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…finding grace to help in the time of need…

Archive for humor

Read the fine print!

easy-bake-oven

We weren’t surprised when Courtney asked her boyfriend, Aubrey, to get her an Easy Bake Oven for her 16th birthday.  Not in the least. 

The girl can’t cook Easy Mac.  As soon as the mico-fast cheese product and macaroni hit the market Courtney convinced me to waste my money on it.  One day I smelled something awful.  Kinda’ like burnt popcorn.  I asked the girls what it was.  Courtney had a sheepish grin on her face. 

She was feeling all ambitious and decided to cook up some Easy Mac.  So she put the noodles in the bowl.   And then put the bowl in the microwave and turned it on for the required time.  I’m no Alton Brown, but it would appear that she missed a step.  Something important.  Like the water.  It was right there on the box.  AND the cheese product envelope.  She did finally graduate to correctly microwave cooking Easy Mac.

Congratulations, Courtney.

So, like I said, we weren’t surprised.  When Aubrey’s mom, Michelle, asked if she “reallly” wanted and Easy Bake Oven, I assured her that yes, yes she did.  She, in fact, needed it.  And if Aubrey is going to even consider a remote possibility of a future with her, perhaps it would be in his best interest to get the oven.  And then later she could try more challenging things.  Like perhaps a microwave cookbook.

dsc002641 Here, she summons the aid of the toddler.  Smart move!  You just might be surprised, Court!

When she pulled out the tiny little accessories she had this look on her face:

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And uttered these words:  “HUH?  I’m not FIVE!”

Really Courtney?  Really?  Next time read the fine print.

AGES: 8 & Up

Sure, she’s up in age from 8.  But you just wouldn’t know it… 

Anticipation

Anticipation

Potholders?

Potholders?

Careful, Courtney!  Those are cooked with a lightbulb.

 

Cookies, I think?

Cookies, I think?

RUNNNNNN!

RUNNNNNN!

That’s it… runnn, Sophie!  RUN!

Courtney, don’t you worry.  I’ll write Hasbro and ask them to make an Easier Bake Oven.
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Fatherly Advice

 Sophie was hiding in the pantry.

Caught Ya!

Caught Ya!

Eating a sucker.

After I snapped the picture, I took it from her and reminded her that she is not allowed to get candy without asking.  But I think she knew that seeing as how she was hiding in the pantry while eating it.

“Sorrrry,” she said, and then held out her hand to get it back.  I told her I was going to throw it away because she wasn’t supposed to get it and Dad was cooking supper.

There was weeping and gnashing of teeth.  I shared the news of the sucker trauma with Joe.

His fatherly advice:

“Sophie, you don’t closet it, baby.”

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Desperately Seeking Blog Makeover

Blog needs facelift.

Blogger research reveals excellent resources available.

Blogger funds minimal.

Willing to trade great wisdom advice what-not-to-do’s on toddlers and teens for fabulous makeover.

Thoughts and suggestions welcome.

** DONATIONS HAVE STARTED PEOPLE!  PLEASE NOTE THE COMMENT SECTION AND DONNA AT THIRSTY’S COMMENT!

NOW I ASK, DO YOU REALLY LOVE ME THAT MUCH? OR IS THE READABILITY OF THE BLOG AS BAD AS I THINK IT IS?   😉

I AM still the boss!

I can only take so much sass from a teenager trapped in a toddler’s body.  It’s borderline abuse.  Really.

When Sophie returned from the pantry with Dexter’s dog bicuits, I told her to put them up because he was outside. 

“But I just want to give him a biscuit,” she whined.

“No.  He’s outside.  He doesn’t need a biscuit right now.”

“BUT…I JUST want to give him a biscuit.”

“No, Sophie.  Not now.  He’s out!  SIDE!”

“BUT!  I JUST WANT TO GIVE HIM A BISCUIT!”  Shriek, shrill, shrill.

“NO.  You’re not giving him a biscuit right now!” 

“YES me am!”  Sob, sob, sob.

“NO you’re not!”

“DON’T SAY THAT!  I mam (am)!”

“NO you’re NOT!  I’m the boss!”

“NO, I’M THE BOSS!”

Heavy sigh…

If she doesn’t want to do what she’s told—take a nap, pick up toys, take a nap, go to bed, take a nap (There’s a theme here.)—she says, “No ma’am.”

Well, she’s polite about it.  But when I insist, her “no ma’ams” get a little more high pitched.

