Who Wants to Touch The Butt?

Last week, I extolled the various virtues of the Fred & Friends company, and listed all of their most popular items.  Then, I put one of those items up for grabs in a giveaway, and was treated to various and sundry crappy office stories from y’all, in your attempts to win this lovely item.  (Not that your stories were crappy, they were stories about crappy offices).

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Thank you for that.  It makes me feel just this much better about my own crappy job.  Only a little, though, because after a 3 hour brutal surprise trial on Tuesday afternoon, and then leaving work only to almost immediately run over a nail on the war zone city streets of this ghetto town, which necessitated sitting on the side of the road in rush hour traffic waiting for AAA . . . well, it has not been a stellar week at work.

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BUT . . . enough about my craptastic work environment . . . let’s see who won this prize for having their own crappy work story . . .

As always, I have employed the very distinct skills of my brilliant children to pick this item’s winner.  For this item, 5 was the one to employ his master picking services.


And the winner of The Butt is . . .



Congrats Tabitha!!  Just send me your info at mistyslaws at gmail dot com, and I will send this super rad little toilet man to you so that you can use him however you see fit (we don’t judge here at Misty’s Laws!).  Although, based on your story, I’m not sure you will have anywhere to put him at work.  Might need to lose something on your desk . . . like your computer.



Get Your Balls Out of My Face!

My life is currently consumed by balls.



My 7 year old son is obsessed with all things baseball.  So, when his absent-minded mom missed the deadline for flag football sign-ups in the fall, we fell back on the sport that he has been wanting to play for a while now and that we had planned to sign him up for this spring.  Baseball.

The fall baseball was a deceptive tease of what was to come in the spring.  One practice and one game a week.  No biggie, right?  I mean, the coach was a little overzealous and all (scheduling a parent v. child scrimmage on a weeknight when I had just come from court and expecting me to play . . . in heels.  Um, no), but it was fine.

Then came the spring.  And we moved up to two games a week with one practice.  That’s a lot, and even necessitated the hubs to move around his normal Monday/Tuesday travelling schedule, but we’ve made it work.

But then . . . oh ho then.  His coach suggested that he might just be good enough to try out for a travel league for the fall, consisting of 7 year olds that were good enough to play against 8 year olds.  I was against this.  First, it is expensive.  Second, it is called a travel league, which means that we would be driving all over creation for these damn things.  Third, it was time to sign my youngest up for some type of actual sport, adding to the sports obligation schedule.  And fourth, 7 wanted to do football in the fall.

But my husband convinced me that he would take the brunt of the travelling part and my son decided that he would rather play baseball after all, so I conceded.  And he tried out.  And only after the try-outs did I get an email from his coach which explained that he was actually trying out for a 6 week summer scrimmage schedule with 3 game tournaments during the weekends and multiple practices during the week.  And then the travel team during the fall.

Wait . . . what now?

Click photo for source.

Based on this current turn of escalated events, I can only imagine the list of requirements that will be outlined by his coach in future emails:

– Must wear full uniform at all times, including to bed, so that the baseball experience will seep into your pores, absorbing knowledge by osmosis (this includes glove, batting helmet and cup).

– Must legally change name to either Cal, Brooks or Boog.  Can keep current last name . . . for now.

– May only speak in baseball language.  i.e. “hey batter batter” and hand gestures depicting a runner’s ability to steal a base.

– Renounce all of your possessions except for those relating to baseball.

– Daily morning and evening prayer rituals with your head always facing in the direction of Cooperstown.

– A diet consisting only of hot dogs, peanuts and crackerjacks.

– Weekly pilgrimage to Camden Yards at Oriole Park to bask in the aura of the baseball stadium.

– 25-30 practice pitches into a bucket every night.  (This one’s real, sadly).


