Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 125

Wallet for Breakfast

Apparently my German Shepherd is tired of eating kibbles for breakfast.  He prefers wallets.

This morning, as I went about my morning chores, I noticed that it seemed a bit quiet in the house.  The dog was not locked in his crate, so my sixth sense told me that he was definitely up to something.  I walked over to the loft and looked over the railing.  What do you think I saw?  That's right.  The bad beast was lying on the floor with my husband's wallet in his mouth.  Money and credit cards were strewn all over the floor.

"Schultz!!!!!" 

He knew he was in trouble.  I crated him before the daddy had a chance to come down and beat the tar out of him.  Then I went over to survey the damage.

My poor husband's wallet was torn up.  His credit cards were mangled.  His license was mangled.  It was a mess!  So now my husband has to order new credit cards, get a new license, and buy a new wallet.

I tell you, we have one very naughty doggy!  I think we should take him back and ask for a refund.

The Big Snowball

"Mama, come out and play with me," my seven-year-old son said.

"Dude, it's freezing out there.  I don't want to go out."

"Please, Mama.  It'll be fun!"

Those are the famous last words.  "All right," I said.  But I hardly thought it would be fun.

We both bundled up and headed into the snowy outdoors where it was a balmy 17 degrees.

"Let's make a snowman," my son suggested.

I stooped down and rolled three little snowballs.  Then I stacked them on top of each other.  "There," I said.  "That's it for the snowman."  As I stood up, I got pelted with a couple of iceballs.  "Hey!" I hollared.  "No snowball fights!"

"Yes, snowballs fights!" my son said as he rolled a few more and hurled them at me.

"It's cold.  I'm going inside," I announced.   And that's what I did.

About five minutes later, the doorbell rang.  It was my son, with a giant snowball in his arms.  "I'm going to get you, Mama!"

"Oh no, you're not!" 

He waited for me to come out.  But I didn't.  So now there's a giant snowball sitting on my front porch, just waiting to pelt somebody.  I wonder who it'll be.

Catching Crawdads

It's 27 degrees and snowing in Cincinnati.  And what was my son doing?  He was outside with his buddies catching crawdads.  Apparently the little shell critters got confused by the warm weather a few days ago.  They were out and about in the creek, doing whatever crawdads do.

So my little guy bundled up in his snowsuit.  He put on his hat, scarf and mittens, and headed out to the creek.  A little while later, he came back with five crawdads in his mitts.

"Look, Mom!"

I looked at the squirmy brown creatures. "Nice.  Now how about you put those crawdads back, and come in for a nice cup of hot cocoa?"

"Okay."

Nothing like a day of catching crawdads followed by a cup of hot cocoa!

Mama Pokemon

"Mama, what Pokemon are you?"

"Huh?" I said.  What the heck was my seven-year-old son talking about?  "Dude, last time I checked, I was human.  I'm not a Pokemon!"

"But just tell me what Pokemon you are," he insisted.

"Okay.  Peekachu."  That's the only Pokemon I knew.

"Mom, you're not a Peekachu.  Peekachus are loud."

"So what do you think I am?"

"Hmmm."  He consulted his Nintendo DS for a list.  He scrolled through it.  "How about this one?"

It was a cute little mouse looking thing.  "No," I said.  "Too mousy."

"What about this one?"

It was a fat rabbit thing.  "No.  Too rabbity."

"What about this one?"

I looked at the gothic vampire thing.  "Yeah.  That's what I am.  What is it?"

"Gothelle.  She's a psychic type.  Habitat unknown."

Psychic type?  Check.  I definitely have a sixth sense to know what's going on with my kids. 

Habitat unknown.  Yeah.  I have no idea what kind of asylum I live in.

Plus she looks pretty creepy.  I've been told I resemble something like that.

Perfect.  My new name is Mama Gothelle.  
 

Window Painting

We have some interesting window paintings on our back French doors.  They were done by our artist in residence:  a German Shepherd named Schultz.

This morning the hairy beast went outside to do his business.  When he came to the door, his nose was covered in mud.  He smeared that dirty thing all over the window.

"Look, Mommy," my son said.  "Schultz drew a picture of himself."

Sure enough, the marks Schultz made looked like a round face with two pointy ears on top.

"Maybe I should take pictures and sell them as fine art," I said.

"Yeah.  Can we put them in a museum?" 

