The inside joke. Got any in your family? Two of my monkeys are just now old enough to enjoy (and remember!) these funny little nuggets. These bits of funny are often nonsensical, but pants-wetting hilarious when they reenter a scene. Especially in unexpected ways---like when a cheeky monkey comes out with the well-timed, in context, WOMBAT bit of funny.
An inside joke has brought the fun in a BIG way this week. And the phrase that sends us over the edge? That sends us into fits of giggles? That turns cheeky monkeys into howler monkeys?
FANNY CRACK!!
Yes. You read that correctly. I never said we were mature. But we do find ourselves immensely funny.
Remember that book that we've all read to various monkeys a million times? It Looked Like Spilt Milk? An excerpt for your reading pleasure. . .
It looked like spilt milk. But it wasn't spilt milk. It looked like a cow. But it wasn't a cow. It looked like a donkey. But it wasn't a donkey. It was just a cloud in the sky.
You get the idea. Well, here is a variation on that theme.
Bread Quest Style.
I thought it was the recipe.But it wasn't the recipe. I thought it was the yeast.But it wasn't the yeast. I thought it was the temperature of my oven.But it wasn't the temperature of my oven. Drat.
I know it is not a cloud in the sky. I THINK it might be the inexperience of the baker.
Fear not, Wise Woman. I will not relent.
The next variable to be contained. . .
I thought it was using the mixer instead of my hands.
I have such fun all week thinking about what I will post on Fun Mom Friday. Thanks to Moriah for hosting this at her fun blog, Please Pass the Salt.
This was a terrific week---one of those rare weeks when we did not have a jam-PACKED schedule that had monkeys hurling themselves in fifteen different directions. Very relaxed, spontaneous, and unfrenzied-like. We had simple fun, lots of good old-fashioned monkey play time. Big and Middle built a fort for Little and they happily played in it each morning. We swam for a little bit each day. We baked, chatted, read, and laughed. We drank a lot of tea and ate a fair amount of junk. Fun was had by all.
But the best part? The big fun in our simple week?
Yup. I downloaded Alvin and the Chipmunks songs onto my iPod. And everytime they asked to listen, I SAID YES.
Things are looking up! Literally. Up. Like bread rising up. Because it's all coming together now. Or as a student once told me, "NOW you're cooking with gas!" Actually, making yeasty gas. . .
Can I get a WOOT?
Watch out, Wonder Bread. I'm on your heels. Get it? Heels?
I am not fond of fads. Especially those that capture the hearts, minds, and precarious financial positions of little monkeys. When I hear these monkeys squeal that the faddish item they have just bought/traded/swapped/found in the parking lot at Target are RARE or even better, ultra rare, I run out of sight as quickly as possible to indulge in a gesture that is expressly forbidden in my house, but is oh so satisfying. . .
THE MASSIVE EYE ROLL.
Come on, friends. You know what I am talking about. They go on playdates. They are an endless source of arguments. They are hanging around your kids' wrists up to their elbows. Their rooms look like a graveyard of busted up strings of neon. Your dog is choking on them. You find them in the laundry, when you vacuum the car, and IN YOUR BED. They are the newest illustration for the word ubiquitous. They are SILLY BANDZ.
Like the tolerant tee hee Wrangler that I am, I allowed my monkeys to use their spending money to buy some of these bandz. (As an aside, can't we at least spell bandz correctly? Must we promote sheep-like behavior AND poor spelling simultaneously?)
The Big has carefully honed his collection, like the curator of the Silly Bandz Museum. They are coordinated by color, traded with much care and thought, and rarely worn lest they break. Characteristically, the Middle has worn his collection every day. He is down to one. One band.
And me? I have been riding out the storm. Watching and waiting for it to pass. Knowing that the days of the Silly Bandz are numbered, just like jelly shoes and friendship pins and the Swatch watches of yesteryear. I am above all this. I have outgrown it.
Or so I thought.
Big and I played a friendly game of tennis today. It was hot. It was heated. And then, Big took it up a notch.
"How about a bet? If I win the next game, we'll go get Rita's. If you win the next game, I'll give you a Silly Band."
"Your golden retriever? Or your chihuahua?"
"No, those are ultra rare. But I will give you a dog."
My ears perked up. I felt strangely excited. I had not a Band to call my own. And now I could get one from the Band Miser if I win a teeny little tennis game?
It was on.
And to the victor go the spoils.
I love my little doggie. But I would definitely give him up for a sparkly four leaf clover, because those are ultra ultra rare.
P.S. Big and I also went to Rita's, because I am a gracious winner.
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