Tag: funny

Little Guys

~ Judy ~ 4 Comments
BOYS BEING BOYLIKE
BOYS BEING BOYLIKE

I never had any sons. Never missed it. Had three daughters and was glad of it. Now here I am with these grandsons, and it’s interesting. It isn’t really what I expected at all.

Looking back, I suppose I thought of little boys as just small men. And being just miniature men, I assumed, they must be somewhat oblivious. Unaware. Insensitive. Less drama, you see. This is not the case, I know that now.

For example, when Christian was about five, he got a sliver in his foot at my house and his mother had to use a needle to take it out. Try to take it out, that is, since death by sliver was imminent. It took a long time and everyone involved was an emotional wreck when it was over. And then there was the time Toddler Bret bumped his head at his sister’s birthday party, climbed into an armchair, and refused to budge until a decent level of attention had been payed. So there’s another tragedian in the family.

Baby Lee, on the other hand, looks to be a typically placid male. I babysat over there last weekend, and one of the instructions was: when you take the dog out, be sure to put Lee in his bouncer, because if you leave him on the floor the other kids will roll him. This is the kind of thing up with which he will put. He lies on the living room floor like a rock, people and dogs stepping over him with impunity on their way to somewhere else, and doesn’t flinch.

Of course, boys can be more aggressive than girls. Christian exhibited a fondness for sticks before he could walk. Sticks, stick-like objects, anything really with the appearance of a weapon. And then it seems all males are born with the wrestling gene. Little boys wrestle little boys, big boys wrestle big boys, little boys wrestle big boys, men wrestle little boys, big boys and anyone else willing to roll around on the floor. What is that about? Wrestling makes me nervous.

Finally, it is commonly held that girls are more verbal than boys. Yet it seems to me that every one of my three grandsons started jabbering away as soon as they discovered their vocal chords. Not that you could understand what they were saying, but why would that deter them. Even Baby Lee is turning into a blabber, although I put that down to the influence of a sister who talks from sunrise to sunset and a brother who talks almost as much lest he go unnoticed. It’s noisy at their house, that’s all I’m saying.

So what have we learned? We have learned that boys are different and complex. Toddler Bret is apt to chuck objects across the room (train cars, food) without regard for human welfare. And in the middle of the night he only wants his mother. Christian finds it amusing to throw ear-splitting fake grenades on the floor two feet from his unsuspecting grandmother. And then he tells me he’s sorry he drooled on the pillow in his sleep because it means I have to wash the pillowcase. Baby Lee will play by himself on the floor uncomplaining. And when you pick him up he smiles and smiles, happy to be noticed.

But mostly I have learned this: there is a sweetness in little boys that is so touching you almost can’t bear it. It can put a knot in your stomach and a lump in your throat. It can surely break your heart.

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Stories from Drawer #3

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments
PALEOLITHIC BARBIE?
PALEOLITHIC BARBIE?

I am having my house painted. I mean I am having my entire house painted, every room, every closet, every wall, every ceiling. And of course, once you commit to painting every room in the house, you notice all the other stuff that’s been irking you for the last twenty years, and hey, why not put those projects on the list too, until you realize you have kind of a big thing going on.

I can’t say why, after living with my home’s flaws for years, I chose this particular time to tackle them. I hate to think it might be because my subconscious knows I haven’t long for this world. (Time to get your affairs in order, spruce up the house before the kids have to put it on the market.) That’s how my mind works. That’s exactly how my mind works.

The painters arrive tomorrow. The first thing they’re doing is removing all the 1970s-era popcorn ceilings. It’s a fairly messy job and it means everything in the area where they’re working has to be moved out. Consequently, I have the contents of the guest bedroom, playroom and office squashed into my bedroom with the existing furniture. It looks like the Goodwill in there.

It was cleaning out the office that nearly did me in. I’ve been meaning to do it periodically for years. Now and then I’d make a half-hearted effort – maybe toss out some old bank statements – but nothing that made a dent in the ever-replenished stacks. Sometimes the only thing that works is the imminent arrival of workmen.

Which, if you’re still with me, is how we get to Drawer #3. That’s the bottom drawer of my file cabinet, where I tend to throw all the oddball stories I’ve run across, clipped, saved and forgotten over the years. Of course, much of Drawer #3 went into the recycling bin. But you’d be surprised, some of this stuff holds up remarkably well.

Like this letter that the Smithsonian’s Paleo-Anthropology Division sent to a man who kept mailing them objects he believed to be of enormous scientific value. (Originally published in the Minneapolis Star Tribune but undated. I’ve edited it down a lot.)

