kids

Driving Mr. Mascot

/ Quirky Girl / 53 Comments

Who knows?

I might be a better driver than you!

And I won’t get any tickets!

Unlike you…

And if YOU keep talking, you’re going to be riding in the trunk.

Eyes on the road!

The light is green!

Let’s move it!

My oldest son, the high school mascot boy, started Driver’s Ed this week.

I’ve never seen that child take such dedicated interest in learning anything.

Ever.

Granted, the monster was a natural on his dirt bike all those years ago.

And I always pictured him to be a decent driver.

When the time came.

Which, evidently, is right now.

After just one day of class, he was already an expert.

Monitoring my speed.

Correcting my hand position on the steering wheel.

Pointing out all the road signs that I’ll obviously fail to pay attention to.

Suddenly, I have new appreciation for the meaning of driving someone crazy.

Not only won’t I be getting tickets like you, I also have way better sense of direction!

Hey! You’re going over the speed limit again!

OMG! GET OUT!

Of course, I didn’t actually throw him out of the car.

But his future as a pedestrian was looking increasingly appealing.

We coasted along to the ultimate soundtrack to insanity:

Crazy Train.

Gangnam Style.

Hakuna Matata.

The thumping music rattled my brain and bones as the rearview mirror reverberated in concurrence.

Then flashing train lights derailed my thoughts.

Oh, shit!

Not again!

Those trains sometimes take forever to pass.

Or worse yet, they’ll come to a complete stop out of the blue, stranding lines of cars for hours.

So yeah, I was less than pleased.

And so was my son.

But not because of the train.

Apparently, that was the second inappropriate word I’d used in just a matter of minutes.

Figuring I was on a roll, he helpfully downloaded a Bleep app on my phone to censor my  inappropriate moments.

Fortunately, the train passed in a timely manner.

And we were on our way again.

I’m probably already a better driver than you’ll ever be!

I’m tempted to take both hands off the wheel and drive with my mouth.

Just clamp my teeth on the wheel, and see how well that works.

That’ll show him…

Show him what, I don’t exactly know.

At least render him speechless for a moment, perhaps?

But I really can’t afford to drive erratically like that.

Sure, it would set a rather poor example for my child.

And also, I’ve somehow already managed to get pulled over twice in three years in No Man’s Land.

Which amounts to more than I had ever been pulled over in all my years of driving.

Collectively.

There’s a line in my son’s driving handbook that cracked me up when I first read it:

Avoid turning your car into a deadly weapon!

Well, my boy nearly broke protocol the first time ever behind the wheel.

Yesterday, he officially got his Learner’s Permit after acing the written test.

And so on the way to Driver’s Ed this afternoon, my favorite mascot thought he’d surprise me by starting the car before I made my way out the door.

Oh, but that wasn’t all.

He proceeded to throw the car into reverse…

And then panicked as he realized he didn’t actually know how to stop the car.

He barreled out of the garage and down the driveway at Nascar speeds, as I ran after him like a crazed woman being chased by the devil himself.

STOP THE CAR!!!

STOP THE #@&%*# CAR!!!

The car jerked to an abrupt halt straight across the street, halfway up the neighbor’s driveway.

Thank God the neighbor wasn’t home.

That guy never misses a thing.

GET OUT!

YOU ARE DONE!!!

The brake is NOT just a decorative item!

Use it!

Before I drop dead of a heart attack in the middle of this road!

And to think, this is only the beginning.

Did I mention I’m two days into a 14 day detox?

So I can’t even calm my frazzled nerves with a drink.

Oh #@&%!!!

~Happy Friday, friends! Aren’t teenagers the best? Never a dull moment. Have a terrific weekend!~

At this rate, I'm gonna need to wear this thing around my neck like a cowbell.

At this rate, I’m gonna need to wear this thing around my neck like a cowbell.

Dog Days of Summer Break

/ Quirky Girl / 41 Comments

I’m boooorrred!!!

Go walk the dog.

But it’s too hot!!!

Fine. Read a book.

What is this, some kind of punishment?

Take a walk to the pool and go for a swim.

No. I don’t feel like getting wet.

Okay, then. Clean your room.

What?!? Why?

And that was only day three of summer break.

It’s hard to be a kid.

There’s never anything fun to do.

But somehow, all your friends are doing fun things.

Without you.

You know so.

Because it’s all right there on Snapchat.

And so the only plausible way to entertain yourself is to torment the dog.

I mean, teach the dog new tricks.

Like how to eat his doggie treat while pretending to be the civilized human being that he clearly is not.

At a table.

While sitting in a chair.

Because how could that be a bad idea?

