Elbow Worm?

Within every culture there are expressions that are understood by the members of that culture, but make no sense to an outsider.

For instance:

• Having a melt down


• Getting the short end of the stick


• Brown-noser


• I've got a song stuck in my head

Most adults know what these phrases mean. You could call adulthood a "culture" right?

Perhaps not, but for this blog, we're going to say it is.

None of those phases are to be taken literally. As cultured adults, we know this.

If not, let me just clue you in: a brown-noser is not someone with a brown nose. It's someone who has been kissing someone else's a$$ for so long, their nose should be stained with poop.

As cultured adults, we may shorten the "I've got a song stuck in my head" to "I've got an ear worm".

You know those songs that just repeat in your head over and over.

All. Day. Long.

That song in the Six Flags commercials. The Macarena. Lady Gaga's Poker Face. You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift.

That last one has been really sticking with my children. Distressingly so with my four year old.

She got very upset yesterday and wanted us to stop singing it, "Because it was stuck in my arm!"

For the pre-K culture, remembering that you hear things in your head (where your ears are) and not your arm (where your elbow is) is tough. Thank goodness the song wasn't stuck in her butt!

Silver Lining:

1. She's super cute when she stands on the stool in front of the bathroom mirror singing, "She wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts, she's chear captain & I'm on the bleachers . . ."


2. It's a cute song and not something obnoxious like the song in the Six Flags commercial.

Simple Solutions

Nursing your baby is a special bonding time between a mother and child.

You should be able to relax and thank the Lord that your baby is hungry; thus, relieving the sometimes unbelievable pressure that has built up.

However, when your six year old is running around, bouncing off walls, and shrieking just for the fun of it, there is no relaxing.

So, what is a nursing mother to do?

Of course, the answer is simple.

You call your six year old over to you, unfasten the other flap of your nursing bra, and squeeze.

A squirt of breast milk right between the eyes has an amazingly quieting effect on the attitude of your older child.

Silver Lining:

1. I never had to do this because, I didn't nurse for very long and my girls are only two years apart.


2. I can't wait for the Island Luau this summer. I think the nursing moms in the neighborhood may have an unfair advantage in the water gun fight - they don't have to stop to reload.

My Ding A Ling

My Ding A Ling, do you remember that song? What literary genius penned that?

Oh, wait. Through the magic of Mr. Google, it was. . .

CHUCK BERRY!

When I was a kid we had a cassette tape (jump into the way back machine). . .

I believe it was on a Halloween tape because the only other song I remember was Monster Mash - oooo, very scary.

You're "mashing" now aren't you? I can seeeeeee youuuuuuu.

Speaking of scary and being a kid, do you remember when you were too afraid to go into the dark basement? The whistling woods? The stony mountains of Kentucky?

Apparently, there is reason to be afraid of the Kentucky Appellation Mountains. There are nonhuman things that exist up there. Like Bigfoot, hookworm, distilleries.

From what I understand, to this day, you do not want your car to break down in the mountains of Kentucky for fear of getting shot. Those moon shiners are a bunch of paranoid folk. They think everyone who is not one of them (meaning one eye isn't pickin' on Venus, has all their teeth in the front, is clean-shaven, and doesn't smell like an outhouse) is thought to be the cops. Moonshiners have a long history of not liking the cops. Don't they know prohibition ended 76 years ago?

Thankfully, those distilleries existed way back when or my good friend Kitty probably wouldn't be around today. Her grandfather grew up in the mountains. They ran around seeking out the coolest hiding places in their bare feet, catching hookworm.

Ick!

To get rid of worms in the olden days, one would boil down some root to make crack candy. This had nothing to do with the drug, was very bitter, and the "perfect" cure for hookworm.

If it was so bitter, why was it called candy? If I didn't know it and someone gave me something bitter called, "candy," I would have avoided candy all my life. Maybe I'd have been thinner. Perhaps I should go catch me some hookworm.

STOP!

I'd much rather be over weight than to have nasty worms. I think having worms makes you a social pariah - that alone would have KILLED me!

So this "candy" killed the worms, but then they had to be expelled from their bodies. As if having worms wasn't gross enough, you had to sh*t out dead worms for about a week!

