Hubby is taking a renewed interest in our daughters’ extracurricular activities.   Which includes registration at a myriad of school events, rec centers and  doctor’s offices.

Hence we have this actual conversation while signing up Daughter Youngest for a recent event.

Registry person: Child’s age?

Husband: She’s 8. (looking at me)

Me: 9…You know her birthday, right?

Husband: Um…(deadly pause)

Me: November 7, 1999

Husband: Well, she’s in 2nd grade.

Me: 3rd.    Do you even know her NAME?!

Now don’t get me wrong.  Hubby is a loving, doting father who challenges them to wrestling matches on the floor, shows them how to fix a leaky gasket and even teaches our little princesses how to burp the alphabet then gives congratulatory knuckles when they succeed.   (Reminder to self:  See if he’s aware of the sex of our children.)  But while he’s tops in digestive games, he’s lacking in knowledge of the details.

From talking with girlfriends, I believe this may be a deficient chromosome in male DNA.    Which is why I’m still the “go to” person in charge of schedules, birthdays, appointments and deadlines.   And why, when I leave for a night out, I leave notes around the kitchen that say “Remember to feed the kids,” because, yes, it’s necessary.  This is the same man who can recite the batting averages of the entire National League.  This is the man who changed Daughter Eldest’s first diaper wearing a surgical mask and rubber gloves yet still managed to gag and run out of the room as soon as I came to help.

But as they grew in to little people, I would come around a corner and notice him pretending to be asleep as giggling girls smothered him with lipstick.   (Once when he let them give him a lovely purple pedicure, he forgot about it until he was swimming at the pool on a business trip…with his boss.)   This is a man who would willingly make himself a fool to encourage a giggle, be the strong arms that catch a leaping fairy princess in a torn tutu and the one who changes from a tough manly man to a real softie whenever he hears a little voice call for “Daddy.”   Thank God for fathers.

Happy Father’s Day, hon!

        

The candy bowl has only been empty for one hour and I’m already feeling too cranky to participate next year.   We’ve never been big on all the gore and dark elements of Halloween, but I will admit loving the little ones going door to door in their 100% adorableness.   But it’s official….I’m now an old geezer because I found myself muttering, “Parents these days!” the entire night.  Those costumes!  When I was a kid, most costumes involved mom’s hair curlers and Dad’s shoe polish.   On a really special year, we’d get a plastic mask that wouldn’t allow you to see or breathe and was held on to your sweaty face by a thin elastic string that always broke and whipped straight into your eyeball, you young whippersnappers! And we LIKED it! Excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable like old geezer rant mode.

Yes, this is an ACTUAL child costume available
in sizes starting at Ages 6-8!

1)  Britney Spears, Bratz and Sexy School Girl costumes

Call me crazy but I don’t think little girls should dress like Playboy bunnies.  Apparently, many parents (and any pedophiles who may be wandering the neighborhood) disagree with me.  Maybe next year, I’ll just hand out safety pins and the missing pieces of fabric.

2) Adults who use an infant to trick or treat

To the adult who held their month old baby up to me, said “Trick or Treat” and then asked if I had any Reese’s Cups and proceeded to take a handful, I’m sure you know that you would get decked if people weren’t afraid you would drop your candy mooching machine…er, I mean, baby.

3) Adults who pull in front of our house, drop off a van load full of little kids and then drive off

Talk about scaring me on Halloween.  I’ll not even go into the safety issue here.  Dear parents, I hate to interrupt your private time, but our street wide babysitting service is officially closed.

4) Adults who instruct their child to grab more candy when I’ve just said, “One piece, please.”

We all know who the extra candy is for.  Especially when you get specific about which flavors to grab.  Forgive my sarcastic “You’re welcome” as you stomp on our flowers as y’all leave.

5) Adults who escort their toddlers while wearing gory, horrific costumes.

Ooooh, Mr. Big Man.  Since you were laughing,  you obviously think it’s hilarious to scar little kids for life as they scream and cry in terror, but it’s only fun for you, you smoldering pile of virility.  Please find some way to prove your manhood other than traumatizing toddlers.

6) And lastly, to the elderly cashier at Wal-Mart who angrily complained to me that she #%@!%# had to work on Halloween.

