Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 62

Bad Kitty

Usually Bootsy, our cat, stays out of the limelight. The worst he does is hiss or scratch at the dog.  Well, he did something pretty significant this time.

My husband went outside to fire up the grill.  He was planning to make dinner.  Unfortunately, he wasn't able to. The propane tank was empty.  "Didn't I just fill this thing?"

"Yeah, you did," my daughter confirmed.

"I know what happened," said my son, Bubba.  "The cat turned on the grill when he sat on the side where the knobs are.  He drained the tank!"

Bubba was right. That's exactly what he did.  Bad Kitty!

Schultz's Big Greeting

Schultz, our hundred-pound German Shepherd, is a rather friendly creature.  He loves everybody.

Yesterday, my husband and I took the beast to the dog park.  There are always at least ten dogs running around in that place.  Schultz was thrilled.  He squealed and wagged his tail at the sight of all the people and their quadrupeds.

Like most dogs, Schultz has a penchant for sniffing butts.  I suppose it's a friendly dog way to say, "Hi."  Unfortunately, all this sniffing causes excessive drool for Schultz. Strings of slobber hang from his jowls as he goes from dog to dog.  It's very unattractive.

I shook my head at his slobber.  "Schultz, go get a drink of water!  You're a pathetic sight for a pedigree!"

But Schultz didn't want to get a drink of water.  He wanted to go greet a human. He trotted over to a nice man sitting on a bench.  He stood in front of the nice man and gave himself a big shake.  A huge string of slobber flew off his giant face, right into the poor man's lap.

I was mortified.  "Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!" I said.

Fortunately the guy was cool about it.  "That's okay.  The big boy was just giving a big hello!"

The Cabbage Challenge

My son came home from school with a potted plant in his hand. "Here, Mama.  You need to keep this alive."

I looked at the boy and wrinkled my brows. "What do you mean I have to keep this alive?"

"It's a cabbage plant, and there's a contest at school to see who can keep their plant alive the longest and grow the biggest cabbage."

"Bubba," I said.  "I believe the challenge is for you to keep it alive.  Not me."

He made a frown face.  "But Mama, I'm not as experienced as you.  You're the Mama, and you take care of everything.  It's your job to keep things alive!"

(Uh.  Right.  Excuse me while I go consult my Mama Manual to see if it is my responsibility to keep school cabbages alive!)

Cow Talk

My son got off the bus after school and started a rather interesting conversation.  "Moo!" he said.

I looked at him quizzically.  "Moo?"

"Moo, moo."

"Moo, moo?"

"Moo!"

"Moo?"  I shook my head.  "Bubba, what the heck are you talking about?  I can't understand a word you're saying."

"But you're the Mama Moo Moo Mama. You should've understood every word, because I was speaking your language!"

Uh, right.  Moo.

Sand Heads

My nine-year-old son had a school project to create a product that kids would want to buy.  This product had to be made with things around the house.  After a huge search, we found balloons and sand.

"Let's make balloon heads!" he said.

That sounded like a plan.

My son attempted to fill the balloons, but with a broken wrist, it was a little difficult.  "Mama, can you do this?"

I nodded and grabbed a funnel.  It was quite a job filling those things.  And after each one was filled, I had to blow up the balloon in order to distribute the sand evenly.  Of course that resulted in a mouth full of sand.

"Blah!" I said.  "Eating sand is not fun!"

Bubba looked at me with a serious expression on his face.  "Mama, you should be grateful. At least your whole head isn't full of sand like these guys!"

 

Going Around in Circles

I have returned.  I spent the last few days in Louisville, Kentucky at a string teacher conference.   It was a lot of fun, but I had some serious problems trying to get out of the parking garage.

Let me tell you about it.

I parked on the lowest level (this lot went down instead of up).  Amazingly, I had no problem remembering where I parked.  The problem was navigating out of that thing.  I followed the exit signs, as any somewhat intelligent homosapien would do.  I made it to the next level.  And the next level.

But then something weird happened.  I went around in a circle, following the exit signs.  I drove past Indiana license plates, admiring how lovely they were (yes, I happen to like Indiana license plates) and then realized on the third time around, that they were on the same cars. Wait a minute, I thought. Didn't I just pass these vehicles?  I looked to my my right.  There was the elevator to go up to the hotel. I hadn't gone up another level!

But I didn't see another exit.  What's the problem? I thought.  Must I drive around admiring Indiana license plates for eternity?  

I went around again, looking for an alternative exit.  I found one.  But it must've been a pedestrian exit sign, because I ended up at a dead-end.  I got my car out of there after some very careful maneuvering and headed back to the cars with the lovely Indiana license plates.  There had to be a way out!

