Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 93
January 4, 2013
Flying Mama
I bet you didn't know I could fly. I can. It's my new-found talent. What? You don't believe me?
Let me tell you the story. Last night, when I was tucking my daughter into bed, my husband came into the room. "Do you want to see me lift Mama?" he asked.
I gave him a look. "I don't think I need a lift," I said.
Of course both kids squealed with delight. "Yeah, Daddy. Lift Mama!"
I sighed. "Fine. But it won't be much of a challenge because I'm such a feather weight." (I am. Even my eleven-year-old daughter can lift me.)
My husband picked me up, and the next thing I knew, I was flying through the air. I landed in the middle of the bed.
"What the heck?" I said.
My husband grinned. "Next time I'll send you to the moon!"
Oy!
Let me tell you the story. Last night, when I was tucking my daughter into bed, my husband came into the room. "Do you want to see me lift Mama?" he asked.
I gave him a look. "I don't think I need a lift," I said.
Of course both kids squealed with delight. "Yeah, Daddy. Lift Mama!"
I sighed. "Fine. But it won't be much of a challenge because I'm such a feather weight." (I am. Even my eleven-year-old daughter can lift me.)
My husband picked me up, and the next thing I knew, I was flying through the air. I landed in the middle of the bed.
"What the heck?" I said.
My husband grinned. "Next time I'll send you to the moon!"
Oy!
January 3, 2013
Bugs in the Kitchen
There is an infestation of lady bugs in my kitchen. Chocolate lady bugs. I had given my daughter a candy factory kit for Christmas, because we all know how much she likes chocolate (recall the chocolate birthday party she had in October).
I gave her the chocolate pieces, the coconut oil, and all the other doo dads and what nots that go with candy production. "Have at it, kid."
I let her loose in the kitchen and went about my business. A half hour later, I checked to see how she was doing. On the counter, were four trays of chocolate lady bugs.
"Mom, can you help cut the red aluminum foil so I can wrap the rest of these?"
"Um, sure." I grabbed some foil and itty bitty lady bug legs and assembled the creatures.
We now have no less than 48 lady bugs on the kitchen counter and in the refrigerator. I think I need to call an exterminator!
I gave her the chocolate pieces, the coconut oil, and all the other doo dads and what nots that go with candy production. "Have at it, kid."
I let her loose in the kitchen and went about my business. A half hour later, I checked to see how she was doing. On the counter, were four trays of chocolate lady bugs.
"Mom, can you help cut the red aluminum foil so I can wrap the rest of these?"
"Um, sure." I grabbed some foil and itty bitty lady bug legs and assembled the creatures.
We now have no less than 48 lady bugs on the kitchen counter and in the refrigerator. I think I need to call an exterminator!
January 2, 2013
Dog in the Bed
"Woman!" my husband called this morning. "Come upstairs!"
I wondered what the man wanted. I walked up the stairs into my daughter's bedroom where I found an interesting sight. My husband, son, and daughter were all snuggled in her bed...with our hundred pound German Shepherd, Schultz.
My jaw nearly dropped to the ground. "You let that beast on the bed?"
My husband grinned. "Look how happy he is!"
"Happy? I don't care how happy he is! First of all, he's not supposed to be upstairs. Second of all, there is no way he's allowed on furniture. Get him off the bed!"
All three of them looked at me with sad puppy eyes. "Don't give me that look," I said. "You know the rules. And look at all the hair he's getting on your bed!"
My daughter smiled sweetly. "So? You can wash it."
Grrr!
I wondered what the man wanted. I walked up the stairs into my daughter's bedroom where I found an interesting sight. My husband, son, and daughter were all snuggled in her bed...with our hundred pound German Shepherd, Schultz.
My jaw nearly dropped to the ground. "You let that beast on the bed?"
My husband grinned. "Look how happy he is!"
"Happy? I don't care how happy he is! First of all, he's not supposed to be upstairs. Second of all, there is no way he's allowed on furniture. Get him off the bed!"
