Fold My Laundry Please

Our local library, in my humble opinion, has a major problem.  Parking.  Not that there’s not enough.  No, no, no.  There’s plenty.  In fact, the designated parking garage is rarely filled beyond 10% of capacity at any given time.  For starters, the entire garage is metered parking.  And all other places to park nearby all have signs posted saying "No Library Parking".  So they’re pretty much extorting money from you, 50 cents at a time. 

But an even bigger problem is the size of the parking spots.  They are tiny.  Infinitesimally so.  Actually, the whole state of Oregon seems to think that everyone drives a compact vehicle.  And the spaces at the library are small, even for compact cars.  And I drive a minivan.  As a result, I have to squeeze myself out of my door every time we go.  I try to make sure to leave a bit of space for the person to my right to get out, but some days that’s difficult at best.  Today was one of those days.  Only this time, someone took offense.

I found it stuck under my windshield wiper.  At first I thought, "Great!  Someone hit my car trying to get into/out of these miserably small spots and they left their insurance info."  Then I actually read the note.  For those of you who can’t read Crazy, allow me to interpret.  I’m fairly fluent, you see.  It says, "Next time watch how u park.  Someones Anger might get the best of of them and take it out on your van Badly  Have a nice Day" 

I can only assume the public school system failed this person miserably as the grammar in this note is atrocious, at best.  Also, if they had taken it out on my van badly, what would have happened?  I would have called the police, filed an insurance claim, and either gotten the car fixed or pocketed a nice little check depending on how the insurance handled it.  So really, the threat is poorly thought out.  I’m just glad we (Yes, we.  I had three of my precious little younglings with me at the time.) didn’t happen to come out while this charming little missive was being written.  Something tells me they would not have been shy about making a scene, whether or not there were children present. 

After we arrived at our next destination, I did a quick inspection of the van.  I did find a small scratch on the side that looks like someone hit me with their car door.  I wonder who could’ve done that? 

Humor-Blogs.com…I got nothin’ today. 

Mother’s Day:  A Poem

by Lady Laundry

*ahem*

M, is for the many things you gave me.

O, is for the other things you gave me.

T, is for the terrific things you gave me.

H, is for the hundreds of things you gave me.

E, is for everything you gave me.

R, is for the rotten things you gave me.

Put them all together and they spell MOTHER!

Thank you!  Thank you!  Poetry is something that just comes very naturally to me.  It’s a gift that I simply must share with the world. 

This Mother’s Day I did something I love to do.  I stuffed my face with pancakes that someone else made, served, and cleaned up after!  We decided to break the Sabbath (I know! Didn’t I learn anything the last time I did that and was smited with food poisoning?) and try out a pancake house here in town that has been calling my name everytime I drive past it.

The kids were very well behaved the entire time.  They played quietly as we waited for our table.  They sat and drew lovely works of art on those magnetic drawing thingys while we waited for our food.  And they demolished their meals nearly the instant they were set down in front of them.  It was great!  

See?  Look at how happy I am that I get to have delicious blueberry pancakes!  With freshly made blueberry syrup!  

They were every bit as yummy as I had imagined they would be!

Seeing as how she has no teeth yet (And honestly, where are those teeth anyway?  She’s eight months old now.  I’m kind of tired of the flash fevers and cranky attitude!), Aubrey sat in the high chair and happily played with a spoon the entire time.

She also did what she does best, which is flash those non-existent pearly whites and charm the pants off of strangers.  All the children were exceptionally, charming that day.  So charming that I came off as the perfect mother, and really, isn’t that the best Mother’s Day gift? 

How charming were they, you ask? 

One woman eating there at the restaurant was so impressed with my children that she walked up to our table as she was leaving, patted me on the back, and said, "Are ALL THESE CHILDREN yours?  I only have one and I can barely manage with that!  I would like to buy your drink for you.  Happy Mother’s Day!"  Then she slipped me a five dollar bill and walked out of the building. 

I sat there, stunned, staring at the money for a minute.  "Was I just tipped?  Did she…  Did she just tip me for being a mom?"  Andrew was just as baffled by it as I was.  I suddenly felt like I should give the money back.  Five dollars was much too much to accept from some stranger, but she was long gone by the time I got over my shock enough to do anything.  

And so, I’m now five dollars richer than I was before Mother’s Day rolled around.  Jealous much?  I’m thinking that maybe I’ll start carrying around a tip jar wherever I go.  Perhaps I’ll put one of those "Donate" buttons up on my blog.  I wouldn’t want to alienate those of you intent on throwing money at me, but sadly unable to get to my tip jar. 

Motherhood.  It’s just one of the many services I perform for my adoring public. 

If you don’t want to tip cash, you could at least click on Humor-Blogs.com to help my ratings out a bit!  Jeez! 

When you sit in the front row in Sunday School, you don’t have a whole lot of conversation going on from all sides to distract you.  So when the people behind you start up a rousing discussion, you can pay closer attention to can’t help but hear what they’re saying.  The topic isn’t always of world importance, but it’s usually pretty interesting.  Today, for example, the conversation was particularly amusing and disturbing all at the same time.  Allow me to set the scene.  Lady 1, an elementary school teacher by trade, glances up at the black board, notices the poorly erased lesson from the last class and turns to Lady 2, also an elementary school teacher.

Lady 1:  You know, they would’ve had an easier time erasing their lesson if they had used the proper kind of chalk for this kind of board.

