Don't you just hate when it seems that all the towels in the house are dirty? I don't know if it's because something leaked and you ended up using all the clean towels to mop up the mess or your husband used it once and deemed it dirty or your kids used them playing a rousing game of capture the flag, but it's a total drag. Never fear, The Red Thing is here. You walk to the linen closet, open it and realize that there is not a towel to be found. Guests are on their way and, since someone will most likely need to use the commode, you'd better find something that will suffice as a hand towel. Run, don't walk, to your dresser and whip out your Magic Scarf. And waaalaa! (Does anyone actually know how to spell the word waaalaa?)
Side note: My adorable husband refers to his dresser as a chest of drawers. I thought that I was the only person who found this terminology to be gut busting hilarious but it turns out that I'm not. One day I brought it up at church and some of the guys wouldn't let Troy hear the end of it. I mean, on the one hand, it takes like fifty billion times longer to say and on the other hand it makes him sound like he's a 17th century Englishman. "Ello, sorry I'm late, I misplaced my slashed doublet in my chest of drawers." But on the third hand, the one I wish was coming out of my torso so that I could hold my toddler and still make dinner, it's super endearing. I mean, if I'd known before I married him that he'd use the phrase chest of drawers in reference to furniture, I might have fallen in love with him faster. It might have taken me only a week to realize I was wildly smitten instead of, you know, three weeks. So he can keep calling it his chest of drawers but you can bet that I'm going to keep making raucous fun of him.*****************************************************************
The last time I was at Tahoe, my conservative and you-will-never-see-me-being-even-slightly-silly father let loose. He came down the stairs with this hideous and greasy looking hippie/stoner wig and a set of nasty looking fake teeth. Needless to say, my brother and I laughed until one of us wet our pants and the other ruptured a couple of vital organs. During the rest of the week, we had a great time taking pictures with the terrible teeth and incorporating them into the plot of our video.
Today, we all went grocery shopping. Troy and Garrett were looking in the toy aisle and discovered a set of four different teeth for 88 cents. They're a much flimsier variety than what my dad had purchased a few years back but for 22 cents a set I figured that, in all likelihood, we could absolutely not live without them. Moments later, Garrett ripped them open so their fate was sealed. As we were exiting the store, I popped a set into my mouth and called the kiddo. He looked at me. I grinned. His eyes got huge and he began backing away from me. I crouched down and told him it was alright and to give me a kiss. Leary, he inched forward and finally kissed me.
When we got home, Troy decided to pull some weeds and Garrett just had to help. I waited a short while and then popped the teeth back in. "Garrett," I wailed as I crept toward him. Because, really, I'm an awesome mom like that. He took one look at the teeth and went flying toward Troy, screaming. I instantly took them out. (I used to chase the puppy with the vacuum cleaner and he turned into a 65 pound golden retriever who goes into cardiac arrest every time my carpet is dirty. I've learned my lesson.) "It's okay. I took them out," I explained. He hid behind his father. I kind of laughed and went back inside to make lunch. When it was ready I went outside to get the boy. He saw me coming and took off in a mad tear across the yard, toward Troy. I easily caught him and showed him my real teeth. He sobbed and thrashed. I carried him inside and plopped him in his high chair. He writhed and tried to climb out and very near ruptured a blood vessel in his head. Tears were flowing freely down his face. I knelt in front of the high chair and showed him, again, that the bad teeth were gone. I rubbed my hand gently over his cheek and talked in a soothing voice. He calmed. I turned around. He began the sobbing routine again. I soothed. He calmed. I turned. He sobbed. It seemed that every time I turned my back on him, he was certain that The Scary Toothed Woman would return. I finally had to fetch my husband just so that I could turn my back on my son long enough to put his lunch in front of him.
The moral of this story is that you should maybe never alter your appearance for fear that your children will be laying on a couch one day saying, "It's all because my mom put in these creepy teeth."
So I ask you, if you were 20 months old, would this scare you?
How about this?
Hmm.....I wonder where you get the overwhelning urge to torture your son? Could it possibly be from your "conservative never lets loose" father who used to torture your brother with the SWAT gas mask and riot helmet? Or the same father that used to hide in the dark under your bed and scratch on your walls? Or the same father that used to be pillow head in a totally dark house? OR the same father that used to play "sneaky" in the cabin? Boy, it's a good thing he was ultra conservative and never let loose or imagine what damage he could have done....:)
ReplyDeleteYes, what Jenni said. Also, torturing kids can be great fun. Except for when they keep carrying on like little babies, even after you stop.
ReplyDeleteHAHAHA! Classic! Thats seriously awesome. I don't know about a 20 month old, but you sure do scare a 24 YEAR old. To add to mom: Or the same father who hid under the hall desk in the pitch black, grabbed his son by the ankles and started dragging him down the hall until his son threw up all over his own arm and the carpet?
ReplyDeleteWe met Jenelle's current boyfriend today. What does this have to do with anything? I'll tell you, SHE wasn't here with him, so she kept texting me during the visit...and I wrote back things like 'Now I am showing him the photo of you on the little toddler potty", ...hehehe It's a new , different kind of fun. On the other hand, Spencer would freak out and pull costumes right off of you, no wigs, no silly hats, nothing, you had to look like the right person. Took him years to get over it.He's ok now.
ReplyDeleteWebster defines "dresser" as "a chest of drawers with a mirror." The question is: does the 17th Century Englishman's chest of drawers have a mirror?
ReplyDeleteokay,
ReplyDeletea) voila (i see someone already beat me to it, but i had to say it anyway. its french, you know)
b)I say chest of drawers too! don't make fun of troy, its SO true that a dresser is supposed to have a mirror and a chest of drawers doesn't. perhaps its just the *ahem* native hicks of ramona who don't understand the proper usage of the word?
c) YES its scary. i can't bear to scroll down at look at it any longer. poor garrett.