All three of them looked at me with sad puppy eyes. "Don't give me that look," I said. "You know the rules. And look at all the hair he's getting on your bed!"
My daughter smiled sweetly. "So? You can wash it."
Grrr!
December 31, 2012
Killed by the Ghost
I'm not really here. I'm dead. I was killed by a ghost. (Which kind of makes me a ghost now, doesn't it?) How did this happen? Well, let me tell you the story.
My son got a Wii U for Christmas. He was busy playing one of his Mario games. "Mama," he said. "Come and play with me."
"But I don't like video games," I said.
"Aww, Mama, please! It's fun!"
Reluctantly, I agreed to do this. He handed me a control. "What do I do with this?" I asked.
"Press the buttons."
Of course. I looked at the gizmo and wondered why it was that kids have no trouble pressing random buttons while adults are afraid of doing something that will result in some kind of nuclear destruction. After examining the device carefully, I figured out what the buttons did. "Okay," I said. "I'm ready."
He started the game, Luigi's Haunted Castle. "You have to kill the ghost. I'm the ghost."
"Okay. How do I kill the ghost?"
"Shine your flashlight on him."
I attempted to move the Luigi character. I think he was drunk, because he kept bumping into walls. He managed to kill a few random ghosts, but then the battery in his light burned out. "Now what?" I asked.
"Go get a battery," my son said.
"What kind? D? AA? C?"
My son looked at me like I was crazy. "No, Mama! The battery is in the corner. You have to move Luigi over there to get it."
Oh. Right.
Unfortunately, I never made it to the corner. The ghost popped out of nowhere and ate me up. So now I'm dead.
Maybe I'll rise again after the New Year. Maybe.
I hope you all have a fantastic New Year! Best wishes for 2013!
My son got a Wii U for Christmas. He was busy playing one of his Mario games. "Mama," he said. "Come and play with me."
"But I don't like video games," I said.
"Aww, Mama, please! It's fun!"
Reluctantly, I agreed to do this. He handed me a control. "What do I do with this?" I asked.
"Press the buttons."
Of course. I looked at the gizmo and wondered why it was that kids have no trouble pressing random buttons while adults are afraid of doing something that will result in some kind of nuclear destruction. After examining the device carefully, I figured out what the buttons did. "Okay," I said. "I'm ready."
He started the game, Luigi's Haunted Castle. "You have to kill the ghost. I'm the ghost."
"Okay. How do I kill the ghost?"
"Shine your flashlight on him."
I attempted to move the Luigi character. I think he was drunk, because he kept bumping into walls. He managed to kill a few random ghosts, but then the battery in his light burned out. "Now what?" I asked.
"Go get a battery," my son said.
"What kind? D? AA? C?"
My son looked at me like I was crazy. "No, Mama! The battery is in the corner. You have to move Luigi over there to get it."
Oh. Right.
Unfortunately, I never made it to the corner. The ghost popped out of nowhere and ate me up. So now I'm dead.
Maybe I'll rise again after the New Year. Maybe.
I hope you all have a fantastic New Year! Best wishes for 2013!
December 30, 2012
Piano Playing Dog
After our German Shepherd, Schultz was released from doggy jail yesterday, he came and sat at my feet while I practiced the piano. I have a recital coming up at the end of January, so I've been doing a lot of practicing. Usually, Schultz behaves himself. Or sometimes he chases the shadows I make as I play. Yesterday was a little different. He stuck his big snoot under my arm pit and lifted my arm off of the keyboard.
"What? Are you tired of listening to Beethoven twenty times a day?"
He cocked his head and looked at me.
I resumed practicing.
He stuck his snoot under my arm pit again.
"What do you want, dog?"
He walked to the other side of the piano and rested his head on the keys, making a chord cluster.
"Oh, I see. You want to play." I stopped and watched him. He watched me. "Well?" I said. "Do something."
He promptly licked the keys and trotted off.
Just what I needed. Dog slobber on my piano!
