Oy vey.

I just haven't had much to write about lately. Things happen, life goes on, and not all of it is blog-worthy.

This is why I love being a mom.

Reepicheep says to me this afternoon, "Mom, I'm just so tired." I asked her if she slept well last night. She says, "Yeah, but I think I'm just short on Vitamin D."

I told her to bundle up and go outside, for Pete's sake. There's still Vitamin D floating around out there in what little winter sunshine we're getting.

So she put on her outside clothes and made her way out the door. An hour later, we walked our friends out to their van, and there sat the Reepicheep, on the swing, messing around with the snow. Her brothers spotted her and got the brilliant idea to join her.

Two more kiddos, bundled up so well that they can't bend, out the door.

All was well and very well................................................until I heard the Pickle calling for his sister.

I thought it sounded a little weird, but he's the Pickle , after all, and known to use character voices from time to time. Heaven only knows where he got that, she typed in her very most proper English accent.

He really sounded a little muffled, and perhaps toward the edge of panic, so I had the Frog look out the window to see what was what. She hollered, "OH MY GOSH!!!"--and in rushed the Pickle. "You better rinse that off!" I heard the Frog saying behind him.

When he came through the door, I saw his face absolutely dripping with blood.

Good grief, I thought, he must have been hit in the mouth, and his braces tore through his lips. Or maybe he fell down and bit through his tongue. Or maybe he smashed his nose--he's rather prone to bloody noses.

No, no. None of those tragic things happened. Nothing quite so accidental as all that.

No, it became quickly evident that my son, the Pickle, one whom I love with all of my motherly heart, ate peanut-butter and stupid for lunch today. And I say this with all Christian charity. Really. There is no other explanation.

For what?

For the part where he licked a pole. It is 12 degrees outside. Twelve. That would be below freezing, for those of you not wanting to think when it's colder than 50. (I'm one of those, by the way.) You know, the kind of cold where if you were to be so silly as to lick something metal--like, perhaps a pole--your lips and/or tongue might perhaps just stick to the metal.

He licked a pole. He licked a pole. I have to keep typing it, because it's so incredibly boy that I can't even stand it, much less believe it. I took a peek out the window at the offending pole, and lo and behold, there is actually flesh remaining, adhered to the pole, frozen there like a little trophy. Little pieces of his lips, just stuck there to the pole. Because he licked it.

I instructed the boy to stick his mouth under the running faucet in the bathroom and rinse it until the bleeding stopped. Now he has a fat lip and a good story.

When I asked Reepicheep why she didn't lick the pole, she looked at me as if it were the silliest thing I had ever asked her (which, let's face it, it actually is), and she said, "Because that would have been foolish!"

A different animal

I must confess, I tend to scoff when anyone suggests treating boys and girls the same. The fact of the matter is, they are not the same, and it's just plain silly to pretend otherwise. They are not the same physically, emotionally, mentally, or any other -ally, for Pete's sake.

Case in point: The shower.

Take one:
Frog: Mom, may I please go take a shower?
Me: Didn't you just take one last night?
Frog: Well yeah, but I kind of feel gross. Please?
Me: OK, but don't use all the the hot water, and remember to use the timer.
Frog: Yes, Mom.

30 minutes pass, during which we hear the whirring of the exhaust fan, the running of the water, and the tell-tale splooshes as the Frog rinses her hair. Eventually the Frog emerges from the sauna bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam to rival the great cloud which led Moses and the Israelites in the desert by day. She has neatly hung her damp towel on the bar, and trots her dirty clothing up to the hamper. The aroma of floral-y soap wafts through the household, and the Frog fairly glows for having been thoroughly scrubbed. Her hair gleams under a coating of conditioner, and all is right with the world. Of course, we'll have to wait a week for the hot water to replenish in the tank, but that's completely beside the point. The Frog is clean.

Take two:
My nose wrinkles as the Pickle passes by, living up to his briny nickname.
Me: Pickle, go take a shower.
Pickle: I just took one.
Me: When?
Pickle: Uh...............(he thinks, but can't recall.)
Me: Pickle, go take a shower.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

(Don't let the similarity fool you. In this house, the manners are required. Keep reading.)

5 minutes pass, during which we've heard the toilet flush twice, the shower drip a few times, and a little bit of singing. The Pickle emerges wearing the same clothing he wore into the bathroom. His hair is still completely dry. I can't identify any particular towel as having been used, and the fan has not been employed.

