Sherry Ellis's Blog, page 98
November 9, 2012
Mama Mess Up
I had planned to make chicken cacciatore for dinner, but when I started preparing it, I realized I didn't have all of the ingredients. Instead of going to the store to get them, like a sane person would do, I decided to go with Plan B. I pulled out a box of Cornflakes and looked at the recipe on the back. Cornflake chicken. Okay. I thought I'd give it a try.
I followed all of the directions, and an hour later, dinner was ready. I put it on the table. My son sat down and started eating it. He made a face. "Mama, this is your worst mess up ever!"
"Even worse than when she baked the ham with the wrapper on it?" my husband asked. (Yes, I did do that. Don't ask!)
"Yeah. It's horrible."
"Oh, come on," I said. "It can't be that bad, or they'd never put the recipe on the box of Cornflakes."
My daughter cut off a piece and put it on the floor for Schultz, our German Shepherd, to eat. He sniffed it and walked away. "See?" she said. "Even Schultz won't eat it, because it's so disgusting."
I looked at the dog. Then I looked at my family. I speared my chunk of chicken and threw it into Schultz's food bowl. "All right, dog. Let's try this again."
He wagged his tail and gobbled it up.
"See, it's not that bad. Eat it!"
"Mom!"
I knew I wasn't going to win this battle. So I made them chicken noodle soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches which they happily wolfed down.
Note to self: never follow dinner recipes that are on the back of cereal boxes!
I followed all of the directions, and an hour later, dinner was ready. I put it on the table. My son sat down and started eating it. He made a face. "Mama, this is your worst mess up ever!"
"Even worse than when she baked the ham with the wrapper on it?" my husband asked. (Yes, I did do that. Don't ask!)
"Yeah. It's horrible."
"Oh, come on," I said. "It can't be that bad, or they'd never put the recipe on the box of Cornflakes."
My daughter cut off a piece and put it on the floor for Schultz, our German Shepherd, to eat. He sniffed it and walked away. "See?" she said. "Even Schultz won't eat it, because it's so disgusting."
I looked at the dog. Then I looked at my family. I speared my chunk of chicken and threw it into Schultz's food bowl. "All right, dog. Let's try this again."
He wagged his tail and gobbled it up.
"See, it's not that bad. Eat it!"
"Mom!"
I knew I wasn't going to win this battle. So I made them chicken noodle soup and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches which they happily wolfed down.
Note to self: never follow dinner recipes that are on the back of cereal boxes!
November 8, 2012
Budding Politicians
All of the election publicity has my kids talking politics.
"Mama," my eight-year-old son said, "I want to be President when I grow up."
"That's nice," I said. "You'd be a good President."
"What do I have to do to become President?"
"You have to go to school and study history, and government, and law," I explained.
My eleven-year-old daughter added her two cents to the conversation. "I'm going to go to Harvard law school."
"I hope you get a good scholarship for that," I said.
She continued. "Then I'm going to be the governor of Vermont."
"Vermont? Why Vermont? You're not from Vermont." I couldn't understand that girl's thinking.
"Because that's where Ben and Jerry's ice cream started. And I like the Americone Dream flavor."
Of course.
"Mama," my eight-year-old son said, "I want to be President when I grow up."
"That's nice," I said. "You'd be a good President."
"What do I have to do to become President?"
"You have to go to school and study history, and government, and law," I explained.
My eleven-year-old daughter added her two cents to the conversation. "I'm going to go to Harvard law school."
"I hope you get a good scholarship for that," I said.
She continued. "Then I'm going to be the governor of Vermont."
"Vermont? Why Vermont? You're not from Vermont." I couldn't understand that girl's thinking.
"Because that's where Ben and Jerry's ice cream started. And I like the Americone Dream flavor."
Of course.
November 7, 2012
Kids in the Kitchen
"Mom," my eleven-year-old daughter said. "Can Bubba and I make dinner tonight?"
"Sure," I said. A break from kitchen duty sounded good. "What are you going to make?"
"Pizza."
"Okay." I got out the Pillsbury pizza dough and other ingredients and placed them on the counter. "Have at it."
I went back to my work.
Two seconds later: "Mom, how do you open this?"
I had to show her how.
Three seconds later: "Mom, what do you do with this stuff?"
"Read the directions."
Four seconds later, I looked at the girl. She had rolled the pizza dough into a giant ball. "You're supposed to roll out the dough," I said.
