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Category Archives: Humor
Hmm, and where do you summer?
Guys, I don’t want to alienate any of you, but I can officially say that I now “summer in Maine” like the rich people do. So please no longer make direct eye contact when addressing me, peasants.
Ok, ok, busted. We’ll actually be slumming it in a small motel by the beach for barely three days, so technically I guess you could say we’ll be “slummering in Maine.” But you can bet your ass we’ll be drinking our boxed wine with our pinkies up as we converse in our best haughty country club accent (you know, where you say elitist things without moving your lower jaw and laugh like a creaky door).
And a vacation is a vacation is a vacation. No matter where or for how long. The only thing that matters is that you spend the whole time posting enough selfies that all 933 of your Facebook friends are super annoyed.
Of course, before any vacation comes pre-vacation prep. And this horrible ritual almost makes going anywhere not worth it. This is doubly true when you are traveling with children. Because children need a lot of things. And whatever they don’t need, they WANT or they will just DIE. In fact, it might actually be easier to just detach their entire room from the house and drag it with you.
And packing all their ridiculous stuff is just the beginning. For example, we happen to be leaving tomorrow so here is my To-Do List for today:
- Write newspaper column. About something funny. Or just be lazy and shoot off 700 words about your To-Do List.
- Buy jean-wearing, Converse sneaker sporting, flannel shirt obsessed husband swim trunks and his first pair of shorts ever and shoes that don’t require socks.*
- *Also remember to wrestle black socks away from husband when he tries to sneak them into suitcase. Use as much force as is necessary, including frying pan head whacking.
- Clean house for dog-sitter, a lovely young lady we
kidnappedasked nicely to watch our neurotic dog. And I mean, really clean. Like scrub the toilet and tell the hobo who lives in the southwest corner of the kitchen he needs to vacate for a few days level of clean. - Clean out the car trunk, which still contains (among many other fascinating artifacts from our life) a box of severely molded party favors from our wedding.
- Charge camera batteries.
- Find battery charger.
- Find the camera the batteries belong to.
- Pack.
- Go to store and buy enough snacks to feed multiple pee-wee football teams even though there are only three of us (and one is a toddler) and we’ll only be gone 2.5 days and the place we’re going to is only an hour and a half away and has literally dozens of stores and restaurants within walking distance but no matter because we still need an entire cooler-full of all these snacks because it’s not really a vacation without six economy-sized bags of Bugles although no one really knows why other than that’s the way our parents did it and their parents before them and who are we to question the tradition of the Great American Beach Vacation.*
- *Also buy more snacks at the gas station on the way out of town. Just in case.
- Find passport because I just realized my license expired. Which you wouldn’t think would be a big deal since I’m not the one driving and I’m 34-years-old and have the bags under my eyes to prove it. But you’d be wrong. Because, funny story, this whole traveling without a valid I.D. thing also happened five years ago because I’m an idiot and keep assuming licenses are valid forever. But you know who doesn’t think it’s a funny story? Bartenders and car rental associates and the T.S.A. and hotel managers and that blonde lady cop.
- Shave. Ugh. Shave it all.
- Go to liquor store and purchase reasonable amount of booze since the aforementioned toddler will be passed out by eight, essentially chaining Mommy and Daddy to the confines of the motel room. Plus, we’ll need something to wash down those 56 packages of peanut butter crackers we brought.
The good news is that if I survive today, it’s nothing but sand, sun and surf for the foreseeable future.
Minus those predicted thunderstorms.
Posted in Family, Holidays, Humor, Parenting, Travel
Tagged americans and vacations, country club, new england, peasants, rich people, roadtrip snacks, slummering, slumming it, summering in Maine
The Case of the Missing Dino Nugget
It’s lunchtime.
Again.
I know.
You can’t believe it’s lunchtime again. Wasn’t it just lunchtime yesterday? And the day before that? How many times does this kid need to eat?
But so goes the life of the parent of a toddler.
Only, the thing is, this lunchtime is different. This lunchtime, you’re already hour 16 into your new diet. That stupid, stupid new diet you Googled and pledged an oath to after not insignificantly injuring yourself on that deceptively sharp pork chop bone at dinner last night.
But what? Like, you were supposed to waste food? There was still a slightly visible morsel left clinging on there. And people are dying, man. Of hunger. That bandage on the upper right side of your mouth is proof you have a heart and care and stuff.
And so, you make lunch. Again. A semi-acceptable lunch (depending on who you talk to as long as who you are talking to is not Sienna, mom of Coco, from the playground) of corn on the cob, peas, applesauce and dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets for junior. And a plate of vegetables (a.k.a. tasteless dirt fruit) for you.
Within 10 minutes, you’ve already inhaled your carrots and hummus* and assorted green crap (crap meant quite literally here as, at some point, some cow probably defecated on all these things).
*Fancy word for “not ranch dip.”
Which means, you have a good 45 minutes left of sitting at the table just staring at The World’s Slowest Eater as he happily smears ketchup into not only his hair but also his ears. Which, luckily, gives you plenty of time to reflect on just how hungry you are. And you ARE hungry. You’re starving. I mean, look at you. You’re wasting away. You’re practically a stick figure.
