Currently Browsing: Silly I Tell You

Lick-Butt Cat Toys

What is that in her hand? She just put it in her mouth”, my husbands says.

“Oh, it looks like a cat toy”, I say.


You mean the thing that the cat has drooled on with his lick-butt cat mouth?”, he says.



I’m just not as fussy as he is. Sacrifices are made for baby distraction.

She really likes the little jingle bell on the end of the tail.


You know the one that potentially could pop off and she could choke on?

Does it count that I did pulled on it really hard to make sure it didn’t come off easily?

I always say, “What doesn’t kill ‘em makes ‘em stronger”.

And Then It’s Done

As a child, I can remember feeling such an incredible feeling of grief and let down when the last present was opened.

All that savored anticipation had come to an end. Fin. Final. No finale.

In my adulthood, I feel differently. I am glad to be off. Off work. Off the stage. On switched to off. There’s that feeling of relief that I did it again. There’s something comical about the fanfare now.

I spotted a few amusing sites on our way back from getting Eamon his new glasses today in Easton.


Baby Jesus and his crew have left the house.


I’d say Donner and Blitzen had a misunderstanding.


This is the happiest holiday house on the Denton/Easton Road.

My lovely readers, I can not tell you how happy I am to have you as my audience and my muses. Your care and interest makes this all possible.

Keep celebrating the off-ness of it all. See you on Monday with Post-Christmas posts of Christmas decoration pictures.

Google Calender

Much to my surprise, maybe 6 months ago, I surrendered to the concept of a computer/device calendar. Yes, Google calendar. It has a 31 as it’s icon. And Mark and I attempted to “share” our calendars so we could stop asking each other about commit-table dates.

A couple of months ago, before October of ’13  and a post-a-day, I had received yet another reminder/notification from my Ever Diligent Google calendar which informed me, I had absolutely no events scheduled for today. Just like my yesterday and my day before that.

Google was ever so subtly telling me I had no life. Didn’t I already know this oh Great Google in the Sky.

But today, I received the same “I have no scheduled events” email and I felt relieved. Because on top of being awoken at 4:45am this morning to care for my 9 month-old, the battery dying in our car at the grocery store yesterday, and planning to plan to decorate several Christmas trees, wreaths, house mantels, etc,… I will happily take a day of nothingness.  It’s all in the way that you look at it. Thank you  Oh Great and Powerful Google One for showing me the truth.

Invisible Mommy

Last month, as I searched for a photograph that wasn’t my outdated head shot, I was reminded yet again that I don’t exist.

All the pictures in our family albums prove my disappearance.



According to these pictures, our family seems to have had some really wonderful times. At the beach, in New York, and at friends’ houses. But alas, this poor family was missing a Mommy. Or she was invisible. Because I remember being there, there’s just no proof.

Clown car cab ride

I am the one thinking enough of the moment to take the pictures, mostly. Occasionally my son wants to commandeer the camera and can come up with some pretty good ones. But he’s eight and he makes me nervous with the equipment. My husband sometimes volunteers to do the picture-taking but hates to download them. So I may exist in an alternate Android phone universe.


I finally daringly used the technology available and took two selfies with the kids. One of which can be seen on the About Me page.

My timidity in doing so was a fear of seeming vain. But I guess vanity is preferable to transparency. Even Waldo is there somewhere.


I Don’t Get It

Welcome my husband Mark and his second post. It’s a manly subject this one.

I don’t get it…

I found myself pondering the meaning of something I saw dangling from the trailer hitch of a pick up truck driving next to me. At first it appeared to be some sort of trailer adaptor. Maybe an electrical plug for the trailer lights, or possibly a safety chain mechanism that would come into play should the trailer separate from the hitch.

As I looked closer, I recognized this to be truck testes?! Yes, balls… hoobers… whatever vernacular you choose to use, it was them. I continued my commute, vexed for miles over what I had seen and what it meant. And decided that the logic for such ornamentation was beyond my comprehension. I didn’t want to want to know why.

Whew… I was glad that was over. Until the next month when, as I got into the car with my eight year old son, there they were, proudly displayed from the polished hitch of the pick up truck parked in front of us. Eye level. It was a don’t ask don’t tell moment but again, I‘m wondering what it meant. Open up your mind and see what you come up with.

Option number one: It’s a red neck thing. Nah. It doesn’t figure.
On this particular truck there was no gun rack, no confederate flag, no NASCAR decal’s.

Option number two: Testicular cancer survivors. This one would have made the cut if it wasn’t too coincidental that all the vehicles were pick up trucks. Does that mean that pick up trucks cause cancer? Mmmm nope.

Option number three: Lorena Bobbitt fan club, maybe? But she didn’t target the whole package. Just the John Thomas. Ode to what was left over?

Option number four: Man with a small penis? Judgment call.

Option number five: I think this one sounded the best, Inguinal Hernia.  It’s a medical condition whereby the intestine gradually slips into the scrotum through a blown out entrance. Uncomfortable, hell yes, but it could make you the hit of the party. So why not advertise?

I will remain an advocate for freedom of speech, but I just don’t get it.  And when and if my son asks me why would someone hang those there I’ll just have to tell him, I don’t get it.

photo credit: Devlin Thompson via photopin cc

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