A Houseful of Hummers…As in Humming…Gheez!

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The one thing you are most unlikely to find in my house is silence.  That’s not just because my boys talk incessantly.  It’s also because we are a houseful of hummers.  All day long, there is the sound of someone humming whatever tune is currently stuck in his, occasionally her, head.

untitled (2)

Adam Levine from Maroon 5
Darling But Definitely Overexposed

Like Nic.  Lately, he is stuck between Payphone by Maroon 5.  At breakfast, lunch and dinner, he is humming the song.  While he is in the bathroom, his bedroom, reading a book, he is humming the song.  Before I know it, I am humming it, too.  It is making me crazy.  I have been thinking of writing to Adam Levine to tell him about Nic continuously humming his songs.  Maybe Adam would show up at our house.  I could stare at him for awhile.  At least it would make listening to all this humming tolerable.

It’s not just Nic.  My husband, Ron, hums all the time, too.  Ron is one of those people who doesn’t even realize he is humming.  Most annoying of all, though, is imagesCA7NCOUCwhat Ron hums. imagesCA9ALJR0 Ron used to hum the theme songs to Thomas the Tank Engine and Chuggington to tease Aaron.  Eventually, they got so deep into his brain, that he hums them all the time now.  It has gotten so bad that even Aaron covers his ears when he hears it.  Worse is that when Ron isn’t humming the songs, he is whistling them.

Aaron hums, too, but his is that random humming that some people do.  It’s not a tune recognizable to anyone, else.  It is just a melody that is floating through his head.  If I start humming along with him, he will give me his Ben Franklin look.  He drops his chin and peers over his glasses.  “Mom, what do you think you are doing?”

“I’m humming along with you.”

“No offense or anything, Mom, but this song is in my head.  And, you are getting it all wrong.”

I, personally, prefer to sing.  But since my family doesn’t appreciate my vocal talents, I, too, have taken to humming.  I only hope they find it as annoying as I do.

The 2013 Calendar Conundrum

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How hard can it possibly be to find a calendar to hang in the kitchen?  In this house, finding a 2013 calendar was quite the conundrum.  It all started when Jenny got me a calendar as part of my Christmas present.  The calendar is a collection of quotes from Sheldon of Big Bang Theory fame.   I was glad to have a calendar for the kitchen because I hadn’t gotten one yet.  I also love the Big Bang Theory and Sheldon.  It’s like a little glimpse into what our sons might be like in the future.  So, I was glad to get the calendar, that is, until I put it up


and saw this…fresh hell

and this.



Usually, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. When your kid looks at the dinner you placed in front of him and says, “Oh, what fresh hell is this?” and your other kid calls you a “heartless bitch” because you won’t let him use the computer, it becomes a big deal.  So, we moved the calendar to another room and covered up the quotes.

My husband brought home a new 2013 calendar for me to hang in the kitchen.  I opened it and laughed.  I also shook my head.  By now, I thought he would have known better.


Flowers, puppies, something benign! Instead, he brought home this…






which contained this.


As you have probably already guessed, we haven’t been serving much ham around here since the kids saw this.  It’s kind of hard to choke down ham while you are giggling your head of and saying “You sly fox!” or “Ham in the oven!  Ha, ha, ha!”

Meanwhile, the month of January had gone by and I had missed 3 appointments because they weren’t on my kitchen calendar.  Don’t say it.  I know I am a dinosaur.  I don’t have a Smart Phone, Blackberry, Franklin Planner or a secretary.  I have my calendar and I like it.

Wanting me to not miss anything else, my husband tried to help with another calendar.  They were on sale at the university bookstore where he teaches, so he bought three.  A Peeps calendar, an Awkward Pet Photos calendar and a calendar with beautiful pictures of Tuscany.  “You pick the one you want and I’ll take one of the others to the office,” he told me.

I knew the calendar of Tuscany was the safest one to put in the kitchen.  Seriously, what could the kids find funny about pictures of Tuscany?  At the same time, I really didn’t want people going to my husband’s office and seeing this…


or this.  awkward







Nic and Aaron oddly enough did laugh at The Peeps Show calendar.  They thought it was cute and interesting, and, gratefully, did not get the play on words.  They were enjoying the scenes of Peeps in the Mario Bros. game and at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.

side storygood night







My personal favorites are the scenes from Peep Side Story and Goodnight, Peeps.  Nic asked me if he could have the calendar for his room.  Aaron already had a Cars calendar.  How could I say no.  So, off went Nic and Aaron to thoroughly inspect every scene for every month for the year.

