Ape #2: Mom, do we have a suspefic bowl for popcorn?
Me: Specific
Ape #2: Suspefic
Me: Spe-cif-ic
Ape #2: Suspeficious, suspicious, suspefic
Me: You got it that time.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Health-conscious
The following conversation occurred while Ape #1 was in kindergarten...
Ape#1: Mom, can we stop at McDonald's on the way home?
Me: No, Mommy is on a diet.
Ape #1: Oh no, Mommy don't do that! I had diet-rrhea once and it was AWFUL.
Ape#1: Mom, can we stop at McDonald's on the way home?
Me: No, Mommy is on a diet.
Ape #1: Oh no, Mommy don't do that! I had diet-rrhea once and it was AWFUL.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Mini-mouse multiplying?
My garage has a distinct odor of mouse. Do you think that means there is more than one? I'm terrified that one day I'm going to go out to my garage and have beady little eyes looking at my from all angles. I mean, really, the possibilities are endless. This spring, I could pull out a cooler to go camping and find a family of mice playing poker inside, smoking stogies!
I would d-con the buggars, but there is one little problem with that....I hate dead mice more than I hate live mice.
A story...
Several years ago, while camping, I offered to empty the bucket of waste water. There I was, enjoying the fresh mountain air, sun shining on my back, walking to the drain, humming a happy little tune. My humming did not stop when I began to pour. No, my humming stopped when it was rudely interruped by plop, plop. I stopped, looked down, and found 2, possibly 3 dead mice on the grate of the drain. I can't recall exactly...I've tried to block the memory. After a seconds of muttering "oh god, oh god, oh god" to myself, I hightailed it out of there, tossing the bucket behind me as a put one foot in front of the other as quickly as I could, screaming the entire way. As I arrived back at camp, I had no fewer than 7 adults and equally as many kids looking at me like I had seen Elvis in the woods. When I breathlessly explained that dead mice were in the water bucket, the smirks came out and the laughs were stifled. The only question I was asked was, "where is the bucket?" My nephew, then 7-ish, volunteered to go retrieve the bucket, which remained in the general vicinity of the dead mice, an area I was now adamant to avoid. Several minutes later, the nephew and bucket returned. When asked what took so long, he explained, in vivid detail, how he poked and prodded the mice. Sick youth.
The best thing of all...Ape #1 had to write a book in school the following year. OF COURSE SHE WROTE ABOUT THE DEAD MICE. The only saving grace was that a bird pooped on Grandma while sitting around the campfire, and the children thought that was much funnier.
Alas, HOW DO I SOLVE MY MOUSE DILEMMA?
By the way, HAPPY NEW YEAR!
I would d-con the buggars, but there is one little problem with that....I hate dead mice more than I hate live mice.
A story...
Several years ago, while camping, I offered to empty the bucket of waste water. There I was, enjoying the fresh mountain air, sun shining on my back, walking to the drain, humming a happy little tune. My humming did not stop when I began to pour. No, my humming stopped when it was rudely interruped by plop, plop. I stopped, looked down, and found 2, possibly 3 dead mice on the grate of the drain. I can't recall exactly...I've tried to block the memory. After a seconds of muttering "oh god, oh god, oh god" to myself, I hightailed it out of there, tossing the bucket behind me as a put one foot in front of the other as quickly as I could, screaming the entire way. As I arrived back at camp, I had no fewer than 7 adults and equally as many kids looking at me like I had seen Elvis in the woods. When I breathlessly explained that dead mice were in the water bucket, the smirks came out and the laughs were stifled. The only question I was asked was, "where is the bucket?" My nephew, then 7-ish, volunteered to go retrieve the bucket, which remained in the general vicinity of the dead mice, an area I was now adamant to avoid. Several minutes later, the nephew and bucket returned. When asked what took so long, he explained, in vivid detail, how he poked and prodded the mice. Sick youth.
The best thing of all...Ape #1 had to write a book in school the following year. OF COURSE SHE WROTE ABOUT THE DEAD MICE. The only saving grace was that a bird pooped on Grandma while sitting around the campfire, and the children thought that was much funnier.
Alas, HOW DO I SOLVE MY MOUSE DILEMMA?
By the way, HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Update
Ape #1 saw the mouse in the garage today. After much screaming, the vegetarian, animal-lover that she is advised me to get a mouse trap.
I don't think I can kill Cinderella's friend.
I don't think I can kill Cinderella's friend.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Public humiliation
Ape #1: "Mom, while we are at the mall today, can you pretend to be my cool older sister instead of my mom?"
Me: "But everyone who knows you will know that I'm your mom and not your sister."
Ape #1: "I know. It's all the people that I don't know. I'll be to embarrassed to be seen at the mall with my MOM."
Me: "But how will they know that I'm your sister? Should I wear a nametag?"
Ape #1: "Hmm. I wonder why I might be embarrassed to be with my mom."
