Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 131

Carving Pumpkins

It's that time of year again, when big orange gords get carved into all kinds of twisted things.

"All right, kids," I said.  "Design your pumpkins."

They went to work.  When they were done, one had hearts and spirals all over it.  The other had...well, I'm not quite sure what it had.  It was mostly illegible.

"Mommy, are you going to carve these?"

I wrinkled my brow.  "Uh, maybe."

"Okay," my daughter said.  "So this spiral has to go like this.  And this line has to go like that.  And this circle has to be cut just like this.  Got it?"

"Hey, these babies are getting carved however I carve them.  And that's that."

Then I went to work.

Did I mention that I had a fever, and was coughing like crazy?  Yeah.  I just found out that I have a nice case of bronchitus.

Anyway,  when I was done, I showed them the masterpieces. 

My son thought his was great.  ( I just ignored the illegible markings and did my own thing.)

My daughter looked at hers.  "Wait.  What's that?" She pointed at some fancy lines around the pumpkin's face.

"Flaming hair, of course," I said.

"Mom!"

"Hey, listen." I said. "If you're going to make me carve spirals and hearts when I feel this awful, I cetainly can take the liberty of carving flaming hair."

Happy Halloween  (cough, cough). 

Bobbing for Apples

Last night, I had a big halloween party at my house.  It was  a great time. 

One of the activities the kids did, was bobbing for apples.  After the event, I was too tired to clean up.  (I cleaned up the food and dirty dishes, but that was about it.)

This morning, I let the dog out.  I didn't think much about the bobbing for apples barrel that was still sitting on the picnic table.

Apparently Schultz decided that bobbing for apples looked like fun.  He jumped up so that his big paws were on the table.  Then he stuck his big black snoot in the ice-cold water and pulled out not one, but two apples.   

That dang dog is the best apple bobber I've ever seen.  He should get a prize!

Slaving Away in the Kitchen

I've been preparing for a big Halloween party at my house.  I decided to go all Martha Stewart, and create elaborate desserts and appetizers.  I don't know why I do this.  I guess it looks pretty cool when it's all out.

Anway, after slaving in the kitchen all day, I decided to do something stupid, like prepare a fancy dinner of salmon tetrazini from scratch.  I was doing okay until the noodle water boiled over, creating a huge mess on the stove.

I quickly turned off the heat and carried the pot to the sink to drain the noodles.  Apparently my arms were like noodles, and I ended up dropping the hot pot.  Boiling water and noodles went all over the floor and counter.  Somehow, I escaped getting scalded.

I cleaned up the mess, and resumed cooking.

When I was done, I was fairly proud of myself.  I had created a meal that looked and smelled rather good.

"How do you like it?" I asked my kids.

"It's edible."

Sigh.  Why do I bother? 

The Collector

If you've been following these blog posts, you know that my seven-year-old son is quite a creative little guy.  He frequently raids the recycle bin in search of materials for his next building project.

Well, today I went into his bedroom to do a little cleaning.  I opened his closet.  You would not believe the piles of stuff he had in there.  I'm not talking clothes and stuffed animals.  I'm talking things like pizza boxes, empty milk containers, styrofoam cups, and rubberbands.  Lots of rubberbands.

"Dude," I said.  "What is this?  We're going to have a major bug infestation!"

"Sorry, Mama.  I'm collecting materials for a spaceship."

Oh.

"Dude, how about you keep your spaceship materials in the garage, or I'll be sending you to another galaxy."

"Okay." 

Sqwak Box

Usually, you don't get to hear about our pet parakeet.  She's what I call, the "good pet."  (The dog is what I call, the "bad pet.")

Today, Miss Sunshine must've needed some attention.  She wouldn't stop sqwaking.

I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to rewrite a manuscript I've been working on.

"SQWAK!"

"Hey, bird.  Can't you see I'm trying to write here?"

"SQWAK!  Tweet, Tweet, Tweet, SQWAK!"

"What do you want?"

"SQWAK!"

Meanwhile, the dog was trying to take a nap.

"SQWAK!"

"Awrooooo," complained the dog.

"Yeah, I agree."

"SQWAK!"

