The Denim Tails

Growing up I did what most loving sisters do, I gave my little brother tee total heck! Every time I had the chance I rattled his cage. When it came time to shop for school clothes I cut him no slack. My brother was one of those, if it doesn’t feel right, I am not going to wear it type of kids. There was a time we weren’t sure if we would ever get him out of elastic waisted pants and the velcro buddies.

Finally one day my Mom and I took him shopping for real “big boy” clothes. We get to Gayfers and begin the hunt for the husky size 12 blue jeans. I don’t know that you have ever looked for special sized jeans, like slim, husky, or long in children’s sizes, but it’s rather frustrating. We spent half the day on our knees digging through mountains of kiddy sized blue jeans. With four or five pairs pulled aside, we decide we’ll just take him to try on what we have found.

Suddenly he starts crying in hysterics saying, I AM NOT WEARING THOSE!!! A little confused we ask why not? He then states dramatically THEY LOOK FUNNY AND EVERYONE WILL MAKE FUN OF ME!! At this point I am thinking, “Bud you have been sporting elastic waist blue jeans, how much worse can a pair of Levis be?” A little worn out mom asks him, “Now really, what is the problem with them?” He responds rather quickly “It’s THAT!” pointing towards the jeans. “It’s what?” I say, seeing absolutely nothing wrong with the jeans. WHAT IS THAT?! I am not wearing jeans with THAT!! At this point Mom and I were spent. Exhausted we hand him the jeans and say show us. What is the “THAT” you are referring to?

So he points to the jeans saying……



All of a sudden we were overcome with laughter! We laughed so hard people were stopping in the isles looking at us. Per him you would think we were on the hunt to make him look like a denim duck! Using the jeans rack to hold myself up I took a deep breath and managed to get out amongst my tears of laughter “That’s where your butt goes you big dummy!”

My brother and I are closer now, and he gave up on the fashion feaux pas. Our family cannot see a pair of jeans now without saying "What's THAT?"

Supercenter? I Think NOT.

Well I am back. Yes, the bug thing freaked me out so bad I was out of the office yesterday. I don’t know that it was really the bug, but I am sure it could have been a bug induced illness. Oh, and I do have to send a shot out to Andy up in the online department for NOT cutting me off due to the usage of the word “panty cricket” on a family site. It looks like Marshall is not the only one who owes you a Dr. Pepper!

So onto today’s topic, shopping.

When I go to a certain “superstore” I always feel harassed when I leave. It REALLY ticks me off every time!! So I did a little research on the said “superstore” which for all intensive purposes will remain nameless. Here’s my thesis…

A conspiracy theory and character rape brought to you by your local “Super Center".

"Welcome to “Superstore”!" a phrase I hear every time I enter my local “Superstore”. People Greeters they call them. They hire little old ladies and little old men with the feel of your Grandparents to make you feel welcome and feel comfortable about the amount of money you are about to lay down for the 10 items you end up buying when you only went in for a trailer hitch in the first place.

After completing my research on the people greeter, “Superstore’s” reputation with me has been tarnished. People greeters are the Dr.Jeckle and Mr. Hyde of the retail world. “Superstore” has been smart in their choice of staffing and stationing of the people greeter. First of all they choose elderly people. Why? Because people can relate to them, and everyone has been taught to respect your elders. They want you to LOVE their greeter, be welcomed by their greeter and give you a sense of family as you enter. This has worked so far because everyone hasn't figured out “Superstore’s” game. I on the other hand have caught onto them.


Greeters have the façade of being nice little older people as you enter the store, then as you make your way to the door with the mega pack of toilet paper which just happens to be too big for a bag, that's when it happens. The deal goes south, all bets are off, and you have just been run down by the Door Nazi. Yes I said it. Don't blame me someone's Granny is a Nazi! “Superstore” did it! Remember Grandma is working the door and “Superstore” knows you won't punch Granny Smith in the face when she passively accuses you of not paying for your TP! Ok, so now you think I am nuts for touting about a conspiracy over the little old people “Superstore” stakes out at the front door. I did MY research. I found an article that clearly states how the people greeter got its start.