My attempts to direct her strong-will towards obedience are wearing me down.  But I’m just not willing to surrender.  How much “be quite, Mommy”, “STOPPPP, MOMMM”, “NO you DON”T say that”, “No ME NOT”,can a mom take?

And if that’s not enough… when I demand that she STOP sassing me or she can’t think of something at the moment (I’m not quite sure which one.) she clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth and shakes her head back and forth.  Sometimes she defies me with several clicks.

It’s just awful.

This evening after taking a bath with her, I’d had just about enough of her whining and sassing.  I plopped her on the potty and began dressing her and brushing her hair.  A meltdown ensued.

“DON’T!  STOPPPP it, MOMMY!”

“Don’t tell me to stop it!  You don’t sass me, Sophie.”

“BE QUIET!”

“THAT’S IT!  Mom told you not to sass!  No more T.V. for the rest of the day!”

After much wailing and gnashing of teeth and insisting that I “DON’T turn the T.V. off”, she tried to apologize.  “I’m sorry, Mommy!”

“Okay, I’m glad you’re sorry.  I forgive you but you still have to be punished.”

“NO, I’m NOT PUNISHED!?”

Good grief.

She IS still punished.  At the moment she’s in time out.  I told her to come back in my room because Courtney is watching T.V. in the living room and she’s punished from T.V.  She shook her head and made a noise with her mouth.  It sounded like she was trying to spit at me.  So I put her in time out.

Is there support out there?

As I type she whines, “I’m through whining!”  Like that’s why she’s in time out.  She does that often.  I KNOW she knows why she’s there.  And just in case she doesn’t, I remind her when it’s time for her to get up.  Just like Supernanny. 

Did you catch that she whines while she tells me she’s not whining?

That scenario just played out.  Then I told her she could go get a few more toys to bring in my room to play but she could not stay in the living room because “she’s punished from the T.V.”

So she agrees with me and heads to the living room to “get her toys” throwing a very pitful, “sorry”, my way. 

But she’s still in there.

I’m losing, aren’t I?

…still the Boss?

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Stay Tuned…

Stay tuned for upcoming posts… at a blog near you…well, actually, right here AND Ginger’s blog!

Driving Skills Q & A:  Interview With Ginger

The Daily Mercies–Fort Jackson Bound (scheduled for this upcoming Sunday)

Where’d You Get YOUR Driving Skills–Courtney? (with pics, or maybe one pic…but stay tuned)

And now… a word from our Sponsor:

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Then I started my own blog.  And you know what?  Ordinary happenings became the stuff of posts.  Great posts?  Hmm… you decide.  Who knows if last month’s hit and run won’t make for an awesome post?  (Hey, that’s coming, too!)  It’s fun, it’s informative, and it’s a great way to communicate with others who share many of your own struggles and questions.  Fun, Food (well, in the form of recipes and pictures), Fellowship and sharing the Father and His Word.  Hey, I like those F’s.

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Where’d You Get YOUR Driving Skills—Cammie?

I’ll be picking on Cammie and her driving skills today.  Because that’s the kind of mom I am.  Picking on my daugher while she’s away at basic training.

Cammie planned to wash her car one day this past summer and wanted me to move mine and Joe’s Mountaineers out of the garage so that she could pull in and vacuume hers.  I told her to go ahead and move my car out.  The look on her face screamed, “ARE YOU SURE?  IT’S REALLLLLY A TIGHT SQUEEZE….”

I ignored that look.  Moments later, she came back inside with a different look.  A perplexed, yet guilty look.  I followed her outside.  First, she points to the metal stripping on the side of the garage that has peeled away and is flashing like a neon sign:  BEWARE OF TEEN DRIVERS!

With a questionable serious look on her face, she points to the long piece of stripped metal and asks, “was THIS like this?”

SERIOUSLY?  “Uh, no Cammie.”

But it gets better.  She then escorts me over to my Mountaineer that is now parked in the driveway and points to the driver’s side of the bumper which is now sporting scuff marks and a few scrapes.  She manages the same look as moments before, and asks, “was THIS like that?”

SERRRIOUSSSSLY?  “No, Cammie.  No.  THAT was NOT like that.”  I wasn’t sure what else to say after that.  I scratched my head and asked her if she “remembered” anything happening while she was backing out.  Clearly it was just too traumatic to recall.

She managed to buff some of the scuff marks off of the bumper while I pounded the metal strip back in place.  “Just wait a while and I’ll tell Joedaddy.  It’ll be fine,”  I reassured her.

A few small nails later, and you can barely tell the “accident in question” ever happened.