"What? Are you tired of listening to Beethoven twenty times a day?"
He cocked his head and looked at me.
I resumed practicing.
He stuck his snoot under my arm pit again.
"What do you want, dog?"
He walked to the other side of the piano and rested his head on the keys, making a chord cluster.
"Oh, I see. You want to play." I stopped and watched him. He watched me. "Well?" I said. "Do something."
He promptly licked the keys and trotted off.
Just what I needed. Dog slobber on my piano!
December 29, 2012
Schultz's Dinner
Schultz, our enormous German Shepherd, has been on a rampage lately. I don't know what his malfunction is, but he is having some serious issues with staying out of trouble. A couple of days ago, he went to the pet store, and knocked over a whole shelf of goldfish food with his big, bushy tail. Yesterday, I caught him digging up one of the plants in my garden. And did I mention how filthy he's been getting? Maybe he thinks that he can do whatever he wants now that Santa's already been here with a delivery of treats for his stocking.
Anyway, today's episode involved food - human food. I was attempting to make spaghetti. As I pulled the noodles out of the box, a bunch fell onto the floor. Guess who was there to clean up? Yep. Schultz. Apparently he likes munching on uncooked spaghetti noodles.
"Schultz, yuck!" I said.
He cocked his head and kept crunching. He ate about a third of a box of those things.
Later, my son put his vanilla milkshake on the kitchen chair. I don't know why he did this, but I didn't catch it. Schultz did. When I walked into the room, there was Schultz, with his big snoot in the cup, licking up the milkshake.
"Schultz!" I hollared. "What do you think you're doing?"
He pulled his snoot out of the cup and looked at me. His black face was covered with splotches of vanilla ice cream. He put his snoot back in and licked some more.
"Oh no you don't," I said. "Crate!"
I confiscated the milkshake and locked him up in jail. That's where he's going to stay for a very long time!
Anyway, today's episode involved food - human food. I was attempting to make spaghetti. As I pulled the noodles out of the box, a bunch fell onto the floor. Guess who was there to clean up? Yep. Schultz. Apparently he likes munching on uncooked spaghetti noodles.
"Schultz, yuck!" I said.
He cocked his head and kept crunching. He ate about a third of a box of those things.
Later, my son put his vanilla milkshake on the kitchen chair. I don't know why he did this, but I didn't catch it. Schultz did. When I walked into the room, there was Schultz, with his big snoot in the cup, licking up the milkshake.
"Schultz!" I hollared. "What do you think you're doing?"
He pulled his snoot out of the cup and looked at me. His black face was covered with splotches of vanilla ice cream. He put his snoot back in and licked some more.
"Oh no you don't," I said. "Crate!"
I confiscated the milkshake and locked him up in jail. That's where he's going to stay for a very long time!
December 28, 2012
Mama the Mad Scientist
I did not know that making motors was in my job description when I signed up to be a mom. Apparently moms are supposed to be engineers and physicists.
My son got an invention science kit for Christmas. He likes inventing things, so I thought it would be a good idea to get him one. I don't know what I was thinking.
"Mama, can you help me?" my son asked.
"Sure." I sat down and looked at the directions. I could tell it was going to be fun. The first project was making a motor. Step number one was making a coil. I took the wire and wrapped it around a dowel until it resembled a coil. Then I had to sand the leads.
"Mama, what are you doing? This isn't a wood working project."
"The directions say to sand the top of the leads," I explained.
Then it was time to assemble the motor. I took some paperclips, rubberbands, a magnet, and other assorted things and attempted to put them together. When I was done, I had an odd contraption hooked up to a battery sitting in front of me.
"What does it do?" Bubba asked.
I stared at it. "Absolutely nothing," I said.
"Mama, you're nothing but a mad scientist."
Yeah. And a mad Mama!
My son got an invention science kit for Christmas. He likes inventing things, so I thought it would be a good idea to get him one. I don't know what I was thinking.
"Mama, can you help me?" my son asked.
