I Spy With my Little Eye Something...

A couple years ago, we were on our way home from a family outing, when I asked Daddoo to swing by Publix. My intentions were good…really. I just wanted to grab a cart of Soymilk. However, by a vote of 4-1, my proposition was vetoed. The children had nothing specifically against Soymilk or Publix. They just didn’t trust me. Okay, let me rephrase…they were onto me. Based on my track record, they knew there was no such thing as "in and out of the store," for me. Who could blame them? Last time they heard my famous “I’d be right back” routine, I came rushing out of the store to find my youngest two snoring comfortably in sync; John’s face, beet red! Words that had no business coming out of the mouth of a father with young children were hauled at me at the speed of light. Anyhow, we all agreed that he was a better candidate and should run in. In the interim, we decided to play the famous, "I spy with my little eye something..." game.

“I spy with my little eye something gray” I began.
“Your hair!” exclaimed Scrawny.
“Noooooooo…the steering wheel, Dumbo!” replied Kid Sid
I spy with my little eye something green. I spy with my little... something red. Something purple. If you’re not familiar with this game, by now I’m sure you get the point. Just when we thought all of the obvious color coding comparisons had been made, Furr-ball blurted,

“I spy with my little eye something yellow.”
“Jade, there’s nothing yellow in the car” I said.
“Mom, can you say cheese?”

I flashed my pearls.
“That’s Yellow!” She pointed and chuckled.

When One Door Closes...

One of the things I hate about our Primary Care Physician's Office, is the lack of adequate parking spaces for patients. Just the other day, as I circled around impatiently, wishing that a parking spot would miraculously appear, dreading the thought of being late…again for a scheduled appointment, a minivan pulls out.
“Hallelujah!” I exclaimed.
Turning to Scrawny, I said, “You know, when one door closes, another opens.”
“By itself?” She asked, with a puzzled look on her face.

Slip of the Tongue

Daddoo loves to play “jumbo” with our youngest two daughters. It’s a family game that pretty much allows the kids to beat the crap out of him. The routine? He sprawls on the bed or floor; drapes a comforter over his upper body and lets them kick, punch and body slam the living daylight out of him. Occasionally, one of the girls would accidentally land in the groin area, and he’d scream, “Stop jumping on my freaking nuts!”

A couple years back, Scrawny and Furr-ball, were bouncing up and down on their bed, as if it were a trampoline. Suddenly, I heard a sustained screech “MoooooooooooooooooM…GET HER OUT OF HERE!”

“Why?” I yelled back.

“I fell down and she’s jumping on my freaking nuts!”

May I Give You a Ring?

Once I thought it was the most brilliant idea to ask an online aquaintance whom I had met on a Bellsouth message board if we could exchange phone numbers. I sent an email titled, “May I give you a Ring?” and included my T-mobile cell phone number. Several days went by, no response. When I finally ran into her again on a co-blogger's site, I asked, “Did you get my email?”
“Yup.” She replied. “But I deleted it!”
“Why?”
“Because I thought you were going to ask me to marry you!”

Papa John's Pizza Vs. Disney World

If Furr-ball had a priority list, I think it would look like…

"1. I love Daddy
2. I love Pizza
3. I love Disney World”

A few days ago, she blurts, “Mom, I don’t want Daddy to go to work.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“I want him to stay home.”
“I want him to stay home too,” I say. “But we need the money.”
“Why do we need the stinky money?”
“Well, if we don’t have any money, we can’t go to Disney world.”
“We don’t need to go to Disney world.”
“Okay, if we don’t have any money, we can’t order Papa John’s Pizza.”
Turning to Daddoo, she says, “Dad, you can go to work now!”

If you like this post, you'll probably love Case of the missing nuts

The Missing Nuts

Years ago, Daddoo and I were arguing about who ate the last handful of my favorite dry roasted, unsalted, whole cashews.

“I didn’t do it,” he says.
“Really, who then?” I sneer accusingly.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t do it. He insists. “Maybe one of the kids ate them.”
“Look, Kid Sid is allergic to nuts; Scrawny ,won’t touch cashews with a 10-foot-pole.”
“Well, I guess that leaves you or the baby.”
“Fine!” I retort, as I storm out of the room.

Subsequently I hear, “Bennneeeeeeeee, come here quick! ”
I dash into the nursery to find Daddoo wiping Furr-ball's butt. Pointing to chunky clusters of undigested cashews in a soiled diaper, he smirks, “ I told you I didn’t do it.”

If you enjoyed this post, you'll probably like this blog entry -;)

A Bad Hair Day!

Earlier this year, Daddoo and I were on our way out to a Shawn Mullins concert. He was ready to head out the front door; I was still having a bad hair day!
“Let’s go, your hair looks fine,” he said impatiently, as I stood in front of our bathroom mirror, tweaking and pulling in every direction. Turning to Scrawny, I asked,“Does mommy’s hair look all right?”

She glanced up; stared for a brief second and said,“Uh-huh! All you need is a hat!”