And then there’s that last dino nugget. Just sitting there. All lonely on his plate. Getting colder with every passing second. Chockful of delicious fat and salt and cancer-causing chemicals that magically makes boring, old chicken taste like deep-fried unicorn.
He wouldn’t even notice, you reason to yourself. Look at him. Completely oblivious. Too busy leading the corn on the cob on a Viking-esque raid against the defenseless peas. Smash. Smash. Smash. Meanwhile, the nugget sits all alone in the southwest corner, completely undefended. You should eat it just to teach him a valuable military strategy lesson.
No. No! You would never do that. My god. Stealing food practically from your child’s mouth! What kind of monster are you?
EXCEPT…”technically” the nugget is nowhere near his mouth. I mean, he doesn’t seem to have any interest in it or anything. It’s so bad for him anyway. The only reason you gave him the dino nuggets is because it’s the only way you could force some protein down his tiny adorable throat. And he’s already eaten four of them. You eating that last one would only make his lunch all the more healthy.
No. No! My god, woman, think about what you’re proposing here. He’ll want that last nugget. You know he will. Just as soon as he’s done drowning the defeated and maimed peas in applesauce. Rise above this. Find some willpower, lady.
Just one taste, though. A tiny bite. Just to make the temptation go away. And he can have the rest.
No. No!
But then, without even realizing it, you look down in horror and see the nugget is gone. And you are chewing. And then swallowing. And it’s too late now. That hormone-stuffed, vaguely shaped Tyrannosaurus Rex is already halfway to your stomach.
Maybe he won’t notice.
And that’s when the crying begins.
Now, you have three options here.
Option 1: Confess and Bribe
“Baby, Momma’s so sorry. She didn’t mean to. It just…happened. And, I mean, I’m not trying to pass the buck here or anything, but really, it’s society’s fault for making me think I have to be skinny. So, in a way, you could say it was Vogue magazine that ate your nugget. Now let’s go get you some ice cream!”
Option 2: Straight Up Lie
“I don’t know what happened to your last nugget, honey. Maybe you ate it? Yeah, I think I remember seeing you eat it. By the way, and this is in no way related to the missing nugget, but I’m totally buying you a new car when you turn 16.”
Option 3: MacGyver Your Way Out
“Don’t cry, sweets. Momma is just going to reach down into your onesie and see if we can find…yep! Look here! A perfectly good half-eaten nugget stuck between your Buddha belly and chest. Oh! And 13 more peas! And soggy Cheerios from yesterday. See, no reason to cry.”
The thing to keep in mind here, terrible though your behavior has been, is that he’ll never even remember that this happened. So relax.
That is, of course, unless you’re the idiot who posted the whole thing on the Internet to live on for all eternity.
This is why we need more kids playing sports
As a full-fledged adult now (I have my own CHECKING ACCOUNT…that even on rare occasions has money in it), I can honestly say I’ve never knowingly used algebra or had use for all the crap I had to learn of early Ohio history.
(Want to bring a party to screeching halt? Just mention that more U.S. presidents have come from Ohio than any other state. Believe it or not, this impresses no one).
But there are many other subjects I was forced to learn in school that have paid off mightily. For instance, I iz writter nao. I writ real good. Thanx, Mr. Abbott.
And, perhaps most surprisingly, is the fact that all those skills I learned playing youth and high school sports have finally paid off. All it took was becoming a parent.
So, whenever you hear someone saying sports are pointless and only for dumb meatheads, please show them the following…
Posted in Family, Humor, Parenting, Sports
Tagged basketball, cheerleading, coaches, funny, never use algebra, ohio history, skills, track, volleyball, youth sports
August? What do you mean it’s almost August?
Things I planned to do this summer:
- Go to the beach as much as possible.
- Take my toddler to the Tiny Tot summer reading program at the library every Monday.
- Take a weekend trip to Maine.
- Sign my kid up for swimming lessons.
- Go camping.
- Go to the free sunrise yoga in the park.
- Wear sundresses and flowers in my hair.
- Drink a glass of wine on the back porch with my husband as the sun sets.
- Take the family to Movie Night in the Park and have a picnic while watching a family-friendly film.
- Get the air conditioner fixed.
- Go to the weekly farmer’s market for fresh fruits and vegetables.
- Make s’mores.
- Go to a Red Sox game.
- Attend at least one music festival.
What I’ve actually done this summer:
- Found my swimsuit bottoms from 1998 but no luck yet on finding the matching top.
- Went to the library exactly once only to realize it was Tuesday and Tuesday is the “Wild About Reading!” tweens reading program.
- Googled “weekend trips to Maine.”
- Googled “swimming lessons for toddlers.”
- Googled “camping sites that don’t have bugs or humidity” and survived five hours in my house with no power because of a blackout.
- Wore my yoga pants all day like I actually dragged my ass out of bed and went to sunrise yoga instead of watching “Sesame Street” in a comatose state while drinking a gallon of black coffee.
- Ponytail. Tank top. Flip flops. Every. Single. Day.
- Drank an entire bottle of wine on the back porch with my husband. Woke up hungover. Missed sunrise yoga yet again.
- Waited until toddler went to bed and then ate KFC on the living room floor while binge watching “Vikings.”
