Thursday, December 30, 2010

Caption Contest: Back Door Friends

Scroll to the bottom to see the winners!

Our friend Shelley emailed us this picture of something she got for Christmas.  WE LOVE IT SO MUCH.  I immediately started thinking of things to say about it.  But I limited myself to telling Shelley that we were going to use it for our next caption contest because it was perfect for us.  Perfect!  Do you have any idea how much we love cross stitch? And things that make us involuntarily scream out: "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!!"

Leave a comment with your caption and we'll pick a winner on Thursday.

That's What She Said...

 xo, Kate & Lydia

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There were a ton of  totally hilarious captions to this picture but the one that made both Kate and I bust out laughing was the following suggestion made by The Girls:

"Somebody give Ryan Seacrest his sign back!"

Which prompted Lydia to create the truly tasteless photo to the right. 

We also love these captions:

From Anna: "Better Homes & Gardens introduces a new monthly feature: "Cute Ideas to Perk Up Your Prison Cell!"


From loveandchaosreigns: "So that's why Donald Duck is never wearing any pants."

From the Jenster: "You may leave your package at the back door but DO NOT enter. Wait, are we still talking about the UPS man?"

And Spiralmoon said...  "Awww, Grandma!! Do you really have to advertise?!"

We loved this one from Latin Mama because it was a "40 Year Old Virgin" shout out:  "Hope your back door is big 'cause I'm gonna put my bike in it...."

And another reason we (and by "we" I mean LYDIA) thought this picture was so funny was that Kate has this exact phrase tattoo'ed on her lower back.  Like the smelly pirate hooker she is!


I'm totally kidding. About the tattoo part. - Lydia
Thanks so much for playing along with us!  You guys are waaayyyyy funnier than we are.  Just wait though - our next caption contest will consist of some truly memorable shots taken at the bar at Lydia's birthday celebration.

xo, Kate & Lydia

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

MommyLand Rewind: Boobs, Cows and Jam...Oh My

My kids think Santa is sort of a necessary evil when it comes to Christmas. Sort of like the roving maricachi band at a great Mexican restaurant. They'd prefer to just get the dinner, but if "Paloma Querida" is required to get to the sopapillas, so be it.

My daughter totally agrees with me about the felony breaking and entering thing. And openly advocates every year to just skip the cookies and milk. Her logic? It's not like he's hauling the gifts back up the chimney. And, he can get a snack next door.

Lefty thinks he's great from a distance, but ironically, doesn't like Big-Headed things (you know, like the Disney characters who wear the HUGE oversized masks? He's terrified of them. Far away? Fine. Close up? You must be out of your damn mind.) Santa Claus falls into this category. The best part is hearing him say, with complete sincerity and utter lack of self awareness, "Mom, it has a big head. It is not OK."

And the little one pretty much has no use for strangers. Particularly ones who fancy wearing red velvet jammies. Last year, we had Santa come to the house for a pre-Christmas visit, and he pointed to the door and said, "You go home. Wite now."

And I really don't need to go to the mall. Like, ever.

This year, however, we couldn't get there fast enough. I HAD to go before they changed their lists. Our rule has always been, Ask Santa for One Thing...so he can remember. He's old, he doesn't write anything down, and, frankly, the only memorable kids are ones who are evil. Or pee in his lap.

My kids only agreed to go because I promised them Chick-fil-A. Suckers.

And now, I'm pretty sure Santa thinks my kids are off their collective rockers. It's one thing when they sit on his lap and ask for easily acquired, tangible, even realistic gifts. But this year, the highlights of our children's requests included:
  • Daughter: boobs (she's ten, she thinks it's time) McLovin took to calling her McGee. (I'm convinced the man wanders through life actively searching out ways to incorporate the movie "Anchorman" into daily life.)
  • Happy Camper (the littlest, age 3, so named by Lydia): A cow. A real cow.
  • Lefty: assortment of jams (topped the list after seeing a wooden box with a dozen mini jars of jam, at Cracker Barrel, when McLovin took him there to Christmas shop.)
[Editor's Note: You think I'm kidding about Cracker Barrel? Think again. The man loves everything about that place. It's horrifying. "Kate, where else in the world can you eat breakfast at any time of the day AND purchase a wide array of lovely gifts that will please every member of your family?" Ladies, that's a direct quote. I wrote it down. And photographed it. My answer: "You got me another stupid tree ornament didn't you?" Lefty is nodding his head so hard I think it's going to fall off. Congratulations, Cracker Barrel, you have a new generation of combo eater/shoppers. Super.]