That left me with this.


At least, I haven’t missed anymore appointments.





My Husband and I Can’t Communicate About This and That

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If communication is supposed to be the hallmark of a strong marriage, I think my husband and I are in trouble.  It’s not that we don’t talk to each other. We probably talk to each other too much.  Our communication problems aren’t about anything specific.  It’s mostly a lot of “this” and “that”.

Like the other night, when we were watching TV.  My husband suddenly starts waving his hand at me.


Now, I haven’t said a word, so he’s not shushing me. After all the years of being married to him, though, I know that shushing and hand waving while watching TV means “turn the volume down.”

I mute the television and I wait.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That sound,” he says.  I can hear the annoyance in his voice.

“Well, of course, it’s a sound,” I say, my annoyance equally apparent.  “If I was supposed to HEAR it; it must be a sound.”

“So, did you hear it?”

“Hear what?” I ask again.”

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t be asking you!”thCA0QF4W2

“Could you narrow it down a little?  I mean, what kind of sound is it?”

“I don’t know.  It’s kind of…wait, there it is.  Did you hear it?”

“Well, let’s see.  I hear a hum from the TV.  The motor on the frig is running.  The furnace just went on.  Nic is snoring to wake the dead.  And, I think I heard one of the neighbors’ dogs barking.  Was it any of those sounds?”


“Then I didn’t hear it.”

“Oh,” he says giving a shrug.  “Why is the TV on mute? I can’t hear it.”

It’s not just “that”, that is causing us trouble.  We’re also having problems with “this”.

At least once a day, we will have a conversation that goes something like, well, this.

“Do you know what this is?” my husband yells from another room.

“What what is?” I yell back from inside the dryer.

“This!” I still don’t know what it is but I can tell from his voice that he must be pointing.

“If I can’t see it, I can’t tell you what it is. Can you describe it?”

“Never mind.”

My favorite of these conversations, though, is when my husband is looking for a snack.

Staring into the snack cabinet, my husband let’s out a loud sigh.  “Do we have anymore of that stuff?”

“Which stuff?”

“That stuff we had the other night?”

I reach past him into the cabinet. “Do you mean this stuff?”

“No, that’s not the stuff?”

“Is it this stuff?” I say pulling out another bag.

“No, that’s not it either.”

“Do you remember what it was called?” I ask, growing tired of the hunt and the conversation.

“Never-mind,” he says with another sigh.  “I’ll just have some of that.”

I had him that last bag I took from the cabinet.

He sighs again. “No.  I meant this,” he says as he takes the first bag from my hands.

I think if we are going to make it through another 12 years, my husband and I better stick to using nouns.


Things My Mother-in-Law Says…

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(I really need to start a new page under this title.)

So, I was reading the headlines out loud from Fark for my husband and mother-in-law while they were making dinner. (If you aren’t familiar with Fark.com it is worth checking out). Anyway, one of the headlines started this way: “Doctor Finds a 77-pound ovarian tumor…” And my mother-in-law’s response? “Wow, was that in a man or a woman?”

Ovarian tumor.


I have no words…

In other news, have a happy holidays, y’all! This is the first Christmas for this blog. We are deeply appreciative to everyone who stops by to check out our blog, our regular readers, and our commenters. :)

Be good to one another and bring us some good stories. Share in the comments.

The Real Black Friday

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These retailers may think that Black Friday is some new, big shopping day, but we have had Black Friday in our house ever since the kids started talking.  Well, actually, ever since the kids started talking back.

Yes, in a short 24 hours, probably less, from the time that we have sat around the table saying how thankful we are for each, the mood will have taken a definite turn.  The joy and good feelings of Thursday will have dissolved into the cranky darkness of our Black Friday. 

Like participants of that other Black Friday, I will be up way too early.  Unlike those participants, I will not be racing out the door to get my hands on some amazing bargains. (Okay, they won’t either – be getting amazing bargains, that is, but I don’t want to ruin their fun.)  I will be up because Nic, who can never get out of bed in the morning for school, has decided that 5:30 a.m. is the exact time that he needs to know why Greg Heffley’s  (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) Aunt Loretta showed up too early for Thanksgiving dinner.  Did she ruin the whole day?  Do we have an Aunt Loretta?

By the time I quiet Nic down, it is too late to go back to sleep.   Aaron will have joined us downstairs.  He will want to know why are we talking about Diary of a Wimpy Kid.  He will admonish his brother for having brought up Thanksgiving because “that was soooooo yesterday.”   I will tell both boys that they need to go back to bed. 

