I’m probably going to English Major Hell for this one, but here goes…
OK, no more jokes about Poe. I shall poke fun at him nevermore.
Man, wouldn’t it be cool if T.S. Eliot was the surprise guest at next year’s Super Bowl halftime show? Maybe doing a duet with One Direction.
We always see pictures of Samuel Clemens in a white suit…so OF COURSE he wears tighty whities! Mystery solved.
If you like funny stories about underwear, check out this classic Baddest Mother Ever post:
I think this baby looks like Prince George…except for the belly hanging out and the Sears photo studio backdrop. And that backdrop looks like it’s covered in dog hair, right?
Last night, as G was ordering Chinese food and I was picking the right pair of stretchy pants for my dinner out with friends, Carlos went exploring.
That never ends well.
The night before, while the rest of us were finishing dinner, Carlos had gotten into the industrial size container of Vaseline still lurking in the baby cabinet. He slicked down his hair (still trying to get that out). He coated the floor in the hall. He wiped it in the fringe on the edge of Mommy’s favorite rug. He painted EVERY doorknob with the goo. Wiped it across his rug and up a recliner. Stuck it in the grooves of a louvered closet door. You get the picture. (PRO TIP: Vaseline makes hardwood floors really shiny, but they’re kind of treacherous.)
So just as I slipped into the elastic waist pants that say “La Dolce Vita pasta special please,” I heard Vivi shout, “Carrrrr-LOS!”
G and I both came running towards the kitchen. Carlos ducked into the pantry and hid behind the dog food bag. Luckily, the wall of lemon scent that accosted our noses warned us not to take another step forward. That kid had used a can of Pledge to turn the kitchen floor into a skating rink of lemony goodness. I held on to the cabinets as I worked my way over to the paper towels. G and I each put a few paper towels under each foot and started sliding around the linoleum to clean up the mess as safely as possible. We both managed not to slip.
Our kids aren’t as smart. I blame myself that they’re not more aware of the side effects of cleaning products. They haven’t had much exposure.
Carlos trotted out of the pantry giggling and promptly slipped on the mess of his own creation, ass over tea kettle. He started crying. Which brought Vivi from the den. More ass, more tea kettle. Two kids down and I’m trying not to laugh but the fumes from the lemony miasma had worked their way into my lizard brain.
After it was cleaned up, Vivi and I went back to the den and flopped on the couch. She picked up her Hardy Boys Mystery, but before she opened it she said, “That Carlos sure makes a lot of messes.”
I, ever mindful of increasing her vocabulary, replied, “Indubitably! He is a little scamp!”
And she answered, “Imagine when he grows up–he’ll be an even bigger asshole.”
Whoops. Seems like I have slipped after all.
A quick story about Grandmama Eunice…
Grandmama was a woman of profound faith. If the church door cracked open, she was there. If we spent Saturday night at her house, we got up on Sunday and went to Sunday School at the Baptist church. Then services at 11 a.m., usually at the Baptists, but if the Methodists were meeting we’d walk across the shared gravel parking lot and go to their service. They only had services every other week. Some days, we’d do the triple pray: Sunday School at the Baptist church, 11 o’clock service at the Methodists, then late service at the Primitive Baptists. On those days, she’d take along an afghan so I could take a nap on the hard wood pews.
What I’m saying is, she LOVED her some church.
One peaceful Sunday afternoon, some missionary types knocked on her front door. Grandmama Eunice opened the door and greeted them through the screen. They said, “Afternoon, ma’am. We’d like to talk to you about Jesus.”
She said, “What would you like to know?”
Well, this seems terribly specific:
Vivi and I were clowning around in the parking lot at Lowe’s the other day.
“I love you, Mommy.”
“I love you more.”
“I love you the most in the universe.”
“I love you all of that, plus one.”
“I love you eleventy fifty zillion billion more much.”
“I love you all of that, plus one.”
“I love you more than mac and cheese.”
“I love you more than butter…but a little bit less than biscuits.”
A grandmother, loading flats of zinnias into her car, had been listening to us and smiling. When she heard about the biscuits, she hooted with laughter. She giggled, “Imma have to get that on a t-shirt.”
One time, I was teaching a 7:30 a.m class in a portable trailer classroom. Typically, Security would turn off the alarm system on their early morning rounds. But on that day, when I arrived at 7:00 a.m. and opened the door with my key, the alarm began to shriek. BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! BLAP!
No worries. I picked up the phone and called Security.
“Hey. This is Ashley. I’m down here in the trailer and the alarm is going off. Can you tell me the code to disable it?”
The security officer said, “OK, ma’am. What’s the alarm saying?”
I paused for a second. What a dumb question, right?
I said, “It’s saying BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! BLAP! Can’t you hear it?”
The officer chuckled and said, “I mean, what’s the error code on the alarm?”
Ohhhhhhhh….
For at least 20 years, this has been my favorite quote from Winnie the Pooh:
but after the last few days, I’m kind of leaning towards this one…
