Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 85
April 9, 2013
The Worm Experiment
"Mama," my eight year old son said. "We need some newspapers, eggshells, and rotten banana peels."
"What?" I said. I couldn't imagine why anyone would need rotten banana peels.
"We're going to do an experiment," he announced.
"What kind of experiment, Bubba?"
"A worm experiment."
That piqued my interest. "Will we need worms for this?"
"Yeah, Mama. Lot's of them."
I collected the newspapers, eggshells, and a banana peel, which I'm sure will be rotten in about two days. Bubba collected the worms.
When we had all the materials, we dumped them into a container.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now we wait for the worms to turn all of this into compost."
Oh.
Ladies and gentlemen, this little experiment might take a while. But I'll keep you updated on how it turns out!
"What?" I said. I couldn't imagine why anyone would need rotten banana peels.
"We're going to do an experiment," he announced.
"What kind of experiment, Bubba?"
"A worm experiment."
That piqued my interest. "Will we need worms for this?"
"Yeah, Mama. Lot's of them."
I collected the newspapers, eggshells, and a banana peel, which I'm sure will be rotten in about two days. Bubba collected the worms.
When we had all the materials, we dumped them into a container.
"Now what?" I asked.
"Now we wait for the worms to turn all of this into compost."
Oh.
Ladies and gentlemen, this little experiment might take a while. But I'll keep you updated on how it turns out!
April 8, 2013
Dancing King
Yesterday I had mentioned that my husband and son were out of town. They were in Baltimore for a family Bat Mitzvah. (Unfortunately my daughter and I could not go because of her dance schedule.) If you don't know what a Bat Mitzvah is, it's a Jewish "coming of age" celebration for thirteen year old kids. Basically, it's like a wedding. Huge!
Anyway, at the reception party, my son was the center of attention. The little man danced from 7:00 PM to 11:00 PM non -stop. My husband gave me the full report:
"Everybody stood around watching him," he said. "Even the dance instructor was impressed with his rhythm and moves. He won every prize in the house!"
I could just imagine it - my boy in a suit break-dancing on the floor!
My husband continued. "All the chicks were digging him. There was one blond girl about his age who told him he was cute."
"Great," I said. "And what did Bubba do after she said that?"
"He spurned her and chased after the hot older dance instructor."
Oh boy. Definitely a sign of things to come. I see big trouble ahead!
Anyway, at the reception party, my son was the center of attention. The little man danced from 7:00 PM to 11:00 PM non -stop. My husband gave me the full report:
"Everybody stood around watching him," he said. "Even the dance instructor was impressed with his rhythm and moves. He won every prize in the house!"
I could just imagine it - my boy in a suit break-dancing on the floor!
My husband continued. "All the chicks were digging him. There was one blond girl about his age who told him he was cute."
"Great," I said. "And what did Bubba do after she said that?"
"He spurned her and chased after the hot older dance instructor."
Oh boy. Definitely a sign of things to come. I see big trouble ahead!
April 7, 2013
Cleaning the Air
My son left a little present in the toilet for me two days ago. I didn't find it until today. (He's been out of town with his dad.) When I walked in the bathroom, I was assaulted by a putrid odor.
"Ugh! That's disgusting!" my daughter said when she got a whiff of it. She immediately ran and found two bottles of perfume. She sprayed a half a bottle of one, and a half a bottle of another.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked. "Kill me?"
"No, Mom. That's the worst smell I've ever smelled in my life! I'm trying to cover it."
Right.
I plunged some more, trying to get the toilet unblocked. It took me a full hour to get that thing to flush.
Meanwhile, my daughter got three more cans of air freshener and sprayed them. Then she got some Lysol and Scrubbing Bubbles and sprayed those.
It smelled absolutely awful. Even Schultz, our German Shepherd, was gagging. (I quickly let him out of the house so I wouldn't have any other messes to clean up!)
As I finished cleaning up, my daughter came with yet another bottle and started spraying.