Santa looked over at me, incredulous. I smiled. I might not have snagged the Minister, but my Idiot Club now has the most beloved Fat Man in America.

And, for the first time in a long time, McLovin and I got to zoom right past Toys R Us. Our friends were so jealous. We heard the wait to check out was like an hour long. [EC -It was those damn Zhu Zhu pets, now with extra arsenic and lead! - Lydia] McLovin was on the phone to his friend Hollywood (no, we don't call anyone by their given names) who was waiting in the interminably long line to get Legos or some other thing, and McLovin says, "yeah, we're on our way to get cows, jam and boobs."

Hollywood's response: "What kind of parents are you?"

Christmas morning, we were greeted by sounds of "Oh YES!" "Awww...mom! What happened?" and "Where's my cow?"

Happy Camper has spent the past four days at a friend's farm. Playing with cows. Real cows. That eat out of his hands. And lick him. In the face. He smells terrible, he's taken to peeing in a barn, and I've thrown away three pairs of shoes. And he is the Happiest Camper I've ever seen.

McGee is not happy with Santa. I tried to explain that until Santa retires and is replaced by Hugh Hefner, getting boobs for Christmas may not be an option. She has, however, been satisfied with the rainbow array of bras that have come her direction. And I've discovered that every Kleenex box in my house is empty. She's also enjoying the torture she can wreak on her dads simply by combining bras and Kleexes (or brothers' baseballs -- for that pumped-up Hollywood bimbo look) and parading around the house. McLovin and Season One are now plotting on how to protect their daughter from the updated versions of themselves.

Who says the holidays can't bring people together? They're trading gun cleaning tips, for once without the intention of using said skills on each other. Or me.

Which brings me to Lefty. Ahhh, Lefty. I should have known that big head was going to cause me some trouble when he asked for -- and got -- an assortment of jams. Two actually. They were on sale. And if there's anything McLovin can't resist more than shopping at Cracker Barrel, it's a sale at Cracker Barrel. I have 24 mini jars of kid crack.


Let's start with the fact that he has eaten nothing the past week without jam, jelly, preserves or marmalade on it. Up to and including fried eggs, a tuna fish sandwich, and last Saturday's lasagna with garlic bread. He's becoming a jellisseur, telling me which flavors best accent the foods in front of him. I beckoned them all for lunch yesterday -- grilled cheese with tomatoes and bacon -- and he looks at his sandwich and says, "Mom, I think I need the blackberry jam. But not the cold one, the warm one." Then raised his eyebrows up at me like he'd correctly answered the Daily Double on Jeopardy.

I tried it. By this point, I'm starting to think he's a genius. To the extent that, at dinner last night, I went to ask him which jam he'd recommend with the chicken. [EC -Wouldn't that make him a jammolier rather than a jelliseur? Just asking... - Lydia] He and Happy were in my shower, I assumed playing LightSaber.

Nope.

Covered in jam.

Orange Marmalade. Both jars.

I just stood there. Mouth wide open, but no sound.  They were scrubbing each other's hair. With jam.  Lefty looked up at me and said "it's like your soap, mom" and hands me my shower gel, which reads, in part, "...cleanser with stimulating organic orange peel oil, calendula and marshmallow that effectively...leaves the skin feeling soft and fresh."

Then he asked me if I could bring them some marshmallows to go with their jam shower.  I knew I never should have taught him how to read.

Forty-five minutes later, they are clean. With actual soap. Which they protested until I told them they could lick the jam off. To which Happy said they were like cows. To which I had specify that it was acceptable to lick it off themselves, not each other. Didn't realize that was an option. Of course, in my house, baptism by spit is an option.

Dessert last night was marshmallows and jam. Strawberry. We're gonna need to go back to Cracker Barrel.  McLovin can use his Gift Certificate. He says it's the best gift he ever got.

