Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 36

A New Way to Chew

As many of you know, my son got braces not too long ago. Yesterday, he had an appointment which added another appliance in his mouth. It actually prevents his molars from coming together to bite, so that they can be moved back. This is the new way to do things. When I was a kid getting braces, I had to have a bunch of teeth pulled. That's not how they do it now.

Anyway, the boy came home and wanted to have lunch. He quickly found that he couldn't chew. The plastic covering the roof of his mouth was too much to deal with. And his teeth hurt.

"I can't eat!" he complained. "This is really bad, because eating is something I used to like to do."

"Well, you'll just have to figure something out," I said. "You're not the first person to have a appliance like that in your mouth."

He frowned and tore his sandwich into teeny tiny bits. After an hour, he finished it, but he wasn't happy.

"I know what I need," he said.

"What do you need?" I asked.

"Dentures."

"Dentures?" I couldn't imagine why he'd need those.

"I'll make the dentures chew the food before I put it in my mouth. Then all I have to do is swallow."

Genius!   

A Little Writing Music

Yesterday, I was trying to add another chapter to the manuscript I'm working on. Usually, I can do this when my kids are in school, and all is relatively quiet. Now that it's summer, it's a bit more challenging.  As I sat down to write, a certain five foot tall individual came into the room with his radio blasting.

"Bubba," I said. "Can you please go somewhere else? I'm trying to write, and I can't do it with music on."

"What if I change the station? I can put classical music on for you."

I shook my head. "No, Bubba. I can't listen to any music. Even classical. It's too distracting."

He parked himself next to me. "What are you writing about?"

"Right now, I'm writing about a tsunami, and it's destroying the town."

He nodded. Then he got up with his radio and left.

Good, I thought. A little peace!

Unfortunately, it was short-lived. Bubba came back with his radio. And it was playing something else.

I listened. "Bubba, what is that?"

He grinned. "The sound of ocean waves. It'll help you write about tsunamis!"

The Perfect Pitch

The other day, I was playing outside with my son. We played a little football, followed by baseball. I was the pitcher. We played for about twenty minutes, then he wanted to switch.

"Mama, I'm the best pitcher!" he said.

I looked at him sideways. "How do you figure that?"

"Because I know how to pitch the perfect pitch."

"Really?" I asked. "I have to see this!"

"You have to be a really good player to hit it."

"I am a good player," I said.

"Okay. Are you ready?"

I nodded.

He winded up the pitch, and then walked forward.

"Dude, what are you doing?" I asked.

He grinned. "Pitching the perfect pitch."

He dropped the ball at the tip of my left foot.

"That was a perfect pitch?" I asked.

"Yep. It went exactly where I wanted it to go!"

Oy!


Before I go, I'd like to wish all Americans a very Happy Fourth of July!

What to Do When You're Bored

This afternoon, I found my son lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling fan which was going around and around.

"Dude," I said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm bored," he replied.

"Well, go outside and find something to do."

He shook his head. "This is more interesting."

"What is?"

"Counting how many times the blades go around."

I made a face. "Seriously?"

"Do you want to know how to do it?"

"Sure, Bubba. How do you do it?"

He explained. "You have to be under the fan, staring up at it. Then you focus on one of the spaces between the blades. That helps you keep track of the blade, and then you just count."

That sounded thrilling.

"So, how many times has it gone around?"

He smiled. "Since I've been talking to you, eight."

Great. So, ladies and gentlemen, if you're ever bored, just park yourself under a ceiling fan, stare up at it, and start counting.  

The Dog Paint Job

Yesterday, I had a lot of teenaged girls over. They wanted to paint. So I got them some canvases, acrylic paints, paintbrushes and a drop cloth. They kept themselves busy for a couple of hours, creating great masterpieces.

When they were done, they cleaned up, and placed their artwork on the table, to allow it to dry. Then they went off to do whatever they do.

Meanwhile, our giant German Shepherd, Schultz, had to inspect what was on the table. With his nose. Nobody witnessed this activity, but it was pretty obvious what he had done. And it wasn't just his nose. His pointy ears were white, too.

"Schultz!" my daughter said when she saw him. "What did you do?"

He cocked his head and looked at her.

Apparently he wanted to create a masterpiece, too!

(We managed to clean his nose, but Schultz is still sporting white-tipped ears!)

Tic-Tac-Toe Champion

My son and I were passing the time, waiting for our meal at a restaurant, playing a game of tic-tac-toe. I am the unrefuted champion of said game. Try as they might, my kids cannot beat me.

We played three games, and each time I won. My son wasn't thrilled about that. So he tried a new tactic.

I drew an "O." Then he drew an "O" - with a smiley face inside.

I looked at him funny. "Dude, what are you doing? I'm "O," you're "X."

He grinned. "I'm trying to confuse you."

I shook my head and drew another "O" in the box.