Dear Sir:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institution, labeled ‘Hominid skull.’ We have given this specimen a careful and detailed examination and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents ‘conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man 2 million years ago.’ Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety of Malibu Barbie.

Without going into too much detail, the specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed on. Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation’s Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name ‘Australopithecus spiffarino.’

The entire staff speculates daily on what you will happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your backyard. We are particularly interested in hearing your theories surrounding the juvenile Tyrannosaurus rex femur you recently discovered with the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9mm Sears Craftsman automotive wrench.

Harvey Rowe, Curator, Antiquities

•••••••••••
Photo: Google Images, ioffer.com
•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

The List in My Head

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments

I had the handyman here this week. I’ve been meaning to call him for some time. Ten, eleven years, I don’t know. It’s amazing how long you can live with broken stuff if it isn’t actually endangering your life. I usually take a crack at fixing things myself. Failing that, I change my expectations and add it to the fix-me list, the one that lives in my mind.

I had ten jobs on the handyman list, which didn’t exhaust the possibilities but were all I could come up with before he got here. I figured he’d get two or three things done, but he fixed everything and was gone before I got home from work. Incredible.

The north side of my house sans woodpecker holes. I think there were seven or eight holes, drilled there by birds too stupid to know a house from a dead tree. I hate critters.
The handle on the front door. It opens from the outside now. For a long time it would only open from the inside, which was problematic if it blew shut when you were outdoors and hadn’t left another point of entry. I did get locked out one hot summer day when the power went out. I came home from work to find the garage door opener inoperable, and I couldn’t use the back door, as that lock hasn’t worked for about 25 years (don’t ask). I had to wait in my car with the windows down until the power came back on. Not long. About an hour.
Living room window. Look! It stays open all by itself, i.e., without the aid of the dictionary or any other handy solid object. I pulled the window out to wash it one spring and, when I tried to put it back in, something snapped on the right side. After that it would only stay up if you propped it or held it open yourself. Which gets old.
The closet door in my bedroom. It cracked and fell off some time ago for no reason I can discern. I had to clean the closet before the handyman came. I know he’s just the handyman and probably couldn’t care less. Still, I wouldn’t want him blabbing it around that I’m a bad housekeeper.
The new closer on the kitchen door. The door closes after you now, which I have decided I don’t like very much, as I used to be able to carry in groceries without having to open the door with every trip to the car. It’s annoying. I may have to deactivate it, as soon as I figure out how.
The jiggly tissue holder in the downstairs bath. I installed it myself the last time I painted; then it came loose and I had no idea how to either take it off again or fix it. Not that a loose toilet paper holder is a big deal but, let’s face it, it doesn’t leave the best impression when guests want to use the facilities, as guests will do.
The door to the upstairs bath, which used to scrape the floor until the handyman shaved it down. I hate to think how long it’s been. I’m guessing it happened when the house settled, and the house is 39 years old. I never use that bathroom anyway.
The screen door on the porch. Now that I think about it, I have a lot of door issues. The handyman replaced the screen – which never stood a chance against grandchildren, who will push on the screen instead of the door frame when they want out – and also fixed the lock, which was equally inefficient in either the locked or unlocked position, leaving me vulnerable to molestation every time I went out there to take a nap.
The only power outlet on the porch. I added the porch in 2005 and the outlet stopped working about two years later. I don’t know why. I never will know why.
Ah, the infamous fireplace bricks. No one has ever admitted how the two bricks on the end came loose, although I have my suspicions. This was back in the nineties, when my daughters were prone to carrying on in my absence. God knows what kind of hooligans they brought in or what inexpressible things took place. They’re all old enough to come clean now. But they won’t.

It’s funny. Nice as it is to have all these things taken care of, it hasn’t brought me as much satisfaction as I expected. And what’s that about?

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

I’ll Meet You at the Station

~ Judy ~ 5 Comments
ARRIVING ON PLATFORM NO. 5

Thank God, Cosette’s birthday finally arrived. She turned five last week. For the last three months, I’ve received almost daily phone calls reminding me of her pressing need for more Thomas the Train engines, available in Aisle 2 at Target and if I wanted she would give me directions to the store.

The list was endless. Gordon, Henry, Rocky, James, Emily, Toby, Percy, Annie and Clarabel, Cranky the Crane, Donald and Douglas… “Have you got your pen, Grandma? I’ll wait.”

