Social ineptness communication if it

Social ineptness

if it was all in email
I’d be a rock star

Here’s a nice story that shouldn’t be embarrassing, but it is:

The wee one had dance class this morning. It was awesome, as usual. It stuns me how he is able to stand in a line, pay attention, follow directions, etc. all while having never done any of the same at home.

Anyway, dance class was over and the teacher, was chatting with the moms about the upcoming recital (it’s not until April, but the costumes have to be ordered really soon). She was saying how the wee one is going to be the super star of the recital because he’s the only boy (and because, of course, he’s cute and smart, etc.).

At first she said she wanted to get him a tux to wear, but the problem is that a tux won’t match the costumes she wants for the girls. She showed a picture of the possible little girl costumes and they were adorable – green leotard with little fairy wings attached at the back. And a pink crown.

So the teach was all, “I just don’t know what do with the wee one, though, a tux isn’t going to match at all” and I said he could just be Peter Pan – it would totally match the little girl costumes.

Here’s where my social ineptness comes in… the teacher freaks. She’s all “You’ve made my day! That’s perfect!” and she hits me. Like whack, right in the arm. Just kind of a smack with the catalogue she was showing us. So what do I do? This is so embarrassing… I blush and look at the floor while I say something moronic like “he can have a hat.”

I was completely unable to joke around. I had no funny retort or “bah, it’s nothing” hand motion. I blushed and looked at the floor. Like she was FLIRTING with me or something. Now, I know she wasn’t flirting with me, but my reaction was the same as it used to be in high school when boys would slug me or flick me in the ear or something like that.

What do you say when a veritable stranger smacks you in a friendly way? I’m just not a real handsy person. I don’t know how to react. I wish I knew how to smack people back and be all, “GET OUT” like Elaine on Seinfeld, but, alas, my jokey social skills are stunted from about the 9th grade.

Anyway, I know this is the dumbest reason to be embarrassed ever, but I’m mortified that I blushed at the dance teacher.

Mor. Ti. Fied.

P-U rotten dead thing stench


rotten dead thing stench
wee one wrinkles nose then says
“yuck, smells like poopies”

Got in the car this morning and nearly passed out from the smell. Seriously – it was like something had crawled in there and died. I figured it must have been some old sippy cup filled with milk or something, but no sippy cups were found and the smell was really much worse than old milk.

So the wee one and I exited the car and began a CSI operation to figure out what had died. We looked for smooshed squirrels tagging along under the car; we looked for rotten cheerios and nutrigrain bars in the back seat – nothing.

Finally, being the intelligent woman I am, I popped the trunk.

Barf-o-rama. We found the source of the stink.

Holding my hand over my face I reached in and found a lone bag from the grocery store. Inside the bag: 1 gallon of milk, 1 pound of chicken thighs. From our grocery shopping excursion. Yesterday morning.

26 hours in 90 degree heat does evil things to a gallon of milk and a pound of chicken, so beware.

I’m off to disinfect my trunk now. Joy.

birfday narcissist’s day off puts


narcissist’s day off
puts others ahead of self
cooks asparagus

Today is my hubby’s birthday. He’s very lo-key about these kinds of things, so I always want to do something crazy just to get a reaction from him. My plan for this year is to surprise him by creating a dinner full of things I hate.

Because I’m the one who does most of the grocery shopping and cooking, I tend to buy things that are a) easy to cook and b) tasty. There is some arguement to be had over whether or not the things I think are tasty are, indeed, actually tasty. But I like ’em and I do the shopping, so there.

At least, that’s usually my selfless attitude about it. Ahem. But today is different. For the hubby’s birthday I have amassed a slew of dinner items that he hardly ever gets to eat. It’s not that I actually hate this stuff, it’s just that it’s not up there with chocolate chip cookies and cheeseburgers, so under normal circumstances I’m not that interested.