- Got air conditioner fixed (I’m lazy, not suicidal).
- Actually did make it to the farmer’s market a couple of times but left sporting not insignificant bruises from little old ladies who feel elbowing you out of the way of the asparagus is acceptable societal behavior. And it is acceptable societal behavior for them because who’s going to stop them? They’re ancient and yet slightly scary.
- Searched for bag of missing marshmallows for three days. Found approximately 43 half-eaten marshmallows under crib.
- Googled “Red Sox tickets.” Had heart attack.
- Listened to Wilco on vinyl while drinking overpriced coconut water mixed with vodka and snapping selfies (which is basically the same thing as actually going to a music festival).
Well, I guess there’s always next year.
Sigh…
On the bright side, pumpkin spice lattes will be available soon. Oh! And I have so many plans for this fall! I want to go hiking and drink in a beer garden while wearing a cozy sweater featuring an ironic bunny and make homemade apple cider and sew my own Halloween costume (a.k.a. tell my mom want I want and make her sew it) and bring the baby to a pumpkin patch and…
Voted Most Likely to Write an Awkward Blog
Dear fellow high school classmates,
‘Sup?
Or…I don’t know.
Greetings!
Or however the hell we’re supposed to address each other now that we’re all in our 30s. Hi? Hello? Salutations my brothers-and sisters-in-arms in the war known as the Public Education System?
You’ll all be glad to know, as per your multiple requests in my yearbook, that I did, in fact, stay cool but didn’t freeze. I also had a great summer, I tried my best never to change and yes, Hank, my boobs finally did come in. I’m also happy to report that although I am one of the laziest people alive (I once ate spaghetti while lying down), I did make fairly good on my promise to stay in touch with you, thanks to technology invented by people who graduated a mere three years behind us.
Yes, courtesy of Facebook, we all get a daily peek into each other’s lives, sharing photos of our kids (holy crap, we have KIDS) and keeping up to date on everybody’s career (holy crap, we have CAREERS, with bank accounts and everything…possibly even retirement accounts for those of us who don’t feel the need to eat spaghetti lying down). In fact, it’s pretty much eliminated the need for reunions (especially if you’re shot-gunning beers while scrolling through Facebook).
Which brings me to the rather uncomfortable reason why I’m writing this. Now, I don’t want to alarm anyone but it’s…hmm…how do I put this delicately? This year marks 15 years since we graduated and WE ARE ALL OLD AND PRACTICALLY DEAD ALREADY.
I don’t know if any kind of reunion is being planned (although if I was supposed to help plan it and accidentally forgot because I have a toddler who has turned my brain to mush, don’t worry, I totally sent out the invitations…they probably, most definitely, I’m almost 99 percent sure got lost in the mail). But just in case we all aren’t able to get together, I figured I’d take this opportunity to ask you guys a few questions I’ve been wondering about. Questions that I really only feel comfortable asking you since we all grew up together and all remember each other before we had to do disgusting grown-up stuff like pluck random black hairs from our cheek and groan involuntarily while getting up from the couch.
For instance, do you ever stare obsessively at your face in the mirror after a shower and look for new evidence of wrinkles with the same ferocity you used to look for pimples?
No? Yeah, me either.
But do you ever get a weird bruise on your hip that mysteriously appears one day and won’t go away and you’ve pretty much convinced yourself that it’s cancer? Or the plague? Or gout (which used to be a funny word until you realized you might have it)?
No? Really? Well, me neither. I was just asking for a friend. A much OLDER friend.
Have you ever turn on the radio and realized you didn’t know any of the songs and why do they all sound so whiny and like they’re singing through a fan and is it necessary to use the word “baby” that often and oh my god, we’ve turned into our parents.
Anyone else find it weird Paul Rudd isn’t aging?
Have you ever not insignificantly injured your neck just by falling asleep on your lumpy couch? I mean, I haven’t obviously, cause that’s only something that happens to old people, but I was just curious if YOU guys knew anything about that. Which you don’t, of course. Because we’re all the same age. And that age is young. Very, very young.
Anyone else find it weird that they can’t remember where they left their keys, or their phone, or their child (oh, just the one time, calm down) but can still remember all the lyrics to Warren G’s “Regulate?”
No? Just me? Hmm. Well, at least all you skirts still know what’s up with 213.
Ever hear a news story about stupid teens getting caught doing something stupid and think to yourself, “well, we were never like that,” only to remember that we were totally just like that, only slightly better because we never got caught?
Yeah. Me either. And if my son ever asks, you better tell him that or I will FIND you.
But let me ask you this: Have you ever tried fitting back into your high school jeans, lying down on the bed to try and zip them up and then jumping up in victory only to pass out immediately because it cut off all your blood circulation and then waking up in the emergency room where some doctor is surgically removing the jeans off your legs?
No? Haha! Yeah, no, me either. I was just kidding. That would be CRAZY. And sad. Very, very sad.
Anyhoo, it was great catching up with all of you. And, if I may, I’d like to leave you all on this note…
P.S. Happy retirement, Mr. Boeke!






