By Anita French
The Morning News Northwest Arkansas
"Although she doesn't bear the "official" title as the first paid “Superstore” greeter -- that honor belongs to Ethel Mennard of Crowley -- it was Richard who came up with the idea and took the first watch, so to speak.

"I was the first greeter and initiator of the program," she said.

The “Superstore” store in Crowley opened in 1980. Not long after, a local civic club and the police department joined together to do a "mock" shoplifting spree at stores in the city, Richard said.

They hit the jackpot at the Crowley “Superstore”.

"Needless to say, the biggest loot was taken from the “Superstore” store. Needless to say, our manager was not a happy camper," Richard said.

She came up with the idea of posting an employee at the door to check shoppers' items."

So there, Nah. They are NOT placed there to make you feel welcome. From the very beginning they where put there only to check B.O.B (aka, Bottom Of Basket) and clog up the Entrance/Exit while she embarrassingly checks your laundry list receipt for TP she just saw you pay for at the checkout stand.

The stress, guilt, and anxiety attacks I have experienced when attempting to leave the store must qualify for some kind of pain and suffering suit. You would think the largest retailer in the world would have a better method to reduce shoplifting rather than exploiting our elderly and accusing every paying customer at the expense of the few teenagers who walk out with a DVD down their pants.

That's about all I got to say about that.

Bedroom Encounters Of The Third Kind

There is nothing more exciting than having your significant other bound out of the bed at 1 am, flipping on the light, and saying the words which no girl longs to hear,

“Something was crawling on me”

Okay, there WAS something crawling on you, which is not now, and is IN the bed which I happen to STILL be occupying?! No sooner had those words left my lips, I was ambushed! All of a sudden I found myself swatting at something large and leggy which had landed right on my face! Once I was perpendicular to the floor I started peeling the covers back layer by layer. The hunt for the terrifying leggy monster which had disturbed my peaceful slumber was on. Finally, hiding in a fold of the comforter, he stood there looking at me eye to eye. What was I seeing? Exactly this:



Being funny, the husband thumped it off of the comforter into no man’s land and he was no where to be found. Upon returning to bed I advised him not to let anymore of his panty crickets escape his side of the bed. Of course then a debate took place regarding whose panties the cricket actually belonged to.

Which brings us to this morning, the debate of the panty cricket was still in full force. Since he had been the first to feel it, it I knew it MUST have originated from him. His reasoning was since he felt it first; it must have jumped from me to him causing him to evacuate the bed. Of course we are both cracking up because it is a meaningless discussion, but it's rather entertaining to make fun of each other at the cricket’s expense.

Here’s the part I didn’t tell the husband. Man! I know I am going to get a phone call after this one… but here goes. Last night when he thumped the monster out of the bed, it was in the direction of my armoire. Which was where my suit for the next day “happen” to be hanging. I get ready this morning and sit patiently on the couch waiting for the husband so we can leave for work. All of a sudden I feel something moving on my knee. Yes, under my dress slacks. I think Naw! It can’t be. I am imagining things are crawling on me because I have a left over case of the heeby jeebies. So I sit there, and it happens again. So I slowly peel back my pants leg and.... there he is in ALL his glory!

I swatted him off rather quickly and all at once the cats pounced on it. Soon there after the husband came through the living room ready to go, so acting natural, I exited as if nothing had happened. I could just hear his voice had I told him.

“Whose panty cricket was that? It looks like he was trying to go home to me!”
or
In his best Happy Gilmore voice “GO HOME BUG! GO HOME!!!”

I hope that little laugh was worth it because I know my phone is about to ring.

So here goes!

Not So Really Kool-Aid

Miss Thang returned home from two weeks at summer camp today. When I say camp, I mean a real sleep in a tent, bath house down the trail, in the woods, lake swimming, hiking, kayaking, bug bites on your butt, Girl Scout camp. This was the first year she stayed longer than a week.

I got a phone call during her trip home singing the praises of fried chicken and sweet tea! Apparently they only let you have water to drink at camp. If you drink three glasses of water, only THEN do you get awarded the coveted "Kool-aid". I can't speak for the camp kids, but drinking three glasses of water BEFORE I got to the Kool-aid? I can't really see the pay off.