That's when I noticed another exit sign.  But this one had a one way sign on the wall next to it.  At that way wasn't the way I wanted to go.  Should I go that way? I considered the possibilities:  Wander around in that garage for the rest of my life, or face a head-long collision.

I opted for the head-long collision.

I turned down that one way ramp, and rounded the corner, fully expecting to see a pair of headlights coming my way.  But there wasn't.  Instead, there was a wide, two-way ramp going up and out!  

All I have to say is, somebody must've drank a little too much bourbon when he put that sign up, and thought it would be absolutely hilarious to mess with my head!  Darn Kentuckian!

What Heads are For

"Mama," my nine-year-old son said.  "Do you know why we have heads?"

I tried to suppress a grin. "No, Bubba.  I have no idea why we have heads."

"They hold our brains."

"Oh.  Well, I lost my mind a long time ago, so I probably don't need my head," I said.

"But you need it to blink your eyes.  And swallow.  And sometimes sneeze."

I looked at the boy.  "But Bubba, don't you need a brain to be able to do all those things?  I don't have a brain.  So why do I need a head?"

He took his hooded jacket and placed the hood over the top of my head.  "To hold my jacket!"

Of course.

 

It's All About Gratitude Blog Hop and Big Ambitions

It’s All About Gratitude Bloghop
Today, I'm participating in the All About Gratitude Blog Hop hosted by SA Larsen.  

There are so many things I am grateful for – my family, my friends, the talents God has given me… and for all of you.  I wish I could give each of you a big hug to let you know how much I appreciate your friendship and support! 

Gratitude is such an important virtue.  To quote Steve Maraboli, "If you want to find happiness, find gratitude."  It's so important to recognize that you are where you are in life, because of all the people and blessings that are in it!

What has gratitude done for you? 




Now for the story:

My nine-year-old son was reading an inspirational book for kids.  "Mama, listen to this," he said as he read from the book.  "You can do anything you want.  There are not limits to the possibilities..."

He stopped to think.  "Mama, do you know what I'm doing to do?"

"No, Bubba.  What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be a scientist and travel to Mars."

"That sounds pretty good."

"What are you going to do, Mama?" he asked.

"The laundry!"

Digging for Shark Teeth

My son had gotten one of those kits where you can excavate for hidden things in a block of plaster.  This particular block of plaster contained shark teeth.  Three of them.  He laid everything out on the kitchen table and began digging. Soon he was covered in fine powder.

"Uh, Bubba," I said.  "Perhaps this idea is not so good, since you're wearing a cast, which is now completely filthy."

Bubba looked at his arm.  Then he looked at me.  "Mama, can you help?"

I knew I'd get suckered into this.  I took the excavating tools and began scraping.  And scraping.  And scraping.  Forty-five minutes later, there was a hole all the way through the block of plaster, but no shark teeth.

"Mama," my son said.  "I think they did this just to stress you out."

I scowled and scraped some more.  Soon the whole thing was a pulverized pile of plaster powder.  Except for five small clumps.

"Did they forget to put the teeth in?" Bubba asked.

I shrugged and picked up one of the clumps.  I scraped it gently, and discovered something.  A tooth?  I scraped a little more.  Sure enough, it was a tiger shark tooth.

"Great, Mama!  Only two  more to find!"

I picked up another small clump.  I scraped away on that one.  And yes - discovered another tooth.

I was on a roll.  Next clump.  I scraped that one and found nothing.

Then I tried another.  No deal.

Last clump.  I scraped, and scraped.  And there it was.  The last tooth!

I cleaned it off and handed it to Bubba. "Dude, that's the last Dr. Cool kit I'm doing!  Next time you want a shark tooth, we're going to a beach in South Carolina to find one!"

 

 

Funeral for a Triop

You may recall a couple of months ago, that my son had gotten some pet triops - tiny aquatic creatures from the age of the dinosaurs.  Well, sadly, one died.  My son scooped it out of the tank and put it in a soup bowl.  It stayed on the counter for a couple of days.

"Bubba, what are you planning on doing with this dead triop?" I asked.

"It has to have a funeral."

"Can we get on with the funeral, because I really don't want to stare and its lifeless body anymore."

"Sure, Mama."

He took the bowl and marched into the bathroom.  Then he lifted the toilet lid.

I stood by his side.  "Would you like to say a few words before you send him off to his watery grave?"

The boy thought a moment.  "Triop, you were a good pet.  Thanks for the memories."

I raised my eyebrows and nodded. "Rest in peace, Triop.  So glad I didn't have to take care of you!"

With that, Bubba dumped it into the toilet, pushed the handle, and flushed it down.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a triop funeral is conducted.