Me: What part did you wash?
Pickle: Huh? (Accompanied, of course, by the typical blank stare of a 12-year-old boy when asked a common sense question about an every-day activity having anything to do with personal hygiene.)
Me: Did you wash your hair?
Pickle: My hair? (As though he is suddenly surprised to learn what that fluffy stuff atop his head is called.)
Me: What about your pits?
Pickle: silence, and again with the confused stare....
Me: Pickle, go up to the closet and bring down with you clean underwear, clean pants, a clean shirt and a clean pair of socks.
Pickle: Yes, mom.

10 minutes pass, during which I hear dawdling footsteps, assume something shiny has attracted my boy's eye and completely distracted him, and eventually he comes back with the required articles of clothing. They are not too-badly rumpled, and since I can't smell them from 5 feet away, they must be reasonably clean. I'm not sure I can see socks in his hands, but that's just a minor detail.

Me: Pickle, go into the bathroom and turn on the hot water. Remove your clothing. Stand under the water. Get your entire body wet, including your hair. Use shampoo on your hair. Scrub your whole head. Stand under the water and rinse all of the soap from your hair. Use the bar of soap on your entire body, especially your pits, your crack, and your front. Rinse all of the soap from those places or you will itch horribly. Stand under the water for a little bit longer to make sure that all of the soap is gone. Do you have any questions?
Pickle: Nope.
Me: OK, then go take a shower.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

10 minutes pass, during which we hear the fan turned on, the water turned on, and a great deal of singing. Eventually the Pickle emerges from the soggy bathroom, which now smells just a little funky--kind of like a middle school locker room...I can tell he must have used shampoo, because there's just a little bit of foam left in his right ear. I'm pretty sure he used soap, because I think I can kind of smell the Irish Spring, though it's been reduced to more of a Norwegian Trickle. His wet towel remains in a lump on the floor, and his dirty clothes are strewn from one end of the room to the other.

Me: Grab your towel and hang it up, please.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

The towel is stuffed over the bar.

Me: Collect your dirty clothes and take them to the hamper, please.
Pickle: Yes, Mom.

The clothes are snagged and he shuffles up the stairs to the laundry room.

Yes, boys and girls are a little different....it's a waste of time to try to figure out ways to treat them as though they are the same. You can give a girl a truck, but she's still a girl. She'll wrap it up in a blanket, give it milk, read it a story, rock it to sleep and put it to bed. You can give a boy a doll, but he's a boy. He'll remove it's arms and legs, and after he's done shooting dinosaurs with them, he'll set them up at one end of the room, bowl them over with the head, and boogie when he gets a strike. Then he'll toss the torso around like a football, and pump his little fist in the air when he manages to catch it.

I love seeing the differences between my sons and my daughters. I thank God for their uniqueness, for the many blessings they bring to our family, and for the gifts and challenges that raising boys and girls has brought to me as their mother.

Bloggy Wonderfulness

My dear friend Mama Midwife sent me a link to the most craftylicious, pretty, eye candy I've seen in a long time. And besides all that, it has a fabulous name!

I give you: The Angry Chicken! The category which is the feast for the eyes is this one, and I do encourage you to Ooh and Aah over it as I did. I squealed. I daydreamed. I planned.

My girls and I shall be whipping bunches of these up for Christmas presents...............now all I have to do is pick one to start with, for Pete's sake!

As Fr. Longenecker would say....

....chust for nice. (Ok, really for a big, fat laugh. Because it's really that funny.)

Ok, all right.......I can't avoid it any longer.

There's just way too much great political-parody stuff out there that MUST be posted. We all need a good laugh! Enjoy this:


Many thanks to The Crescat for being the first place I saw this gem.

Now how'd THAT get in THERE?

There are questions which should not be asked. There are questions which cannot be answered. Sometimes, both crop up at once. The result: Even if I knew what to ask, I don't think I'd want to know the answer........

It's a small frog. Apparently, it was tired, and a box fan seemed the best place for a nap. And there it stayed.

Closer? You want to see it closer? Well ok. You asked for it.

Muppet hilarity

Sorry folks, I just can't seem to stop. Happy Monday!






Statler and Waldorf classics!



Old Kermit Classic!



Ok--let that give you a good laugh for the day.

Enjoy!

Patriotism!

Ha! Love the Muppets! I found this fantastic video here at the advice of Fr. Z. Be sure to give her a good read...and thank her for the link!

Just for a laugh!