What that would mean to me is four or five trips through the woods, to the bathouse with only a flashlight. Not to mention running the risk of being attacked by a rabbid raccoon! No thank you. I'll pass, it's 25 cents a pack.

Learning Spanish in Batvision

Sorry about the late post, we are learning a fancy-smancy new software system at work. Somehow I got elected the Administrator. Nope, I really don't think I got a vote, not that it would have counted for much in the first place. It's exciting none the less. Enough about my boring professional life..

On to the good stuff.

We have learned just when we thought our son was done surprising us, we are proved wrong. Two years ago we bought him his very first television. Not just any television, it is a Batman television complete with a bat shaped remote. He gets to see the world in "Batvision"! We set it up to where it would only get "kid friendly" stations of course. Which brings me to the surprising me part.

One morning my husband and I are in the bed fast asleep when we heard little feet coming down the hall. He busted through the door out of breath and says

"Hey you guys guess what?!"

We're thinking okay, what could possibly be this exciting at six o'clock in the morning? So we acknowledge he is in the room and he commences to giving us a weather report.

"Todays is gunna be thunnerstorms everywhere! It's gunna be reawy baaaad"

We pass it off as gibberish, that is until we get up and turn on the morning news. Barbie Bassett is saying the exact same thing, sans the 4 year old pediment of course. It seems that his preferred programming in the morning was the weather channel! This continued for several months, that is until he found out Diego was on in the same time slot. Now we just learn a new Spanish word every morning in leiu of dressing properly. I guess it's a trade off. Should I ever need to tell someone to jump in Spanish, I'll be ready thanks to my son's Batvision!

Whar Ye At??

Okay...It has just recently come to my attention I have readers with BLOGS!! I want'em! So line'em all up and get'em out here front and center!!! I love reading BLOGS.

Blogging is a wonderful way to peer into another person's world without being arrested and charged with stalking. Do you know what I learned from reading other people's Blogs? That ALLOT of people actually think like me! Which was great because I had previously considered myself certifiably crazy! So thanks everyone! That just means we're ALL certifiably crazy, and I don't have to go at it alone. So please send me your BLOG links. If you don't want everyone to have it, there is a little link over there to the right that will send and email directly to my InBox. If you will go ahead on do that for me, I will promise to quit stepping on your begonias.



(Sorry bout that!)

The Big Fat Snack Attack..

I just had to share this one. Today I received a rather informative phone call from the mother in law; she is watching my 5 year old son and his 8 year old “girl” cousin. Since both believe they are full fledged adults, getting together to play can bring up some rather interesting debates. What was today’s debate topic?

Acceptable Dietary Snack Items

The conversation went something like this

Cousin: (Boastfully) Guess what I have???
Son: (Slightly amused) What?
Cousin: A diet snack cake.
Son: Oh, Okay.
Cousin: They are soooo good and if you eat them you can lose up to 15 Lbs!!
Son: **Insert confused and I don’t care look here**
Cousin: (Sassily) I got it from my momma and I am going to eat it.
Son: Well that’s fine. I am not like you and I do not need to lose 15 Lbs, so I am goin to the kitchen to eat Grand Mamma’s blue berry muffins! Buh Bye!
Cousin: (Sits miffed in silence!)

Now rest assured her mother never would have let her out of the house with the coveted snack cake had she known her daughter was going to give product endorsements to the family regarding her diet regimen. What’s even more humorous is the cousin is like 4ft tall and weighs a buck o’ five soaking wet while wearing ALL of her clothes!

Isn’t it great when our children talk about “things” they see and hear around the house??? Ok, so if your child has ever divulged some information in a less then favorable situation and assuming you are ready to laugh about it, share! I accept *Anonymous* comments, so you have no excuse lett’er rip!!

Faster Than a Speeding SssKkkkMeeeooowww!!