Of course, her birthday was all about Thomas. The cake, the plates, the decorations, the games. Somehow she ended up inviting every single child in her preschool. I think about 22 showed up; counting the tag-along siblings and cousins, there must have been over 30 kids. They all got little engineer hats and bandanas and, in an effort to maintain order, were divided into groups in the backyard and chugged from “station” to “station” by energetic helpers.

I was assigned to the face-painting station. I don’t ask for these jobs. They just turn up, along with the necessary tools and false encouragement. The boys all chose pictures of snakes and Spider-Man; the girls went for balloons, flowers and Hello Kitty. Unfortunately, the paints were more like crayons, which worked fine when they were sharp but quickly wore down and/or broke, so by the end, the snake was mostly just a green squiggle and Hello Kitty a white blob with a pink bow. They’re preschoolers. They didn’t care.

As for the other grandkids…
Toddler Bret bumped his head that morning and refused to get out of the armchair until he had received an acceptable amount of sympathy. He wouldn’t wear a hat or a bandana and had to adjust to the fact that, yes, there were a lot of presents and none of them were for him. He isn’t all that flexible.

Baby Lee didn’t get a hat or a bandana and slept through almost everything.

Christian helped the “little kids” at the makeshift obstacle course. He has turned into a sensitive, kind, helpful boy and I have no idea when it happened. His friend Gus was at the party too. I figured Gus was somebody’s big brother, but there’s no way to keep this stuff straight.

Grace was my assistant at the face-painting table, where she held the colors and the mirror and offered general instruction and encouragement to the clients.

Maria took a nap. She went to a football game the night before, followed by an all-night lock-in party at school marked by the usual controlled mayhem and little sleep. So now we’ve come to that.

We had a family birthday party after all the tots left, with more food, more cake, more presents. So basically just a full day of fun. I drove home and fell in bed about eight o’clock.

You’d think Cosette would have had enough locomotion for a while. She phoned me on Monday. Toddler Bret hadn’t given her a present yet, she said, so maybe I should take him to Target, as she was missing Cranky the Crane. I told her I’d think about it. She called me on Tuesday. Christmas is coming and she wanted to let me know: she doesn’t have Cranky, Spencer, Elizabeth, the Troublesome Trucks, Bertie the Bus, Bash and Dash, Harold and… “Are you writing this down, Grandma?”

BRING YOUR VISA CARD.

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Keep the Faith, Baby

~ Judy ~ 3 Comments

We baptized Baby Lee last Sunday. By we I mean one Lutheran minister and the religious consortium that is now my family, including Lutherans, Pentecostals, Episcopalians, a Baptist, a Humanist, a few Jewish friends who showed up and one resigned Catholic.

Baby Lee didn’t care. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen an infant so unflappable. Through the pre-baptism photo session, the long church service and the even longer luncheon that followed, he never made a complaint. He was passed around, bounced, kissed and had children stick their noses in his face. I think he flinched once. Obviously the child knows already: This is my family. Resistance is futile.

We gathered at my house after the baptism for lunch. It was no less chaotic than usual, what with the five grandkids and two little friends running around, up the stairs, down the stairs, indoors and out. At one point I saw Toddler Bret, who is normally restricted to a sippy cup, walking across the porch with a glass of pink lemonade. It was a plastic glass. I turned and walked away.

And God said, “Truly I say unto you: it’s all good.”

AND THEN THERE WERE SIX.

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Odd Notions

~ Judy ~ 2 Comments
WELL, THEY ALL LOOK ALIKE, DON’T THEY.

It occurred to me recently that some very odd ideas pop into my head at times. It worries me a little. I start to speculate on what’s causing them – cells flickering out in my neocortex, say, or overloaded circuitry from having too many grandkids to worry about.

Usually it happens when I’m performing some mundane Chore of Daily Living, when I’d rather be somewhere else doing something else. Last Sunday I had to go to Target to pick up groceries and other sundries. As I walked in the door, I had a sudden urge to check out other shoppers’ carts. If someone had already picked up a lot of the things I needed, I reasoned, I could just casually grab their cart while they were thumping the melons and my job would be half done. Even if I was caught, they’d just mistake me for another distracted shopper. (Ha, ha, silly me! Why would I want your things?) And it isn’t really like stealing if they haven’t paid for the stuff yet, right? It’s just inconveniencing.

I didn’t do it, of course. I do have a conscience. “What would Jesus do?” I asked myself. Probably he wouldn’t walk away with someone else’s shopping cart at Target. Then again, Jesus could just pick up a loaf of Wonder Bread and a package of fish sticks and be good for a month.