Not to mention a holiday weekend that had no games scheduled, initially, so that everyone could enjoy a weekend off . . . from work, from kid’s sports, from running around.  But no, we can’t have that.  Not when there is baseball to be played!  So instead, we got a game at 8:30 am Saturday (and had to be at the field for pre-game practice by 7:45!), and a practice scheduled for Memorial Day.  That’s right, while everyone else is traditionally grilling and celebrating their day off (and honoring those who protect and serve), we get to go play baseball.  Some more.  Again.  Ad infinitum.


Click photo for source.

This entire thing is going to drive me completely and totally batty.


Anything taking over your entire life? 

As You Wish: A Movies Teach Us Guest Post

Today I’m phoning it in over here visiting another (now recently Freshly Pressed!) site, and spewing forth my witty writerly skills on someone else’s unsuspecting blog.  Thoughtsy, over at Thoughts Appear, is travelling this week for business, so rather than allow her lovely blog to be neglected while she’s away, collecting spider webs and dust, she enlisted the assistance of some of her blogging buddies to do guest posts in her Movies Teach Us series. 

When she asked if I wanted to join in on the festivities, at first, I was at a loss.  The last movie I can remember seeing without computer generated talking animals was probably . . . Titanic?  Yeah, maybe not quite that far back, but it’s been a while at least.  I had recently purchased a movie on DVD that I was hoping to be able to watch at some point.  You know, like maybe sometime over the summer.  But that wouldn’t do.  That damn demanding Thoughtsy . . . she actually wanted a post for this week, meaning I’d have to watch the movie, have it teach me some crap, and then regurgitate those lessons into a somewhat coherent blog post.  So much pressure!!

But then . . . a lightbulb moment.  I realized that I didn’t have to pick some new release or cinematic masterpiece.  I could delve into the recesses of my mind and pull out some crusty dusty memories of when I used to actually go to the movies and enjoy films.  You know, back in the 80’s.

So, this is why you will be treated (ahem) to the lessons from a classic film from my childhood . . . The Princess Bride.


Head on over to Thoughtsy’s joint to read the post there

Bye bye.  Have fun storming the castle!!

Wanna Be Friends?

I just adore Fred & Friends.  If you are also a fan, then you know of what I speak.  And if you’ve never heard of Fred & Friends . . . well, yes you have, actually.  Even if you don’t know you know.  Ya know?

A few weeks ago, I visited my friend JM’s blog, and saw a post where she talked about her new tea buddy, Mr. Tea.  And even though I don’t drink tea, I thought he was über adorable, so I wanted to see if the company that created her Mr. Tea, had any other items that were creative and adorable like her new little friend, yet were unrelated to tea drinking. 


I pity the fool who don’t drink no tea!

So I went to the website of the company that made Mr. T, and fell in love with everything I saw there.  And while I was perusing the site, I realized that I had actually previously seen a bunch of their items and/or even owned a few.




You’ve seen all of these, right?

And then of course, I came across an item that I have coveted since this past Christmas, but had no idea who made it.  I just knew that I wanted it, and still want it.  One day, maybe.


Remember these? Um, yeah, ME TOO!

And then I found something that I had not seen before, but I thought would be just perfect as a cute gift for my secretary.  I love getting her kooky gifts just because she’s completely amazing and deserves gifts for no reason.  It’s how I do.  But then I thought, “Wait, me…..wouldn’t this also be a really great gift to give to someone else as well?”  And I thought-responded, “Why yes.  Yes it would.”  And then I stopped talking to myself, because it started making me feel as if I was going to be committed at any moment.  Gotta at least act as if I’m a normal member of society, right?

So, anyway . . . back to the item.  It’s another office supply, so some of you might not be interested, but I thought it was fun.  Then again, maybe it’s because I have two boys that pretty much can’t stop talking about all things farting and pooping and potty humor, and I’ve finally been drawn over to the dark side . . .


“The Butt”

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This little beauty is called The Butt Station Desk Accessory Holder.  It is a little blue man, holding a roll of tape (the cutter thing is on his toes), sitting on a toilet seat full of paper clips, whilst holding a pen in his mouth.  Behind him, there is a space for a post-it pad and more pens.  This little guy has a lot going on.  If you are like me, and are currently feeling like you are actually working in a toilet every single day at work, then this is the perfect little guy for you to subtly display your displeasure for your craptastic job.