Oh, right.

It’s gonna be a long summer…

Is this your idea of a good time? Seriously? Go back to school, you sadistic kids!

Is this your idea of a good time? Seriously? Go back to school, you sadistic kids!

~Happy Friday, friends! Isn’t summertime the best? Hope you all have a great weekend!~

Bigly Bestest Better Than Momma?

/ Quirky Girl / 22 Comments

@thebiglybestestdoggie: So I’m The Bigly Bestest, but my Momma is just The Okayest? I don’t think so! She feeds me and walks me and takes care of me, so I think she’s better than just Okayest. Unless she forgets to feed me. Then yeah, she’ll definitely be downgraded to Okayest.

~Happy Tuesday, friends! Need proof that doggies are nicer than kids?  I think my shirt speaks for itself!~

Mother’s Day Melee

/ Quirky Girl / 32 Comments

I’m not gonna lie.

I’m not really feeling the love.

My darling boys almost forgot that Mother’s Day is tomorrow.

Until I reminded them yesterday.

But alas, motherhood is a thankless job.

Fortunately, it’s not without its humorous moments.

So why don’t we take a moment to celebrate the awesomeness of moms?

Because, let’s face it, moms are awesome.

(Yeah. A crazy, multitasking masochist sounds about right.)

(Does going out of my mind count as a vacation?)

(Hellooo!?! Do you think I enjoy talking to myself? I’ll have you know that I do not, in fact, enjoy talking to myself. Are you even listening?!?)

(Because, evidently, nobody else besides mom can see the invisible, overflowing basket of laundry that keeps mysteriously multiplying.)

(Oops, too late. I guess 364 days was too long for my sanity to stick around.)

(Move over, Iron Man! You probably know me as my alter ego, Wonder Woman. Yeah. Take that!)

(Wearing the cape is typically too much of a hassle. And it blows our cover. We’re supposed to be human, after all.)

(Dogs love unconditionally and never back talk. And they’re always so grateful. Unlike some people I know…)

(Oh crap. Who let the cat out of the bag? Was it those darned kids? They’re lying to you! I swear!)

(Mom? Mom who? Okay, so sometimes moms find ourselves in situations where we’re forced to pretend we’ve never seen those angelic creatures before in our lives. It happens.)

(Amen to that! Now where’s my margarita?)

(Quite possibly the most heartfelt way to thank your mom for all that she has ever done for you.)

~Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there! Hope you get to enjoy a nice margarita and a day off from laundry and all that other domestic nonsense.~

Taxation Without Education

/ Quirky Girl / 26 Comments

Where, exactly, are my tax dollars going?

I posed this question to my older son during a game of Trivia Crack after he answered yet another question incorrectly.

His response?

Umm…up your butt?

Hmm.

That’s kinda what I was afraid of.

Incidentally, I just received our 2018 property tax statement.

Let’s just say it ain’t pretty.

Which is precisely why a friendly lunch note reminder seems to be in order:

If nothing more, it’s a helpful lesson in alliteration.

In my son’s defense, though:

I hadn’t learned that yet… I don’t think.

Sigh.

After answering 11 consecutive trivia questions correctly myself, he offered a bit of praise:

You’re not as dumb as I thought!

Thanks.

I think.

Guess you won’t be seeing either of us on Jeopardy anytime soon…

~Happy Friday, friends! No person in history has probably ever been overjoyed about paying taxes. But on that note… Where education is concerned, investing in the future is undoubtedly a worthwhile investment. Have a fantastic weekend!~

Beep Beep Bo Bleep

/ Quirky Girl / 29 Comments

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Well, one thing’s for certain:

There’s no escaping reality.

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

No.

Not this crap again.

But this time around, it wasn’t merely the obnoxious chirping signifying a dead battery.

Or the smoke detector getting triggered by my disastrous attempts at cooking.

No.

This was a full-scale notification of distress, with every single alarm throughout the house screeching in synchronized cacophony.

At a ridiculously ungodly hour of the night.

Which is obviously when I do my clearest, most rational thinking.

I’m normally the world’s lightest sleeper.

Yet I jolted from a deep sleep in a state of utter confusion.

What was going on?

Was this seriously real?

The Bigly Bestest Doggie would probably know.

For surely, if anything were truly wrong, he’d alert us and then heroically save us the way Lassie saved Timmy.

Right?

Or not.

Loud noises terrify The Bigly Bestest Doggie.

And so he just laid there in his bed, looking for a cue of what to do next.

And then it hit me:

We had absolutely no concrete plan of action in place.

No clear-cut escape routes.

What the hell was wrong with us?

What kind of parents would wait for a moment like this to start planning?