"Sure.  Why not?"

Anybody out there interested in owning a Schultz print?

  

The End of the Rainbow

Ladies and gentleman, the end of the rainbow is in my backyard.  I kid you not.

We have had some pretty strange weather in Cincinnati.  Today it rained while the sun was shining.  It hailed, too.  My son and I were eating dinner while all of this was going on.

"Mommy, look.  A rainbow!"  my son said.

I looked.  And then I looked again.  The rainbow ended in some bushes by the creek in our back yard.  "Hey.  That's the end of the rainbow.  See?  It goes right into the ground there."

"Does that mean there's a pot of gold and leprechauns?"

"Yep."

"Can we go find the gold?"

"Yep."

So now we're going on a search for gold.  I hope we find it, because after all the holiday expenses, I could really use some!

Hauling the Violin

It was not I who was hauling my violin today.  It was my dog.  Yes.  The giant fur ball got in trouble again.

I was washing dishes in the kitchen, when I heard a strange noise coming from the front room.  I dried my hands and went to investigate.  What do you think I saw?

That doggone German Shepherd had the shoulder strap of my violin case in his slobbery jowels and was dragging the case across the floor.  And yes, my violin was inside.

"Schultz!" I bellowed. 

He knew he was in trouble.  He dropped that case and took off like a speeding train.  But I wasn't done with him!

"How dare you mess with my violin!" I hollared at the beast.  "Down!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He knew I was mad.  He ran around in a circle and plopped down on the ground.

Then the daddy came out of the office.  Oh boy!  It's bad when both the mommy and the daddy are mad!

Let's just say that stinkin' varmint probably won't be messing with my violin any time soon! And I'm going to write a letter to Santa telling him that that stupid dog didn't deserve the bone he got in his stocking.  It should've been a dump truck load of coal!

Ice Queen

I have notoriously cold hands.  Especially in the winter.  In fact, if you shook my hand, you'd probably think you were shaking an ice cube.  I'm going to be one of those ninety-year-old women who have their apartments cranked up to 102 degrees just to stay comfortable.

Anyway, I had fun with my icy hands.  My husband wanted a back rub.  This was after he told me I needed to do more work (joking, of course). 

"Oh, yeah?" I said.  "How's this?"  I placed my ice-cold mitts on his back.

"Ahhhh!" he hollared.

The kids, who were standing by, thought this was great.  So what did they do?  They went to the sink, turned on the cold water, and made their little hands just like mine.

"Daddy, let me rub your back!" said my son.

"Ahhh!" screamed the Daddy.

"Me, too!" said my daughter.

"Ahhh!" he screamed again.

Poor Daddy!  It's tough living with the Ice Queen and her offspring! 

Brain Dead Mama

Have you ever had one of those days when your brain just doesn't function?  I had one of those days today.  I think it had something to do with the dog waking us up every hour last night.  I don't know what his problem was.

Anyway, I'll just share one bit of my stupidity of the day.  I was at the grocery store because I needed to get some Motrin for my kids, along with some other miscellaneous things.  I pushed my big old fire engine cart that had my son in it, and parked it near the medicine aisle.  I walked to the aisle and looked for the Motrin.  I found it, put it in my cart, and started wheeling away.  Except it wasn't' my cart.

"Excuse me," a gentleman said. "That's my cart."

"Oops.  Sorry about that.  Here you go."

I handed the cart back to the man, and found my cart that still had my kid in it. How did I not notice that I didn't have a fire engine cart with my son inside? What kind of mom am I?

So then I got home.  I put away my groceries.

"Where's the Motrin?" I asked.

I looked at the receipt.  It wasn't on it.  Then I remembered.  The Motrin was in the man's cart. 

I hope the man has kids!

Roller King

I took my seven-year-old son roller skating at the local skate rink today. It was his first time.  He laced up his skates, got himself in a verticle position, and rolled on to the floor. He did pretty good for his first time.

When he got done, he was all proud of himself.  "Mommy, did you see me?"

"Yep.  You did a great job."

"I was going super fast.  I was the fastest one there."

"Well, I don't know about that," I said.

"And I did a back flip, too!"

"I didn't see any back flips."

"I'm the best roller skater in the family!"

Wow!  This little guy's perception of things certainly exhibits a lot of confidence.

All hail to the king, baby.