Oh, but wait!  Besides all of the cute little functional things that this little guy represents, he also has a secret talent.  What is that, you ask?  Well, his butt is a magnet that pulls out the paper clips when you lift him off of his perch.  Yep.

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But wait!  There’s more . . . if you call right now, you will get this bonus gift!  In addition to this lovely little gift that I bought both for my secretary and for one of you lucky contestants, I also bought a nifty set of pens that are also created by those irreverent and goofy bastards over there at Fred & Friends.  They are called “Borrow My Pen” and have faux business names and slogans on them.  They are rad. 


And . . . there is one of these lovely pens stuck firmly in the little blue man’s mouth up there.  So, if you get this great toilet guy, you will also get one of the Borrow My Pen pens.

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This one.

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“Stuffed With Love Taxidermy
No Pet Too Small – Give Us a Call!
(ask about our goldfish and turtle discount)
fluffy4ever. com”

I know, right?  You are thinking, “how can she be this beautiful AND generous all at the same time?  It just can’t be possible!”  But it is, my friends.  It is.  It’s just a gift.

Ok, so . . . rules!  Tell me about why you need this toilet man at your crappy job.  Tell me a story about something goofy or crazy or just plain shitty that has happened at your place of work.  And although you won’t be judged on your story (as always, random out of the hat picking by my fellas), I do need to be entertained, so make ’em good.  I need something to distract me from this toilet bowl of a job I’m in! 

A lucky winner will be picked in a couple of weeks.  Good luck to all!

(In case you were wondering, my secretary absolutely adored this gift.  She liked it so much, that she walked around showing it to everyone, talking about how I know just the perfect things to get for her to represent her feelings about the job.  Yeah . . . it’s magical at my place of employ, as you can see.)


**I was not compensated in any way for this post.  All opinions are my own, as I truly do love the Fred & Friends products.  I mean, how can you not love a company that refers to itself as “a lot like Santa Claus, but without all that breaking and entering?”  Seriously.  Love them. **

So Wrong: A Guest Post for Renee

When I first received the email from Renee Schuls-Jacobson with a request to guest post on her site, I was surprised and truly flattered.  Last year, when that email was sent out to various other talented bloggers (and me), Renee and I had only “known” each other for a short amount of time.  However, when she told me she was doing a series of guests posts on her site, and wanted each of the chosen bloggers to write a story about a time when we were embarrassed, I knew I had this in the bag!


That’s Renee. Isn’t she adorable?

With no shortage of material to choose from, I had to pick the perfect event.  And then I had the unenviable task of crafting it in such a way as to at least attempt to match the other brilliant authors who have penned their stories on her site all this year in her So Wrong series.  Well, maybe not match it.  More like, try not to embarrass myself.  I mean, at least not again.


So I reached way back into my history of embarrassing moments to delve into the depths of teenaged cluelessness, and I found the perfect incident to relate to all of you.  I have submitted this highly embarrassing story to Renee to feature in her So Wrong series, so you will have to visit her site today to experience the mortification of my youthful transgressions.  Enjoy!

To Bra or Not to Bra . . .

Random Randomosity & Randomness

When I spoke to my friend Andrea yesterday, she mentioned that she was crafting her Tuesday post.  Having absolutely no idea what I was going to post this week on my own blog, I asked her what she was writing about, facetiously threatening to take her idea.  When she responded that she was planning on doing another of her weekly “random” posts in a series, I decided to not so facetiously steal her theme.  What do they say about imitation and flattery and all that?  Sorry, Andrea!!

This past week was a very busy one, containing yet another birthday necessitating celebration, and adding Mother’s Day into the mix as well.  The hubs celebrated his birthday this past Friday, and as a special birthday treat, I decided to take him to Charlestown Race Track in West Virginia and just basically throw some cash at him so he could bet on the ponies up there.  On our drive over to our neighboring state, the skies decided to open up and flood us with a torrential storm.  This, of course, caused massive amounts of traffic heading out to our destination.  Oh joy.