For all those years of seeking out the best hiding places, Kitty's grandfather thought he had found the perfect spot for his distillery. But alas, the cops caught up with him, and gave him a choice: go to jail or go to war. He chose war, met Kitty's grandmother in Italy, got married and the rest is history.

And history is passed down through the generations via stories. And who hasn't met an old person with stories to tell? Kitty's grandfather had a lot of stories of the Kentucky mountains. One of the favorites was about

BIGFOOT

I know most people don't think Bigfoot exists, but we have proof living right down the street from us.

I had no idea, but while we're playing Bunco, someone noticed skis by Ginny's the front door. I know it's chilly, but it isn't even close to ski season. And there is only the "King of the Mountain" sized hill in Pleasantville so down hill skiing isn't an option.

You'd be hard pressed to even try cross country skiing in Pleasantville. We live in one of those areas of the country that gets snow over night and is completely melted by mid morning. Anything greater than a dusting here causes the big city next door to go into a tailspin.

We're expecting an inch of snow?!?! Close the schools! Stop at the store for milk, eggs & bread! Bring in the firewood! Order up the National Guard!

Then when the "storm" passes to the south or north of us (which happens more often than not), there is just a little b*tching at the weather men. But as soon as they say there's another one coming, we go through the entire process again without question. The Boy Who Cried Wolf would have a field day here!

Anywho, turns out those weren't skis.

My friend's husband has the biggest feet I've ever seen. Well, I actually never seen his feet, but his shoes were by the front door.

Size 15

Where do you buy ginormous shoes like that?

And it's not like it was just a put on to fake people out. If he stuffed tissue paper into the toes, I'm sure Ginny would have noticed by now. You know what they say about the relationship between the size of a man's feet and well, other parts. There is no faking it. With feet that size, Ginny probably doesn't need to fake it either.

I wonder if "the signal" in their house is that Chuck Berry song.

My Ding-A-Ling, My Ding-A-Ling,
won't you play with My Ding-A-Ling
My Ding-A-Ling, My Ding-A-Ling,
won't you play with My Ding-A-Ling

Ginny's not a very big person. I don't know how she doesn't get ripped in two!

Seriously, did she marry the missing link?

I don't know. He doesn't seem that hairy. You know Bigfoot is always depicted as hairy.

I've never paid attention to that aspect and I guess I'll never know.

I'll never be able to look at anything but his gigantic feet from now on.

Silver Lining:

1. I'm very happy with the ding-a-ling I married.


2. Take that however you want :)

Favorite Game

What was the first body part your child was able to identify?

Probably their nose, eyes, mouth or belly button, right?

Not my kids.

They are both extremely ticklish in their armpits. Since my favorite sound is my children's laughter, their armpits get tickled a lot.

Early on, one of our favorite games with them was, "Where's Your Armpit?"

As a result, the first body part they were able to identify was their armpits.

Wow, aren't I a great parent?

Silver Lining:
1. It's still a fun "game" we play. And they willingly raise their arms. Too funny.
2. The game always ends with snuggles, and that's just awesome.

I've Got Boobs

Recently, I was getting dressed and happened to drop my bra right in front of my three-year-old, Stinkles.

She cupped by boobs and said, "What are these Mommy?" As if the question weren't weird enough, her hands cupping my boobs was just plain uncomfortable.

We've never had any of these conversations in our house because they've never asked.

I bit the bullet, and said, "They're boobs, Honey."

She excitedly pulled up her shirt and said, "I've got boobs too!"

Now she looks at everyone and asks to see their boobs or wants to show off her own.

We've explained that boobs are a private area, but modesty has completely escaped her.


Silver lining:

1. She's only three so it's cute now. We won't find it so cute when she's sixteen though.

2. That first private body parts conversation wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be.

You Ever Have One of Those Days?

Neither the phone nor the shower gods were looking down on my friend Ari recently. In fact, they both conspired against her in order to cause great pain and embarrassment.

Ari was in the shower when the phone started ringing. How many times has this happened to you? Nobody else in the house seems to be answering it. They just assume you’re going to do it even though you just told them ten minutes ago you were going to take a shower.