When their whining that they are not tired and insisting that they could not possibly go back to sleep gets even louder than their father’s and grandmother’s snoring, I will fold.  Like the Black Friday shopper who got caught in the automatic doors at Wal-Mart (okay, I made that up), I will be squished between my boys on the couch.  Both of them vying for my attention.  Aaron will literally be pulling my eyelids up to make sure I don’t fall asleep.  Nic will be asking me if he can use the computer though he knows his grandmother is sleeping in that room.

By the time my husband and mother-in-law wake, long after the Early Bird Door-Busters have expired, my Thanksgiving gratefulness will be wearing thin.  The first,”No coffee?” muttered by husband will be met with a murderous, though sleepy, stare.  In the kitchen, I am greeted by all the dishes left from late-night turkey sandwiches and one-last-pieces of pie.  I push them aside so I can fill the coffeepot with water.  The black liquid will be my sanity today.

Before Kmart can even announce their next Blue Light Special (do they even still do that), Aaron will have announced that he is bored.  We haven’t even had breakfast yet, I will say.  But I have been up for hours already, he will retort.  Yea, like I didn’t know that already.

After breakfast, while I clear the dishes and my mother-in-law watches the TV much too loudly, Ron will ask me what my plans are for the day.  Knowing that “getting as far away from all of you as I can” is probably not my best answer, I shrug.  “Haven’t decided yet.”

I tell the boys it is time to get dressed.  “Why, so we can sit around the house and eat all day?” asks Aaron.  “But, mom, I haven’t even used the computer yet!” complains Nic.  Remember, I tell myself, these are the people I am THANKFUL for…and at least I am not at the mall with a thousand sneezing and coughing strangers all grabbing for the same Furby.

“Let’s go for a walk.  It’s beautiful outside!”  I will encourage them.   

“Then can I use the computer?” Nic will ask.

“Yea.  Like, I don’t think Dad is going to do that. If you really want to go for a walk, maybe that would be good alone time.” Aaron, suggests helpfully.

Like the shopper who arrived too late for the $49.99 portable DVD player, I feel my disappointment setting in.  I’m always surprised how quickly things get back to “normal.”  I am losing my Thanksgiving high – quickly.

Finally, everyone is dressed.  It is already time for lunch.  I suggest turkey sandwiches.  “I’m sick of turkey,” Aaron will whine.  “I still haven’t used the computer,” Nic will groan.  “Whatever you want to make is fine,” my husband will add as he reclines on the couch. My mother-in-law will be staring out the window.  “Does anyone ever drive down this street?  It’s like no one else even lives here!”  I will sigh, bite my tongue and make lunch. 

After lunch, I will suggest we play a game.  Only my mother-in-law will agree to join me.  Realizing that he will now be in charge of the boys, my husband will quickly take a seat at the table.  Within a few minutes, the boys will join us. They will not like the game, even though it is one of their’s. 

“How much longer is this going to take?” Nic will ask. “Since I played the game can I use the computer.”

“I’m hungry,” Aaron will add. “Can’t we stop playing to have a snack?”

Eventually, the frustration will be too great.  The only one having fun will be my mother-in-law because she hasn’t heard even one of the boys annoying comments.  And, because, much to Aaron’s dismay, she is winning.

Just as the evening round of Black Friday deals are starting and new shoppers flood the stores, my family will ask if we can order Chinese food for dinner.  “But we have all these great leftovers!”  I will say.  “That’s Thanksgiving food, Mom,” Aaron will say.  “And Thanksgiving, in case you haven’t noticed, is over.”

I agree to Chinese food.  The leftovers will keep for a day.  But, I am not ready for Thanksgiving to be over.  I am not ready for it to be Black Friday.  I start to realize that Black Friday is almost over.  Soon, it will be Monday and, at least until Christmas vacation, things will get back to normal.

Yes, on Monday, I will be thankful, again.



Lies My Mom Told Me

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My mom was one of the wisest people I have ever known. She often seemed to know the exact right thing to do or say to solve a problem. And she was generous with her time, attention, and advice. But some things she said still make me wonder if she was actually human very different from most other folks, or if her memories of events were a bit off. Take the following statements that she made:

1. Labor pain is no worse than your worst menstrual cramps

HA! Now, I did have some pretty fierce menstrual cramps in my teens and twenties that would render me non-functional for a day as I laid on the bed and cursed my gender. But even that pain didn’t have the gall to compare itself to my labor pain. At the height of my labor I could only breathe, stare at the wall, and silently cry. It truly sucked. (Full disclosure: all of my labors ended in c-sections).