Once we entered WV proper, the rains had stopped (or more accurately, had yet to travel that far west), but the skies were roiling with storm clouds in one of the most impressive ways I have ever seen.

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Driving towards it, we could have sworn that we were viewing a far distant snow-capped mountain range, and not actual clouds in the sky.

Once we arrived at our destination, the skies opened up, making the race track very sloppy.  I had reserved a table at a restaurant overlooking the track, and we were treated to a front row view of the race track.

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You can see the table, the little TV which showed the closed circuit race happening out beyond the window, and the very muddy track itself.

Once we finished our dinners and had bet on a few races (and won!), the establishment very kindly brought the hubs a dessert to celebrate his special day:

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A little extra special birthday script made that key lime pie truly festive!

The next evening was to be yet another celebration of the hubs’ birthday, but this time it was a family event.  I had purchased tickets to a local minor league baseball game, and the special treat was that the first 1,000 people would get Manny Machado Bobbleheads (he’s an Orioles player, look it up!).  I had also called the ballpark ahead of time and requested that my hubs’ name be placed on the scoreboard to announce his birthday.  We were all set!  The only problem was that once again, the weather was not cooperating with us.  When it was about time to leave (we planned to get there early to ensure we all got a bobblehead) it was pouring down rain.  Thinking that we probably wouldn’t be going because of the weather, we all sort of settled in to the reality of staying home.  Then, only about 15 minutes later, the skies cleared and the sun came out!  So, it was game on, but we were leaving later than we had originally planned.  Nonetheless, we arrived at the stadium with plenty of time to spare . . . but not early enough to get the bobbleheads.  Drats!

Oh well, it would still be a nice night.  The weather was lovely, and we had amazing seats.  Second row, right between 3rd and home plate, and there was nobody in the seats in front of us.  Plus, the view was excellent.

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My oldest son is a huge baseball fan and was very excited to be at the game, and watched every pitch and every strike out.  My other son . . . was not quite as invested in the game.  Instead, he spent the majority of the game doing this . . .

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In the middle of the 5th inning, it was time for the birthday announcements.  So, I told my hubs to look up at the screen, and aimed my phone to take a picture of his name listed up in large glowing lights.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to capture the list of names on my camera because of the lights, and all I got was a glowing screen:

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However, it didn’t really matter anyway, since my husband’s name was not one of the four listed up on that screen!  Despite my best  and most timely efforts, for whatever reason, they did not put his name up on that screen.  First no bobblehead, then no name in lights.  He was a bit disappointed in this birthday celebration, to say the least.

Before leaving the stadium, we decided to stop at this kids’ play area near the outfield that had some carnival type games and blow up bouncy things.  Earlier in the evening, as the game was about to start, a sort of “local celebrity” threw out the first pitch.  If anyone watched this most recent season of The Biggest Loser, you might remember a young boy named Bingo who was on the show.  Well, Bingo threw the first pitch.  While we were throwing some balls in the kids’ area, I looked over and saw Bingo standing at a game immediately to our right.  I pointed him out to my oldest son, who had watched the entire season of The Biggest Loser with me, and knew full well who Bingo was.  I asked if he wanted to go up to say hi.  Being my introverted and shy son, he said no, despite my repeated attempts to convince him to go over and talk to him.  But he just wouldn’t do it.  Not wanting to push him into doing something uncomfortable, I let it go.

Yet, when we were done playing games and getting ready to leave the stadium, I noticed that Bingo was walking in front of us.  I asked my son once again if he wanted to meet Bingo, as this would be his last chance, assuring him that I would take the lead in speaking to him if he wanted.  He finally agreed, so I got Bingo’s attention and then told him that my son and I watched his season and were just so impressed with how well he did, and that we wanted to congratulate him.  He was very sweet and said thanks, and then I asked if he would mind having a picture taken with my son, to which he graciously agreed.