"That's enough, already!" I said. "We're going to end up with lung cancer breathing all these chemicals!"
"But Mom, it's water! I'm cleaning the air, now!"
(So ladies and gentlemen, if you were planning to visit my abode today, I would highly advise that you do something else. I have opened all the portals, and am now abandoning the ship!)
"Ugh! That's disgusting!" my daughter said when she got a whiff of it. She immediately ran and found two bottles of perfume. She sprayed a half a bottle of one, and a half a bottle of another.
"What are you trying to do?" I asked. "Kill me?"
"No, Mom. That's the worst smell I've ever smelled in my life! I'm trying to cover it."
Right.
I plunged some more, trying to get the toilet unblocked. It took me a full hour to get that thing to flush.
Meanwhile, my daughter got three more cans of air freshener and sprayed them. Then she got some Lysol and Scrubbing Bubbles and sprayed those.
It smelled absolutely awful. Even Schultz, our German Shepherd, was gagging. (I quickly let him out of the house so I wouldn't have any other messes to clean up!)
As I finished cleaning up, my daughter came with yet another bottle and started spraying.
"That's enough, already!" I said. "We're going to end up with lung cancer breathing all these chemicals!"
"But Mom, it's water! I'm cleaning the air, now!"
(So ladies and gentlemen, if you were planning to visit my abode today, I would highly advise that you do something else. I have opened all the portals, and am now abandoning the ship!)
April 6, 2013
The Half Birthday Cake
Yesterday was my daughter's half birthday. (Can you believe it's already been six months since her infamous chocolate birthday party?) To celebrate the occasion, I made a cake. After it came out of the oven, I put it on the counter to cool.
Schultz, our giant German Shepherd, came up and gave it a sniff.
"Leave it alone, Schultz. It's not for you," I said.
Schultz walked away, so I figured it would be safe.
While the cake continued cooling, I went for a two mile run. When I came back, I had a little surprise waiting for me. One layer of the cake was on the floor, half eaten.
"Schultz!" I bellowed.
He shuffled into the room with his head held low. A few pink crumbs were stuck on his nose.
Apparently he thought that a half birthday cake meant half was for him.
I just shook my head and sent him to his crate. Then I frosted the remaining half and we all enjoyed a half piece of half a cake during the last half of my daughter's half birthday.
Schultz, our giant German Shepherd, came up and gave it a sniff.
"Leave it alone, Schultz. It's not for you," I said.
Schultz walked away, so I figured it would be safe.
While the cake continued cooling, I went for a two mile run. When I came back, I had a little surprise waiting for me. One layer of the cake was on the floor, half eaten.
"Schultz!" I bellowed.
He shuffled into the room with his head held low. A few pink crumbs were stuck on his nose.
Apparently he thought that a half birthday cake meant half was for him.
I just shook my head and sent him to his crate. Then I frosted the remaining half and we all enjoyed a half piece of half a cake during the last half of my daughter's half birthday.
April 5, 2013
Cookies and Mashed Potatoes (and other random things)
"Mama, you broke my dream machine," my eight year old son said to me this morning when I woke him up.
"Sorry, Bubba," I said. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Cookies and mashed potatoes."
I tried not to laugh. "Really? Was it a good dream?"
"Yeah. Because mashed potatoes are my favorite food, and I was hoping for a cookie after breakfast."
(Keep hoping kid. It's not going to happen!)
Then I went to my daughter's room to wake her up.
After she cleared her morning groggies, she had this question: "Mom, what's the difference between a hippy and a groovy? "
Huh?
"Well, a hippy is a dude from the seventies with long hair. He usually wears bell-bottom pants and funky shirts. I have no idea what a groovy is."
"I think he's a surfer dude," my daughter suggested.
Okay. Whatever. I have no idea where this conversation came from, but if any of you have an answer to what the difference between a hippy and a groovy is, please let me know!