2. Life starts at 40

I’m not sure. I think for my mom she felt invigorated at 40 because my sister and I were both in school and fairly autonomous. She finally caught a break from having to keep an eye on us at all times. Plus, this was an era where kids were not in the house (and underfoot) during the day. We were kicked out  invited to go outside to play after breakfast in the sweltering heat nature and told to come back in only for lunch (“if you need water use the hose”). After lunch we returned outdoors, only to come back in when the streetlights came on.

I don’t know what parents did during the intervening hours when we were all outside playing doctor entertaining one another, but back then it never occurred to me to wonder.

I had my last baby at 39, so I was still a bit crazed at 40. Now, at 43 I’ve found a better balance. My kids are old enough now to entertain themselves for periods of time, and they are more fun to be around. We can travel together as a family fairly easily (no more bottles, baby food, nursing, crib reservations, etc.). My youngest will go to school next year. And then I will learn what it is that parents do all day. I have feeling it is something like this: errands, cleaning, picking up, laundry, dishes, more errands, phone calls, emails, taking forgotten things to school, picking up a sick child, volunteering at the library, chaperoning field trips, doctor’s appointments, etc. So, not a huge change from what I do now. But I do feel like I’ve made it over the “crazy hump” of early motherhood/parenting infants and toddlers stage. And it. is. wonderful. (Evil confession: whenever I congratulate a new/prospective mother on her newborn/pregnancy I always have to suppress the urge to giggle).

3. Ok, I can’t confirm this claim either way, but my mom said that after she gave birth she wore her pre-pregnancy jeans back home from the hospital.

Really? REALLY???!!!! My oldest son will be 11 years old next week and I still can’t get back into my goddamn pre-pregnancy jeans. As I left the hospital after I had David I was wearing my husband’s sweatpants. He’s a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than me. It took…..well, I still haven’t gotten back to my pre-pregnancy weight. But, aside from the fact that my stomach still looked like I was six months pregnant for the first several weeks after birth, I left the hospital wearing one of those nuclear-grade maxi-pads (how would you get jeans over that?). The giant maxi pad, incision pain, and the resulting c-section shuffle, made me walk like an elderly, bow-legged hobbit. I can’t even imagine having a zipper over the stitches.

4. Finally, my mom claims that I was an absolute angel as a child

Clearly, she lost her mind somewhere along the way. I wonder if I had anything to do with it? More importantly, does this claim invalidate all her previous claims?


Drop me a line with bizarre, odd, or otherwise seemingly outrageous claims that your mom made (or dad, grandparents, or other older relative).

Dial F for Fail

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You know those days when everything just goes right? Like you’re driving around on a lazy Saturday on your way to the park with the kids and you pass a fair you didn’t know was going on. So you spontaneously decide to take the kids to the fair and everyone has a great time. Well, last Sunday wasn’t like that.

It began well enough, though. The kids and I had started out to take Kelly to a birthday party thrown by one of her classmates. The venue was at an indoor miniature golf place called Monster Golf. My plan was to deposit Kelly with the birthday kids and then play a round of mini-golf and some arcade games with the boys until the party was over.

That didn’t happen. Here’s what did: Kelly was scared (and legitimately so, I thought) of the creepy decor inside Monster Golf. So while she waited right outside the front door (“in the light, mom”) I quickly went in to find David, who I had left with a handful of quarters just minutes before and who was happily involved in an arcade game. He. was. not. pleased. when I said that we had to leave.

As we were driving away I proposed an alternate plan. There is an outdoor place that has miniature golf, bumper boats, and go carts near our house. I suggested that we go there to play for a couple of hours and then go home. The kids were satisfied with this plan so off we went. When we got there (at 4:30 pm) I saw the sign that said it was open on Sundays from 11am to 7pm (Score!). Right next to another sign that said “Park Closed. Private Event.” (Damn!)

That was a bit more disappointment than my son could handle. He does not normally react well to sudden changes in plans, and two changes in one afternoon was just too much. He went off on a rant.

OH GREAT! First, we skipped the haunted train ride last night (true, we did), then we skipped the corn maze this morning (it was raining), and THEN you made us skip MONSTER GOLF! I bet next you’ll skip my birthday party for a HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT (seriously??), and then we’ll skip the Halloween party (not likely since we are hosting), and I wouldn’t even be surprised if we skipped CHRISTMAS (what!!!????).