As for me? Well, my bathroom has the lovely aroma of oranges, the children have now gone to bed (dreaming of jam, I assume) and I'm currently drinking a ginormous glass of wine courtesy of McLovin, snacking on eating pate, with apricot jam (who knew?) and being entertained by the antics of Nelson Rockefeller.

He's currently helping me dispose of the empty jelly containers. By swallowing them. One mini jar at a time.

He's awesome.


(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. - 2009

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

We Were on TV Again!! And We Were JACKHOLES!

We were on Let's Talk Live yesterday morning!  Please note that Kate looks Fancy and has car payment hair and that Lydia is wearing yoga pants and clogs because she's not cool.  Also, I double dog dared Kate to say the words "strap on" on the air and she did.  To describe a back-pack helicopter thing.  Because she's awesome

Also - the guy who was interviewed first on the show was this super cute, skinny young thing in Converse one-stars.  And we were all nervous about being on TV and inanely babbling about how Fonzie had been on the show last time and how he hugged us and now we were in love with him because he was magical and rad. 

And the skinny cutie-pants? Who was very nice and had the good manners not to ask us if we were coming off a meth binge or had forgotten to to take our Lithium? THE ACADEMY AWARD WINNER FOR THE ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY OF THE FILM "MILK".  Also, writer and producer for the HBO show "Big Love".  And screenwriter for a new movie called "J. Edgar" to be directed by Clint Eastwood and starring Leonardo DiCaprio.

WHUCK?!  How did we end up in the same place as this man?  Seriously? Couldn't someone have warned us? Because we were full-on JACKHOLES the entire time we were in his presence. 

Do you know what this TV show is doing to us? It's giving us the opportunity to humiliate ourselves in front of famous people.  I shudder to think how we acted in front of him.  We were giggling and making strap-on jokes.  And talking about how we wanted to hug Henry Winkler some more.  And how Kate thought she had Farrah Fawcett hair.  We feel so frigging stupid right now.  For being ourselves.  Sadly, this is a feeling we are all too familiar with.

So enjoy the clip! And don't forget to enter the Caption Contest that ends tomorrow night!!


xo, Lydia & Kate

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

MommyLand Rewind: The Thank You Note

Dear Grandmom,

It was wonderful to see you! Thank you so much for having all of us over to the house. As you mentioned, there are a lot of us! The food was delicious. Especially the cherry jello. Thanks for remembering how much I have always loved it. I had forgotten that it stained, though. The kids probably should have just eaten it in the kitchen like I suggested, but they were just so excited to watch Wheel of Fortune with you in the living room. Sorry about that footprint on the couch. Hawk is a very boyish boy and he thought he was helping by wiping off his sneaker after stepping in his dessert. After spilling it on your carpet.

I also want to thank you for the gifts! My necklace is lovely. I love that it’s reversible. I was initially a little confused because it was round and gold and so I didn’t really see how that could be reversible but as you told me, the good people at QVC know what they’re doing so it must be reversible. It’s awesome. And Italian!

Hawk is crazy about the harmonica, and don’t worry, the fact that it’s used is not an issue for him. You’ll be happy to know that he played it all the way home in the car. All four hours.

Thumbelina adores the Lancome free-with-purchase cosmetics kit and has been wearing all of the make-up and perfume since she got it. Especially the perfume. Also, adding the shower cap from the hotel in Atlantic City was a stroke of genius. And I had no idea they made lipstick that pink – it's pinker than pink. She loves it! You asked me to tell you what the color was called. The label is not legible (is it also used?) so we have been calling it “Barbie on HRT”. I did want to mention, between you and me, that the Cap’n was not trying to be disrespectful when he called your gift a “JonBenet Starter Kit”. You know how daddies are about their little girls.

Speaking of little girls, I should also apologize for the baby. She is entering a very active stage. I know she slapped your new flat screen TV a couple of times, and then tried to eat the ceramic baby Jesus out of your Nativity scene – but I can assure you, she really is a good baby. She does like to slap, though. I know that I initially seemed a little concerned about how you got that stuffed elephant – the one with the half-shirt that says ‘I go NUTS on-line’. You see, to my knowledge, you’ve never used a computer and the opportunity for mischief on-line is rampant, I wondered what you had DONE to have an internet-based firm send you such a toy. I believe you about the cashews. Anyhoo! Thank you for offering to give it to the baby. She does like it and she really seems to enjoy chewing on its trunk.