Anyway… my great sacrifice for tonight’s dinner includes:

Salmon – not my favorite fish, but the hubby digs it
Asparagus – not a fan of the smelly pee after-effects
Wine – red wine makes me ANGRY. White wine makes me sleepy. I’m a tequila kinda gal.
Oatmeal cookies – Why eat something sweet if it has no chocolate in it?

Hopefully, after seeing the pure delight on my hubby’s face as he eats his salmon and then has smelly asparagus pee for two days, I’ll find a way to be more selfless in the future.

We’ll see.

ass-clenching and puke blowing vocabulary

ass-clenching and puke blowing

a different colored horse than

You know that deal when you hear something frightening and your sphincter tightens up? That happened to me today.

I was reading the newspaper when the wee one yelled from across the room, “MOMMY! PUKE ON THE FLOOR!”

[sphincter clenches…. now]

My shoulders slump and I think, “How can that be? I didn’t hear any retching. Not even from the dog.” I look up. I don’t see any puke, but that doesn’t necessarily mean none is there. With trepidation I ask the wee one where the puke is. He motions for me to follow him. We tramp across the living room to a spot by the TV. There’s no puke. Only various crap (of the plastic, stamped with “lego” nature) and a yellow recorder. Also known as a flute.


“A flute?” I ask. There’s a flute on the floor?”
The wee one looks at me like, “Duh,” then he says, “Can you blow my puke, mommy?”
“Sure, son. I can blow your puke. But you first.”

I got nuthin the bastards

I got nuthin

the bastards got me
sucked in by their evil ways
(and their honks and toots)

Those damn teletubbies. They don’t make any sense when they talk. They have that scary babyfaced sun. They have those strange showerhead looking things that sprout out of the ground. Yet, somehow they’ve sucked me in.

This morning I was fixing breakfast when I heard the wee one just bust out laughing. I looked up and saw Lala (yes, I know their names) with a giant cookie stuck on his/her head. The wee one was literally rolling around on the ground gasping in laughter “Lala have cookie in hair!” which was really funny, because Lala has this one, sort of, thing sticking up off the top of it’s head. I hadn’t really thought of it as hair before.

So there’s Lala, looking around in surprise, all “what the hell are you other teletubbies laughing at?” And the other teletubbies are giggling and pointing. Meanwhile, the wee one is about to have a stroke, and the whole scene is so funny I just can’t help but laugh, too.

“Lala has cookie in hair.”


When did stuff like this become the funniest part of my day?

Two random thoughts actually fall

Two random thoughts

actually fall
billowing clouds and cool temps
very confusing

First thought:
I can’t believe we’re actually having an autumn this year – or at least this week. The temperatures are in the low 80’s, the sky is blue and beautiful, the breeze is rustling the trees… I feel like I’ve been transported out of Texas without anyone telling me. Usually we go from 110 degrees to about 95 degrees and then it’s February, we get one ice storm, and it’s summer again. It’s so WEIRD to have slightly cool temps. I don’t know what to do. Open the windows? Bask in the glory of nature? I’m so used to hiding in the air-conditioning, I have no response to this oddity at all (well except to wonder what in the hell is going on).

second thought:
babies and dens… not like rooms with paneling and corduroy couches where some kid in the seventh grade tries to feel you up… I mean dens like dogs have… tight-fitting walls and a low ceiling where you’re sort of smothered hugged by the space. Is it a proven fact that babies like dens? The wee one loves this stuff. He’s always getting himself into tight little places – especially the area of the desk where the desktop tower is supposed to go. The tower was long ago moved to higher ground, so now the wee one crams himself into the space , pulls his knees to his chin and gleefully shouts about how he’s in his “cave, mommy!” “It’s a cave mommy!”

He also gets into cabinets, climbs under the hanging clothes in the closet, hunkers down in the dry bathtub and sits in the space under the vanity in my bathroom. The dog and the baby are constantly duking it out for den space. Cute… yet strange.