When I got home from Target, I went out in the yard to kill weeds. I detest killing weeds, which is why they get away from me. Come August, the crabgrass arrives as if out of nowhere and spreads like the ebola virus. I was spraying away when I started to fantasize that I was an unfeeling killer, spraying poison gas as the weeds begged for mercy. “No, no! He’s just a baby!” the big weeds screamed, as I blasted a little guy just poking its head up. “She’s a bad ‘un,” the old-timers warned. “She’ll hunt ’em down, every last sprout.”

“That’s what you get!” I thought, spraying Ortho Weed B Gon with abandon. “Go live in the wild somewhere!” And don’t start writing me about the evils of lawn chemicals and the virtues of organic lawn care. I recycle. I drive a little economy car. My yard is a war zone and I need the hard stuff.

Where was I? Oh yes, odd notions. I don’t know, maybe everyone has crazy thoughts at times. I don’t think I’m abnormal or anything. I don’t dream about stabbing an old woman in her kitchen or anything. Well, just the one time.

•••••••••••
Photo: Google Images, houston.culturemap.com
•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

You Can Call Him Lee

~ Judy ~ 3 Comments
3 DAYS OLD AND RESIGNED TO BEING OUT

You can call him Lee because that’s his name. He finally arrived, a big, chubby baby who couldn’t make up his mind whether to stay in or come out, sending his mother back and forth to the hospital like a wind-up doll and distressing the entire family for the past two weeks. I personally am exhausted.

As it happened, when the moment came, I ended up driving to the hospital with Cosette, just as she predicted several weeks ago. I don’t know how she knows these things. The neighbor guy came over to sit with Toddler Bret, who was already in bed. I was tired and anxious, of course, trying to find the hospital with a four-year-old who never stops chattering in the backseat. “That’s 36, Grandma, you go that way. That’s 3-5-W. There’s 280, Grandma, take that.” For the love of God, I thought, give me a break, Cosette!

Both siblings were beside themselves with excitement at bringing the baby home. He didn’t care. But then he probably doesn’t know they see him as a big, almost lifelike toy. Cosette has been honing her mothering skills for months.

He’s a good-natured baby, fortunately, and cute as a button. Doesn’t cry much. He’s already survived being poked in the eye by his brother. No tears but it did make him screw up his face. This is good. He should get used to it.

Welcome to the family, baby Lee. We love you very much.

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Has It Been Four Years Already?

~ Judy ~ 3 Comments

The Summer Olympics start tomorrow in London. I must admit, I’m a nut about the games, summer or winter. My children know this about me. “Don’t bother asking Mom to do anything while the Olympics are on,” they’ll tell you. “In fact, don’t bother Mom at all when the Olympics are on.”

It’s true. I will be glued to the set watching things I have no interest in at any other time. Javelin throwing. Sculling. The 200-meter backstroke. Of course, some events are too boring to watch under any circumstances – speed walking comes to mind – but for the most part I’m enthralled.

There always seems to be some drama surrounding the Olympics too. This year it’s been one thing after another for the Brits. People were worried the venues wouldn’t be finished in time. They had to call in the military when the security firm they hired couldn’t cut the mustard. Several of the city’s main routes have been closed to everyone except athletes and visitors, to the disgust of Londoners just trying to get to and from work. And yesterday, someone who wasn’t paying attention put up pictures of North Korean soccer players next to a South Korean flag, prompting a one-hour delay in a preliminary match and ruffling Communist feathers everywhere.

I like the British. They tend to be self-aware and inclined to say what they think. Upon seeing the Olympic flame arrive in London this week, one man commented, “Oh Lord, let’s just get the bloody thing started.” On the other hand, at least one Englishwoman predicts a change in the mood once the games begin, with people “behaving in ways we wouldn’t normally behave – waving flags and shouting and cheering and indulging in other wildly disinhibited acts, such as maybe even talking to strangers.”

Well, I for one will be watching, even though I’m sure something will happen to tear me away at the most inopportune moment. It wouldn’t surprise me if that baby decided to be born right in the middle of rhythmic gymnastics.

I WISH I COULD DO THAT.

•••••••••••
Photo: Google Images, afg-gymnastic.af
•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Pages from Grandma’s Diaries: Bret Jr., Part 2

~ Judy ~ Leave a comment
NOW I AM BIG.

Toddler Bret had his second birthday this week. I think I can still call him Toddler Bret since he just entered the Twos, as evidenced by the minor meltdown at his birthday party yesterday. “Just leave him alone and he’ll stop,” his sister said. Which proved to be the case after everyone – grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins – studiously avoided looking at him and certainly made no attempt to engage him in speech.