Hope to see you soon and Happy New Year!

xo, Lydia

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

MommyLand Rewind: Lydia's Christmas Vacation

Originally, I made notes on my holiday misadventures experiences.  I thought perhaps they could be woven together into something writers call a "narrative". Apparently, I am not a writer. I am a blogger. So, here's the list.

1) Note to self for next Christmas: Always buy more presents than you think you will need for the Cap'n. His wish list always resembles that of a starving orphan. Oliver Twist would ask for more. If he asks for socks and a book in November, remember that every year something happens after you put up the tree that turns him from Scrooge McDuck into Clark Griswold (singing carols, jolliness, festive holiday sweaters, urgent need for "perfect family Christmas", cat chewing on tree lights, it's all there). For someone who hates to part with money he gets really generous and you will feel like a jerk AGAIN when he buys you jewelry and you buy him shoelaces (something on Master Twist's list this year). It will be your 15th Christmas together, Self, get it right. Just think what Clark Griswold would want and buy that. Remember next Thanksgiving to order Doris Day Christmas DVD and start calling him "Sparky".

2) Never, ever again buy a product called Baby Alive. It is a horrific, large-headed baby doll that speaks, eats nasty food (but only ghastly Baby Alive brand food), drinks from a bottle and then defecates into a diaper. Diapers are sold separately and are approximately $48 a piece. "I know that your new Baby Alive doll is your absolute favorite, sweetie, and that she can eat and drink but I'm sorry to tell you that you may not feed her or give her a bottle because we can't afford to buy her more diapers and her poo is actually toxic waste that not only stains but sets fire to any fabric it touches (other than Baby Alive brand diapers)". The doll is hideous and vile. And also extremely frightening when seen out of the corner of your eye at 4am.

3) A $20 gift card to Starbucks is a very generous gift. But I can spend it in about 12 seconds. [Just ask Kate]

4) I understand that it is possible to earn a living as a professional gamer. As in video games. Is this possible if you are only really good at one game and that game is Wii bowling? After initially sustaining what I believe to be a rotater cuff injury, I have become pretty badass at it. It can now be counted as one of my skills.

5) Do you know what is the most delicious treat in the entire history of the EARTH? Beef jerky. I had no idea. Where have you been, beef jerky? How could I have missed you? Is it because I always pay at the pump and have not been inside a gas station in years? I love you beef jerky, so very, very much. Friends, I am not even kidding. I could eat it all day long. I could eat it and sing a song.

6) Never, ever go to the mall the day after Christmas. Even if your daughter's best friend from her class is having a birthday party at Build-a-Bear and said daughter claims she will never be happy, ever again if she is not allowed to go. Also, if you decide to return your husband's dress shirts at Macy's, try not to leave the receipt for them on the table in the hall next to your gloves, or you may lose your schmidt just a little when you don't discover this fact until you get to the front of the line after waiting for 25 minutes. And also, because Thumbelina and her new pink bear do not need to hear the f-word this close to Christmas.

7) When on a road trip, don’t eat breakfast at a diner in New Jersey that is clearly not meeting health code. Though you and the kids were fine, your husband’s flatulence would be something that everyone would have to suffer through for the duration of the trip. When even the four year old starts to call it “the hot, fetid trail of monkey sausage”, you know it’s bad.

8) When driving to your Grandmother's house, where she has lived for the past 60 years, through a somewhat transitional area of a rusted, depressed and aging industrial city, when you're supposed to be navigating for your husband (who is driving), do NOT text Kate fifteen times while giggling, because the Cap'n may something like: "Would you please stop texting and cackling like a hyena and start giving me directions until we are out of the neighborhood where they stab you in the neck?" Stupid Cap'n. Hang a right at the methadone clinic after the wig shop. It's not like you haven't been here before. Sheesh. And settle down, I know it looks like that man is waving a gun but really, he's just directing traffic. Calm down. Ooh! Is that a text?!