It was all I could do to keep a straight face. He was really angry and I respected and acknowledged that, but this rant was one of the funnier ones I’ve ever heard from him.

Anyway, I decided to try one last time to do something fun. So I proposed that we go to a place called the Cake Bar. We had never been there before and I had been meaning to try it. I warned them that it might not be open this late on a Sunday, but I was willing to take a chance. They all agreed that they were willing to chance it as well. David even offered that it would most likely be open because “The third time’s the charm.”

Turns out, not so much. It was closed. So we skipped it. Yay, me.


Positive Parenting or What’s Wrong with Your Face?

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Since I’m running tight on time today, I thought I’d share a piece I wrote a few months back.  Was having to try really hard to keep a positive attitude and smile on my face this weekend and it made me think of this.  Enjoy!

As a mom, I realize that I spend a lot of the day trying not to feel how I’m feeling.  My kids will behave better if I set a positive example.  That’s positive parenting, right?  After all, the mom sets the tone for the family.  “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is how the old saying goes.  So, I try to start each day on the sunny side.

My eight-year-old (Nic) tells me to go away when I try to wake him.  My seven-year-old (Aaron) wakes up but runs downstairs, buries his head in the sofa cushions and tells me to leave him alone.  Oh, they’re still tired.  They’re just a little cranky.  Everything will be better once they have breakfast. Positive thinking!

Over breakfast, the complaining begins.  “My bagel is too dark.”  “I don’t like when there are bubbles in my milk.”  “Seriously, we only have cinnamon Pop-Tarts?”  By the end of breakfast, I have a chewed a large gaping hole into the side of my mouth which has begun to swell because I was trying not to raise my voice while maintaining a smile and “positive” attitude. 

The food needs to get to their brains, I remind myself.  So I send them to their rooms to dress for the day and the fighting begins.  Aaron won’t get out of Nic’s room.  Nic uses Aaron’s toothbrush.  “Please go to your own rooms to get dressed, “ I direct remembering to use my manners just like I would ask them to. 

Now, Aaron informs me that he cannot wear the shirt he insisted I buy him last week, because this week the character on it is no longer cool.  When I explain to him that he has to wear it because I don’t have another clean shirt for him to wear today, he asks “so, what do you do all day anyway?’  Before I can open my mouth to ask him if he would like to start doing the laundry, I am interrupted by Nic who is running around the house yelling “Your mother eats gym shorts!” at the top of his lungs while laughing hysterically.  Of course, he is completely naked while he does this and seems to have forgotten that the step after taking off his pajamas off is putting on his day clothes.  I still haven’t had any coffee, or breakfast or a good night’s sleep.  But, yelling at them might make it hard for them to concentrate at school today (or at least that’s what the teachers want you to believe because, they, of course, don’t ever yell at their own kids or yours for that matter).  So, I clench my teeth together, biting my lip in the process, and take a deep breath.

When I  pick Aaron up from school, if I haven’t forgotten to bring a snack, I am quickly informed that  the snack I did bring wasn’t what he was hoping for.  When I ask him how his day was, our conversation goes something like this:

“Well, I kind of got in a fight with Thomas and now we aren’t friends anymore.”

“What were you fighting about?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“Well, just try.  Maybe I can help you.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Well, this is a kid thing, not an adult thing.  You wouldn’t understand because you are too old. What is it, like 50 something years since you were a kid? “

“Well, it hasn’t been that long.  Besides, I remember what it was like to be a kid.  Maybe we can find a solution together.”  (Did you see that?  I’m being positive, helpful, I am a good example.)

“Never mind.  Besides, Thomas and I made up already and I’m fine.”

“But, just told me you that you and Thomas had a fight and aren’t friends anymore.”

“See, I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

I start to debate the issue but instead bang my head against the steering wheel, because it is easier than having this conversation again.

When Aaron’s brother gets home, he and Aaron pick up right were they left off this morning fighting over everything and nothing.  When I get sick of their tattling and arguing, I try to offer a positive solution.  I don’t yell.  Instead, I suggest that they take a break and go play separately in their rooms for a while.  Nic looks at Aaron and tells him, “She never wants us to have any fun.  She always complains that we don’t do anything together and then all she does is send us to our rooms.”  I try to keep my eyes from popping out of my head but I realize they are quite large from the pressure building up in my head.

My husband comes home and asks, “What’s wrong with your face?”

“What kind of questions is that,” I ask, my nose getting out of joint.  I head to the bathroom to look at my face.  My cheek is puffy. My lip is split. My forehead is lined with steering wheel marks.  My eyes are blood-shot and my nose is turning to the left.