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Bingo & 7

So, at least the night ended with a fun occurrence.  Oh, but did I mention that my hubs had left us in the game playing area, while he ran out to get the car with my youngest in tow?  Yeah, so he actually missed out on this part as well.  It just wasn’t his night, apparently.  But then again . . . I did show him the picture!

Back in Whack

It’s been a long, long time.  I believe a Come Back Special is in order.  Prepare yourself for . . . the return of the Weekly Whacked!!

(And, I’m just realizing that this is actually my 200th post!  So, I guess a resurgence of the whacked is an appropriate celebratory event.  Huzzah!!).

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This was a few months ago on my way to work, where I got caught behind SIX snow plows blocking the entire road and all progress of traffic moving forward.  While I applaud the county’s exuberance in combatting snow on the roads, I’m thinking that six plows across 3 lanes of traffic might just be a bit too much overkill, n’est pas?

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Is this really what they need to resort to in advertising . . . man caves?  Oy.

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This was so very whacked.  I personally watched as a woman walked up to the salad bar, grabbed these two containers, started putting lettuce in one, and then mumbled to herself that it was cheaper to just get plain lettuce, threw down the tongs, and then just walked away.  Just left this mess for someone else to deal with right there.  I was so surprised that by the time I got myself together, sadly she was gone.  Lucky for her.  I might have slapped her.  Ridiculous.

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This one just snuck right up on me on the highway.  Imagine my shock!  Those damn fungi are sneaky little bastards.

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You would see a lot of this around tax time this past April, but this one is just sorta sad.  He’s not holding a sign or gesturing or anything.  He’s just walking back and forth with the help of his cane.  Give Mr. Liberty a chair at least, people!

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Can you say redneck?  Count the instances of references to Jeff Gordon.  Go ahead . . .

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This was my tire.  So I sat on the side of the highway during rush hour traffic, in sweltering 95* heat, waiting for my Brother in Law to come help me change it.  I hate being a damsel in distress.  I really need to take one of those car maintainance classes!!

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Pinkish/purplish type car.  It was much more vibrant in person.  In fact, I probably would have thought “Mary Kay car” if it wasn’t such a jalopy piled with an unbelievable amount of crap inside.  I think there is even a car seat buried in there somewhere.  Poor kid.

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Which fact is more disturbing?  The fact that a grown-ass woman is driving around with this sticker on her car, or . . . the fact that I immediately recognized those symbols as New Kids On The Block?  Crap, it’s the second one, isn’t it?  Hell.

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There are now pamphlets at the post office, warning people about online fraud.  Our tax dollars at work here, people.  Really, if you are dumb enough to send a Nigerian prince cash, then you deserve to lose all of your money.  Yep, I said it.

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Not sure if you can tell, but her backpack has these colorful foam spikes all over it.  At least, I’m hoping they are foam, because otherwise that would be pretty painful to hoist around on your back.  Although, I imagine nobody would mess with you while carrying that thing.

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This isn’t so much whacked as it is awesome.  I went to a wedding recently, and this guy was the DJ.  Check out the rad mustache/sideburns deal he’s got going on all up in there.  Love it.

And . . . the unexpected yet triumphant return of the Whacked is now in the books, y’all. 

((Throws down mike, making that thudding reverberation sound, and then walks off the stage))

The Whacked has left the building.  Thank you, thank you very much.  Good night!

(And that’s how we do 200).

I Like Big Bowls and I Cannot Lie

I have recently come to the realization that I may have a problem.

See, some women are addicted to shoes.  Not me.  I probably own about 12 pairs . . . total.

And other woman are all about the expensive handbags.  However, I usually buy one big black all-purpose bag and use it until it basically (and sometimes literally) falls apart.  So, yeah, that’s not my thing, either.

What is my thing, you might ask?  Well, apparently my thing is . . .


Yep, I can’t get enough bowls.  Big bowls, little bowls, even bowls with feet.  But not just any bowls.  Cheap plastic bowls from Target.