Lady 2:  Chalk is chalk, isn’t it?

1:  Not so.  Some types of boards, such as this one, require a much softer chalk than others.  It’s easier to erase completely that way.

2:  Oh.

1:  I like to eat chalk.

2:  …

1:  Oh yes!  My kids at school think it’s funny to bring their friends over to me and say, "Miss 1?  So-and-so doesn’t believe you like to eat chalk."  And I say, "Oh, no?" and pop a piece right in my mouth and chew it up!  It  REALLY freaks them out!

2:  That freaks me out, too.

1:  They say, "Ewww!  Don’t you know what that stuff’s made of, Miss 1?"  And I say, "Only the calcified remains of teeny tiny sea creatures, that’s all!"  *chuckles*

2:  …

1:  And when they ask me what it tastes like, I tell them, "It tastes like chalk!"

2:  That makes sense.

1:  Oh, I’ve been eating chalk since I was four years old.  I’ve always loved the stuff!

At this point, class started and the conversation, such as it was, was cut short.  I wonder if Lady 1 has ever heard the term pica?  If the Relief Society ever asks me to bring a meal to her, I’ll just send over a basket of clay, chalk, spray starch, and dirt!  Deeeeelicious!

Humor-Blogs.com eats paste by the gallon.

Someone who is thin, I’m talking skinny as a rail, should not sit in a group of overweight mamas and go on and on about how difficult it is to buy clothes that fit just right when you are soooooo thin!  I mean, your clothes just hang off of you like curtains and if you find pants with a waistline small enough to fit you just right, the legs are too short!  It’s a travesty!  Being a stick person really has it’s downside, let me tell you!

 *sigh*

And just to let everyone know, I’ve been on a bit of a self-imposed internet exile for the last few days.  I’ll be spending this weekend catching up with everyone and getting back in the groove of things.  I’ve missed you!  How’ve you been?

Humor-Blogs.com would never abandon you like that. 

I took the children to McDonald’s for lunch the other day and a nice little old lady walked over to our table and started hugging the children.  One by one, she discussed how pretty their eyes were, what nice hair they have, how well behaved they are, etc.  Then she turned to me and asked if they were all mine.  I, of course, said that they were.  That’s when the lady got right up in my personal space, I’m talking a mere half inch between us, and said, "Tell your husband he’s a MAN!"  Then she waved and smiled at the children and walked out of the "restaurant" and I was left sitting there wondering what just happened.  What did I do next?  I immediately sent my husband a text message telling him that an elderly woman just declared him to be manly and virile, that’s what!

You know what else is manly?  Humor-Blogs.com, that’s what! 

When I am out with my children, I often get comments about how many children I have.

"Are they all yours?"

"Have you figured out what’s causing that?"

"Four?  Really?  Four?"

"You must be really tired!" 

Usually I just smile and nod, silently agreeing with them. 

Yes, they are all mine. 

I thought it was caused by darkness, but I’ve slept with the light on since our third was born and yet… 

Four?  Where’s cute little number five?  Oh, lawsie!  I done lost me another one! 

And yes, I definitely could use a nap or two.  Thank you for offering to babysit!

Today I was was at Walmart spending some birthday money my mom had given me and I had forgotten about until last night.  Ethan was at school, so I only had three children with me.  (I are good at math.)  Typically, during school hours, Walmart is populated by the elderly and other tired mothers toting their not so tired children along with them.  The old folks usually just smile at my brood, sometimes telling me a sweet story or two from when they were young mothers, themselves.  The other mothers and I exchange understanding glances and compare eyebags. 

This afternoon’s visit was no different from any other until check out time.  We piled our booty (*snicker!*) onto the conveyor belt and eagerly awaited our very own opportunity to shovel money into the corporate maw.  An older "gentleman" got in line behind us and proceeded to make googly eyes at Aubrey, who cooperated graciously by grinning and giggling from her seat in the cart.  I thought to myself, "Oh, how nice!"

Then he looked at all three of my children, smiled at Aubrey again, and said, "Your mother is one fertile turtle!  That’s for sure!"  (Advice seeking time!  How is someone supposed to respond to that?  I’m leaning toward, "You got that right!"  But let me know.)  What I actually did was just stand there staring at him with my mouth gaping open.  I know.  It was rude of me.  This nugget of wisdom was quickly followed by a glance in my direction and more spewy goodness.  "Do you have your own private room in the maternity ward or somethin’?"

This man was trying very hard to ruin my Walmart experience!  I had just spent two lovely hours shopping for things that would serve absolutely no purpose other than to entertain me, and he was ruining it!  I wanted to spit in his face.  Lucky for him, that was when the checker mumbled, "welcometowalmartdidyoufindeverythingalrighttoday" and started scanning my items.  Another act of not so random violence subverted by half-hearted customer service!  Curses!

My real regret is that I had no witty comeback immediately available with which to put him in his place.  Shock had rendered me silent.  (You can stop laughing now.)  Someday, Old Man!  Someday!  You won’t know where and you won’t know when, but the time will come when we will be face to face once again!  And when that happens?  When you look up and see this "Fertile Turtle" staring down at you with her litter o’ pups crammed into a shopping cart next to her?  That’s when you’ll hear it.  That’s when I’ll say, "Would you mind if I take your picture?  The Guinness World Records people won’t believe me if I tell them I just found the world’s ugliest man without any proof!"

Humor-Blogs.com doesn’t know what causes it, either.