What really brought him around was his mother’s suggestion that he open his gifts a little early. It was an amazing turnaround. His favorite present was a little remote-controlled dog from his 93-year-old great-grandma. It didn’t matter how many times the dog walked off the end of the coffee table, he found it hilarious every time.

He liked everything else after that… the Happy Birthday song and the cake and the candles, which he blew out all by himself because he’s a big boy now. Soon he will be a big brother to someone. We’ll see how that goes. Meanwhile, here’s a few thoughts from the last two years.

December 31, 2009
The most exciting news I got over the holidays is that grandchild No. 5 is on the way. Gina and Bret like to surprise me with this kind of thing. When she was pregnant with Cosette, they gave me a bunch of photos to look at, including one of the dog next to a sign that said, “I’m going to be a big sister.” I thought they were getting another dog, which seemed odd, but not for them.

You’d think they’d learn to give it to me straight, but no. This time they gave me a jar of spaghetti sauce for Christmas. I thought maybe it was homemade. It wasn’t. Then I thought, “What a stupid gift.” Finally, someone yelled, “She’s prego!” There are no Hallmark moments in our family.

September 8, 2010
I babysat for Cosette and Baby Bret Sunday night while their parents went to Stillwater for a good night’s rest. It’s hard to make it through the night at their house, mainly because Baby Bret has some baby reflux thing going on, which is seldom bad enough to wake him up but enough so he complains in his sleep.

The complaints are hard to describe, but they’re enough to set off the super-sensitive baby monitor sitting on the nightstand next to your head. As a result, you’re in his room roughly every half-hour, because maybe he really is awake and needs something. You never know and you never will until you get up and check. I sort of gave up on sleeping after a while, which is why I was washing dishes at 3:30 in the morning.

December 30, 2010
I watched Cosette and Baby Bret last night. He’s a pretty easygoing baby, especially if you carry him around without stopping. I guess he’s hungry a lot, because I’ve never known a baby so determined to suck your face. Which is hard to avoid when you are, as I say, carrying him around nonstop. As soon as his little face gets next to yours, he’s sucking your cheek or your chin or your eye socket. It feels weird. It is weird.

Also, he never stops talking. I call it talking because I don’t know what it is. It’s loud and comes from down in his throat somewhere. Along with Cosette’s never-ending dialogue, it’s noisy at their house. I would be very surprised if that changed in the new year.

January 28, 2011
I’m babysitting for six-month-old Baby Bret tonight while the rest of the family goes ice skating. Haven’t seen him for a while, but I imagine he’s as chubby as ever, and since he obviously can’t propel himself anywhere, I’ll have to lug him around. It isn’t going to help my back, which is still achy from last Saturday night when I slept with ten-year-old Maria, who will sleep smack dab in the middle of the mattress and good luck trying to move her.

He’s a cheerful little guy though, Baby Bret that is, as long as you keep him fed. Which I do whether it’s feeding time or not. My job, I believe, is to keep them happy by whatever means necessary and let their parents deal with it later. It is free babysitting after all, by someone who really loves your kid and doesn’t care what time you come home. Not surprisingly, parents find this very appealing. I figure they can deal with a kid who’s a little off his schedule.

•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.

Let Freedom Ring…But Not Too Loud

~ Judy ~ Leave a comment
I GOTTA GET ME ONE OF THESE.

Time again to celebrate America’s #1 national holiday and favorite excuse to let loose. While we proudly wave our flags and grill our brats (a German invention, I believe), let us not forget what the day is all about, i.e., our independence from those damn Brits, who wanted to tax us for things like tea and sugar. We’ve built a nice little country here, with an income tax rate of 10 to 35 percent admittedly, but at least we have our own flag and national bird.

In the meantime, be careful with those fireworks, which we used to have to buy across the border in Wisconsin but which are now available at fine retailers everywhere. Well, not the big stuff that’s capable of launching a small rowboat into outer space – this is still the state settled by serious Germans and Scandinavians after all – but nonexplosive, nonaerial things like sparklers and party poppers, which should be more than enough fun for anybody.

And while we’re on the subject, don’t forget to… Drive safely. Swim with a buddy. Use sunblock (SPF 30 or more). Don’t leave the potato salad out in the sun. Watch out for poison ivy (three serrated leaves per stem). Check the kids for ticks. Wear a life jacket in the boat (it’s the law). And if you haven’t had a tetanus shot within the last ten years, you might want to stop at the clinic before heading up North. The 4th of July – what fun!

•••••••••••
Photo: Google Images, micsmarket.com
•••••••••••
Subscribe to this blog under Email Subscription in the right column.