Scary things I’ve heard coming out of my kids’ mouths:
To a messy neighbor: “My daddy said you need to clean that mess up!”
To my dad: “Climb a weed, Papa!”
Comment as portly lady turns to leave checkout line: “I was good not to call her a great big old fat lady, wasn’t I Mommy?”
To the dentist who encouraged her to floss: My mommy won’t buy me any floss.”
Loud protest when I tried to shush my daughter in a restaurant: “He is so a fat man!”
In a grocery store: “My mommy took my money to buy groceries.”
To the neighbor man: “My mama’s ta tas are bigger than yours.” Go figure.
To a kid who had been hitting him: “My mama said I have to hit you.” Whack! There was a little story behind this.
To a visiting relative: “My mama is tired of you sleeping here.”
To an elderly relative: “You smell like pee.”
To a relative: “My mama hates your mean little dog.”
My young son to his grandma: “Not by the hair on YOUR chinny-chin-chin!”
Worst of all: “My mama said…….”
Mother makes use of my cozy guest room frequently Last night she awoke me complaining the bed was crawling with ants. Sure enough, she had half-a-dozen bites. We shook out her nightgown, treated her bites, made her a new bed down on the sofa in the living room, but I felt just terrible about it. I’ve always made a point to keep the room just to her tastes, freshly aired and dusted, with nice linens, and a handmade quilt. Having her jarred from sleep by ant bites was horrible. When I got her settled, I turned the covers back and found dozens of big and small black ants, moving in trails across the expanse of the covers. I sprayed the bed and floor with insect killer before I went back to bed.
This morning when I went in to strip the bed, I found the source of the problem. When I opened the door late yesterday to ready Mother’s bed, Buzzy, my American Eskimo Dog came along to help. He frequently hides treats. Delighted to find new territory, he retrieved an old piece of cornbread he’d apparently just dug up from its hiding place in the yard. Unbeknownst to us, he slipped it up under the pillow in preparation for Mother’s visit. It attracted ants beautifully. The bed was fully loaded for Mother.
I hate the crybaby stuff people put on Facebook! An acquaintance (not friend)put a post saying her husband wouldn’t by her beer anymore since she lost her nursing license! I wonder why? That’s mortifying. Facebook should have a some of those buttons you have to push to prove you’re sober before you can post. Continue reading