Cause and Effect

Wondering if you are a foodie? Shop at Wal-Mart and see if you don’t come out frustrated.

Wondering if you should have children? Borrow three children and take them along with you to Wal-Mart.

Wondering if you still struggle with anxiety and/or irritability? Take your own three children along with you to Wal-Mart.

Not sure whether that neon blue frosting on your child’s cupcake is artificially flavored and colored? Watch for pond slime diarrhea the next day.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

For every aisle of frozen fish fillet, there is the gaping hole of fresh bunches of cilantro.

For every idealistic preggo or wistful grandma, there is a mother clinging just barely to this edge of sanity.

For every woman struggling for balance, there is one thrown out of whack by hooligans hanging off her shopping cart.

For every over-zealous and genetically engineered diet choice, there is a revolting bowel movement.

No shit.

Children, Humor

Riddle Me This One

A zebra walks into a bar – no wait, that’s the beginning of another type of story entirely.

Imagine this if you can.

Nine children invited to a birthday party.

Nine (different) stuffed safari animals hidden about the yard.

Nine children loosed upon the camouflaged beasts.

In a perfect equation, each child would find one animal and go home with said animal.

In reality, there are any number of permutations:

Overzealous child with 20/20 (or x-ray) vision finds more than one (or all) animal(s)
Each child finds one animal, but it is not the one he or she wants
An all-out brawl, not unlike a lion mauling a zebra on the savannah, ensues over who gets which animal

Now imagine you’re taking one of those standardized tests that are all the rage these days and solve for Z (which is for zebra, by the way). What is the solution? What say you?

Well?

Humor, parenting

To all Ingenious Fathers Everywhere

He said, “Kenny look!” and pointed out in the hallway. Even before I could think my head turned around and I followed Dad’s finger. When I saw nothing and looked back Dad was smiling a mile a minute, acting like he hadn’t done anything but I noticed that his toothbrush was gone. I let him know he didn’t fool me. “Dad, how come you always hide your toothbrush, why don’t you keep yours with ours?”

Dad laughed. “Well, Kenny, I guess I don’t keep my toothbrush with the rest of yours because unlike your mother, I was a little boy once myself.”

I thought about this for a second, then said, “What does that mean?”

Dad picked up my toothbrush and said, “Look at this, not only is this instrument perfect for brushing teeth, it has other wonderful uses too. You see, Kenny, I know that in a little boy’s eyes there isn’t anything in the world that is better for general cleaning than a toothbrush, and the greatest thing about it is that with a good rinse afterward no one can tell what it was used for.

“I also know that the best toothbrush for cleaning stuff is always someone else’s. So, rather than wondering what my toothbrush last cleaned, I think it’s better that it only goes places that I know about.”

— from The Watsons Go to Birmingham: 1963 by Christopher Paul Curtis

Children, Humor, parenting

Cabin Fever

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you hear it? The sound of parents everywhere in cold climes screaming in agony. The agony put upon them by their darling dears who turn into a pack of wild screaming mimis when the mercury dips below a certain point and there is no chance of booting them outside.

It’s all in my head, right? I’m looking at the calendar and thinking enough time has elapsed for the end of winter to be here. It’s a whole time warp thing. I’m not literally trapped in the house. They’re not any more annoying than usual. But like Guns n’ Roses screeching toward Noriega at the sound of speed, I am cracking under the pressure. The sonic wave is too much to bear.

The fact that it’s all in my head really is the point, too. But not in an imaginary sort of way. Cabin fever most definitely is a psychological phenomenon. I am going out of my head. I have reminded, cajoled, spoken sternly, screamed, and threatened to throttle. I have asked my husband if all the rules I’ve taught them oozed out of their ears. “Do I have to retrain them?” actually passed my lips. I gesticulated wildly that the area surrounding the back of the couch/occasional table/armchair is not a “trick zone”. I started singing the Coke commercial song, as in “I’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony”, perhaps deliriously hoping for just such a scenario in my house.

I may just have to buy a case of something with a bit more punch than Coke and sip and bear it – until hibernation is over.