So what do you do? Let it go to the answering machine (nobody has these things any more, do they? They really should be Smithsonian bound.) or voicemail, right?

Not Ari.

No, she jumped out of the shower & ran for the phone.

Along the way, she tripped over a body pillow lying on the floor, curled her toes (a bit too much it turns out), and ended up sprawled out on the floor.

Neked.

Somehow, she made it to the phone and was able to answer with a guttural, “Hello,” BEFORE it got to voicemail. She must not have let it ring very long before jumping out of the shower. She certainly had time to grab a towel.

Honestly, who did she think it was that she needed to get to the phone right away? The Queen of England, Ed McMahon?

Probably not Ed. He would have shown up at the front door. Can you imagine that? He and the rest of the Publishers Clearing House posse are standing outside her door with that gigantic check and balloons AND a camera. Then, there’s Ari whipping open the door.

Neked.

Her foot was killing her and swelling up. She managed to put clothes and scrounge up one of the not-answering-the-phone folks for a trip to the emergency room.

Once you get to that triage area, the first thing they ask you is, “How did this happen?” Being the type of person she was, Ari told them the whole story. Hello! Lie a little and say you tripped over something like a dead body, not a pillow!

Upon inspection, the doctors told Ari her toe was turning a beautiful shade of purple. First off, since when is anything painful even remotely beautiful? Secondly, she totally had to check it out at home with a mirror because she just not that bendy anymore. Unfortunately, for you all, she didn’t take pictures. Well, maybe it’s fortunate. I’ve never seen her feet. They could be knurled and decrepit for all I know.

Turns out she chipped the bone in her big toe when she tripped over the pillow. How do you break a toe on a pillow? Really, did it have rocks in it? A dead body?

She’ll have to alter her shower routine from now on. She’s got a few options:

• Don’t answer the phone – that’s what voicemail is for.


• Bring a phone into the bathroom – like in fancy hotels.


• Shower in a swimsuit – dual duty (sorta) in that the shower cleans you body and does a bit of laundry.

Silver lining:

1. She willingly shared this story AND watched me make notes in the black book so she can’t be mad at me for sharing.


2. It wasn’t me! :)

Lake or Pool?

What is a lake?

There are a lot of definitions, but here’s the general gist:

• It is deep enough that you can not cross without a boat. You can make that argument about some ponds as well, but wait, there’s more.


• Because of the lack of sunlight reaching the bottom of the body of water, a lake can not support rooted plants except near the shoreline.


• It’s not an ocean because it is a standing body of water. Not that anyone is going to mistake the Pleasantville lakes for an ocean anytime soon, this was purely informational.

Anywho, Pleasantville has a kick-a** pool club (leisure, kiddie, lap & lazy river), and it opened this weekend! However, there has been a lot of rain lately so the general consensus was that the water would be like ice.

So why did I see so many ding-bat teenagers swimming in the lakes? According to my definitions above, that water should have been colder than the pool! No way I was going to check it out, because our lakes really ought to have the following signage:

Beware the Piranha!

Well, if piranha could survive a Missouri winter, you would have cause for alarm. Fortunately, we only have bass and bluegill in the lakes.

You would think the bass would be scary because they are bigger than bluegill, but it’s the little ones that get you! The bluegills have a preference for certain exposed areas of the human body and they just have to have a taste. Men, let’s just say it may be to your advantage to wear a shirt in the water.

I know this because last summer, a neighbor of mine (who is black – not that it would make a difference otherwise, but it’s important to the story) and a few family members decided to take a dip in the lake, swim out to the raft & enjoy a summer’s day. They jumped in the water, and that’s when the bluegill appeared. It was like a swarm of mosquitoes.

There was some splashing and screaming and one of the guys kept getting bit on the nipple. His nipple was pierced so I’m sure that’s what first attracted them to him. You know fish are like children. Jiggle something shiny in their path and it will draw them in like moths to a flame. Once the bluegill were there, and realized their favorite treat (people skin) was available, they wouldn’t leave pierced nipple guy alone.