He drew his smiley face.

I drew another "O" and connected three "O's" going diagonally across. It was my turn to grin. "Looks like you're the one who's confused!"
 

Bushwhacked

This morning, I opened the cupboard to pull out the container of oatmeal. That should have been an uneventful situation. But it wasn't.

As soon as I opened it, something fell out. A container of cocoa powder. Not just any container of cocoa powder, but one that had not been properly closed after the last use.

I bet you can't guess what happened.

My nice white socks were no longer white. My legs were covered in a fine brown powder. The floor was completely trashed.

"Kids!" I called. "Come here!"

They came. "Who was the last one to use the cocoa powder?"

My son looked at me. "Not me!"

My daughter looked at me. "Not me!"

I gave them one of my Mama glares. "I know it wasn't Schultz, Bootsy, or Dad. It was one of you. And I distinctly remember someone making brownies, yesterday."

I focused on my daughter.

"It wasn't me," she said. "It was my friend. She used the cocoa powder and put it back."

I sighed. Of course it was the friend. "Tell your friend to make sure all products are properly sealed, closed, and stacked, so this doesn't happen again!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

They scampered off, leaving me to clean up the mess. Oy gewalt!



On another note, I am very happy that my book, That Mama is a Grouch, won first place in the Family Matters Category of the 2015 Purple Dragonfly book awards. That makes me less grouchy! I know for many of you, this is going to be a shock, because I rarely post pictures,  but here's one of me with my book and certificate (taken after I washed off the cocoa powder):



   

The Mama Aura

"Mom, come here," my teenage daughter said. "Put your hand over this white paper and stare at the tip of your middle finger until you see a color."

I thought that was an odd request, but I complied. Two seconds later, I did see a color. "It's purple," I said.

Her eyes got big. "Purple?"

"Yes. Now what does that mean?"

"It's your aura."

I've heard of auras - the energy that surrounds a person. And I've heard they can be different colors, but I had no idea you could actually see your own. "Seriously?" I said.

She nodded. "Do it again."

I did. Still purple.

So, I bet you're wondering what purple means. It means that I am intuitive, artistic, magical, psychic, wise, matriarchal, and full of female energies.  How's that for a Mama aura?

I don't know how much truth there is to all of that, but if you're curious about auras, you can visit this website to learn more. 

The Crab Rescue

Yesterday, when I went outside, I noticed a shell on the sidewalk in front of my house. I wondered what it was doing there. Upon closer inspection, I saw that there was a creature in that shell. A hermit crab. I had no idea what it was doing there, but I knew that it was going to be fried sitting on that hot concrete. (It's been at least 90 degrees Fahrenheit every day this week.)

So I rescued it. I moved it to a spot under a shady tree. Then I went in the house to find a shell. Shells make good water vessels. The crab definitely needed some water. I filled it with water and put it near the crab, which was still tightly curled in its shell. I wondered what else I could do to help it. I had the brilliant idea to cool it off with a little water sprinkle from the hose. It had to be roasting in that hot shell! That's what I did.

Then my daughter came outside. "Mom, what are you doing?"

"Rescuing a crab."

She gave me a funny look. "Did you remember you had dinner cooking on the stove?"

Oh, right. I almost forgot about that.

She stooped down and picked up the crab. "Mom, this thing is dead!"

"Is not!" I said.

"Yes, it is. And the house is going to burn down while you save a dead crab!"

(FYI:  The house is still standing, and the food did not burn. But the crab. He might be dead. He hasn't moved a bit. So, yes, I may have been trying to rescue a dead crab. Time will tell. If he falls out of his shell, we'll know for sure.)

 

Cooking Class

Yesterday, my ten year old son, Bubba, made his first cake. He also learned how to barbecue. Yours truly was the teacher.

I supervised as he measured and mixed the ingredients. The only thing I had to help with, was taking the cake out of the oven. He was so proud of that thing. His first cake - for his dad on Father's Day.

After the cake making class, it was time to go outside for the manly grilling lesson. I fired up the grill and waited for it to heat up.

"Dude," I said. "This is pretty hot stuff, so I'm going to do the flipping. You just watch to see how it's done."

When it was ready, I tossed the burgers on. Huge flames shot up every time one went on the grill.

"Mama, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

I nodded. "Of course. I've grilled plenty of times before."

He looked skeptical.

When it was time to flip the burgers, he was worried. "Should I get the fire extinguisher?"

"Nah," I said. "It'll be fine."

I opened the lid and flipped each of the burgers. You should've seen the flames coming out of that thing! That's when I noticed all the settings were on high. It was like 600 degrees Fahrenheit in there. I turned it down just a little.

"Looking good, Bubba," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yep." I took the burgers off the grill and shut it down.

We went inside to eat. Bubba tasted one. "This is delicious! Mama, you're pretty good at playing with fire!"