9) It is not a good idea to eat 4 candy canes in 15 minutes because you are bored in the car. In addition to feeling like you are about to gromit no one will be sympathetic to your plight.

10) Note to self for future trips: put the gifts your children received from their Great Grandmother in the back of then van and do not allow them to play with them on the 4 hour drive home or you will want to shoot yourself in the face. Who gives a 6 year old a bottle of perfume??

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(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. - 2009

Monday, December 27, 2010

MommyLand Rewind: Lydia's Holiday Play-by-Play

The night before: Twelve family and friends are coming tomorrow for a post-Christmas Christmas dinner.  We decide that he (the Cap'n) will do all the cooking and that I will do everything else (cleaning, child-wrangling, guest attending, etc). Based on historical data, house will only generously be described as "tidy", the children will be monsters, guests will laugh AT me and we will all sit down to enjoy our holiday meal at 11:27 pm.

The next morning:
7:01 am - Husband wakes up to put beast in oven. Baby and I sleep on. Bliss...
7:30 am - Kids are awake. Reenacting the first Christmas, provided that the First Christmas was birth of baby Jesus AND a mixed martial arts battle.
7:49 am - Sleep no longer possible. Open bedroom door and find empty bag of mini-marshmallows. Not good. Peer around corner. Children are shrieking and appear to be levitating, possible due to ingestion of stolen marshmallows. Crap. Contemplate closing bedroom door and feigning headache. [pause] Laugh uproariously at self. When was the last time that worked?
8:41 am - Have been cleaning for 40 minutes and house is still disgusting.  Old ladies in Alabama used to tell me "Nothing cleans the house like company coming!".  Little did they know that literally nothing but the prospect of guests will compel me to clean my house.  
9:30 am - Husband is producing delicious smells from kitchen. Suddenly spoon is shoved into my mouth, with the order of "taste this." I now know how the baby feels...
11:03 am - Things have been simmering and baking for hours. All windows have steamed over due to rise in ambient temperature. We will now be celebrating the holiday in a terrarium.
11:34am - Why is it so quiet? I investigate. Children appear to be in some sort of coma. All are slung over pieces of furniture, listlessly watching TV. Nice. [Mental note to self: Next time I have a morning appointment and plan to leave the LTS with the Cap'n, feed them marshmallows before I leave. Enjoy coma when I get home.]
11:49am
- "Yes. I see it. Yes, it is indeed poop. Please stop making that face. I will clean it before the guests arrive. Go back to the kitchen."
12:45pm - Is it better for the house to be clean or self to be clean when guests arrive? Not time for vacuum and shower. House smells delicious. Self does not smell delicious. Shower it is.
1:29pm - Total of five children playing downstairs. Being "watched" by Uncle M who is actually watching football and telling them to shut up. All five, including baby, are now happily shouting "Shut up! Shut up!"
2:01pm - While being "watched" by Uncle M, baby wanders into powder room and spends delightful ten minutes completely unrolling four-pack of giant toilet paper rolls and playing "fishy" in the porcelain bowl.
2:49pm - Cooking time of beast misjudged. Is done three hours earlier than expected. Apparently pounds of beast times minutes roasted equation more difficult than anticipated. Am sympathetic as last beast I successfully roasted required an abacus.
3:29pm - Dinner served. Delicious. Perfect. Husband is master of culinary arts. All toasts and compliments except Uncle M who remarks that yams look naked. Husband glares at children whose pupils are still in the shape of marshmallows.
6:15pm - Guests depart after helping clean kitchen. Took three women approximately one and a half hours. House is now merely "tidy" but is huge improvement over normal state.
7:58pm - Exhausted children now asleep. Fire made. Holiday music softly playing. Drinks poured. Culinary genius is waiting. Sigh... I love the holidays.
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Friday, December 24, 2010

Merry Christmas from Aunt Mary

Oh how we love Aunt Mary...Many of you out there in MommyLand have already come to know and adore her for her propensity to fall asleep on park benches and refer to herself in the third person. For those Mommies who haven't had the pleasure of meeting our wonderful Aunt Mary, click here for a little background.

She's written us a Christmas Eve letter that we just HAD to share...because she is that awesome.

