I’m just kidding. I took her to a great little sushi spot out in the Inland Empire that had killer, trendy cut rolls. And I’m not kidding, “Killer” was actually in the name of some of these rolls! Anyway, The great thing about mom’s is that they truly don’t care what you take the time to do with them; just as long as you take the time to do something with them. In the event you have a mother who’s a nightmare, then this post won’t help you at all. And I’ll pray for you.
Now my little monkey who has been pining for In-N-Out for weeks was unfortunately dismayed when the burger joint of ALL burger joints was not happening; but, he was still a sweetheart the morning of Momma’s Day. Such a good boy! I know, I totally lucked out. He asked me what I would like and since I’m a – delusionally – low maintenance girl, I requested a spinach/egg/cheese/avocado omlette. No.
Actually, make that egg whites please. *slaps forehead
He was just so happy to do so …and I still whomped on him at bowling… and pool. Or he let me win. Most likely, that’s the case.
Nah. I whomped!
But, my mom will tell you that she whomped me on the lane AND the felt.
I’ll give HER the bowling. She definitely beat me at the bowling… by a measly six points.
*wink
Here’s wishing every mama had a -competitive …and fun! – Happy Mother’s Day!
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Anyway, she was having trouble trying to find a rest stop.
Yeah, she was still using that shitty GPS Machine Lady. And for all intents and purposes, her relationship with that location unit is the equivalent to my hate/hate relationship with Siri. Maybe hate is too strong a word. Loathing? No, leave it at hate. Hate is good.
We have an understanding. Let’s just leave it at that.
Back to mom.
Along the way, she stopped at a rest stop for gas, some food, let her dogs out to do their doggy duty. Where she was hit on by a burly man…accompanied by a wife and kids in a rusty wagon. Not sure what that was about. But, I couldn’t stop giggling. So wrong. I know. Totally wrong. But you can imagine the plethora of questions that pop up in that situation! And the laughter. Way too much laughter. I told mom just to quickly hop back into her truck because I don’t need to watch the ID channel to discover the mangled, murdered woman depicted in the show – after she visits a dark and scary place -matches her description.
One more stop for the night. A truck stop for gas/food, more dog duty… and a lonely trucker mistook her for a truck stop prostitute. She hustled back to her car faster, waving and hollering, “Not your lot lizard here, dude!!” Aw, mom, he just wanted some affection.
Again, I couldn’t contain my laughter.
Moral of the story? Theres a moral here? No booty shorts when traveling abroad. What? Make sure you’re wearing some sturdy running shoes.
Oh! And grab a can of police-grade mace.
You just never know.
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game is never-ending. Or a husband. Who leaves socks all over the floor. Or rubber bands. Huh? I don't know…So, when push comes to shove, I like to play pranks. Not only to prove a point; But, to open the eyeballs of said minor. And get them to PUT. THEIR. CRAP. AWAY. Let the games begin! The game is quite similar to jingling keys in front of a toddler to distract the tyke away from a hot stove. Just a tad more manipulative. Or passive aggressive. Actually, it's more like the- mommy's flipped her lid -game. We need sedatives - STAT. Who's doing all that sceaming? Oh. It's me. Oopsie. My bad.
When I Costco, I typically buy the snack pack boxes. You know the ones, miniature bags of snack garbage the kids can just grab and go. Welp, I accidentally bought the Goldfish snacks that were in the oversized large bags instead the last time. Ah, I just love the idea of grubby little hands all inside the bag of chips everyone communally is going to eat from… *sarcasm. I’ll pour them out into a bowl. Or cut the bag down to the munchies so my hand doesn’t have to touch the greasy insides of it. It’s the O.C.D. And it’s quirky. So hush. I guess I wasn’t paying attention. Ironic twist of events? Not really. I tend to get sidetracked. Case in point: a mere two sentences ago. Anyway, Sir Interuptor-patomus…In Costco. And other places. In every place actually. Not just in Costco. I like butterflies. Chasing butterflies with glitter is always fun.
One would assume, when one is done using any item in the house, one would proceed to return said item to its original place. Especially food. Neat and tidy. Packaging closed and sealed up. Freshness bound. Organized. Hell, I’ll take the category, “Thrown in the Cabinet by a Timberwolf” for the WIN, Pat! As long as it was put back near its resting spot. It’s not TOO much to ask. Really.
So imagine my not-so-surprise when I find the large open Goldfish bag on the coffee table, not put away. I digress, at least it was rolled up. I exhale a huge sigh and head for the bag. Grab the bag. Pick up the bag. And the fucking Goldfish go spewing all over my living room floor. Out of the bag. Of course they did. On a carpet that which, was not, vacuumed. Of course it wasn’t. Which I had previously requested be done as well. And wasn’t executed. BAH!
BOOM. GOTCHA!
Tap. Tap. Tap. I’ll show you, you little monster you. I scoop up all the little yellow crackers and put them -bit by bit- back into the plastic sack. Hair. Debris… and all. Roll the bitch back up. And shove it in the pantry. Ha! Right up front. And I wait. Patience is a virtue. And wait. Something about a dish best served cold? Criminy, and I wait some more. What the hell. I freaking forgot about it. Well, a month goes by and the boy hasn’t said anything about the dirty food satchel. Hmmm.. maybe he’s not eating them. Nope. He’s been eating them because the bag moves around the pantry space every few days. Finally, last week, I ask him if he wants a snack, and I mention all available crunchy nibbles to choose from and my son says, “I haven’t really been eating the Goldfish because everytime I do I keep getting hair and stuff from inside the bag. I think we should write them a letter about it.” And there it was. The moment I’d been waiting for…
So, you have been eating them huh? Yeah. And I really think we need to write an onion letter to the company. Get some free – Let me stop you right there my young, darling consumer rights activist. You know how I’m always asking you to to put shit away? Uh huh. Well, one day, over a month ago… You didn’t put these fishies away. I always put them away. No. You don’t. Let me finish. And I picked them up and well… His face went from interest in my storytelling to obvious disgust. “Mom. I’ve been eating hair!” Yeah, that… well, here’s the kicker. You’re going to love this part. I also asked you to vaccum that week too. And well, you didn’t do that either. So, if you think about it. Had you swept the floor. There wouldn’t have been debris in your hairy Goldfish. Mom! You’re so gross! Yes. Yes, I am.
Moral of the story. He puts stuff away now. Wipes down my kitchen countertops. And has since learned how to use a mop.
I’m just kidding. I took her to a great little sushi spot out in the Inland Empire that had killer, trendy cut rolls. And I’m not kidding, “Killer” was actually in the name of some of these rolls! Anyway, The great thing about mom’s is that they truly don’t care what you take the time to do with them; just as long as you take the time to do something with them. In the event you have a mother who’s a nightmare, then this post won’t help you at all. And I’ll pray for you.
dismayed when the burger joint of ALL burger joints was not happening; but, he was still a sweetheart the morning of Momma’s Day. Such a good boy! I know, I totally lucked out. He asked me what I would like and since I’m a – delusionally – low maintenance girl, I requested a spinach/egg/cheese/avocado omlette. No.
Moral of the story? Theres a moral here? No booty shorts when traveling abroad. What? Make sure you’re wearing some sturdy running shoes.