Humor, motherhood, parenting

How to Lose Your Keys

Step One: Start at t-minus 10 minutes till you have to leave the house (preferably to pick up your child from school).

Step Two: Put away all the groceries you just purchased in your small window of kid-free-dom – even the dry goods that can wait until your child safely arrives home. Run up and down the basement stairs to the pantry in a frantic exercise routine (it’s all you get anyway).

Step Three: Stash the candy canes you bought at deep discount in a spot where they won’t be found till next Christmas (you hope) – there’s so much sugar in them they’ll taste the same a year from now anyway.

Step Four: Forgo carrying a purse in favor of a fistful of keys – car and house on two separate rings. Better yet, at least one with no ring.

Step Five: Cram as many cardboard recyclables (empty now from all the granola bars you oh-so-efficiently placed in their tins) as you can into your other fist so as to deposit them in the bin in the garage on your way to the car. This is so much easier and convenient than making a separate trip.

Step Six: Use both hands to crush said cardboard into the overflowing recycling bin.

Step Seven: Dance around all the junk in the garage to locate the stockpile of reusable grocery bags that would’ve been useful about an hour ago. Pick things up, move them around, especially with the hand holding the mess of keys.

Step Eight: Throw reusable bags into trunk with great aplomb and slam the lid.

Step Nine: Run to the driver’s side door in a panic to hit the trunk release because you think you just shut your keys in there.

Step Ten: Pull apart every reusable bag, snapping one of those infernal plastic liners meant to stabilize the bottom of the bag because it’s so friggin’ cold out.

Step Eleven: Don’t find your keys.

Step Twelve: Avoid looking at your watch because you know your 10 minutes is close to elapsing.

Step Thirteen: Begin to fling toilet paper rolls and the mangled remains of Monster High boxes out of the recycling bin imagining your state-of-the-art, extremely expensive electronic key fob in a heap at the dump.

Step Fourteen: Remember the slight echo of that rubberized plastic fob hitting cement, somewhere.

Step Fifteen: Dance around all the junk in the garage again, lay nearly on your belly, and find key under red wagon.

Step Sixteen: Arrive at child’s school directly behind the mom who called ahead saying she’d be late and yet still stands on the steps in a sweaty panic. Act as if nothing happened and you meant to arrive at this time, key in hand.

Children, Humor, motherhood, parenting

Yoga with Kids

By adhering to the following prerequisites, you too can have a complete yogic experience with your children.

image from NPR

Start by choosing your mat. When your children see you roll out yours, they will immediately clamor for one of the remaining mats (tip: be sure to have only one of each color and one less than the number of children).
Place yours in an open area, free from obstacles and other people. Your children will fill in the void.
Set your yoga strap at your side, easily accessible during your practice. Your children will be able to grasp it easily as well to whip each other.
Don’t forget yoga blocks – in case you need extra support during a stretch. Or a teething ring or projectile.
Clear your mind. Your children will ping around like ping-pong balls no matter what venomous thoughts you entertain.
Lie in repose. Ignore that fact that a toddler’s thick skull could sucker punch you in the gut at any moment.
Oh, and be sure to slide your sandals off before lying down, but keep them close by. Your particularly feisty child may need a missile to launch at you for not arranging her not-right-color mat properly.
Range through the poses at your own pace – not that of your instructor. You need to adjust for puppies crawling through your downward dog, snakes wriggling under your bridge, monkeys hanging onto your tree.
Accept your body as it is. Don’t force the sore muscles of your shoulder or your tight hamstrings. Your children will do that when they knock into you, sending your warrior tumbling.
Move your yoga practice outside for inspiration and variety. Tell your children they may play nearby if they tire of yoga. They will tire of yoga, but will stay right by your side, taunting and pleading for snacks and your attention.
Scan your body for areas of tension. Notice the up-tick in your blood pressure as your children attempt acrobatics off the couch onto the yoga mats.
Do not abandon your practice before it is finished. You came here to find inner peace and relax, dammit.

Chopping Potatoes

and other metaphors for motherhood

Category Archives: Humor