Anyway, they high-tailed it out to the raft, heaved themselves up the side and sat breathless in disbelief. As they looked out in to the water, more and more fish were appearing. Had they put their toes in the water, it would have been like piglets to the teats, but much more painful. Knowing they couldn’t stay out there forever, but fearful of the bluegill, they had to come up with a plan.

Pierced nipple guy was the knight in shining armor (which would have actually come in handy here, but armor makes it really hard to swim). He would make a diversion so the ladies could swim back to the dock. In an act of supreme selflessness, he did a cannon ball into the water and the ladies made it to shore safely.

As they were walking up the dock, a woman was watching her sons play in the water.

My neighbor warned her, “There are biting fish in the water. Your boys better watch out.”

The woman said, “Oh, really? They haven’t had any trouble with that.”

My neighbor huffed a bit. “I guess they only like dark meat.”


Silver lining:

1. There may have been a grand plan in place here. It’s a very family oriented community and perhaps the developers were trying to prevent people from skinny dipping in the lakes. I’m grateful for that and considering the age range of people living here, there are plenty of people I don’t want to see skinny dipping. Oh, and I don’t want my girls, when they’re teenagers, going skinny dipping either. Skinny dipping in seclusion = good. Skinny dipping in community lake = bad.

2. I say again, we have a community pool that is super cool. No bluegill allowed.

My Husband, the Philospher

In the shower, some people sing, some people pray, some people just get it done.

But my husband, well, he thinks random thoughts. And he has the “courtesy” to share them with me.

I’m so proud to be married to a man with such a brilliant mind – he is a member of MENSA after all.

Philosophers have pondered, debated & written theories on everything imaginable. However, my husband has given me and everyone reading this blog something to think about.

A recent sample of his random thoughts:

In a backward world, what if air was replaced by water?

Would toilets be filled with air?

Would fish breathe air while we breathed water?

Sounds to me, like he’s ready for summer and swimming. Or a vacation that involves SCUBA diving.

Now, for the scary (not so proud) revelation:

In a bizarro (as if the air/water thing weren’t bizarre enough) world, what if the human body worked backward?

Would we suck crap up our butt instead of it coming out?

Would it make its way up through the body so our mouths expel food?

Where would our teeth be located, in our butt?

These are the things he thinks about in the shower. How the hell did he get admitted into MENSA? Perhaps he should be admitted to a mental institute.

They're coming to take me away, ha-haaa!!
They're coming to take me away, ho-ho, hee-hee, ha-haaa
To the funny farm. Where life is beautiful all the time . . .


Silver lining:

• I’m having a tough time with this one. I suppose there are worse things he could be doing in the shower, like singing.

EN-E-MA

First off, I have to tell you how utterly disappointed I was on my way to Bible study tonight. There is a house under construction that I’ve wanted to get into, but those construction guys got smarter about how they are locking up the houses (click here to read about my B&E adventure). Now I need an actual tool to get in and I keep forgetting to look for one.

Anyway, one of the doors was wide open, but I was running late. I was carrying my coffee cake AND my dinner plate filled with pizza rolls to Bible study – that’s how late I was. So I couldn’t go and properly explore beforehand, and by the time Bible study was over, it was dark. Shaz-bah, better luck next time.

I was not disappointed in our Bible study though. Back when I was a kid, my parents really didn’t talk very frankly to me about the body. This seemed to be the case with most of the other ladies in the group. I said most . . .

Do you remember when you first learned what an enema was? I know it’s a common question and I’m sure you have a story at the ready. Please share it by leaving a comment below.

I really couldn’t tell you about the first time I figured out what it was. I can tell you the first time I had to give someone an enema. My niece was constipated & I had some of those baby enemas. My sister actually administered it. Normally, it takes a little bit for them to go to work and you have a chance to get a diaper on. Not my niece – it was soooooo disgusting. I don’t know how that much poop accumulates in a baby. It was kind of like when you squeeze the play-doh through the snake maker. Yuck!

One of my friends in Bible study remembers her first time quite clearly, and the story demonstrates a dramatic difference in 80’s parenting styles.