She tried and got frustrated. "Here Mom, you do it!"
I rolled the dough into a circle.
"Now what?" she asked.
"Read the directions," I said, and went back to my work.
Five seconds later: "Mom, you need to put this in the oven."
I put it in the oven and set the timer. Meanwhile, my daughter decided to make a milkshake. She got out the blender, and the milk, and the ice cream. She put the stuff in the blender and started mixing. Unfortunately, the apparatus was not completely secure, and milk spilled out the bottom. "Mom!" she cried. "You didn't put this together right!" She stood there while the milk poured off of the kitchen counter on to the floor.
I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up the mess.
Then my son got involved. Of course I had to help him, too.
Finally, dinner was ready.
"Mom, can we invite our friends over for a pizza party? I think they'll like the pizza I made."
I laughed at that. "Sure, go ahead," I said.
Soon we had a house full of kids enjoying pizza and milk shakes. So much for a night off!
"Sure," I said. A break from kitchen duty sounded good. "What are you going to make?"
"Pizza."
"Okay." I got out the Pillsbury pizza dough and other ingredients and placed them on the counter. "Have at it."
I went back to my work.
Two seconds later: "Mom, how do you open this?"
I had to show her how.
Three seconds later: "Mom, what do you do with this stuff?"
"Read the directions."
Four seconds later, I looked at the girl. She had rolled the pizza dough into a giant ball. "You're supposed to roll out the dough," I said.
She tried and got frustrated. "Here Mom, you do it!"
I rolled the dough into a circle.
"Now what?" she asked.
"Read the directions," I said, and went back to my work.
Five seconds later: "Mom, you need to put this in the oven."
I put it in the oven and set the timer. Meanwhile, my daughter decided to make a milkshake. She got out the blender, and the milk, and the ice cream. She put the stuff in the blender and started mixing. Unfortunately, the apparatus was not completely secure, and milk spilled out the bottom. "Mom!" she cried. "You didn't put this together right!" She stood there while the milk poured off of the kitchen counter on to the floor.
I grabbed some paper towels and cleaned up the mess.
Then my son got involved. Of course I had to help him, too.
Finally, dinner was ready.
"Mom, can we invite our friends over for a pizza party? I think they'll like the pizza I made."
I laughed at that. "Sure, go ahead," I said.
Soon we had a house full of kids enjoying pizza and milk shakes. So much for a night off!
November 6, 2012
Geek vs. Nerd
First of all, I'd like to thank all of you who visited my blog for the blog hop and giveaway. You guys are awesome! I wish I had a gift card for everyone who commented, but I don't. I only have three. (Maybe I'll have a stack of fifty for next time!)
Here are the winners (my kids drew the lucky names) :
Alex Cavanaugh
Michelle
Popcorn, Pugs & Peonies
Congratulations!
Now for the story.
"Mom," my eleven-year-old daughter said. "What's the difference between a geek and a nerd?"
I knew this was going to be an interesting conversation. "I don't know," I said. "I thought they were the same thing."
"No, Mom," she insisted, "there's a difference."
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"Geeks wear weird clothes and they're only into one thing. Nerds are the brainy people with glasses and braces."
Okay.
She continued. "Mom, what are you, a geek or a nerd?"
"Neither," I said.
"I think you're a nerd."
"Why do you think that?" I asked.
"Because you're freakishly smart....and you smile too much."
"What?" I couldn't believe she had just said that.
"Yeah. That's weird, Mom!"
I busted up, laughing.
"See, Mom. You're doing it, again."
"Sorry," I said. "I'll try to frown more!"
So, ladies and gentleman, what do you think? Am I a geek or a nerd?
Here are the winners (my kids drew the lucky names) :
Alex Cavanaugh
Michelle
Popcorn, Pugs & Peonies
Congratulations!
Now for the story.
"Mom," my eleven-year-old daughter said. "What's the difference between a geek and a nerd?"
I knew this was going to be an interesting conversation. "I don't know," I said. "I thought they were the same thing."
"No, Mom," she insisted, "there's a difference."
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"Geeks wear weird clothes and they're only into one thing. Nerds are the brainy people with glasses and braces."
Okay.
She continued. "Mom, what are you, a geek or a nerd?"
"Neither," I said.
"I think you're a nerd."
"Why do you think that?" I asked.
"Because you're freakishly smart....and you smile too much."
"What?" I couldn't believe she had just said that.
"Yeah. That's weird, Mom!"
I busted up, laughing.