Packing with the children around has been as fun as herding cats, literally. I go about my merry way packing up breakables in the living room. My empty boxes were all pre-assembled in the floor, stacked ever so neatly ready for use. In an instant it all changed, there was a commotion followed by a loud noise sounding something like Boom!! Crash!! Kapow! *scratch,scratch* ssskkkkkkMeeeeeooooowww!!! I turned just in time to notice two streaks zooming through the living room and off down the hall. My boxes were now all over the floor and I am sitting there thinking DUDE! WHAT WAS THAT?!

?*blink-blink*?

Dazed and confused I turn to inspect the oncoming commotion returning for a second pass. As the sound drew closer I got in my best super mommy stance, ready to take on whatever monster was terrorizing something helpless within the confines of my tiny house. So I stand there…
and wait for it...
and wait for it...
and out of the hall they bound running as if they were both lit on fire! Suddenly I was able to make out two figures; in the lead was the family cat and following closely behind was my son. When they finally stopped I was able to observe that my son was brandishing a set of clear plastic salad tongs! Somehow I don’t believe the cat was as pumped up as my son about having his head put into a makeshift cutlery vice. I promptly rescued the distraught feline and I explained to him that the cat wasn’t enjoying his game nearly as much as he was. He claimed he understood and surrendered the salad tongs.



A bit later I saw three streaks come through the living room. This time there were less ssskkkkkkMeeeeeooooowww, and much more HeheheHahahaAhhhhh!
My immediate thought was WHAT IN THE WORLD NOW?! Once again I played operation covert mom. When the larger streak stopped, it again was my son now with two cats in tow! Unless he had made out like a bandit with their catnip there was NO logical reason for the cats to be chasing him. So how was he LEADING the ruckus this time? So I calmly lean back and peer behind him to inspect a rather novice contraption attached to his backside. My son had the ingenuity to tuck a pair of Yo-Yo’s in his back pockets allowing the stings to flow behind him. So I said “OK Mister what exactly is this??”

Smiling he answers:
“These is my kitty fishin strings!”

Hold on, I'm Gittin Trashy.

"Gittin Trashy": this term is one used by me and my closest friends, it usually means we are doing something out of the realm of our normal lives. Does it mean we are actually trash? Heck Naw! We are topnotch southern ladies who know the importance of proper etiquette. We also know the importance of letting our hair down while feeling free to be ourselves in an atmosphere we do not commonly frequent. My new hotness is called “Trashy-Chic”, like shabby-chic, without the polish.

“Trashy-Chic” is not so much the lights are cut off, having your pickup repo’ed, or dating your cousin type of trashy. More like wearing T-shirts with logos stating “Put ya big gurl panties on and deal with it” or reading books entitled The Sweet Potato Queens' Wedding Planner/Divorce Guide type of trashy. In most circles, if not said with a laugh, could be considered trashy.


Jill Conner-Brown has mastered “Trashy-Chic”. She has taken it to a whole new level. Hundreds of uniquely dressed queens make the pilgrimage to Jackson every St. Patrick’s Day with all intents of “Gittin Trashy”. Big colorful hair, scantly clad outfits, and all the bling you can pile on is not what these educated women would typically wear to the local Wal-Mart. The Mothers, Grand Mothers, Daughters, Grand Daughters, Sisters, and Wives all take the plunge into the menagerie of gaudy festivities. Each one with hopes of leaving their reality behind for just one day to live the dream of dancing like nobody’s watching.



In the days of overbooked play dates, ballgames, practices, and supper clubs it’s extremely important to keep your individuality while maintaining the roll of “Mommy”. Whether your idea of letting loose is reading a steamy novel while indulging in a hot steamy bubble bath or “Gittin Trashy” while donning drag at a parade in downtown Jackson, both are definitely worth it! There is nothing that makes me laugh harder than getting an invite from a friend stating “Oooooo girl, Comon over and let the trashiness begin!”

Gucci, Fendi, Prada, and Crayola?

This is a BLOG I wrote before school let out. It's one of my favorites, I hope you enjoy!