As a youngster, my friend, we’ll call her “P”, and her friend “Q” heard the word “enema”, but neither of them knew what it meant. They started tittering about it and finally decided they would each ask their moms, then get back together and compare notes.

This story exemplifies the “lost enema generation.” They had to go to their parents and actually ASK!

Back in the really olden days (40’s & 50’s), everyone over the age of four knew what an enema was. That was a time when mothers were obsessed with your poop. If you didn’t poop for even one day, you got an enema. It was part of the evening bedtime check list:

• Jammies on?
• Brush your teeth?
• Go potty?
• Did you poop today?

If the answer was no, you had go to the clinic (they had special clinics for this) first thing in the morning. Mothers would fret about your lack of poop all evening and into the night. Fathers, on the other hand, saw the clinics for what they were – a profitable business.

“So Bill, what do you do for a living?”

“Well, Bob, I’m an enema administrator.”

“Wow! Now, that’s job security – don’t see you hitting the bread line anytime soon. Every time I drive by, those places are packed. And I don’t mean just the number of people!”

Today, kids would just Google it. Then they would text the definition to all their friends. Phones would be a buzzin’ all over the playground. “OMG! NMA is so NAGI!”

But, as I said, P & Q had to ask their parents a question – OMG, the horror!

Q got the prim and proper answer:

“Well, I asked my mom. She looked a little shocked, and then she smiled and giggled. My dad told her to go ahead and tell me. So she said, ‘Honey (giggle, giggle), let’s sit down a moment. An enema (more giggling and somewhat uncomfortable smirking) is when they insert a tube into your anus and use water to gently flush out any compacted fecal matter.’ What did your mom say?”

P got the straight up version:

“It’s where they squirt water up your ass so you shit.”

After the roar of laughter died down, somehow our fearless leader was able to pull our study group back to God’s word (she's really good at it). The key verse related to our entire study last night was 1 Corinthians 6:19:

"Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God?"

Maybe we all need to keep this verse in mind and get ourselves a mental enema – flush all the shit out so you can take care of the body you have been given & strengthen your relationship with God.



Silver lining:

1. God and enemas – who knew?


2. Things don’t change that much from generation to generation. Moms still obsess over poop; we just don’t go to the same extremes.

Cupie's Tooth Saga - Part 2

Do you believe in fairies? If you believe, clap your hands! . . . Clap your hands and say, 'I do believe in fairies! I do! I do!'" ~ Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

After we finally got Cupie’s first tooth out (click here read that story first), we had to prepare for the tooth fairy. We got out her plastic tooth holder (it’s about half an inch high, looks like a tooth & has a cap that snaps on) and put the tooth in. She was having a grand time shaking the tooth holder and making a generally annoying noise with it.

We headed directly down the hall to get tucked into bed for the night. I got Ellie in her bed first, and then I went across the hall to Cupie’s room. I could see her chin quivering and as soon as she opened her mouth, the tears started flowing – she lost the tooth! She had the holder, but the tooth was gone. She swore up & down that she didn’t open the holder and it was still in the holder when she left my bedroom.

She was sitting on the bed so we stripped the bed – nothing. I needed to pull the trundle out, but first I had to clear some space on the floor. I shook each stuffed animal, blanket, rug, Barbie doll, slipper, book, & kitchen sink in the room before moving it out to the hall or the closet. With the trundle out, I lifted the mattress and each slat – still nothing.

I got out the cordless sweeper. At least it had a little dirt collector we could sift through. I swept up every loose carpet fiber and any other bits & pieces on her floor. Then I got a trash can and made her help me sift through the stuff. We found beads, stickers with no sticky, a Barbie shoe, and (super gross) a toe nail clipping. Still no tooth.

I’ll have to make my way backward – to the hall! We put the bed back together and brought in the stuff from the hall; shaking it all out again just in case. After sweeping the hall, we went through the sifting ritual again – no tooth.

