"Daddy, you scared the crap out of me!"
"Mae, 'crap' is not a good word. It's a bad word."
"No, Daddy, 'crap' is a GREAT word!"
-MaeMae vs. Hubs
"You have a stegosaurus brain."
"What?"
"A stegosaurus has a brain the size of a walnut, and I'm implying that you also have a very tiny brain."
"Ooooo, Burn! Nerd Burn!"
-Me vs. Hubs
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Confessions of a Dirty Mom
There are some homes that upon entering, you immediately take off your shoes without being asked. The smell of fresh linen isn't wafting from a Glade plug-in, but from actual fresh linen. The carpets are free of spots, and you can be assured that your white socks will stay white even if you moonwalk all around the kitchen.
This home is not my home. We have "hot lava" floors, meaning that anything that touches the floor will be covered in dirt or fur and rendered unusable, as if incinerated by lava. I typically try to scrub off the darkest spots on the family room carpet once a month, but I have been known to miss a few. We shrug, sheepish, and explain to visitors that we will replace the carpet once the dog has moved on to the big farm in the sky.
I just took laundry lessons from my sister in law, who is a wizard at stain removal. Up to that point, I had accepted that our family would just be a bit splotchy. I don't wipe out the fridge, clean the microwave or rinse out the silverware tray until company threatens to come over for a visit.
Some friends and I get together once a week or so, to drink coffee, complain discreetly about husbands, and let the kids wear themselves out. The host Mom is a clean mom, with sparkling floors, white grout and no crayon on the walls of her basement. We were having a lively conversation, and I didn't notice that one of the kids, a cheerful 14 month old girl, had wandered over to the play-doh table. She was only a few feet away from me, and happily munching away on the bits of colored doh. Play-doh is quite dry, and she began to cough a bit on the chunks. Still no reaction from me.
She coughed enough that the little bits of doh came flying out of her mouth, drawing the attention of the other moms. Gasps flew up from around the room..."She's eating play-doh!" The other moms immediately sprang into action. One, armed with Lysol wipes, charged over to wipe up the spit up. The other scooped up the toddler to pry the remaining bits out of her mouth.
Er....it says "non-toxic" right on the can. While I don't serve play-doh for snack, I certainly don't mind if someone has a bite or two. I let Darling lick her first ball of play-doh to see what it tastes like.
(Her verdict? "Ew." End discussion.)
No one actually accused me of neglect, but it did get me thinking. Perhaps this episode was indicative of a larger issue? Is this one example of a dirty mom vs. a clean one?
For further confirmation of the apple falling not-so-far from the tree, I relayed this story to St. Nana. She shrugged her shoulders and said "It says 'non-toxic' right on the can."
This home is not my home. We have "hot lava" floors, meaning that anything that touches the floor will be covered in dirt or fur and rendered unusable, as if incinerated by lava. I typically try to scrub off the darkest spots on the family room carpet once a month, but I have been known to miss a few. We shrug, sheepish, and explain to visitors that we will replace the carpet once the dog has moved on to the big farm in the sky.
I just took laundry lessons from my sister in law, who is a wizard at stain removal. Up to that point, I had accepted that our family would just be a bit splotchy. I don't wipe out the fridge, clean the microwave or rinse out the silverware tray until company threatens to come over for a visit.
Some friends and I get together once a week or so, to drink coffee, complain discreetly about husbands, and let the kids wear themselves out. The host Mom is a clean mom, with sparkling floors, white grout and no crayon on the walls of her basement. We were having a lively conversation, and I didn't notice that one of the kids, a cheerful 14 month old girl, had wandered over to the play-doh table. She was only a few feet away from me, and happily munching away on the bits of colored doh. Play-doh is quite dry, and she began to cough a bit on the chunks. Still no reaction from me.
She coughed enough that the little bits of doh came flying out of her mouth, drawing the attention of the other moms. Gasps flew up from around the room..."She's eating play-doh!" The other moms immediately sprang into action. One, armed with Lysol wipes, charged over to wipe up the spit up. The other scooped up the toddler to pry the remaining bits out of her mouth.
Er....it says "non-toxic" right on the can. While I don't serve play-doh for snack, I certainly don't mind if someone has a bite or two. I let Darling lick her first ball of play-doh to see what it tastes like.
(Her verdict? "Ew." End discussion.)
No one actually accused me of neglect, but it did get me thinking. Perhaps this episode was indicative of a larger issue? Is this one example of a dirty mom vs. a clean one?
For further confirmation of the apple falling not-so-far from the tree, I relayed this story to St. Nana. She shrugged her shoulders and said "It says 'non-toxic' right on the can."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)