Fashion has been a catch phrase for women for centuries. Give a woman Gucci, Fendi, or Prada and watch their whole demeanor change. Women have defined their own sense of style, each with their own personal touches in everyday outfits. I am a firm believer; if you feel attractive it comes through in your attitude. All of a sudden your days go better, your self esteem is raised, and you feel as though there is nothing you can’t accomplish. That being said, when my daughter came home from school last week, all I could do was laugh.

The story begins after a full day of childless shopping. When I arrived home with my purchases, Miss. Thang was right there to inspect all of my bags. All of a sudden I hear a shriek come out of her, “MOM!! YOU WENT TO HOLLISTER??!!” Ok, by this point I am thinking “She knows what Hollister is? She’s only 12!!” So I say “Yes, as a matter of fact I did”. I had purchased a pair of destroyed holy jeans and a t-shirt to bum around in on weekends. She was upset she couldn’t fit into them, while I was relieved that my clothes are still safe for a little while longer.

A few days later we went to get our hair done together. I was getting highlights for summertime, and she was getting a trim. When we arrived I over heard her tell the stylist she would like a few blue streaks put in the front of her hair. So I sat there a minute stunned and promptly answered “Um no maam! I DON’T THINK SO!”. In retaliation she stood there the rest of the morning laughing at my alien foil job I sported while the highlights set in. When we get home of course the husband is reveling in the fact my hair is blonde. Meanwhile Mrs. Thang got her feelings hurt because he didn’t immediately notice her new tresses. She wanted so badly for someone to notice her.

That brings us to last week. When Mrs. Thang arrived home from school boy did she get noticed! She stormed through the door and ran directly back to her room in the most dramatic fashion. A few moments later the husband came through the door and announced “I just want you to LOOK at your daughter. I am going to let YOU handle this one.” So I put on my best mom “I know you didn’t look” and called her into the kitchen. When she arrived and she stood there in front of me, all I could do was laugh. Mrs.Thang had taken an older pair of jeans and ripped holes all in them. In addition they were entirely covered in graffiti by all of her friends in magic marker. You know BFF, and I heart so in so. When suddenly my attention was turned upward, apparently the jeans were not the only thing to fall subject to the crayola marker. Miss. Thang had colored a large blue streak down the front of her hair!

The husband seemed a little miff because I was laughing. What do you do? She was trying to express her own personality through her fashion. She wanted to look a certain way in order in feel good about herself. I can hardly fault her for it, because at that age I did the very same thing (sans the crayola hair). My cousin & I actually hand painted graffiti all over our pants and MAN were they cool! Anyway I told Miss.Thang to keep the graffiti to those pants only, and to ask before she decides to tear up anymore of her clothes.


I am not ready for her to grow up and be a young lady, but it seems over the past year I can’t fight it anymore. From buying bras to shaving her legs I can’t pretend she’s my little baby anymore. Becoming her own person is an important part of her growing up. To show my support for her need to feel pretty and have her own sense of style, I hope she accepts my offering of a pair of Aeropostale destroyed jeans as a compromise.

(Don’t even ask Miss. Thang, the blue hair is still out)

R-E-S-P-E-C-T..just a little bit.

While leaving an eating establishment recently I took notice to an impromptu pomp and circumstance. Twelve Marines which were entering through the door, one by one each reached up without thought and took off his hat upon arrival of the threshold. The respect they exerted was phenomenal, I was speechless.

Events like that usually trigger some sort of a debate in my head. This time it went something like this. Why was that so poignant to me? The action I had just witnessed should be status quo. Since when has it become acceptable for people to wear hats in doors? Of course that opened up another debate. What has happened to our manners? Values my mother and grandmothers instilled in me all revolve around respect. In this “new age” are we forsaking formality so much that to have no manners is status quo?

Teaching our children right from wrong should include respect. Respect for not just elders, but other people in general. Our children need to know by saying please rather than being demanding will get them further in life. In a world of constant scheduling and re-scheduling, they need to know to commit and follow through on engagements. When receiving a gift for any occasion, a hand written thank you should be promptly sent. A simple notion such as taking off a hat or going out of the way to hold open a door speaks volumes without saying a word.