I thought perhaps we could all do with a laugh...some lighter fare, so to speak. So in addition to my previous post leading one to stand upon one's head, I offer this: I hereby submit this as my entry into Jenni's You Tickle Me contest!

These questions were posed by Jenni, and I cannot refuse. The questions are posed in black; I shall answer in red.

1. Who can make you laugh the hardest (someone you personally know)? That's a toss-up. I have many friends with highly comedic senses of humor. At any given moment, with any given friend, I may be prone to fits of laughter raucous enough to send me running for the loo whilst grasping for my trusty hanky. I've also been known to expel root beer from my nose. And yes, it is as painful as it sounds.

2. Who has the most contagious laugh (of those you know personally)? This would be my Pickle Boy. Though he claims to be (and I can back it up with paper-proof) an eleven-year-old-boy, the man-child can giggle at least as well as an entire room full of third grade little girls. When he laughs, everyone laughs. It cannot be helped. Put that boy before Bugs Bunny (won't let me embed...), and you're a goner. (And now that I go over and re-read Jenni's answers, I see our minds--and apparently our boys!--are eerily similar...)

3. What is the funniest movie you’ve ever seen? Well, I will admit to pausing Napoleon Dynamite for a full ten minutes.........But I'll also agree with Jenni's video answer to the next question. Hilarious moment in the history of comedy flicks.

4. Who is your favorite comedian? See, I don't really have a technical favorite. I memorized Bill Cosby routines from my Mom's records when I was a kid. I guess I'd have to pick Bill Engvall. Real-life funny stuff I can totally relate to. Does that mean I'm a redneck? Or just blue-collar? Man, I hope it doesn't mean I'm a dork-fish....


5. What’s the funniest cartoon you’ve ever seen? Chip'n'Dale. "It's a duck! With a big fanny!" Saw it at a slumber party in like second grade. Laughed so hard I had to borrow pajamas. Still remember it, many years later....


6. What’s your favorite comic strip? Mutts! But since my local paper doesn't carry it anymore, I have become hooked on Cul de Sac.

7. What’s your favorite joke? Knock knock. Who's there? Rude, interruptive cow. Rude, interrup--MOO!

8. Here’s a link to something that will make you laugh: The Gallery of Regrettable Foods. Peruse with a lot of time...and after you've used the loo.....

9. What was the last thing you laughed at so hard you cried? My friend, Mama Midwife, was telling me about her Little Flower. Little Flower is my Goddaughter, and dearly precious to me. She is a shy little thing, and quite succinct when she speaks. At times, she says the goofiest things, and can really throw her listeners for a loop. So the other day, my dear Goddaughter had...er...filled her pants. As her Mama prepared to remove the diaper, she said, "Little Flower, did you poop?" And the Little Flower replied, as Little Flowers are wont to do, "Holy crap!"

Cried, and peed.

10. Got a funny photo? Show me! We call this one "Bucket'O'Monkey"....


There you have it.

What makes you laugh?

Mmmmmmmmmmmm...you got to check this out.

I can hear Mantilla the Hun's sassy accent as I read this hilarious post....

Fr. Longenecker is so clever, and I love that he adopts alter-egos to address important issues. Quite frankly, were he to just come out and blast things like this "as himself," there are those who perhaps would call him "mean-spirited." I say call a spade a spade, for Pete's sake. If something's wrong, say it's wrong. After all: Bishop Sheen said, "Right is right, even if no one's doing it. Wrong is wrong, even if everyone's doing it."

Here I leave you with the image of some of our servers, with my own Dear Pickle in the mix...can you guess which one is my boy?



You may notice....not a sneaker--wheeled or lighted--in the bunch.....

And the Award goes to........

Jenni, over at One Thing! She rocks my socks. She enchants my eyes. She tickles my funny bone. She's a fabulous writer, and I'm so glad she's back! Here's to you, Jenni!

Ack! Hysteria on the 'net!

I can't even stand it! I've been chuckling all morning at two presumably grown, respectable men tossing zingers at one another over their fashion sense....Please check in with Father Dwight. (This is my favorite entry, to date. The ones between now and then are fantastic, as always.) And now.......the battle begins! Father Dwight and Father Z. are trading barbs, and the result is entertainment worthy of any number of blogging awards! Clever, quippy, pithy, and nearly truculent, while still maintaining a hint of respect. Be sure to check the comments left on both sides as well.

I love it!

For the record, both blogs are most excellent sources of apologetics, and I highly recommend bookmarking them for future reference.