I mean, we did have a plan.

Once upon a time.

In our old house.

But apparently we hadn’t given it any thought since moving several years ago.

Did I mention my husband was out of town for the evening on a business trip?

I briefly bemoaned my myriad of failures as a mother, figuring I’d probably drop dead from a panic attack anyway before my senses finally kicked in.

Only one kid stirred with all the commotion of the alarms.

The other zombie either somehow managed to sleep through it or simply didn’t want to be bothered to get out of bed.

My oldest demonstrated impressive priorities as he sleepily muttered that he couldn’t afford to spend $200 on another phone.

I forced both kids to move their butts and get out before rapidly searching for a potential source of fire.

After examining every single room, closet, and the garage, I dashed outside to check the perimeter.

The alarms were shockingly audible outside, too, their ear-splitting decibel enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.

Speaking of neighborhoods…

We just so happen to have a rather passive aggressive Facebook page for our development.

And while occasionally helpful, the discussions can get downright ugly sometimes.

I could almost picture it…

The audacity!

The nerve of those rude neighbors allowing their fire alarm to go off and disrupt our sleep!

The next time that happens there’d better be real flames bursting through the roof!

And why is that dog of theirs running frantically down the street?

Hello, animal control?

Fortunately, the alarm stopped on its own several minutes later.

Upon discovering it had been a false alarm, I got the boys settled back into bed for whatever was left of the evening,

I warily laid back in my own bed, unable and unwilling to sleep.

I could’ve sworn I felt a surge of heat as I thrashed around in bed.

Adrenaline?

Or was something really on fire?

I bolted out of bed to do another thorough check.

Then I noticed the flashing red light on a detector above my bed.

Something in my bedroom must’ve triggered the alarm.

But what?

A sadistic insect?

Unusually high humidity?

A defective smoke detector?

(Because that’d be incredibly comforting.)

Or was it my domestic ineptitude?

God knows I hadn’t dusted all that recently…

So I suppose that could’ve been it.

I’m far from coordinated when woken from a zombie-like state of sleep.

And you know what the best thing to do when you’re exhausted and can’t see straight?

That’s right!

Haul a gazillion-ton expandable ladder out of the garage!

And then attempt to drag  that ladder through the house without taking out a wall or knocking yourself out.

Obviously.

Isn’t that what any normal person would do?

That beast of a ladder could’ve reached the top of the Empire State Building.

Hell, that thing could’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.

But I couldn’t figure out how to open the monstrous thing.

And once I finally got it open, I didn’t pay any attention to the orientation of the battery when I yanked that sucker out of the alarm.

So I fumbled around with that for several more minutes.

Thank goodness it was only a false alarm.

But it was still downright scary.

And it showed just how ill prepared we were.

Which is even scarier.

The next day, the boys and I discussed fire safety and evacuation plans.

I think it’s safe to say that while we now have an effective plan in place, I also effectively scared the living crap out of them.

Now I’m worried if there’s ever another false alarm, they’re going to bolt out of bed and jump out their second-story windows without being 100 percent certain there’s actually an emergency.

I can picture it now.

Oh well.

Better safe than sorry.

Oh, and that ginormous ladder?

It’s still sitting in the middle of my bedroom, two weeks later.

But good news!

It’s being repurposed!

The ladder works surprisingly well as a clothes hanging rack.

The Industrial Look is fashionable, right?

Repurposing is awesome!

Beep beep bo bleep!

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone here a fan of irony? Well, guess what? As I sat here typing this, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the wail of tornado sirens and hail slamming vigorously against the windows. Fortunately, everyone is safe. But I think we’ve had enough fun for a while…~

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Ocean Commotion

/ Quirky Girl / 25 Comments

This is a true tale.

A tale of ocean brawling.

Oh, and also of ocean snatching.

But we’ll get back to that in a moment.

It all started ten years ago, on a family vacation to Legoland California.

No trip to a coastal destination is ever complete without visiting the ocean.

At least, not in my opinion.

My then-2 year old son was thoroughly enjoying his second trip ever to the Pacific Ocean, collecting seashells and enjoying the feel of sand beneath his feet.

Until a temperamental wave crashed and leveled him onto the shore like a beached whale.

A few minutes later, he sat deep in thought on his ocean-themed beach towel with his plastic sand pail and shovel in hand, vengefully crafting his revenge.

Half an hour later, he left the Pacific Ocean with an ominous declaration:

I’ll get you, water!

Fast forward 10 years.

We had the privilege of visiting the Atlantic Ocean on our most recent road trip a few weeks ago.

And it was obviously time for payback.

Come at me!