Finally, I'd like to share my daughter's new favorite song: It's number one on the charts and it's called the Harlem Shuffle. She made me watch this video last night. ( I think the dude in the orange pants might be a groovy.)
All I could do was shake my head and wonder what this world is coming to. They call this music? I think I'll go listen to a Beethoven Symphony now. You all have a nice day!
"Sorry, Bubba," I said. "What were you dreaming about?"
"Cookies and mashed potatoes."
I tried not to laugh. "Really? Was it a good dream?"
"Yeah. Because mashed potatoes are my favorite food, and I was hoping for a cookie after breakfast."
(Keep hoping kid. It's not going to happen!)
Then I went to my daughter's room to wake her up.
After she cleared her morning groggies, she had this question: "Mom, what's the difference between a hippy and a groovy? "
Huh?
"Well, a hippy is a dude from the seventies with long hair. He usually wears bell-bottom pants and funky shirts. I have no idea what a groovy is."
"I think he's a surfer dude," my daughter suggested.
Okay. Whatever. I have no idea where this conversation came from, but if any of you have an answer to what the difference between a hippy and a groovy is, please let me know!
Finally, I'd like to share my daughter's new favorite song: It's number one on the charts and it's called the Harlem Shuffle. She made me watch this video last night. ( I think the dude in the orange pants might be a groovy.)
All I could do was shake my head and wonder what this world is coming to. They call this music? I think I'll go listen to a Beethoven Symphony now. You all have a nice day!
April 4, 2013
Busted Frog
My frog doesn't usually make the headlines. But he's been so obnoxious for the last few days, that I just have to tell you about him.
It started a few days ago when I bought him a new brand of blood worms. I don't know what's in those things, but ever since he started eating them, he won't shut up. Day and night he croaks at the top of his little froggy lungs.
"Croaky," I said walking over to his swamp. "That's enough. I can't even think because you're croaking so loud!"
He croaked some more.
I brought our German Shepherd, Schultz, up to see him. I figured the sight of a giant dog would interrupt whatever short circuit pattern was going on in his brain.
Schultz sniffed the swamp.
And Croaky kept croaking.
The croaking continued last night. Do you know what it's like trying to sleep with a noisy African clawed frog? Impossible! It's like being outside in Africa on the banks of the Nile river, except without the crocodiles.
I got up and shined my flashlight into his swamp. And guess what? He kept croaking!
So ladies and gentlemen, I need a little help here. Does anybody have any ideas on how to activate a frog's "off" button? I'd really like to get a good night's sleep tonight!
It started a few days ago when I bought him a new brand of blood worms. I don't know what's in those things, but ever since he started eating them, he won't shut up. Day and night he croaks at the top of his little froggy lungs.
"Croaky," I said walking over to his swamp. "That's enough. I can't even think because you're croaking so loud!"
He croaked some more.
I brought our German Shepherd, Schultz, up to see him. I figured the sight of a giant dog would interrupt whatever short circuit pattern was going on in his brain.
Schultz sniffed the swamp.
And Croaky kept croaking.
The croaking continued last night. Do you know what it's like trying to sleep with a noisy African clawed frog? Impossible! It's like being outside in Africa on the banks of the Nile river, except without the crocodiles.
I got up and shined my flashlight into his swamp. And guess what? He kept croaking!
So ladies and gentlemen, I need a little help here. Does anybody have any ideas on how to activate a frog's "off" button? I'd really like to get a good night's sleep tonight!
April 3, 2013
Defective Chickens
Before I start my story, I want to let you know that I'm hanging out over at VS Grenier's blog, Indie and Debut Author Interviews. If you'd like to know more about my book, That Mama is a Grouch, please stop by and visit!
Now for the story.
I made dinner last night and had it cooking in the oven. My husband walked into the kitchen. "Woman, something doesn't smell right."
"It smells fine," I said. Actually, I couldn't smell a thing because my nose was stuffed up from this wonderful cold I have.
He peeked in the oven. "What are you cooking? Defective chickens?"
"They're Cornish hens," I replied.
