Showing posts from June, 2012

It puts the lotion in the basket.

I came home last night and found Big V re-enacting his favorite Silence of the Lambs scene in our garage. It was making me nervous seeing him so close to the edge of our Body Dungeon, or cistern, if you want to be politically correct about it. Then he told me that he had already been inside the pit because there was a hole in the middle of the pit floor and he wanted to see how deep it really was. Because the pit itself is pretty deep, but the hole in its dirt floor might possibly go all the way to the center of the earth which would totally explain the amount of earwigs, iron and nickel, and the lack of Chinese at our house. Because the antipodal point of my house is somewhere in the middle of the Indian Ocean between South Africa and Australia and I don't think there's a lot of Chinese floating around that area of the ocean waiting to be sucked into Wisconsin through a hole. I always thought if I dug a hole I could dig all the to China. Apparently only if I live in Chil

What Grandma Says

My grandmother, Johanna, is 94 years old. She'll be 95 in January. My grandfather, Henry, passed away about 14 or 15 years ago. He was the bomb-diggity of all Grandpa's. Trust me on this. Together, Henry and Johanna have 129 descendants. At least that's how many I've found to date. The oldest one is 73 years old. The youngest, not yet three months. Two are no longer with us: my Uncle Ron, and my cousin Cathy's son, David. It's interesting to note (at least to me) that all six of my Uncle Ron's children have names that begin with R. I also think it's interesting that all 8 female descendants of my Uncle Lester have names that end in "y." This is my grandmother when she turned 90 checking out this AWESOME family tree my cousins Kelly & Tracy made. Kelly is also a teacher. I think that's obvious from the tree. My grandma is also the bomb-diggity of all grandmothers. Trust me on this. I actually didn't used to think so

An Open Letter to the Youth Librarian who was working Saturday Morning

My 10-year loves to read. Loves. As in:   reads all. the. time. Personally, I think it's a good hobby. I mean, what if she was one of those kids who liked to throw rocks at the windows of the businesses from the back alley downtown? Or what if she was one of those kids who liked to beat up little kids at the park? (Which reminds me: freaking 8-year old punk bully that smacked my 2-year old in the head with your pretend double-barrel shotgun --- I've got your number. Same to the other freaking 8-year old punk bully who grabbed my toddler's arms and twisted them behind his back. I don't care that you "shot" me 4 times in the back of the head after I yelled at you to take your hands off of him. Like I told you, he's smaller than you are and we don't put our hands on anyone ever . Let's you and me reunite in ten years and you can tell me how much jail time you've done.) But my kid, well, she likes to read. She likes to cozy up on the couch or

Summer School: Sign Up Today!

After I hold the How To Change The Toilet Paper Roll So You Can Immediately Tell If You're Completely Out Of Toilet Paper And Run To The Store And Buy More Before Someone Else Happens To Get Stranded On The Pot At 11:30 At Night class I'll be holding the How To Effectively Wrap Up Deli Meat So It Doesn't Get All Dried Out And Crusty class. If things advance at the rate they should, I'll be moving on to the How To Throw Out The Wrappers Of The Three Popsicles You Ate While The Rest Of The Family Was Sleeping And Not Leave The Sticky Mess On The Arm Of The Couch class. With enough luck we might even get to the How To Refill The Water Pitcher And Not Put The Stupid Empty Container Back In The Fridge Like a Complete Idiot class. I hope to someday hold Master Classes in: How To Actually Wipe Off The Crumbs From The Cutting Board And Not Just Push The Board Back Into The Little Slot Under The Counter Acting Like It's Not Filthy And Attracting Massive Amounts O