"Sure." I sat down and looked at the directions. I could tell it was going to be fun. The first project was making a motor. Step number one was making a coil. I took the wire and wrapped it around a dowel until it resembled a coil. Then I had to sand the leads.
"Mama, what are you doing? This isn't a wood working project."
"The directions say to sand the top of the leads," I explained.
Then it was time to assemble the motor. I took some paperclips, rubberbands, a magnet, and other assorted things and attempted to put them together. When I was done, I had an odd contraption hooked up to a battery sitting in front of me.
"What does it do?" Bubba asked.
I stared at it. "Absolutely nothing," I said.
"Mama, you're nothing but a mad scientist."
Yeah. And a mad Mama!
December 27, 2012
Snow Angels
"Mama," my eight-year-old son said. "Can I help you shovel snow?"
"Sure," I said. "Go ahead and grab a shovel."
I continued shoveling the driveway while he searched for his kid-sized shovel. A couple minutes later, he joined me. That lasted a grand total of nine seconds. The boy promptly dropped onto his back in the middle of the driveway and started making snow angels.
"Bubba, can you do that on the grass?"
"No, Mama. I want to make them in the driveway."
He made about five of those things. "Bubba," I said. "I'm going to have to shovel them. If you want your snow angels to last, go make them in the grass."
"Mama, can you please shovel around them? They look so nice!"
"I'll tell you what. I'll keep two of them. The rest have to go, or we won't be able to get out of the driveway."
So that's what I did. We now have two snow angels in the driveway. Unfortunately, I have to go somewhere in about two minutes, so those snow angels are going to have some tire tracks running over their nice little wings.
"Sure," I said. "Go ahead and grab a shovel."
I continued shoveling the driveway while he searched for his kid-sized shovel. A couple minutes later, he joined me. That lasted a grand total of nine seconds. The boy promptly dropped onto his back in the middle of the driveway and started making snow angels.
"Bubba, can you do that on the grass?"
"No, Mama. I want to make them in the driveway."
He made about five of those things. "Bubba," I said. "I'm going to have to shovel them. If you want your snow angels to last, go make them in the grass."
"Mama, can you please shovel around them? They look so nice!"
"I'll tell you what. I'll keep two of them. The rest have to go, or we won't be able to get out of the driveway."
So that's what I did. We now have two snow angels in the driveway. Unfortunately, I have to go somewhere in about two minutes, so those snow angels are going to have some tire tracks running over their nice little wings.
December 26, 2012
Does Santa Have a Passport?
I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. We had a lovely time at my pad, although my son did not receive a time machine or a million dollars. He didn't seem too disappointed, though. After examining his presents under the tree, he asked a rather interesting question: "Mama, why doesn't Santa need a passport?"
I thought about that for a minute. "Well, Bubba. A few hundred years ago, when Santa first started traversing the Earth, he contacted the government officials from every country. He told them he had to deliver toys to every kid on the planet."
Bubba looked at me quizzically. "Are you sure about that, Mama?"
"Of course I'm sure. And they made up a special contract granting him permission to fly his sleigh and reindeer through international airspace."
"Did Santa sign the contract?"
"Of course. I bet the United Nations has it locked up somewhere in a vault."
"Mama, you're making that up!"
I grinned (as best I could with my fat lip). "What makes you think that?"
"Because there wasn't a United Nations hundreds of years ago."
Oh.
Before I go, I want to share with you a couple of presents Santa left:
A garden Yeti for my husband. Apparently Santa thought he deserved this for harrassing me all year and making fun of Beethoven.
A Beethoven finger puppet for me. Now why would Santa do that? Unless I'm supposed to give my husband a Beethoven finger next time he teases me!
(All kidding aside, my husband is a good guy. He made me homemade chicken soup when I was sick, and he told me I was still pretty, even with my fat lip.)
So, what do you think? Does Santa have a passport?
I thought about that for a minute. "Well, Bubba. A few hundred years ago, when Santa first started traversing the Earth, he contacted the government officials from every country. He told them he had to deliver toys to every kid on the planet."