I finally made my way back to my bedroom. After moving Rob’s pile of dirty clothes, several receipts he accumulated on his nightstand (the pocket emptying ritual), and a pair of shoes, I found the tooth wedged up against the foot of the nightstand. Hmmmm, didn’t she swear it was in the tooth holder when she left my room? Must be a magical tooth – it can disappear out of a closed box and appear somewhere far from the location of the disappearance. David Copperfield should include this tooth in his act. Maybe I’ll write him a letter. Better yet, I’ll find his e-mail and just send him a blog link – I’m sure he personally reads all his e-mail and opens every attachment and web link included in the e-mails. NOT!

Since the tooth disappeared once already, I now had a dilemma. Cupie’s bed is right up against the wall and there is a trundle under it. If the tooth rolls out from under her pillow behind her bed, there is no way I was going to be able to play Tooth Fairy without waking her up. My solution was to put the tooth under her pillow, but inside the pillowcase.

This really worried Cupie. What if the Tooth Fairy couldn’t find it? Apparently, that pesky pillowcase would be in the way when the Tooth Fairy slid her hand across the fitted sheet & under the pillow. There would be no tooth! Cupie wanted me to write a note for the Tooth Fairy telling her exactly where the tooth was. It had to be taped to her bedpost right by her pillow. That's just what I wanted to do – stick scotch tape on her wood bedpost.

I went all the way down to the kitchen to get out a pad of paper to write the note. This was an adventure. The little notebook I keep in the junk drawer had notes on almost all the pages. I had to flip through page by page (by this time it is past 9:00 and I had TV to watch!) until I found a blank sheet in the middle. I must have a tendency to start at the beginning or the end when grabbing it for notes. I don’t rip out the pages until they are used up on both sides – call me frugal, I don’t care.

Cupie’s note said:

DEAR TOOTH FAIRY,

MY TOOTH IS UNDER MY PILLOW, BUT IT IS INSIDE THE PILLOW CASE.

CUPIE

She signed it herself – I wrote the rest. We would have been there until 10:00 had I let her write the entire note. She was finally happy with the tooth situation and crawled into bed.

At about 1:00 I snuck into her room to put the golden dollar under her pillow and take the tooth to a super secret spot. Since the tooth was in the plastic holder, I had to take it out of her room to open it. I didn’t want her waking up to find me standing there with her tooth & money. That would be just great – ruin the magic on my first Tooth Fairy adventure. I snuck back in her room and left the plastic tooth holder & money under the pillow (in the pillowcase, of course).

When I got up in the morning, Hubby asked if I had taken the note. Doh! I had forgotten. Unless I wanted to put up the note every time she lost a tooth, I had to go get it. For the third time, I entered her room. I snatched the note and hoped I didn’t wake her up. This was supposed to be an in and out operation. Instead I had to risk my daughter’s happiness and my sanity three times.

Next time we won’t have the note issue. Cupie thinks the Tooth Fairy took it to put in her file for future reference. We’re going to have to do something about that tooth holder, though.


Silver lining: Cupie was so excited Tuesday morning. It sounded like a buffalo running down the hall. She turned the corner into our room with her hair flying and the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. That alone was worth all the hassle.

Cupie's Tooth Saga - Part 1

Do you believe in fairies? If you believe, clap your hands! . . . Clap your hands and say, 'I do believe in fairies! I do! I do!'" ~ Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie

Three weeks ago, we discovered Cupie had a loose tooth. It wiggled just a little bit, but it was definitely loose – not our over active adult imagination about getting to see your child’s next milestone.

An urgent plea went out to all I knew who had school age children. What’s the going rate????

Turns out, it’s a dollar. Some people do something special for the first tooth, but Cupie would have been disappointed when the next tooth came out and the Tooth Fairy didn’t perform as well. One of the responders said they had heard of $20 a tooth! What?? That’s a mouth worth 400 bucks. Their baby teeth are precious, but there is no way they are worth that much; especially when those first few teeth come out in quick succession.

Anyway, it took three more weeks so I guess I didn’t have to go into over-drive about the amount. She’s reached another milestone in this great game of life. For me, it is a double edged sword – I’m excited for her, but sad for me. Another piece of my baby is gone.

That’s enough sap – on to the funny stuff!

