Thursday, August 31, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Mothers are underappreciated. And brothers are overrated.
There. Happy now, Klay?
Monday, August 21, 2006
When "Bob" was about 5 or so, he went somewhere with my sister in her minivan. She had given him numerous opportunities to take a bathroom break, none of which he took advantage. After all chances for potty breaks were past, he announced that he had to pee. My sister explained to him that stopping was no longer an option, but he insisted he had to go really bad.
"Well, honey, we just can't stop."
"But I have to go now!"
"Can't you wait?"
"All right. There's a cup back there. Just pee in the cup."
No problem. Except that "Bob" didn't hear "cup." He heard "cup holder."
He filled every one by which he was seated, almost to overflowing.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Phil was up on the roof fixing some electrical problems. He took "Bob" with him. "Bob" saw lots of pipes sticking up through the roof and wanted to know the function of each one. Phil explained the chimney, furnace vents, and sewer vents. "Bob" was very curious about the sewer vent. (Can you see it coming?)
Phil climbed off the roof to come inside for parts. When he got back on top of the roof, he caught "Bob" in the act of peeing down the sewer vent. (If any of this sounds familiar, it's because Lorien mentioned it briefly in her post about Treehouse Fun.) Pretty ingenious of "Bob," but we had to punish him simply because of the public nature of the pee.
"Son, it doesn't hurt anything to pee down the vent, but it's not a good idea to do it on the top of the roof with your pants down where any one of the neighbors could see."
All this has a point, to which I am coming.
Fast forward to yesterday. "Bob" is in the back yard with a squirt gun and a squirt bottle, shooting water at a swarm of dragonflies. No problem, I'm okay with this. Then Phil arrives home from work. Conversation ensues as follows:
Phil: "Do you realize 'Bob' is squirting dragonflies with the squirt bottle?"
Phil: "So what is that yellow stuff in the squirt bottle?"
Me: (no reply, since I am racing out the door to find out)
I reach the back yard and call out, "Bob? What's that yellow stuff in the squirt bottle?"
(Of course, by the time his name has escaped my lips, "Bob" has made a hasty retreat to the far corner of the house and is madly twisting the sprayer off the bottle and dumping the yellow liquid into the grass.)
Conversation ensues as follows:
Me: "What's the yellow stuff, 'Bob'?"
Bob: "Just water, Mom."
Me: "Water isn't yellow."
Bob: "I poured it out of the squirt gun."
He then proceeds to pour water from the gun into the squirt bottle. The water was, inconveniently for him, clear.
Me: "I don't think so. Was it pee?"
Bob (acting appalled): "No way, Mom! Why would I do that?"
Me (thinking back to last summer): "Because you're you."
Bob: "That's just disgusting! I would never do that!"
Me: "MmmmHmmm. Well, 'Bob,' I can tell you're lying to me. I'm thinking that you peed into the squirt bottle."
His body language is screaming "Lying!!!" this whole time. I'm talking eye darting, avoiding eye contact, everything.
Bob (with a sigh): "Okay, Mom, I did it. But I just wanted to see if pee was toxic to dragonflies."
Me (trying not to snort): "All right, but don't do that again. It's just plain gross."
I wonder what adventures next summer will bring?
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Favor? What favor are they talking about? And since when do I go around embracing cards? So I open it up to see this:
"The right card to have, to hold and to use."
What is this? Do they think I married a credit card or something?
And then, "You chose the Citi Dividend Card. So we think you deserve a big hug!"
A hug from whom? From Citi Card? I don't think so. That would be like kissing a rattlesnake. (No comments from the peanut gallery about my affection for legless, scaly animals, please.)
I open it further to reveal this:
In case you can't read the fuzzy print, it says, "Make your Citi Card your main squeeze."
"Instructions: 1. Wrap around torso. 2. Feel warm and cozy."
I got a "hug" in the mail from my credit card company?!?!?!? This is the kind of thing that kids make as gifts for their parents or that lovestruck Freshman girlfriends send their missionaries. What kind of message am I supposed to infer? Let's see..."We are so happy to be the means of increasing your chances for bankruptcy that we'd like to make you feel 'warm and cozy' about it." Hmmm. I don't think that works for me. How about another? "We love your credit score so much we couldn't resist sending you this love note in hopes that we might further lower it!" Mmmm, not a keeper either.
And what is it with the model in the picture? She looks like she couldn't be happier about receiving a paper embrace from a non-person. Should I feel that joyful about this unexpected "gift"? Those hands look a bit suspicious to me. And the background looks like a pinstriped suit that a mafia godfather would wear. Do I want those kinds of hands wrapped around my torso? I could end up feeding the fish at the bottom of the Provo River.
But as long as I have my Citi Card, I'll have the assurance that a paper arm will reach down and pull me out. How comforting. Makes me all warm and cozy just thinking about it.