You see, another thing that you might or might not know about me (and will pretty much disqualify me from that sacred Girls’ Club I’ve always aspired to joining . . . nobody talks about it or anything, I’m assuming that’s one of their rules, but I just know it exists!), but I HATE to shop.  Yes, that is capital letter H-A-T-E, hate.  The thought of a trip to the mall, for me, is like going to the 9th circle of hell . . . it’s super hot, overcrowded with obnoxious and horrible people, and unfortunately, some place that I eventually will have to end up.

The one exception to this “shopping is hell” rule of mine, is the gloriousness that is Target.  I have a love/hate relationship with Target.  I absolutely love going there, but I really hate how much I spend every time I go.  So I avoid going to Target unless it is absolutely necessary, because I know when I do, I will inevitably walk out of there $200 or more poorer.


I recently went there on one of my “can’t avoid it any longer” trips.  I had a list of about 5 things, as I always do, and knew full well that I would get about a bajillionty more items than that.  It is inevitable and I’ve made peace with it.  I found myself walking through the home section, where I always seem to find some interesting things for my kitchen.  On the Clearance shelf, I came across a couple of things that I just could not resist.  A utensil holder that will be great for any outdoor barbeques by the pool, and a couple of little bowls with feet that will be great for salsa or guacamole.  So adorable.

When I brought home my treasures and began to unpack them, my husband was currently loading the dishwasher.  I pulled out my little bowls and placed them directly on the top rack, saying to him, “look I’m helping!  And guess what, sweetie . . . I got some more bowls!!”  His response:  “Oh good, because I think we might have been running out.”

For some reason, I don’t think he was quite as thrilled with my new acquisitions as I was.  I really can’t understand why . . .

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You never know when you are gonna need about 20 bowls full of chips.

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To be fair, the green and white bowls on the bottom are from my wedding! So there.

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Yeah, there’s no excuse for this. I bought them all.

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They’re just so tiny! And colorful! And adorable!

What?  I mean, it will only become an issue if I run out of room for the bowls!!

Ok, fine.  I may have a problem.  The first step is admitting it, I guess.  But, I can quit if I want!  Really, it’s not like I need the bowls or anything.  They are just so adorable and useful!  And it seems like every time I go to Target, they have new designs and colors and styles and . . .

I think I need to go shopping.


What are your out of the ordinary obsessions/addictions?  Please share so I don’t feel quite so bizarre and alone!

Conversations with My FIVE Year Old

Well, today is 4’s birthday.  Making him 4 no longer, but a big, huge 5!  Are you getting that?  My youngest child, my baby, is now a 5-year-old and will soon be in kindergarten!!  Damn.  Way to make your mom feel old, kid!

Anyway, because today is 5’s special day, I decided to dedicate an entire “Convos with” post to him.  And since it’s been many months since I’ve posted one of these, I have plenty of material just from him, trust me!



5:  You know what’s inside pyramids?
Me:  No, what?
5:  Mummies.
Me:  Oh yeah?
5:  Yeah, you know how mummies hide inside pyramids, and then when people walk by, they jump out and scare them?
Me:   Um, sure.  Why not?
(Annnnddddd, cancelling my trip to Egypt, now).


5:  I wish my name was Fisafer.
Me:  Christopher?
5:  No, FIS-a-FER.
Me:  Why?
5:  Because I like that MUCH better than my name now!
(Everyone’s a critic).


Me:  When you finish dinner, we will watch the Disney World video.
5:  I bet Mickey Mouse will be on the video!
Me:  Yeah, I’m pretty sure you WILL see Mickey on the Disney video.
5:  That’s because Mickey is the BOSS of Disney World!!


5:  Do we get presents on Green Patrick’s Day?


Me:  You had a cookie?  But you don’t LIKE cookies!! (Said dripping with sarcasm).
5:  YES I DO!!
Me:  No WAY!  Since when?
5:  Well, I like candy!  Even though it sometimes feels all gloppy in my throat, I still like it.