So on Saturday, Cupie says she really wants her tooth to come out. I told her that she needed to have patience and it would eventually come out. But she started whining about how it was bothering her so I steered her toward the bathroom. I didn’t want her bleeding all over the carpet (as if tooth paste wasn’t bad enough – blood would really leave a mark). I told her to start wiggling the tooth hard, but she was being a total wuss about it.

“Do you want me to try?” I asked her. She nodded her head and I tried to get a grip on it to pull and/or twist. That got a yelp and tears, but there was blood so I accomplished something. What kind of mother am I? I made my child bleed – yay!

After she calmed down a bit, I asked her if she wanted me to try again. She really wanted that tooth out so she agreed. The tooth is too small to get a finger grip on so I had to consider my options.

I’ve heard in the olden days, they tied a string around the tooth, attached the other end to a door, and slammed the door to get the tooth to pop out quickly. There are three things that prevented me from choosing this option. (1) I’m sure Cupie wouldn’t go for a string in her mouth nor do I think she would sit still long enough for me to tie it on. (2) Say I'm wrong about #1 and the tooth comes flying out and gets lost. (3) Again, say I'm wrong about #1 and it wouldn’t work and she’d hate me for the pain I inflicted.

Next option, get the needle nose pliers to get a better grip on the tooth. This was dismissed – you ever accidentally get the metal from a tool in your mouth? It’s bitter! Besides, if it didn’t work, I’d probably damage the enamel and with my luck, the tooth wouldn’t fall out until it rotted out.

I decided to go with just a good pull. I hooked my index finger over the tooth and quickly contracted my finger while pulling with my arm. I heard something pull loose, but didn’t come all the way out. I got a full blown scream and a ton of tears. She wouldn’t let me anywhere near her mouth after that.

She eventually calmed down because she had a new game to play – let’s push my tooth out with my tongue, then pull it back in! The things that delight a five-year-old (insert your own eye roll here).

This little game went on until Monday when she was playing with her tooth and it just fell out.


Finally! That saga is over.

Now, we had to prepare for the tooth fairy. . .

TO BE CONTINUED



Silver Lining:

1. Her teacher at pre-school was kind enough to put the tooth in a sealed envelope instead of letting Cupie hold on to it.


2. I had, had three weeks to prepare for the Tooth Fairy so I was ready - or so I thought

Rhymes with sit, fit, zit . . .

Cupie is in the goofy phrase/rhyming stage.

She says things like, “Twinkle, twinkle little house” and laughs hysterically.

She also makes up words like, “Whack-corn” – what is that?????

Lately, she has really gotten the concept of rhyming too. It’s not just the repetition & parroting of Dr. Seuss type books that you see from younger children. She is taking one word & figuring out what rhymes with it – sat, cat, mat, etc.

Saturday night, while I hosted Bunco, Hubby took the girls to McDonald's for dinner & to get a movie out of the Red Box. Now, Cupie was probably babbling on rhyming or thinking up goofy stuff and Rob wasn’t really paying attention until she asked him, “We’re going to get a tit movie, right?”

I’m sure the blue hairs sitting near the Red Box about had a heart attack!

Silver lining:
1. Hubby did explain that "tit" is not a word nice girls use.
2. They did not get a tit movie.
3. McDonald's Red Box does not carry tit movies.

Lawn = Armpit

We live in a community that does not allow gas powered lawn equipment. That means you have to use an electric lawn mower or one of those reel lawn mowers (the kind used in the opening credits of "Leave It To Beaver"). We have the latter.

Granted, the yards are pretty small. For us, we have 5X100 feet on either side of the house & 5X40 in the front. Hugh Beaumont makes it look pretty easy to push that mower, but he's probably on astroturf. In real life it isn't as easy.

We have a nice, light weight mower but if the grass gets just a little too long or there are weeds, it's tough to push. The grass has a tendency to get pushed down, instead of cut, when it is too long.

In this regard, grass is like armpit hair. You have to hit it from different directions in order to get the cut you want. Any of you ladies out there know what I'm talking about.

Silver lining:
1. I had the satisfaction of a job well done after taking the time to go over certain sections a number of times.
2. I got to get some fresh air & enjoy the nice weather.
3. I had time to just think - something I don't get a chance to do that very often with two little ones around.