Archive for September, 2006

Laughed so hard I snorted.

I’ve been meaning to update my links list for a while. I’ve found more hilarious people that I think you should check out. For instance, here’s an entry (albeit an old one) from Dad Gone Mad. He’s so going on my list of people you should read:

The Mouse Incident

I recently reconnected with an old friend named Craig. This is my favorite story about him:

When we were 18, Craig and I were co-counselors for a cabin full of nine-year-olds at a summer camp in the Santa Monica mountains. Everyday after lunch, the campers and counselors would retreat to the cabins for an hour of quiet time. Craig and I would try to sleep after a late night of sneaking over to the girl counselors’ cabins to try to get some nookie, but we would invariably spend the whole hour admonishing the yappy kids to shut up.

One day during quiet time, a ruckus broke out. The boys started squealing and screaming and running around like banshees. I popped up from my bunk ready to do some ass-chewing. “What’s going on in here?” I grumbled.

In unison, the boys pointed to the back corner of the cabin and squealed, “A mouse! A mouse! There’s a mouse in the cabin!”

I borrowed a flashlight from one of the boys, knelt down and shined the light under a steel bunk-bed in the back of the room. Sure enough, there was a dark gray mouse huddling in the corner of the cabin, shivering with fear and cocking its head back and forth.

The boys were in complete spaz mode. Their shrill screams could no doubt be heard in other nearby cabins and it must have sounded like an axe murder was occurring under our watch. I knew the only way to quiet the kids was to get the mouse out of our cabin, pronto.

I went back to the front of the cabin and huddled with Craig. We decided to use what we called The Hockey Method to rid the critter from our domain: I would get down and prod the mouse with a broom and, once he was in position, sweep him toward Craig, who would be standing near the door. Craig would then use a second broom to the sweep the little bastard out the door and back into nature. “He shoots, he scores!”

An important side note here: Craig is six-foot-nine and about 230 pounds of beefy bigness. And he was barefoot.

We stationed the boys on their beds and I got down on my knees to set the plan into action. Miraculously, my first poke at the mouse did the trick. The rodent felt the tickle of my broom and took off zzzzzzip right past me, and right toward Craig.

Craig had knelt down to watch me work on the mouse and was completely shocked when the varmint came bolting out of the corner and right at him. Craig was spooked, and in a purely reflexive action, he got to his feet and jumped to get out of the mouse’s way. Unfortunately for the mouse, Craig timed his jump poorly.

Craig’s heel landed right on top of the mouse.

And he was barefoot.

The mouse didn’t know what hit it. Its body popped under Craig’s weight and made a sound that I have never forgotten. It was like a great, big, fat person sitting on a whoopee cushion filled with ketchup. Blood and guts squirted out everywhere.

Craig ran screaming from the cabin and began to drag his bare foot across the dirt, trying relentlessly to scrape the mouse’s squished intestines and brain matter from his naked size 14 sole. He yelped so loudly and so long “Oh my god! It’s on me! Get it off! Oh my god!” that the entire camp came bolting out of its respective cabins to see what had happened. The boys doubled over, cracking up with a mixture of horror and delight. And I laughed until winter.

It was, and still is, the funniest thing I have ever seen.

Black Belt Baby

This is why I’m glad I have access to the Internet:

I’m a Beary Good Reader

The kids have a lot going on at school. Sometimes it seems that I too have a lot going on at school. Not that I mind being involved, mind you. (Except… I’m not too crazy about all the things I have to buy for the classroom. And could they give me more notice when I do need to buy something so that I don’t end up at WalMart late at night (7:30 PM! Gasp!) trying to find the right kind of socks to send in the next day for a darn puppet?!?)


Where was I?

Oh yeah… a lot going on…

One of the many things that is required of parents is too keep track of the books the kids read at home. The teachers send home blank forms (my son’s is titled “Books (insert name here) Has Read” and my daughter’s form is titled “Beary Good Readers”. I hate that “Beary”. It hurts me. A lot.) and you write in every book you or your child read and send a form in for every ten titles read. Evidently, there is a prize for 50, 100, 200, etc…

Well, (and you knew there would be a well with me, didn’t you?) I’ve been diligently writing down the title of every single book we have read. Library books, school library books, old books they’ve had since they were more interested in eating them than reading them – all of the above. And I thought we were coming along nicely. Until I heard from my son’s teacher that some students are nearing their 100 books. And we’re still somewhere in our 30’s.