Sorry about the soap box today. I feel as though the respect the Marines commanded just by entering the room needed to be commended. May we all refer to the legacy and formal wisdom of our grandparents while raising our own children.

I take my bunnies with flames.

There are a few accessories in this world which make normal every day items just that much cooler. Here are a few most commonly known accessories:


1)Chocolate
2)Cheese
3)Ranch
4)Glitter, Jewels, and or Feathers (we’ll say crafty items)
5)And, in the case of my 5 year old, Flames


I totally get the chocolate, cheese, ranch and even the crafty items, but what is it about flames that make an ordinary item so desirable? Every Bike, Hot Wheel, 4-Wheeler, T-shirt, Swimsuit, Tennis shoes, Pontoon Boat (yes we actually saw one at Eagle Lake last weekend), and Race car is always the coolest one ever if it has those coveted yellow and orange appliqués running down the side.


Even carton characters love it. I saw an episode of Fosters Home for Imaginary Friends just the other day. When it was up for debate what to paint on the side of the soapbox car, one friend said bunnies, and the other said fire. Of course they got into a hilarious bunnies vs. fire argument. What ended up on the car?





Flaming Bunnies......



So I decided to go directly to a flame enthusiast, my 5 year old little guy. When I approached him and asked the question we all want to know:

What is so cool about fire?

His answer was this….. “Because it’s flames, man!”

So there ya go!

Checked out of my mind

Christy is out of her BLOG right now. She is seriously depressed from the abandonment of her two children; one by way of a 2 week summer camp, and the other by way of Grandmother sponsored beach trip. Since she is not able to go to the beach or camping this week, she is forced to stay at work and think about the two trips none of which are being taken by her. She is out to have a date night with her husband and drown her sorrows in over buttered popcorn while watching an adult movie and salivating over Brad Pitt on the 40 foot Malco Theater Grand Screen. If you need her she will be back tomorrow please leave a comment after the beep…


*BEEEEEP*

:)

There's WHAT in the water?!

If you live in southern Rankin County you know the drive through Richland can be an interesting one. No, I am not referring to the traffic, which also can be unbearable at times. What I am referring to is the whiff of nastiness which my husband claims to be the “sewer treatment plant”. Yeah right! It's not everyday, but if the wind is blowing just right the rancid construction site porta-john smell infiltrates the entire car.

My son seemed to have had enough on this particular day and yelled “Roll down the windows Daddy, It stinks in here!!” Of course it was explained it was actually outside. That opened up a whole conversation my son now wishes he could take back.

I am not sure if you have ever had to explain the nuances of “water treatment” to a 5 year old, but if you ever get the chance, do it! When he realized people have uses recycled potty water his expression was like someone had just stuck a sardine covered lemon in his mouth! Trust me, we laughed so hard for an entire day. There is no shortage of pranksters in our house, so we had fun with it and actually took it a step further. We let him believe they ran cleaned waste water straight back through the tap! Oh - My - Gosh! You could have knocked him over with a feather!

So he immediately states from now on he’s only drinking sweet tea! Of course we broke that up too by telling him that tea was also made of water, and so is Kool-aid, cokes, root beer, lemonade, and his favorite, slushies! He freaked about it for the next mile or so then his concern seemed to dissipate. Just when he thought he had gotten it out of his mind, his loving mother helped to remind him just as he crawled into his nightly bubble bath. I called to him “I love you, and I hope you have a nice “Potty Bath”!

Work it girl, just not on MY corner!

Once again I have hit the Internet in search of answers to one of my many conundrums. While watching a TIVOed edition of Boston Legal last night, I was introduced to a new word. The lawyer was trying a case against a major distributor of a floozy type Barbie Doll called “Trixies”. He cited the dolls were a driving force behind the exploitation of America’s young girls, turning them into “prostitots”. Yep, my spell check just went nuts! You won’t find that one in Webster’s Dictionary. However I did find it in the urban online dictionary. Here is the most inoffensive definition I could find.