Some days I think I live in a zoo!

Brushing the Dog's Teeth

Have you ever tried to brush a German Shepherd's teeth?  Well, let me just say, it's not an easy trick!

Our dog's breath stunk.  I mean, it was disgusting.  Not even those greenie things were fixing him.  (Greenies, for those of you who aren't dog owners, are dental treats that clean a dog's teeth and freshen its breath.)

"All right, Stinky Face," I said.  "Time to brush your pearly whites."

I pulled out the red tooth brush.  I pulled out the poultry-flavored tooth paste.

"Here we go!"

I tried to make him open his mouth.  He wouldn't. 

"Come on, dog.  This tastes like chicken!"

He cocked his head.  Apparently he was thinking about it.

The second attempt, he opened his mouth. 

I brushed.

He drooled.

It was a slobbery mess.

We finally finished.

"Okay, Chicken Breath.  Clean and shiny."

I could tell he was thrilled.

Water Spout

I was playing a game of tug with my German Shepherd today.  Normally I go outside in the backyard for such a rambunctious activity. Not this time.  I decided to play in the kitchen.

He was really pulling on his toy, exerting a lot of energy.  You should've seen him thrashing his head back and forth.  Unfortunately, in the middle of this thrashing, he stepped, or should I say, jumped into his water bowl.  The bowl catapaulted into the air, sending water everywhere.  It looked like a miniature geyser. 

I was soaked. The french doors were soaked.  And of course the floor was soaked.

I couldn't get mad at the beast, though.. It was my fault I didn't move the bowl.  And it was my fault that I didn't go outside to play. 

On the bright side, the floor needed a wash anyway.  I guess there's a silver lining in every cloud.

Bag Holder

As a mom, I've had to do some pretty disgusting things.  Some of which included changing poopy diapers and cleaning vomit off of the sofa.  I never thought the job of "bag holder" would in any way come close to changing putrid diapers.  But it did.

My first job as a "bag holder" was to hold a garbage bag open so that my husband could dump old gravel from the fish tank into it.  It was a wee bit smelly, since he hadn't cleaned the tank in a while (fish and dog are supposed to be his department).  But I managed.  It's not like I've never smelled anything that stunk like a swamp before.

My second job was the killer.  I held a garbage bag open while my daughter scooped our German Shepherd's business into it.  Now, that wouldn't have been so bad, if my daughter was good at her aim.
But she wasn't. I ended up having dog poop all over the sleeve of my jacket.

"Oops," she said.

Oops?

So now ladies and gentleman, I can say that in my lifetime, I have been covered with spit-up, pee, vomit, and dog poop.  Life is good.
 

Hide-and-go-Cheat

"Mommy, let's play hide-and-go-cheat," my seven-year-old son said.

"What's that?' I asked, not sure that it was something I really wanted to get involved with.

"You take these binoculars," he explained.  "And you watch the other person hide."

"Well, that's not fair," I said.

"That's why it's called 'hide-and-go-cheat.'"

So I played the game.  I hid first.  Of course he found me, because he was watching the whole time.

I said I wanted a second chance.  He obliged.  This time I ran around the house, circling back.   I watched him adjust his binoculars.  He had no idea I was spying on him.   Eventually, he gave up. 

"That's cheating!" he said, when he found out what I had done.

"I thought that's what we were supposed to do," I fired back.

Next round he hid.  I let him get a good head start, and did not follow him with the binoculars.

Then I searched.

And searched.

And searched. 

I could not find him.

"I give up," I called.

I finally saw a rustling in the bushes by the utility box in the neighbor's front yard.  Out he popped with a big grin on his face.

"Hey, you're supposed to stay in our yard!"

He laughed.  "Hide-and-go-cheat!"

Flying Schools

"Mama,"  my seven-year-old son said.  "Wouldn't it be cool if they made flying schools?"

Huh?  Now, I can't say I was expecting that one.

"I guess," I said.  "Where would you want to go if you could be in a flying school?"

He thought about it.  "Target."

I wasn't expecting that one either.

"Why?"

"Because then you would have school upstairs and a toy shop downstairs.  That would be awesome!"