I heard that and was stricken with horror. Am I not reading enough? How exactly am I going to fit more books into their day? And it brought back memories of last year when my son started at this school mid-year and at the end of the year there was a presentation of all the students who read above and beyond their “Beary Good Reader” requirements and they all got awards except him because I didn’t know I was supposed to keep track of the books we read and, dammit, we read lots of them and now he didn’t get an award and was it too late to write down the titles because I think I can remember some of them and please let me know that it is something I’m supposed to do next time!

Sorry, a little emotional about it all.

So now I’m wondering why it is we are behind some of the kids in total number of books read. Do their parents have other people come in and read books to their children? Like a pinch reader? Or do they really read, like, 10 books a night? I’d like to think it’s because here at our house we spend more time discussing the book and going over words and illustrations; we are about quality, not quantity. (That’s what I’d like to think.)

So you can see that I’m now on a mission to include more books on their lists, lest they be behind, and not “beary” good readers after all. I have started to write down the titles of the books they read for homework, like The C Book and also All About Me. While they may not be books that are cataloged at the local library, they are technically books, right?

I’ve also started to consider writing down books that we would have read, if those darn kids didn’t get so tired at night. (What, don’t you think that counts?) And maybe I’ll write down books we see on TV. And I’m even considering writing down books that they see me read. Because I am an avid reader and often read a book a day.

You don’t think their teachers will think something is awry when they see the titles Always Time To Die and Twice Kissed on the kids’ lists, do you?


My daughter came downstairs this morning looking very sad. She was all teary-eyed and sniffley. And my heart went out to her. (Although she is very dramatic and is often teary-eyed and sniffley.)

“What’s wrong sweetheart?”

“Mom, *sniff* I had a bad dreeeeaaaam. *wail*”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“Um, *sniff* it was my birthday…”


“And, *sniff sniff* there was a birthday cake….”


“And, *wail* everybody ate all the pieces and I didn’t get aaaaannnnyyyy.” *full blown tears*

“Oh my, that is a very bad dream.”

As I comforted my daughter, I told her that it was just a dream and that it would be impossible for her not to get any of her birthday cake because around here the birthday girl/boy always gets the first piece. Don’t worry, I told her, it won’t happen, ever.

I can’t help but think this horrible nightmare stems from the other night when my husband was eating the remaining bit of my son’s birthday cake. It was only a piece, you see, and it was a piece that my husband had evidently desired strongly enough that he tried to discourage our daughter from eating any. He tried to pawn off a very icky yellow cupcake on her instead! He tried to give her sub-standard cake!

No wonder it still haunts her in her dreams.

Too busy eating soup to write.

As some of you know (and some of you don’t!) I am half Japanese. My lovely mother is from Okinawa, Japan. Why am I telling you that? Because I feel like I have to explain why it is I am eating miso soup right now. It’s like a comfort food to me. And now that I’m not puking my guts out, I’m comforting myself with food. Because I am sick and hating it.

Did I mention I am sick?

And that I am whiney right about now because I’m sick?

But I’m feeling better now. It must be the miso. Or the fever breaking and the good night’s sleep. Whichever.


I know that my blog posts have been somewhat lacking lately. And by somewhat lacking I mean totally sucking. But, hey, I posted pictures! Pictures of the kids! And doesn’t that at least bring you some joy? My excuse is that it has gotten really hectic around here lately and I never seem to have the time to get a coherent thought down. Or any other kind of thought either. I’ve had things happen in my every day life that I think would be great to tell ya’ll about, but then by the time I sit down to write it just doesn’t seem that great after all. Or it seems like too much to try and explain and I end up writing something that resembles this: We went to dance class. It was fun. And I know you guys are not really interested in anything like that. (Or are you? If so, amusing you is going to be waaayy easier than I thought.) So, you know, most of the time you get nothing from me. Sorry about that.

And on that note… that’s all I’ve got for right now.

Sorry about the suckage.



I am sick.


Gone pouting.

Y’all are going to have to amuse yourselves today. My back is hurt (how? I don’t know) and the kids are grumpy and I just don’t feel like writing anything today. So, you know, come back tomorrow. Hopefully by then I’ll have a little something to say.

But no promises.