PROSTITOTS
A young girl, usually between 10-14 and commonly 12 or 13, who dresses in revealing clothing. Prostitots are usually young girls who want to be seen as sexy and mature by the older men around them, and therefore end up wearing far too much makeup and dressing in what they think is sexy but simply looks skanky. They usually look like mini prostitutes, which is how the name came about. Prostitots may or may not be interested in sex; some are, and others are simply mistaken about what makes them look grown up and glamorous.

It can also be used as a random, nonsensical insult, though this usage is uncommon.
Sentence example:
"Did you see those little girls in all that makeup and those high heels hanging out in the mall?"
"Yeah, they were total prostitots."

I just died when I heard the word. Fox news actually covered this phenomenon, it’s for real! This has been one of my biggest pet peeves recently with my daughter. When I have seen various young ladies her age out and about here recently, I had become very unnerved.

So I came home and had the “Are we really ruining her entire life?!(her words)” discussion with my husband. We mutually agreed if our daughter wanted to be a prostitot she was going to have to apply at the corner store for some *pimprents, because that is just NOT going to happen on our watch. We are proud that she chooses to appear like a newly turned 12 year old. There is plenty of time for her to grow into her own without exploiting her assets before she gets out of 6th grade. Not to mention the relief I felt when dodging my worst fear, wearing the latest polyester pimprent fashions.

*Pimprent..yeah I just made that up!

Oh! The games we play (child two)

As promised here is the second installment of the “What is that smell game” featuring our resident little guy...

(CHILD TWO)
Wednesday of last week started off as any normal day, however when we got home that afternoon it all changed. When we walked in the house the smell was so bad the kids screamed “Oh my Gosh!” and ran outside to play. Of course leaving us behind to play the “What is that smell game” all by ourselves. The husband & I searched every nook and cranny of the house. We took out every bag of garbage; we lit every candle, and opened all windows. By nightfall the smell had seemed to dissipate, so we all went to bed that night thinking it had been remedied.

The next day we got home and the smell was worse!! How is that? There was nothing left to stink!! We finally had narrowed it down to a 6ft by 6ft area around the laundry area where the smell seemed to be the strongest. We took turns standing in the area sniffing. Dizzy and frustrated the husband looks down and says “What is the deal with this cat food?”

It was then I had an instant flash back, and exclaimed “That’s it!”

The little guy and I were at the house getting ready to go on Monday morning when I heard a little voice from the kitchen say “Momma, the kitties are hungry. Can I feed them?” So of course I said “yeah sure”.

Note: If you child ever offers to feed the family pet check to see that they deposit the food in the correct bowl. Apparently if you add dry cat food to a minuscule amount of water, the food on the surface will remain crisp and dry giving the appearance of “normal cat food”. Don’t be deceived! Below lurks a moldy sloppy rancid mess that will infiltrate your house with a smell worse than a full hamper of sweaty sour gym socks! Our family had encountered the longest running “What is that smell game” ever! An entire three days game play all directly attributed to the smallest Bridges family member.

As crazy as it might sound, I am actually thankful I have the opportunity to play the “What is that smell game” with my family. It means to me that I am in a home surrounded by people both big and small that are not all together perfect, but perfect to me all their own little ways, smells and all.

Oh! The games we play (child one)

House keeping is not an issue with our family. We don’t leave uneaten food out; the garbage is taken out at least every other day, Cinderella’s ONE chore is to clean out the cat box everyday. So when I have to ask the question

What’s that smell??

It means there is a real problem. It also means the “What’s that smell game” will soon ensue. For the record, if you have ever walked around your house sniffing, you know by the time you make it to the second room you will just about pass out from hyperventilation. Take it from me; dizziness, frustration and losing your sanity do not go hand in hand. Here is a case which has taken place in our home recently.


(CHILD ONE)

It all started when I was on the couch after a long day at work and I noticed a faint whiff of hemp. Yeah…Sitting next to a bunch of hippies at an Eagles Concert will expose you to many things you would rather not see, or in this case smell. Of course at first I was a little confused as to how my 12 or 5 year old would acquire such a substance. Then my parental nodule kicked in, in a panic I immediately yelled WHAT IS THAT SMELL!?!? My daughter came sprinting through the living room, into the kitchen like a bat out of Hades!