Note: I blew our cover in the first store when I stated that my daughter needed a dressing room. So uncool.
Me: "But everyone who knows you will know that I'm your mom and not your sister."
Ape #1: "I know. It's all the people that I don't know. I'll be to embarrassed to be seen at the mall with my MOM."
Me: "But how will they know that I'm your sister? Should I wear a nametag?"
Ape #1: "Hmm. I wonder why I might be embarrassed to be with my mom."
Note: I blew our cover in the first store when I stated that my daughter needed a dressing room. So uncool.
Shopping list
While out shopping today, each ape was given a list of three items to remember. When asked to recall his, Ape #2 provided the following list:
"Dishpan, dust soap, and chewies."
Close.
"Dishpan, dust soap, and chewies."
Close.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Of mice and men
I saw a mouse the size of a peanut today in my garage. I threw a silent fit, because, little-known fact, apes cower in the presence of mice. I, in particular, am terrified of the little buggers.
A story to illuminate my point...
Ape #1 has a cat. This cat is quite amusing and often serves as our sentry. Every night, Momo jumps to the plant shelves, ambles to the front door and stands guard for about five minutes. He just stands there, looking at the door. We call it "securing the perimeter."
On a recent evening, I looked out the french doors of my office to see Momo guarding something small and furry. He was real eager to keep it away from us. I got a little closer, then realized I was looking at a dead mouse the size of a key. Like all good mothers, I locked myself in the office and called for my daughter to come retrieve the deceased mouse. She came to investigate, realized that "mouse" meant "mouse" and she proceeded to lock herself in my bedroom and jump on the bed. Just in case the dead mouse came to get her. Silly, I thought, as I sought refuge in my office. Momo wisened up and took his prize to a more secure location: the hallway. By now, Ape #2 decided there was enough fuss that he needed to get involved. Rather than rescue us from the carcass, he decided to scream incessantly.
The three of us gathered to concoct a plan to get the dead mini-mouse out of our house. Plan A: I call the father of Apes for assistance. Yes, he lives across town. But, hey, this was a crisis. No answer. I left a pitiful message. Plan B: Ape #1 calls the father of Apes. Again, no answer. Plan C: Ape #1 calls her friend who has a snake. Snakes eat mice. Therefore, she must be okay with touching dead mice, right? So, at 9:45 on a Saturday night we call up a 12 year-old girl to rescue us. I decide that plan is foolish, and I'm a grown human trained to save lives. I can get rid of a mouse corpse. I touch dead people all the time...well, frequently enough.
I grab a paper cup. I put on shoes and gloves. And, after fits of feet-stomping and squealing, I scooped that damn dead mouse up and ran him to the garage. All the while, Ape #1 is giving a blow-by-blow description of the events to her friend on the phone.
That's why I'm the cool mom.
Needless to say, I was less than thrilled to see a live, mini-mouse scurrying across my garage today.
A story to illuminate my point...
Ape #1 has a cat. This cat is quite amusing and often serves as our sentry. Every night, Momo jumps to the plant shelves, ambles to the front door and stands guard for about five minutes. He just stands there, looking at the door. We call it "securing the perimeter."
On a recent evening, I looked out the french doors of my office to see Momo guarding something small and furry. He was real eager to keep it away from us. I got a little closer, then realized I was looking at a dead mouse the size of a key. Like all good mothers, I locked myself in the office and called for my daughter to come retrieve the deceased mouse. She came to investigate, realized that "mouse" meant "mouse" and she proceeded to lock herself in my bedroom and jump on the bed. Just in case the dead mouse came to get her. Silly, I thought, as I sought refuge in my office. Momo wisened up and took his prize to a more secure location: the hallway. By now, Ape #2 decided there was enough fuss that he needed to get involved. Rather than rescue us from the carcass, he decided to scream incessantly.
The three of us gathered to concoct a plan to get the dead mini-mouse out of our house. Plan A: I call the father of Apes for assistance. Yes, he lives across town. But, hey, this was a crisis. No answer. I left a pitiful message. Plan B: Ape #1 calls the father of Apes. Again, no answer. Plan C: Ape #1 calls her friend who has a snake. Snakes eat mice. Therefore, she must be okay with touching dead mice, right? So, at 9:45 on a Saturday night we call up a 12 year-old girl to rescue us. I decide that plan is foolish, and I'm a grown human trained to save lives. I can get rid of a mouse corpse. I touch dead people all the time...well, frequently enough.
I grab a paper cup. I put on shoes and gloves. And, after fits of feet-stomping and squealing, I scooped that damn dead mouse up and ran him to the garage. All the while, Ape #1 is giving a blow-by-blow description of the events to her friend on the phone.
That's why I'm the cool mom.
Needless to say, I was less than thrilled to see a live, mini-mouse scurrying across my garage today.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