He made a face at me. "They're defective chickens, and I'm sure they're going to poison me if I eat them."
I looked at the guy and shook my head. "They're fine."
He didn't believe me. "How long were they in the refrigerator thawing out?"
"Five days."
"Five days? Woman, those things are going to kill us!"
He went back into his office, and I sat at my computer thinking about what it would be like to die from eating defective Cornish hens. I came to the conclusion that it probably would not be good. So I got my coat on and went to the grocery store where I bought a roasted chicken - the regular kind - not Cornish or defective in any way.
And the defective chickens? Well, they made a little trip out to the garbage can, where they can be used to control the raccoon population.
Okay, one more fun little thing: My blogger friend, Pat Hatt, wrote a cool little book featuring many of his blogger friends as characters, including yours truly. The book is called, Tune at High Noon.
Guess who I am? The duck! Do you remember the surgery I had in December which made my lips look like a duck bill? Well, dear Pat decided to immortalize the look. That's what I get for opening my big mouth (or bill)! I'll be remembered as a defective duck forever. Thanks Pat!
Now for the story.
I made dinner last night and had it cooking in the oven. My husband walked into the kitchen. "Woman, something doesn't smell right."
"It smells fine," I said. Actually, I couldn't smell a thing because my nose was stuffed up from this wonderful cold I have.
He peeked in the oven. "What are you cooking? Defective chickens?"
"They're Cornish hens," I replied.
He made a face at me. "They're defective chickens, and I'm sure they're going to poison me if I eat them."
I looked at the guy and shook my head. "They're fine."
He didn't believe me. "How long were they in the refrigerator thawing out?"
"Five days."
"Five days? Woman, those things are going to kill us!"
He went back into his office, and I sat at my computer thinking about what it would be like to die from eating defective Cornish hens. I came to the conclusion that it probably would not be good. So I got my coat on and went to the grocery store where I bought a roasted chicken - the regular kind - not Cornish or defective in any way.
And the defective chickens? Well, they made a little trip out to the garbage can, where they can be used to control the raccoon population.
Okay, one more fun little thing: My blogger friend, Pat Hatt, wrote a cool little book featuring many of his blogger friends as characters, including yours truly. The book is called, Tune at High Noon.
Guess who I am? The duck! Do you remember the surgery I had in December which made my lips look like a duck bill? Well, dear Pat decided to immortalize the look. That's what I get for opening my big mouth (or bill)! I'll be remembered as a defective duck forever. Thanks Pat!
April 2, 2013
April Fools
My kids usually try to pull some kind of prank on me on April Fools day. I've come to expect it, and am on high alert.
Yesterday, on April Fools day, I got up bright and early to get the kids ready for school. I walked into my daughter's room. "Time to get up," I said.
She rolled over and groaned. "Mom, we don't have school today."
"Yeah, right," I said. "You're just trying to play one of your April Fools jokes on me."
"Mom, I'm serious," she said. "My friend said so last night."
"Well then, she's playing an April Fools joke on you. Now get up and get ready."
I got my son out of bed, and prepared breakfast.
Both kids sat at the table with grumpy faces on. "Mom, we don't have school!"
"Why wouldn't you have school? It's Monday, and you already had a week of Spring break."
"Because it's April Fools day, and nobody wants to go to school on April Fools."
I shook my head. "Fine. I'm going to call the school and see if you're right." I got on the phone.
And guess what? The school was closed!
(I guess I'm the April Fool...again!)
Yesterday, on April Fools day, I got up bright and early to get the kids ready for school. I walked into my daughter's room. "Time to get up," I said.
She rolled over and groaned. "Mom, we don't have school today."
"Yeah, right," I said. "You're just trying to play one of your April Fools jokes on me."
"Mom, I'm serious," she said. "My friend said so last night."
"Well then, she's playing an April Fools joke on you. Now get up and get ready."
I got my son out of bed, and prepared breakfast.
Both kids sat at the table with grumpy faces on. "Mom, we don't have school!"