"See, Mom. You're doing it, again."
"Sorry," I said. "I'll try to frown more!"
So, ladies and gentleman, what do you think? Am I a geek or a nerd?
November 4, 2012
I'm Thankful for My Readers Blog Hop
First of all, I'd like to thank Vikki and Tara for putting together this fantastic blog hop! I think it's a great idea. I am so grateful to all of you who follow and comment on my blog and Facebook fan page. It means so much, and it really makes my day! To celebrate over 200 followers, and to thank you for being so awesome, I'm giving away three $10 Amazon gift cards. Just leave a comment to be entered in the drawing.
Now here's a poem I came up with for the occassion. It's just a little thing, but I hope you enjoy it.
T is for thoughtful in all that you do.
H is for happy to read comments from you!
A is for awesome, 'cuz that's what you are.
N is for near - I wish you weren't so far!
K is for all of the kind things you say.
S is for super - how you make my day!
Thanks for everything you do! I wish I could meet you all in person because you guys rock!
One more giveaway: I am a guest over at Virginia Wright's blog. If you have a minute, please stop by for a chance to win a copy of my book, That Baby Woke Me Up, AGAIN.
Guest at Virginia Wright's Blog
Hi everybody! I'm hopping pads today. You'll find me over at Virginia Wright's blog. I'll be talking about my first book, That Baby Woke Me Up, AGAIN, and giving away a couple of copies to lucky commenters. Hope you can join me!
November 3, 2012
Hebrew for Dummies
"Mom, I want to learn Hebrew," my eleven-year-old daughter said.
"Why do you want to learn Hebrew?" I asked.
"I want to go to Israel like you did , and ride camels."
I wasn't sure you needed to know Hebrew to ride camels, but I'm all for learning languages, so I agreed to help her learn.
I used to know a little Hebrew, because I had taken some classes. But that was ten years ago and I was quite certain that I had forgotten everything I had learned, since my brain has atrophied into a gray blob of mush. I figured I wouldn't be much help. "Okay," I said. "Let's go to Barnes and Noble and find some Hebrew books."
That's what we did. On the way home, my daughter started reading Hebrew for Dummies . After about five minutes, the drama started. "Mom, this doesn't make sense!"
"What doesn't make sense?"
"There are masculine words and feminine words. Does that mean only girls can say the girl words, and the boys can say the boy words?"
"No," I said, and explained how in many languages, there are masculine and feminine nouns, and the articles and adjectives that proceed them have to reflect this.
She didn't get it. "Mom, this is stupid," she said. "This book is the dumbest Hebrew for Dummies ever!"
So now I'm thinking we should go back to the store and find Hebrew for Really Dumb Dummies. Or maybe we should just ride the camels and let them eat the book.
"Why do you want to learn Hebrew?" I asked.
"I want to go to Israel like you did , and ride camels."
I wasn't sure you needed to know Hebrew to ride camels, but I'm all for learning languages, so I agreed to help her learn.
I used to know a little Hebrew, because I had taken some classes. But that was ten years ago and I was quite certain that I had forgotten everything I had learned, since my brain has atrophied into a gray blob of mush. I figured I wouldn't be much help. "Okay," I said. "Let's go to Barnes and Noble and find some Hebrew books."
That's what we did. On the way home, my daughter started reading Hebrew for Dummies . After about five minutes, the drama started. "Mom, this doesn't make sense!"
"What doesn't make sense?"
"There are masculine words and feminine words. Does that mean only girls can say the girl words, and the boys can say the boy words?"
"No," I said, and explained how in many languages, there are masculine and feminine nouns, and the articles and adjectives that proceed them have to reflect this.
She didn't get it. "Mom, this is stupid," she said. "This book is the dumbest Hebrew for Dummies ever!"
So now I'm thinking we should go back to the store and find Hebrew for Really Dumb Dummies. Or maybe we should just ride the camels and let them eat the book.
November 2, 2012
Chickens are Reptiles
Chickens are reptiles. I bet you didn't know that, did you? My eight-year-old son made that announcement as he poked at the chicken on his dinner plate.
"Bubba," I said, "chickens are not reptiles. They're birds."
"No, Mama. See - they have scales!"
I looked at the chicken on his plate. "Dude, those are just ripples in its skin."
He insisted that they were scales. "And do you know what else, Mama?"
"What else?" I asked.
"Fish are reptiles, too."
"No, they're not." I said. "Fish are fish."