My revenge-seeking child took a huge step backward, away from the shore, before continuing his tirade.

Come on! Show me what you’ve got!

Ah.

Coast to coast ocean brawling at its finest.

Then he stooped down to admire a cluster of seashells that had washed onto the shore.

Fortunately, he managed to escape the wrath of the Atlantic Ocean…

This time around.

Now, back to that whole ocean snatching incident…

My husband and I had set out with the intention of capturing an incredible sunrise on the beach.

And capture a sunrise we did.

Along with half the Atlantic Ocean.

Armed with our makeshift ocean snatching kit consisting of a freshly guzzled glacier cherry Gatorade bottle that I’d forced upon my husband…

Along with a Ziplock freezer bag that we’d been using as our travel toiletry bag and an R2D2 tote bag that held just the right amount of ocean loot.

Meanwhile, our trusty getaway mobile, a nondescript rental mini van with Oklahoma license plates, sat in the shadows of the parking lot.

It was a chilly 40-something degrees out that morning.

I couldn’t feel my toes.

But it was absolutely worth it.

For witnessing a majestic sunrise on the beach.

And feeling the lush sand beneath my feet.

And taking home the best souvenir money can’t buy.

Determined to make my very own authentic mini beach replica upon returning home, I needed to make the most of the opportunity.

And so we left the beach with bulging pockets full of seashells, a bottle full of Atlantic Ocean water, and a bag of Atlantic Ocean sand.

I absolutely love the ocean.

I love the melodious waves.

I love the paradoxical peaceful calm that dissipates with the intense crash of waves to the shore.

And I especially love majestic sunrises and sunsets.

Sunsets on the Pacific.

Sunrises on the Atlantic.

We had sacrificed precious sleep time to rise early on our vacation, just to witness a sunrise over the ocean.

But it was a sacrifice I was happy to make.

Did I mention I also love dolphins?

Unfortunately, we didn’t encounter any on this trip.

Which was probably just as well.

I might’ve been tempted to capture one and give it new life in my bathtub.

Wow.

I’m not just quirky, I’m apparently full-on crazy too.

Oh well.

I could happily live on the ocean forever.

But for now, I’m still working on creating my mini beach masterpiece.

I could really use my very own at-home oasis.

In the meantime, I’ve evidently become an ocean kleptomaniac.

I’m not sure what this says about my sanity…

But I’m okay with it.

More or less.

Now, I just need to devise a way to snatch a baby palm tree…

~Happy Saturday, friends! Can you tell I love the beach? The ocean is the most therapeutic place on earth, and I would totally live there if I could. One day…~

My prized ocean loot collection...

My prized ocean loot collection…

Rogue Rotisserie Nosh

/ Quirky Girl / 37 Comments

More skin!

Give me more skin!

Ooh, it’s so soft!

And the bone is so weak!

Yeah.

So, I made the mistake of buying a rotisserie chicken.

For the boys, not myself.

I don’t eat meat.

And I’d prefer not to look at it, either.

But life is seldom so accommodating.

And so I sit there, watching my child wave around some chunk of chicken that appears to still have a butt attached.

Or maybe it’s a thigh.

Either way, I don’t want any part of it.

Yet there he sits, unwittingly recreating the scene from Star Wars: The Last Jedi, when Chewbacca prepares to devour a freshly prepped Porg in front of all the other Porgs.

Months later,  I still can’t help but wonder-

Was that Mama Porg?

Or one of their idolized big brothers?

Or perhaps it was their wise, Yoda-like grandfather figure?

I’ll never be able to look at Chewbacca the same way.

At any rate, the chunk of rotisserie chicken looked eerily like the rotisserie Porg in that moment.

No, my son doesn’t particularly resemble Chewy, aside from the dark brown fur.

I mean, hair.

But they both make similar, indecipherable noises.

Hmmm.

Maybe my son is actually a Porg-eating Chewbacca progeny…

Whoa.

I’ve gotten a bit off topic.

As the child continues to exhibit more animal-like conduct than an actual animal, I don’t know whether to be mildly amused, mortified, or just downright disgusted.

The Bigly Bestest Doggie surreptitiously creeps into the kitchen.

With big puppy dog eyes and preemptive lip smacking, he secures his position.

He settles in under the kitchen table and enthusiastically began his complimentary floor licking service.

Maybe, just maybe.

It’s no secret kids are notorious for getting more food on the floor than actually into their mouths.

I sadistically find myself almost wishing the doggie will leap up onto the kitchen table and scarf down the rest of chicken, effectively putting an end to this horror show.

But alas, his manners are disappointingly impeccable.

Mmm, yummy chicken!