"Why wouldn't you have school? It's Monday, and you already had a week of Spring break."
"Because it's April Fools day, and nobody wants to go to school on April Fools."
I shook my head. "Fine. I'm going to call the school and see if you're right." I got on the phone.
And guess what? The school was closed!
(I guess I'm the April Fool...again!)
April 1, 2013
Dumb Easter Bunny
I hope you all had a nice Easter. We had a grand time at my pad. It all started bright and early when my kids ran downstairs to see what the Easter Bunny left in their baskets.
I heard them, but didn't feel like getting out of bed. About a half hour later, I got dressed and went down to see what they were up to. What they were up to was trouble. On the kitchen table in front of them, were their Easter baskets. Empty Easter baskets. All that remained of the candy that was inside were wrappers. And those were strewn all over the kitchen table.
"You guys did not seriously eat all your candy for breakfast, did you?" I asked.
"No, Mama, there are a couple pieces left," my son said.
I gave the boy one of my mean mommy faces. "You're not allowed to eat chocolate for breakfast!"
"But Mama," he said. "You're the Easter Bunny. If you didn't want us to have chocolate for breakfast, you shouldn't have put it in our basket!"
Argh!
I heard them, but didn't feel like getting out of bed. About a half hour later, I got dressed and went down to see what they were up to. What they were up to was trouble. On the kitchen table in front of them, were their Easter baskets. Empty Easter baskets. All that remained of the candy that was inside were wrappers. And those were strewn all over the kitchen table.
"You guys did not seriously eat all your candy for breakfast, did you?" I asked.
"No, Mama, there are a couple pieces left," my son said.
I gave the boy one of my mean mommy faces. "You're not allowed to eat chocolate for breakfast!"
"But Mama," he said. "You're the Easter Bunny. If you didn't want us to have chocolate for breakfast, you shouldn't have put it in our basket!"
Argh!
March 30, 2013
A Shave and a Haircut
Bubba, my eight-year-old son, was looking a little shaggy. "Mama, I want to go to the barber!" He said.
"Can't we just go to Great Clips? It would be faster," I said.
"No, Mama. We have to go to the barber."
I didn't feel like arguing, so I took him there. The barber is located in the quaint downtown area of Loveland, Ohio. It always feels like you're stepping back in time when you go. And walking into the barber shop is no different. The barber is a nice old man who wears one of those white barber smocks. Cans of brylcreem and aftershave line the shelves. You wouldn't believe it unless you saw it.
Anyway, the man cut my son's hair. When he was done, he asked my boy if he wanted a shave.
"I don't have whiskers yet," Bubba answered.
The barber looked closely. "You have peach fuzz. Those are going to turn into whiskers pretty soon."
Bubba took a closer look in the mirror. "Hmm," he said. "I'm going to keep an eye on that peach fuzz, and as soon as I see a whisker, I'll be back for a shave!"
In case I'm not here tomorrow, I'd like to wish everyone who celebrates Easter a very Happy Easter!
"Can't we just go to Great Clips? It would be faster," I said.
"No, Mama. We have to go to the barber."
I didn't feel like arguing, so I took him there. The barber is located in the quaint downtown area of Loveland, Ohio. It always feels like you're stepping back in time when you go. And walking into the barber shop is no different. The barber is a nice old man who wears one of those white barber smocks. Cans of brylcreem and aftershave line the shelves. You wouldn't believe it unless you saw it.
Anyway, the man cut my son's hair. When he was done, he asked my boy if he wanted a shave.
"I don't have whiskers yet," Bubba answered.
The barber looked closely. "You have peach fuzz. Those are going to turn into whiskers pretty soon."
Bubba took a closer look in the mirror. "Hmm," he said. "I'm going to keep an eye on that peach fuzz, and as soon as I see a whisker, I'll be back for a shave!"
In case I'm not here tomorrow, I'd like to wish everyone who celebrates Easter a very Happy Easter!