And good morning to you too!  A)  I’m not sure what pretend world you live in where employees get the day off on Halloween, but I want to live there.  B) The local anger management center is always open on Halloween.  You should give them a call.   C) As someone who very much reminded me of my 80 year old grandmother, you might have picked a more decorous costume than Leather Rocker Chick with Chaps. I don’t know when I will get that image burned out of my brain.

Do I sound bitter?  Do I sound angry?  Do I sound like an old crotchety woman complaining and rambling about everything that crosses my mind?  Actually, yes, I do.  That is all.

        

This is the wreath on our front porch. It has the assorted plastic greenery including a fake birdnest and fake flowers.

So a few weeks ago, we found that a bird had discovered the craft-store faux nest and was hanging out in it. Whenever we opened our front door, this bird flew off.

Then my husband told me to take a look in the wreath. Here’s what we found.

Best we can tell there are seven (7!) baby birds jammed into one little 3″ fake wreath. Hence, the following:

Oh…and my camera’s back. (Dancing a little hoedown ala Ashlee Simpson)

        

It’s official. I am now old. With gray hair. And a cane. Age has never bothered me. I look forward to being older because I think I get wiser. Until yesterday, I always thought I believed that.

I’m going to be 45 in a few weeks. And most days, I feel 30, maybe 35. Until yesterday.

I’m slightly near-sighted. Since I only wear glasses when I drive, I keep them in the car. Seven-year-old was playing in the car a few days ago and this happened. No one knows how.

So I needed a new pair but needed an eye exam first.

This is the appointment:

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DR: Did you know that your eyes bulge out?

ME: (Why is he telling me this?) Um…no.

DR: Has anyone ever told you that you have protruding eyes?

ME: (Again…why are you telling me this? Wait…painful childhood memories of being called “Bug Eyes” flash back). Well, maybe.

Doctor brings out a ruler.

DR: Stare ahead please. (Measures how my eyes stick out of my head like Homer Simpson.)

DR: Well, it’s nothing to worry about, but I just thought you should know. (Well, it’s nothing to worry about, I just thought you’d want to be self-conscious for the rest of your life. Thanks, Doc!)

A few minutes later.

DR: I think you need bifocals.

ME: (WHAT!?) Well, I never wear glasses for reading or computer work. I see better without them.

DR: That’s because you need bifocals. Here’s a prescription. And I would see a doctor and have a yearly checkup…for diabetes, cholesterol, etc. At your age, that’s a good idea.

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Wow, thanks for that encouragement. I really appreciate that WALMART-EYE-GUY.

I won’t go into how I picked out some modern looking glasses but was told that my granny-bifocal prescription wouldn’t work with that frame. So I was escorted to the Elton John eyewear section to pick out a frame large enough for my Hubble telescope lenses.

And that’s how you age 25 years in 10 minutes.

        

Yet another example of obvious instructions for not-so-bright people.

        

Dear husband is sick today. You women know what that means…Man Cold*, a terrible disease that causes hunching, moaning and regression to childhood. There is a wives’ tale that the Man Cold is no more serious than the common cold which strikes females. This is untrue. Women are expected and able to continue with their daily chores, jobs and responsibilities. A Man Cold, however, is completely debilitating and should not be confused with the common cold.

It’s serious but can be cured by strictly following these rules.

1) Do NOT get out of bed. The only exception is if there is not a TV near the bed. In this emergency, relocate to the sofa or a reclinder.
2) Have immediate and complete control of the TV remote. If the remote is lost, immediately contact your next of kin to retrieve the remote.
3) If you must get out of bed, always walk slowly and with a hunched back. Standing upright will only confuse others as to how sick you really are.
4) Moan often. Moaning is required so that no one forgets you have a serious disease, the Man Cold.
5) Talk in a whining voice so as not to further strain your vocal cords while they are adjusting to the severity of your Man Cold.

If you follow these strict guidelines, the patient should recover in approximately 7 days. To determine the severity of the Man Cold, order a Meat Lover’s Pizza. If the patient eats less than 3 pieces, contact 911 immediately.

        

moar humorous pics

        

My greasy lover, bacon! My kind of eater.

        

Thanks to Kamp Krusty!