and hamster food.

I kind of secretly hope he peed in his pants.  Just a little.

Speedy Life Lesson

1 Aug


So today I was out with Cali finishing up the dadgum back-to-school shopping.  I even endured the Mall.  And you KNOW I hate me some Mall.  Anyway, we were out shopping when all of a sudden….LIFE LESSON!  IN OUR FACE!

It was our last stop of the day. Publix.  We were hot and our feet were barking.  The place was packed.  Not a parking spot to be found.  An elderly couple stood waiting to cross the road but no one stopped to let them cross.  So I stopped and waved the standard “Go ahead and cross” wave.  Let me clarify “elderly couple”.  She was completely bent over and could barely walk.  Didn’t look a day less than 100 years.  He was just as old, only walking upright.  But he held her elbow and arm like a perfect gentleman and guided her gently across the road in front of me. 

Thank god the windows were rolled up because Cali shouted, “Hurry up slow pokes!”  I whipped around in my seat and read her the riot act about always respecting and caring for your elders.  I explained to her that when you do kind things for others, good things happen to you.

At precisely the moment I said, “…good things happen to you.”…….a car began backing out of a parking spot at the very front.  Of course, I reacted with, “You see?!  You see there?  Mommy just did a kind thing and look what happened?  We got a front parking spot so we won’t have to walk out in this heat!”

I wish I could’ve captured Cali’s face on film.  I can’t really describe it.  Her eyes got huge, her jaw dropped.  She slowly turned to look at the elderly couple and then back at me.  As if she’d just seen some twisted miracle magic trick.  So while we were in the store I noticed that Cali was looking around like she’d lost something.

When I inquired, she informed me:  “I’m looking for kind things to do for people so I can get some good stuff for myself here.”

Yeah.  I don’t think it works like that.

I’ll have to straighten that out later.  I’m sitting down now, soaking my feet in Epsom salt and eating Circus Peanuts. 

Thanks, WordPress. (Note the Sarcasm)

25 Apr

So I just spent the last hour typing a heart-felt blog post about our sad educational system.  I went to save it…and guess what.  Yeah.  WordPress did their typical magic and it completely vanished and can’t be found ANYWHERE.  This isn’t the first time this has happened.  I don’t have time to spend an hour writing, only to have a dysfunctional blog site “lose” all of my content.  This might just be the straw that sends me to another blog host.

I’m going to go kick a wall now.

Public Service Announcement

9 Jan

Out with the stomach flu.  Back in a day or two.

Happy Christmas!

25 Dec

Eau Du Stinky

24 Dec

I’m currently at that place in Motherhood where my sanity is teetering on the edge of a raggedy cliff…seconds away from plumetting into the abyss of binge eating and Jerry Springer episodes.  Lately, my kid has found it roughly necessary to fight with me about everything.  EVERYTHING!

“Cali, go put your shoes on!  You just won 5,000 free Chuck E. Cheese tokens!”

Her response would be:


So then I have to go look at her baby pics and remind myself of how cute and fuzzy she used to be.  I ran across this Journal entry from about 5 years ago.  Sometimes I just need to remind myself that this too shall pass.  Right?  It will, won’t it?


(Journal entry, 2006)

She smells like slobber and a runny nose.  Sweaty hair plastered to her forehead and stuck to ears, no doubt hardening to crust throughout the night.  That little bump on her ear worries me.  But such perfectly shaped ears!  Her purple footy jammies smell like feet, even after I wash them.  She’s getting so big.  Less baby…more toddler.

“You dont touch me, it’s MINE!”, she let me know today.


She smeared hot-pink toothpaste all over the guest room comforter.

She found a blue pencil and drew circles all over the laundry room door.

She crammed stickers in her mouth and almost choked to death on the letter “R”.

She washed my hair in the bath tonight and covered me up when I laid beside her.

She tried to feed her foot corn at supper and demanded to watch Max & Ruby long after bedtime.

She danced away the day to “Rockin’ Robbin” and lined her rocks up in various locations thru the house.

This room smells like her.  A heady combination of Sweet Pea, Motrin, slobber and baby wipes.

I wish I could bottle this.

The essence of my daughter.

Eau Du Stinky.

I Believe I Can Fly

11 Dec

For over two years I have struggled with what to write about the Pan (pictured above).  I’m still unsure.  I can’t even find words, really.  I guess I can give a brief bio and be done with it.  I stumbled upon this whole mess by accident…like I said, a couple of years ago.  I vividly remember Husband and I laughing so hard that sound wouldn’t even come out of our mouths.  Then the creepies came ’round and rendered us confused and unsettled.

After that, we began to discuss his upbringing in earnest.  Was he unloved?  Did his mother not breast feed him?  Was he beaten with a Pan stick in the 3rd grade?  At what point did he look in the mirror and say to himself, “Self.  From this day forward I shall be Peter Pan.  I shall fly, wear slinky Pan-wear and do gimpy poses and have my stunned friends photograph me.”  Then he set out to creat his very own website of all things Pan-ish.  Pixyland.

I mean, that’s obviously what happened.  SOMETHING happened.  Of a sinister nature, even.  There’s not much more I can say at this point.  You just sit there and view this slideshow and thank your God in heaven that you were spared this…this….well, THIS:

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