Bubba looked at me quizzically. "Are you sure about that, Mama?"
"Of course I'm sure. And they made up a special contract granting him permission to fly his sleigh and reindeer through international airspace."
"Did Santa sign the contract?"
"Of course. I bet the United Nations has it locked up somewhere in a vault."
"Mama, you're making that up!"
I grinned (as best I could with my fat lip). "What makes you think that?"
"Because there wasn't a United Nations hundreds of years ago."
Oh.
Before I go, I want to share with you a couple of presents Santa left:
A garden Yeti for my husband. Apparently Santa thought he deserved this for harrassing me all year and making fun of Beethoven.
A Beethoven finger puppet for me. Now why would Santa do that? Unless I'm supposed to give my husband a Beethoven finger next time he teases me!
(All kidding aside, my husband is a good guy. He made me homemade chicken soup when I was sick, and he told me I was still pretty, even with my fat lip.)
So, what do you think? Does Santa have a passport?
December 24, 2012
What I Want for Christmas
"Mama," my eight-year-old son said. "Can you come over to the sofa and snuggle with me? I want to tell you what I want Santa to bring me for Christmas."
"Okay," I said. I put down the dishes and sat on the sofa next to my little man. He snuggled up next to me as I put my arm around him. "What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"
"I want a Razor scooter and an electric car."
Hmmm.
"And do you know what else I want?" he continued.
"What else?" I asked.
"I want a jet propulsion vehicle, and a time machine, and a million dollars."
Well, Santa, you have a very tall order to fill here!
Do you want to know what I want for Christmas, Santa? I would like a publisher to buy my manuscript(s). I've worked very hard, and I've been a good girl. Most of the time. So please, can you do that little thing for me?
And do you know what else I want? I want my lip to go back to its normal size, because I want to smile again!
Here's a little song for you, Santa:
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
My lip to shrink,
Oh, my lip to shrink.
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
So I could wish a Merry Christmas!
Would you like to here me sing,
"Sister Suzie sitting on a sissle?" (I can't pronounce th's.)
Gosh oh gee,
How happy I'd be,
If I could only whistle! (and smile!)
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
My lip to shrink,
Oh, my lip to shrink.
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
So I could wish a Merry Christmas!
There you go, Santa. An earworm in your head. Remember it when you land on my roof tonight with your eight reindeer. On second thought, you may want to park in the driveway. My roof is a little steep.
Merry Christmas! I hope all of you who celebrate it, have a fantastically marvelous day, and I hope you get everything on your list!
"Okay," I said. I put down the dishes and sat on the sofa next to my little man. He snuggled up next to me as I put my arm around him. "What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"
"I want a Razor scooter and an electric car."
Hmmm.
"And do you know what else I want?" he continued.
"What else?" I asked.
"I want a jet propulsion vehicle, and a time machine, and a million dollars."
Well, Santa, you have a very tall order to fill here!
Do you want to know what I want for Christmas, Santa? I would like a publisher to buy my manuscript(s). I've worked very hard, and I've been a good girl. Most of the time. So please, can you do that little thing for me?
And do you know what else I want? I want my lip to go back to its normal size, because I want to smile again!
Here's a little song for you, Santa:
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
My lip to shrink,
Oh, my lip to shrink.
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
So I could wish a Merry Christmas!
Would you like to here me sing,
"Sister Suzie sitting on a sissle?" (I can't pronounce th's.)
Gosh oh gee,
How happy I'd be,
If I could only whistle! (and smile!)
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
My lip to shrink,
Oh, my lip to shrink.
All I want for Christmas is my lip to shrink,
So I could wish a Merry Christmas!
There you go, Santa. An earworm in your head. Remember it when you land on my roof tonight with your eight reindeer. On second thought, you may want to park in the driveway. My roof is a little steep.
Merry Christmas! I hope all of you who celebrate it, have a fantastically marvelous day, and I hope you get everything on your list!