You see we learned if you put tea bags into the tea kettle and turn the eye on while forgetting to add the most important ingredient, water, it will burn. Not only will it burn, it smokes, filling the house with a thick cloak of marijuana smell. It will take days to entirely air out. The only place for total relief is the front porch, so when your brother in law (the ex-cop) drops by and gets that "Is THAT really what I think I smell?" look, it's quite entertaining to just say: "Yep, my daughter's been smoking the wacky weed".

(Check back tomorrow for child two!)

Paparazzi!!

Since having my first child twelve years ago, I never anticipated how famous I would soon become. The Hollywood stars now have my sincere empathy. In my own home I am stalked relentlessly with no hope of escape. My paparazzi do not carry cameras (Thank God!); they just long to be near me everywhere I go. Did I mention everywhere? No place is off limits. Look out, Mama is the new hotness and the most sought after commodity in the house!

When drawing a bath I must be on constant alert. If I am lucky, I may get as far as disrobing before I receive a barrage of bubbles, bath toys, and even better an audience. Playing “bubble man” with my son and talking “girls talk” with my daughter is not exactly what I had in mind when I envisioned relaxing in my hot bath.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, like excusing yourself to the restroom and just as you are about to get settled, having someone burst through the door and say “Whatcha doing mama?!?!” I frequently answer, “Playing Parcheesi, now please excuse me and get out!”

My bodyguard (a.k.a. the husband) is pretty good about bouncing them out when needed. I have to admit there were times when I thought all I wanted was a hot bath, and then later realized what I really needed was “girls talk” and a “bubble man” to make me feel at ease. My audience is a very devoted one which I love dearly but I have to draw the line somewhere and I am starting by repairing the lock on the powder room door.

Grubbs, not so much the worm.

When adopting a new cat never ask the 4 year old what to call it. He will name it something you completely didn’t expect like “Grubbs”. So everyone thinks it’s odd, but laughs about it and calls the cat Grubbs for two months. Finally when he gets to where he can’t take the Grubbs jokes anymore, he explodes with his most authoritative 4 year old pediment:

“NO! It’s Grubbs! I said Grubbs!
You know likes da ones dat goes up on yowah hands???
DUH HUNH!!!”

And then he plops on the couch silently with his arms folded.

At this point we look at each other, speechless and stunned. A moment later we die out in laughter, realizing it was actually we who looked like idiots. It feels much worse when it’s actually a pre-schooler giving you the evil “Care Bear stare”. Being adults, we were supposed to figure out he actually wanted to name the cat Mittens, but couldn’t think of the word. To top that off, he couldn’t get his mouth to correctly form the word Gloves. Alas, we now have a celebrity family cat named Grubbs.

OMG! P911! The Rents are online!

There is a commercial by a cellular phone company that I absolutely love! I am sure you have seen it. There is a mom and a daughter having a discussion about the outrageous cell phone bill, but the kicker is the daughter is speaking in internet shorthand. It goes some thing like this (internet short hand translations in red)

Beth Ann!
WU? (What’s Up?)
Your cell phone bill that’s what. All of this texting!
OMG, INBD (Oh My Gosh, It’s No Big Deal)
It is a big deal, who are you texting 50 times a day?
IDK my BFF, Jill (I Don’t Know my Best Friend Forever, Jill)
Tell your BFF Jill that I am taking away your phone.
TISNF (That Is So Not Fair)
Me paying this bill that’s what’s SN and uh F!

So if you are anything like me and have a pre-teenage child in the house, all of this internet shorthand sounds way too familiar. The funny thing is, for me it’s hard enough to remember all of the abbreviations let alone use them in everyday conversation. For you Moms (& Dads) out there who struggle with internet slang as much as I do; I give you the power of the teen chat decoder.



There is an awesome dictionary for browsing, or if you have an acronym you would like to look up just type it in the box. This is the coolest parental internet research tool I have found online. You never know, you might learn a few phrases yourself! That way next time little Molly pops off with an OMG, you can come right back with an IDTS sistah!! Or even better, next time you write them a note, end it

Signed,

The "Rents"