Hubs:  What’s the difference between a chicken finger and a chicken nugget?
5:  The name. 
(Literal answer for the win!)


Hubs:  How was your day?
Me:  It was ok.
5:  Was it a longer day?
Me:  Longer than what?
5:  Longer than expected.
Me:  No, it was about as long as it normally is.
5:  Was it a lover day?
Me:  What’s a “lover” day?
5:  You know, did you love it more than you expected?
Me:  Um, no.  Definitely not.


Hubs:  You know not to drink the pool water, right?
5:  Yes.
Hubs:  And why is that?
5:  So I don’t swallow any criminals.
(And yes, we were apparently vacationing at Rikers Island.  Chemicals is the word he was going for, by the way).

Cooking by Numbers

When I was in high school, I was mistakenly placed in an AP math class.  I was already taking a few other AP classes in English and History, but there was no indication that I excelled in mathematical concepts.  In fact, the prior year I got a solid B in Algebra II.  I do not know why this prompted the powers-that-be administrators to feel I needed advanced math classes.  I should have been placed in the next basic class.  Instead, I found myself drowning amongst concepts that I could not comprehend.  Once it was discovered that I was struggling, the teacher and my parents discussed the option of moving me down into the lower level class.  This would have been the best option, but for some reason, everyone decided to let me stay in the advanced class and try my hardest.  Unfortunately, my hardest wasn’t good enough.  My parents had to hire a tutor for me.  And even then, I just couldn’t get it. 


Fortunately for me and my GPA, the teacher took pity on me and was incredibly charitable with her grading.  She knew I was being tutored and that I was trying my absolute hardest to do the best I could.  Because of this, I managed to eke out a C-, when truthfully it should have been much lower, if not failing.  It is the only class I have ever taken that I truly almost did not pass.

The next year, everyone smartened up, and I was placed in the most basic of basic math classes.  And although I was finally in an appropriate setting, I never forgot the feeling of drowning in that one advanced class.  The feeling that I just wasn’t smart enough or capable enough to handle what everyone else around me was easily comprehending.  It was not a feeling I enjoyed or ever wanted to repeat in the future.

Yet somehow, despite my genes, my oldest son is a math genius.  Merely in 2nd grade, he is already appropriately in an advanced math class.  Math is apparently one of his skills.  Where that innate ability with numbers came from is anybody’s guess, because as I’ve established above, it is definitely not from his mother.

The other night, my son was helping with dinner preparation.  This is a task which he routinely enjoys and does without complaint.  We were making stir fry, and one of his jobs was to cut up some of the veggies.

While he was cutting up a head of broccoli into little florets, he made this comment:

Cutting up broccoli is fun because it’s like math.  Because when I cut them in pieces, it’s like doing fractions.  For example, this piece is one-fourth of this broccoli. 

© 2005 David Monniaux

I am 38 years old.  Much like Dana Carvey, I have chopped quite a few heads of broccoli in my day.  But not once did I ever think, “huh, this is just like math.  What fun!”

So, while I am happy for my son and his newfound sense of adventure and learning through cooking, this episode also scared the crap out of me.  I’m looking into the not so distant future, and seeing a time when my son needs help with his math homework.  Oh, say . . . probably sometime next week.  And I know for a fact that I will be absolutely useless in assisting him. 

I mean, if he needs help with English or composition or grammar, I’m your mom!  I am most definitely proficient in those topics.  But with anything math related?  No.  If I don’t have a calculator handy or the answer is more than 10 (the number of fingers on which I have to count), then I will not be solving for X.

These are going to be some long school years.  I mean, how sad is it when a 7-year-old boy is smarter than you at an elementary school subject?  All of a sudden, I am starting to experience that drowning feeling again from many years in the past, when trying to tackle an untenable subject.

In related news, I am going back to the hospital to do some research about any babies born the same day as my son.  If I find one that is really good at reading and writing with brown hair and brown eyes . . . there are going to be some hard-hitting questions, is all I’m saying.


Do your kids have any traits and/or skills that have you wondering where they came from?