We are CRYING. . .

. . .we are laughing so hard.  Wise Woman called.  Went to website.  Can write no more.  Am laughing too hard.

 

Click here to laugh your monkey head off!

One Sentence Wednesday

Today was Biography Day at school and BIG's most dramatic, emphatic line in his speech was. . . . .

I AM Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Balls

Which monkey has no balls?

We are a house that has balls.  LOTS AND LOTS of balls.  Literal and metaphorical AND anatomical.  Balls GALORE.  When I picked up Big's bedroom once, I found ELEVEN balls.  You heard me.  ELEVEN.

The other day I mentioned to Middle that our  Little, who is nearly one, had no balls to call his own.  I suggested that maybe Middle could buy some for Little for his birthday.  Middle, a sporting fellow, was very pleased by this idea and promptly agreed to the plan.  He sprinted over to Head Monkey and whispered in his ear.  I thought he was sharing the plan.

NOPE.

Head Monkey's eyes grew wide, then he broke into a big smile.

What did Middle say?

Dad!  Little has no balls!

The. End.

I have an unnatural attachment. . . .

. . . to my crock pot.  
Oh, I love it so.  

The crock pot has changed my life.  When Little arrived, I had NO IDEA how I was ever going to feed my family EVER AGAIN.  I relied on the kindness of friends to feed us for two months, but then I realized that I needed to get back in the game.  And my ace in the hole?  The tool that would see me through?

YE OLD CROCK POT.  OR TWO.

Tandem crock pots.  Bliss!

I have a good friend, we'll call him Mr. Pleased as Punch,  who derides crock pot cooking.  He even has a crock pot vocabulary---beef in the crock pot is BARF.  Chicken---CHARF.  He is certainly NOT Pleased as Punch when he is served food from these vessels of joy, claiming it all tastes the same.  I am here to proclaim. . . . NOT SO!  NOT SO!!  This is not your mother's crock pot cooking!

This changed everything.

This book, and Stephanie's fabulous blog, allowed me to get dinner on the table again.  And, due to the variety, spices, and inventive ingredients, not a  

CHARF 

or  

BARF 

has been had.

Come to my house sometime!  I will make you something hot, delicious, and slow-cooked, baby. 

Family Field Trip

 Pine Forest II by Gustav Klimt

A few weeks ago, Middle took a field trip to a local art museum.  Ever since, he has been asking to take the whole family.  Proud as a peacock, he gave us a guided tour of "his museum"--- he was strutting through those galleries to show his brothers the mosaics from Antioch, the Matisse room that had fourteen paintings and sculptures all by Matisse---we counted, and the miniature gallery.  Little gave a running commentary through the entire place, Big and HM debated over whether or not pieces were actually ART, and, despite an overzealous security guard's attempt to rain on our parade, we had a fabulous time.   Our first real field trip since the arrival of Little, eleven months to the day that he joined our family.

Enjoy Pine Forest II.  I want to go there. 

Texas Brownies

Tonight as I was tucking in Big when he revealed that a boy in his class (we'll call him Kid to protect the guilty), was teasing him at school. Whenever Big makes a comment, Kid says.....

Add it to Big's Stupid List.

Well, with the Big I did the right thing. Told him to tell Kid to stop it and if he didn't, to ask his teacher for some help. Big begged me to intervene, but I told him that he had to try to handle it himself first.

I was steaming mad. I wanted to call the teacher, the mother, the grandmother, the neighbor, anybody who would listen to me rail on Kid and would help me get some freaking JUSTICE. But, that would be wrong. He is only a KID, after all. Instead, I took the high road---I started texting Wise Woman.

Here's how we handle stuff like this in Cheekymonkeydom:

Wrangler: Remember when what kids did didn't bother me? Those days are over.

I've had to sit on my hands all night to keep from calling the teacher. Big is being picked on by a kid named Kid. I wish I could square up on that Kid and kick straight him in the batteries but that would be unladylike.

Wise Woman: I don't remember you ever not caring what kids did to your kids. Errrr.

Wrangler: All fired up and have to let him handle it. Grrrr.

WW: Maybe the phantom Wise Woman can send him poop in a bag...

Wrangler: Yes. Texas poop is the best kind. Here is the line I'm going to encourage him to use...

You know what's stupid, Kid? Calling people stupid. Please stop.

WW: Perfect. And then tell him you have a brownie. Only it's poop.

Beware the brownie, Kid.
It's coming for you.
From TEXAS.

One Sentence Wednesday

I spend too much time. . . . .

reading blogs--grading papers--wiping noses--planning class--posting to Blackboard--scheduling chimney repairs--finding babysitters--making dinner--checking homework--
cleaning up dog vomit--
watching reality TV

to post on my own blog.