Friday, April 15, 2011

My very first guest starring role.

Sometime last year, I stumbled upon a blog somewhere in this vast internet.

She was a random blogger.

A mommy blogger.

She made me laugh and nod my head and say, "Yeah girl. I hear ya."

We started reading each other's blogs, and it was a match made in bloggy heaven. Now, I consider her a friend.

I have mentioned Sue before, but some of you may know her as The Desperate Housemommy. If we ever met in person, I just know we would laugh so hard that Diet Coke would shoot out our noses.

We have many things in common. 

We blog.

We are moms.

We adore our husbands.

We used to be elementary school teachers.

And? Most importantly? We both love Peeps.

They're not just for Easter, people. 

I was shocked to find out a couple months ago that before I moved here, we used to live less than five miles away from each other. Less than five miles. For seven years. And we never, ever met. Although, we do have a few friends in common.

Isn't it funny how life works that way? 

In this big, wide, internet, with all of its dark corners and scary places that you avoid, you actually meet someone who you would consider a friend? 

I am telling you this, because Sue has asked me to write a guest post on her blog today. Head on over there and read it. I have managed to wax poetic about laundry. 

Sounds riveting, doesn't it?

I promise you, it's not a snoozefest. You might even be able to relate. 

Also, show Sue some blog love, and follow her on Twitter or Facebook. I assure you, you will adore her blog.

Unless, you know, laughing just isn't your thang.

Go on now. Git. 


Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Word Up Wednesday: The Boy Brain

This morning, I found this on the floor of the minivan.


It is, as you can see, a water bottle filled with a mysterious red liquid.

I should know better than to ask questions. I should know to just throw it away and get on with my day.

I should know these things.

But I am a curious woman.

Especially when it comes to my shorties.

Instead of throwing it in the nearest garbage can, I looked at my two oldest sons and asked plainly, "Guys, what is this?"

"It's Atomic Firewater, mom," my second son answered.

Oh. Duh. How stupid of me not to recognize Atomic Firewater.

Don't ask any more questions, Clare. You don't want to know. 


Or maybe you do.


"Um...Atomic Firewater? What exactly is Atomic Firewater?"

"Well, we shoved like 8 Atomic Fireballs candies into the water bottle to invent a new drink."

"Oh."

"Isn't it awesome?" my son asked, looking as proud as one would be if one just invented fire itself. Or the wheel.

"Well...it just looks kinda gross. And where did you get the Fireballs?"

"At the Easter Egg Hunt at church on Sunday. Duh, don't you remember those, Mom?"

Silly me. I must have missed the Atomic Fireballs lying in the grass, alongside the jelly beans, chocolates, and other Easter candy. But then again, I am not a 9-year old boy.

"Did you guys taste it?"

"Of course. We made each other drink it."

"You made each other drink it?"

"Uh-huh."

Note to self: stop buying expensive, organic, 100% fruit juice. Children will be satisfied with Atomic Firewater. It might rot the teeth clear out of their heads, but whatevs. 

"And what did it taste like?"

"Well, it's hot and it buuuurrrrrnnns when it first goes down, but then it just tastes sugary and sweet. Kinda like the middle of a Fireball."

"Guys? Let's leave the Fireballs out of your water next time, mmmkay?"

"Okay, mom. We just had to see what it tastes like. Now we know."

Now they know.

And I do too.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

A political rant, if you will.

As you know, this is not a political blog.

Yes, I have strong political convictions, but I've just never been inspired to air them out here on my little corner of the internet, mostly because I'm not exactly one to court controversy. After all, you have your stance, and I have mine. Maybe it's the same stance as yours, or maybe it's polar opposite. Regardless, if you're looking for a political rant, you're not going to find one here.

Until today.

Our federal government here in the good old U-S-of-A is on the verge of shutting down, all because the powers-that-be on both sides of the aisle have decided to ball up their fists and stomp their feet and whine like children who just can't compromise and play nicely, which is a situation that I witness in my home on a daily basis, what with me being Queen of the Occasionally Disagreeable Shorties and all.

To which I say to the government, (just as I would say to a group of children) "Figure it out, kids. Agree and move along. None of you are going to get your way completely, so work it out. WORK. IT. OUT."

If only they could all learn to play nicely.

Of course, all this talk of government and its importance in our daily lives has me thinking of the school roller-skating party two weeks ago.

Yes, roller-skating.

Buckle up. It's tangent time.

Twice a year, the school my children attend hosts a skating party at the local rink. If you haven't been roller-skating since acid-washed jeans were all the rage, and The Pointer Sisters were doin' the Neutron Dance, then let me tell you that you are missing out.

Missing out, you guys.

Because you know you wanna.

Even the future Queen of England, Kate Middleton, loves a little roller action.

"Check it out! My moves snagged me a prince!"
You know you want to tie a pair of clunky, leather, four-wheeled skates onto your feet, glide across industrial grade carpeting to reach the edge of a wooden floor, and tentatively jump into the flow of skate traffic as the sounds of Ludacris pump over the loudspeakers.

You know you wanna.

And if you don't wanna?

Then you? Are a more mature person than I. Because once I am at the rink, all for "the sake of the kids", of course, I am 12 again. The smells of a skating rink are roughly the same as they were back in 1986, and I realize that although the music is different, the clothing is less acid-washed, and the fads have changed, some things stay the same. The smell is a potent combination of, in no particular order, pizza, feet, slushies, popcorn, and stinky shoes.

Intoxicating.

Well, kind of.
Still clunky, still fun. Germaphobes need not apply.
But it wasn't until last week, as the kids and I were on our way out the door after the school party was over, that a huge sign caught my eye.

How did I never know this?

Check it out! The government has roller skating laws! To make it all official-like, they even have fancy-schmancy, "Sections" too! Power to the roller skaters!

Do the bowlers know about this? What about the ice skaters?

Equal opportunity, yo.

Of course I know there are small business laws and big business laws. Road laws and air traffic laws. Contract law and family law. Laws, laws, laws. They exist to protect us.

And now? The humble roller skater is protected. Finally, respect for the rollers.

Phew.

Perhaps there are roller skating lobbyists devoted to the cause, and they look like this:

"Listen up, politicians! Roller skaters have rights too!"
Of course, they only wear their very best legwarmers when testifying before Congress.

The United States government simply cannot shut down. It cannot. What about the baby roller skaters? Who will protect them? Who will stand up for their roller skating rights?

The children. They are our future.

The baby roller skating children, that is.


Crack the whip, or skate backwards. Do whatever floats your boat.

Just don't go breaking any roller skating laws. Or...

Or...

Well, I don't know exactly what happens.

Is there a roller skating jail? Because if the government doesn't shut down, they totally need to get on that.

First things first, government. First things first.