“Oh, that” I say to my husband.  “That’s just me staying positive.”

Sing a Little Song for Me

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When I was a kid, my mom used to go around the house sinEdith Bunker (portrayed by Jean Stapleton)ging all of the time.  I thought it annoyed my siblings and me because she sounded like Edith Bunker and usually sang songs like “Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life at Last I Found You” or “Ave Maria“.  Since I’ve become a mom, though, I’ve realized that it’s just that kids hate to hear their parents sing – especially their moms.

Oh, sure, when they were infants and toddlers my boys loved to hear me sing.  But they loved to hear me talk, too.  It didn’t matter what I did as long as words were coming out of my mouth and I was paying attention to them.  Even now, I get the occasional request for me to sing to them at bedtime.  I am not silly enough to believe that it is about my singing or because they love the songs I have made up especially for them. No, I recognize that these are just attempts to eek out a few more minutes of staying awake, a few more minutes of mom’s attention that their brother or dad is not getting.

Other than those occasions, my boys would prefer if I kept my singing to myself.  In the car, if I sing along to whatever we are listening to, I usually get “Mom, could you please stop singing.  I mean, we’re not trying to insult you or anything, but we think the song sounds better without you.”   I totally get it.  I’m not likely to be on American Idol or The Voice anytime soon.  I’m sure the song does sound better without me.

But, I also get why my mom used to sing so much.  It was to keep her sanity.  She had five kids running around the house.  Sure, we were outside for most of the day, but there were plenty of hours that we were in the house.  If I think two kids can create a lot of noise and aggravation, I can hardly imagine what all five of us seemed like to her. 

So, she sang.  And, now, I sing.  Sometimes, I sing to block them out.  Sometimes, I sing so I can relax.  It’s my way of taking a deep breath before I explode – or, if it works, instead of exploding.

When the boys groan, I tell them that they have a choice.  I can yell at them or I can sing. Singing makes mommy happy, I remind them.  Yelling makes mommy angry.  The choice is theirs.  Luckily, I have pretty smart boys and they usually chose the singing.  Sometimes, they will actually join me. 

Instead, of trying to belt out the latest Katy Perry song, though, I stick with little ditties froOswald and Friendsm their early childhood.  Little ditties that I have, well, modified a bit.  “Have You Ever Seen A Lassy” has morphed into “Have You Ever Seen A Mommy (Go Crazy)”.  A little tune from a favorite Oswald episode, The Leaky Faucet, has become “Oh Children of Mine”.  By now, my kids have heard these so often that when I start signing them they either join in, with hopes of winning my favor or they get very quiet. 

“I think we better knock it off.  She’s starting to sing that “Oh, Children…” thing.” Aaron will whisper to Nic.  “And, you know what that means.”

“Yeah,” Nic whispers back. “We’re in trouble.”

So, if you are sick of counting to five or yelling your empty threats, sing a little tune.  If you’re lucky, it might send your kids running and make you feel a little better at the same time.

Do have a little ditty you would like to share?  Send us an e-mail at 2moms@imperfectmommy.com or leave a comment.  You just might be featured in an Imperfect Mommy song collection!

(I apologize for the poor quality of the .wav files, both for the singing and the static.  Like with most things, I have no idea what I am doing and this was the best it got. :) )

I Wonder if There is a Support Group for This?

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My husband, Mark Captain America, has a serious man-crush on Batman. I mean a serious crush. I submit the following interactions as evidence:

Exhibit A:

Mark to me: Do you want to go see the new Batman movie (The Dark Knight Rises) this weekend?

Me: Uh-uh. Not at the theater. It’s not babysitter-worthy.

Mark:  I’m afraid this marriage isn’t going to work. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.

Me: What about your psychiatrist?


Exhibit B:

(Note: I am shopping for clothes on-line for the kids)

Me to Mark: Mark, which of these superhero shirts do you think Barefoot Boy would like? Check out this one.

Mark (not looking): Does it have Batman?

Me: Yes

Mark: He would like that one.

Me: What about the next one?

Mark: Does it have Batman?

Me: No.

Mark: Then no, he wouldn’t like it.

Me: I think I see the pattern now.


Exhibit C:

David to Mark: Dad, who would win in a fight, Thor or Iron Man?   

Mark: Batman.

David: But Batman isn’t in the fight.

Mark: It doesn’t matter. Batman always wins.


It’s a good thing Batman isn’t real