Funny thing, though… even after our clean up, Joe noticed rather quickly that “THAT was NOT like that before”.  Guess he’s more perceptive (Okay, I’m not sure that was the right choice of words!  But I think you get the point…it was a bit late when I posted this.  SOMEBODY had to go and do a blog scavenger hunt that kept me up hunting realllly late…. Go check out Shannon at rocksinmydryer.  Sorry…no link…I’m tired!  Told you I was up hunting…)  than Cammie.  After all, she did have to point it all out to me. 😉

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Where’d You Get YOUR Driving Skills—Nana?

Nana (our Mom) didn’t learn to drive from a drunk Grandaddy.  Instead, she learned from the man who learned from the drunk Grandaddy.

I don’t recall what age she was when Dad taught her how to drive, but I know she was 33 when she got her license.  So, technically, she has about a three year gain on Ginger at this point.  Your times up, Ginger!

Mom was a stay at home mom when we were little.  Other than helping Dad—a self-employed painter—on occasion, she was home with us when we were growing up.  The driving demands of mothers at that time was nothing to be compared to today.  Getting rides to doctor’s appointments summed up the extent of her dependency on friends.  It wasn’t until we were playing ball that she realized it was time to get that license.  As she puts it, “calling a friend for a ride to the doctor is one thing, to take your kids to ball practice is another.”

Mom drove before she got her license, though.  I’m not sure how long that went on, but I can tell you how it ended.  An officer pulled her over one day for a myriad of violations that she doesn’t completely recall.  She had an improper tag which might have caught his eye.  But there was more to the story.  She remembers him approaching the window and asking with a very stern voice, “let’s see…where should we start lady?”  He read off a list of violations before he asked “the question”.

She had no insurance.  But she knew what he wanted.  Her license.  She laid her head on the steering wheel when he asked for it.

He looked at her in disbelief.  “Lady, don’t tell me you had your license revoked?”

“No.  I don’t have one.” 

He was no doubt exasperated at this point.  “What am I gonna’ do with you, Lady?”  At least he was gentleman.  Notice how he kept calling her lady?  That’s quoted, people.

Mom threw herself on his mercy.  “Sir, I have four kids.  My mother is dead.  We’re from Florida.  I don’t have anyone.  If you put me in jail, who’s gonna’ take care of my kids?  You?”  (Good one, Mom!)

He told her that her face and car were etched in his mind.  If he so much as saw her on a side street, she would go to jail if she did not get her license and get her car legal.

So that’s what it took.  That and ball practice. 

Driving without a license seems to be a problem in this family.  Here’s a story about MY driving skills that had a big effect on the Nana…

As I said in Ginger’s post, I learned to drive as a teen, but didn’t get my license until I was 19.  But, like much of my family, I drove without a license.

While Dad worked out of state for quite some time, Mom walked to work to a nearby K&B (now Rite Aid).  She saved up enough cash to buy a car.  If I remember correctly, it cost around $400.  Stop giggling!  Sure, it was a hoopty, but it was “her” hoopty—bought and paid for by the sweat of her brow.  She was proud.

She let me drive it one night to pick up my friend, Jennifer, from work.  Jennifer was two years younger than me, but she had her license.  Mom let me go but insisted that I let her drive after I picked her up.

I didn’t.  Nope.  “I” wanted to drive.  The road to Jennifer’s house was “a long and winding road”.  I recall a bit of play in the steering wheel, not paying attention, driving off the road a bit, then overcorrecting BIG TIME.  I drove across the other side of the road smack-dab into a tree.

We were staring straight up that tree with the headlights beaming, the engine roaring and radio playing.  But all we could hear was the sound of our screams.  There were no seatbelt laws at that time.  Jen slid over to the driver’s side.  There we were…scrunched together, looking from the tree to each other, screaming to the tops of our lungs with our mouths wide-open.  It was like a bad horror movie.

A teen boy was nearby and heard the commotion.  He drove us down to Jen’s house where we decided Jen would be the one to call Mom.  We didn’t call the police.  What would we say?  I’m sure Mom didn’t want to bank on history repeating with a merciful Officer.  That was the last time I saw that car.  We found out the next day it had been towed.  The towing fees and repair costs were more than the car was worth.  I had smashed Mom’s pride and joy.

Mom was forgiving.  But to this day, Jen still acts like I can’t drive.  She’s a nervous wreck when she rides with me, which in turn makes me a nervous wreck.  Let it go, Jen.  Let it go. 🙂

That’s another look into the driving skills of our family.  So, where’d you get YOUR driving skills?  If you’d like to share a story, leave us a comment or a link to a post about your driving mishaps.

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