Are you sure you don’t want some?

Come on, have a bite!

Right.

I haven’t eaten meat since I was 15, and I’m not about to start now.

Especially with something that’s probably a Porg.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad

Is it any wonder those poor Porgs always look so sad?

Jail (For a) Break

/ Quirky Girl / 54 Comments

Do people ever break in to jail?

No?

Well, I suppose there’s a first time for everything.

Most days, I drive by the local police station.

Some days, I’m tempted to turn myself in.

For a crime I haven’t even committed.

After being imprisoned in a vehicle with two brawling beasts for a matter of mere minutes…

Let’s just say a much-needed break is in order.

A vacation, if you will.

With free room and board.

And courtyards.

And even a complimentary library.

What’s not to like?

Sure, prison food might leave a bit to be desired.

But at least I wouldn’t have to do the cooking.

I’d say that probably qualifies as an acceptable trade-off.

And yes, amenities may be lacking.

But just think:

A break from never-ending heaps of laundry!

And from vacuuming and mopping!

And from stepping on Legos dangerously scattered across every inch of floor!

Oh, and what’s this I hear about free healthcare?

Just give me a couple of books, and a notebook and a pen, and I’ll be good to go.

But first, I need a plausible excuse.

You know…

People do get arrested for not wearing a seat belt.

And sometimes for using profanity in public places.

I even had a teacher in high school who managed to get thrown in jail for jaywalking.

Or what about twerking in public?

Surely, that could land a bit of time away from it all?

Some states have really bizarre laws that could earn some time in the slammer.

Did you know it’s illegal to drive blindfolded in Alabama?

(I don’t know why anyone would, but okay…)

And in Iowa, you simply can’t throw a brick onto a highway.

(Good luck pulling that one off.)

And in Missouri, bear wrestling is banned.

(Now we’re talking!)

And North Carolina heavily frowns upon Drunk Bingo.

(Woo hoo! Sounds like a good time!)

Oh, but there are no beaches in jail.

So maybe that’s not quite the right place for me.

Yeah.

Come to think of it, what I truly need is a relaxing trip to the beach…

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you enjoy a bit of a break this weekend!~

Ah! Just what the doctor ordered...

Ah! Just what the doctor ordered…

A Loose Screw

/ Quirky Girl / 36 Comments

An endless parade of buses, tractors, and horrifyingly inexperienced high school drivers finally pass.

And then the typical bickering and brawling commenced, mere moments after we made our way out of the school parking lot.

My precious darlings wasted no time, cutting right to the chase of intentionally annoying and aggravating each other.

And me.

Someone in the car was obviously an expert.

On everything.

But that someone clearly wasn’t me.

And then the fun really began.

Stop making that stupid noise!

Turn that down! You’re gonna go deaf!

He’s being stupid!

Why are you being so stupid?

Stop acting like a baby!

Meh.

I continued driving among the bickering insanity when I noticed something… off.

And not just figuratively speaking, either.

I panicked.

The brake and gas pedals…

What the…???

Where did they go???

My life flashed before my eyes.

Was this seriously how things were going to end?

In a malodorous, sweaty-gym-sock-stinking,  juice-box-stained deathtrap, with those two arguing beasts screeching and howling?

I don’t think so.

Over my dead body.

Ooh, no.

That was bad.

But what was going on?

Did I just break the brake?

Did I unwittingly have some sort of deranged Hulk-like moment and destroy a crucial car control with my freakishly strong right foot?

A hunk of plastic unceremoniously rolled backward and magically revealed the presumed missing controls.

And then it rolled under my seat.

Okay, that was a good start.

Except there was still a mysterious piece of rogue plastic on the loose that obviously broke off from somewhere.

I pulled into the post office parking lot, the very place my boys both harbor an unjustifiable aversion to, in an attempt to figure out what the hell was going on.

A large heap of plastic with a loose screw surfaced from under my seat.

I hadn’t the slightest clue what is was.

It vaguely resembled a pedal-shaped…

Something or other.

What did I know?

But the brake pedal was still intact.

The gas pedal was still intact.

So I determined it was safe enough to continue driving.

I mean, relatively speaking.

What with those shrieking banshee passengers and all.

Evidently, that heap of plastic turned out to be part of a vent that was situated near the brake pedal.

A vent part that I must’ve kicked and sent rolling.

Dangerously rolling, at that.

Well, that’s what happens when you discover you’ve got a loose screw.

Or two…

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you all have a terrific weekend!~

This thing could easily be just a bonus piece of plastic with no justifiable purpose... right?

This thing could easily be just a bonus piece of plastic with no justifiable purpose… right?