"But they have scales, Mama!"
"And I suppose you're going to tell me that humans are reptiles, too," I said.
"Well, yeah. I've seen humans with scale skin."
I just shook my head. I think that boy is more mixed up than a feather in a whirlwind!
"Bubba," I said, "chickens are not reptiles. They're birds."
"No, Mama. See - they have scales!"
I looked at the chicken on his plate. "Dude, those are just ripples in its skin."
He insisted that they were scales. "And do you know what else, Mama?"
"What else?" I asked.
"Fish are reptiles, too."
"No, they're not." I said. "Fish are fish."
"But they have scales, Mama!"
"And I suppose you're going to tell me that humans are reptiles, too," I said.
"Well, yeah. I've seen humans with scale skin."
I just shook my head. I think that boy is more mixed up than a feather in a whirlwind!
November 1, 2012
Miss Perfect
"Mom," my daughter said when she came home from school. "I'm perfect!"
I looked at her. "Well, that's debatable."
"But I am," she insisted. "I was measured in class, and all of my proportions are the exact measurement of the golden ratio." (She has been studying DaVinci's Vetruvian man and the golden ratio in her gifted math class.)
"That's nice," I said, unimpressed.
"Only two of us in the class were perfect. I was one of them."
She was obviously very proud of this little revelation. "Okay," I said. "Did they measure your personality? Is that perfect?"
Without missing a beat, she said, "Mom, you know I'm the perfect drama queen!"
Yes. So I guess it's official. My daughter is perfect in every way. Ha!
I looked at her. "Well, that's debatable."
"But I am," she insisted. "I was measured in class, and all of my proportions are the exact measurement of the golden ratio." (She has been studying DaVinci's Vetruvian man and the golden ratio in her gifted math class.)
"That's nice," I said, unimpressed.
"Only two of us in the class were perfect. I was one of them."
She was obviously very proud of this little revelation. "Okay," I said. "Did they measure your personality? Is that perfect?"
Without missing a beat, she said, "Mom, you know I'm the perfect drama queen!"
Yes. So I guess it's official. My daughter is perfect in every way. Ha!
October 31, 2012
Luigi's Mustache
Happy Halloween everybody! Hope you're enjoying the day. My kids just got back from trick-or-treating, and let me tell you, they have quite a stash! They're munching away, and sipping on hot chocolate. Major sugar overload!
So, let me tell you about Luigi's mustache. Bubba is obsessed with Mario Brothers video games. Naturally, he had to be a Mario Bro character. Since he had previously been Mario, this year he opted for Luigi. Three hours before trick-or-treating began, he donned his costume and begged to put on the Luigi mustache.
"No, Bubba," I said. "It's way too early!"
"But Mama, I want to wear it!"
"Negative Houston!"
He put the mustache on the table and walked away.
Guess who showed up? Yep. Our wayward German Shepherd, Schultz. Apparently he was interested in wearing the mustache. He stuck his big black snoot up on the table and sniffed.
"Don't even think about it, Schultz!"
He thought about it. Two seconds later, he grabbed that thing and took off.
"Schultz!" I yelled. "Drop it!"
He did. I grabbed it and put it back on the table.
My son came back downstairs. "Mama, can I wear my mustache now?"
"Sure, if you don't mind dog slobber on it."
He didn't mind dog slobber. Off he went, wearing a Luigi mustache covered in doggy drool.
All I have to say is, better him than me!
So, let me tell you about Luigi's mustache. Bubba is obsessed with Mario Brothers video games. Naturally, he had to be a Mario Bro character. Since he had previously been Mario, this year he opted for Luigi. Three hours before trick-or-treating began, he donned his costume and begged to put on the Luigi mustache.
"No, Bubba," I said. "It's way too early!"
"But Mama, I want to wear it!"
"Negative Houston!"
He put the mustache on the table and walked away.
Guess who showed up? Yep. Our wayward German Shepherd, Schultz. Apparently he was interested in wearing the mustache. He stuck his big black snoot up on the table and sniffed.
"Don't even think about it, Schultz!"
He thought about it. Two seconds later, he grabbed that thing and took off.
"Schultz!" I yelled. "Drop it!"
He did. I grabbed it and put it back on the table.
My son came back downstairs. "Mama, can I wear my mustache now?"
"Sure, if you don't mind dog slobber on it."
He didn't mind dog slobber. Off he went, wearing a Luigi mustache covered in doggy drool.
All I have to say is, better him than me!