Merry Christmas Moms! We love you loads...

xoxo
K&L

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Aunt Mary woke up this morning with this meditation circling in her brain. MommyLand has its own unofficial holiday -- Christmas Eve -- and this is why.


In the Christian story, a young unwed woman gets pregnant (are you with me so far?) This woman, let's call her Mary, gets married off to a young man named Joseph. In the grand tradition of gospel writing, Mary's life gets edited out. She goes on this donkey roadtrip with Joseph to sign up at the Census and has her baby.

And so Aunt Mary asks: Why did Mary have to go in the first place? Couldn't Joseph find his way by himself? Did he forget to fill out the form and mail it back? Couldn't he find his way there without a co-pilot? Did Joseph put off sending out a reservation for a room until it was too late? Or did they have to stop too many times on the road for Mary to pee and got there too late?

Of course things go wrong. The story says they end up in a stable. Why isn't she home? Did the angel give her a wrong due date? Weren't there any experienced women or midwives around to help her? Was she in labor the whole way, or one of the lucky few who go "oops my water broke, come and catch the baby"? what information did she have about childbirth? Was she present at Elizabeth's delivery? Was Jesus one of those babies in a hurry to come, or one who gets stuck in the birth canal for what seems like weeks?

Dear The Guys who wrote and translated the Bible: It would have been nice to know at least some of this, dontcha think?

Anyway, if you have a moment to think today, thank Mary for all she went through. She knows your pain. And this is a day for mommies to celebrate because -- at the end of the pain and the worry and the mess --there is a little miracle waiting for you ('til the reality hits, anyway)

Happy holiday wishes and much love to all the mommies in MommyLand. May you have time to breathe in the coming days, may your loved ones be safe, and may your holiday decorations stay in place and the diapers stay on until late tomorrow afternoon. Anything else is a miracle.

xoxo
Aunt Mary

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

MommyLand Rewind: An Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

As you may have heard, we've been snowed in for Christmas. Which is awesome. Awesome in the way that I love spending my days putting the Indoor Homeless People in -- and eight minutes later taking them out of -- snow clothes. Even when they're outside they're Indoor Homeless People, asking me for every !*#(%@ thing because, you know, they're in snow clothes and not allowed inside. What does that mean? That means they're Outside Indoor Homeless People. Amazingly enough, even more annoying because I have to bring everything OUTSIDE. Or strip them. Or tell them to play in traffic. Which I did. But they don't listen. They're Deaf Outside Indoor Homeless People.

And despite the fact that we have -- as I once mentioned -- a WHOLE room devoted to their toys, they seem to find nothing to do. But ask me for stuff. And tell me they're hungry. Or hot can I take off my gloves? Or cold where are my gloves? Or I have to go to the bathroom can you please take off my snow clothes? Or someone is touching me. Which, really, is astonishing because with the exception of your eyes and that little space between where your jacket stops and your gloves start, I. CAN'T. SEE. ANY. SKIN.

And, we've been watching way too much TV. Like burn your retinas too much. At one point, there a commercial that was something like "...remember, mom, to limit your kids television viewing to just one hour a day..." and, well now the TV is off. And by "off" I mean "has my snow boot wedged through the middle of the screen."

But only AFTER I realized that maybe, with your help, and just a few of the ten gillion faces we've seen on TV in the past 72 hours, this might be a Merry Christmas.

Santa, please send me:

1) Jack Bauer -- I know I'm not supposed to use you as a threat to the children to be good. But, we've moved beyond my ability to "gently" convince them that behaving is in their best interest. I need a good threat, and I'm on a time crunch. If Jack Bauer can convince hardcore criminals to divulge their entire evil plan in 47 1/2 minutes -- WITH COMMERCIALS -- then I'm sure he can tell my DOIHP that if they don't straighten up, he's totally wedging you up in the chimney.

I'm sorry we have to threaten violence against you, and I really don't think we will have to follow through, but -- let's be honest -- they like you more than they like me. Frankly, I like you better than I like me right now. Trust me, they'll totally cave. Which means that 1) I'll get 24 (haha) hours of peace and quiet, and 2) you can use the front door. Win-win.

[Editorial Comment: You need to get an "Elf on the Shelf". A little red elf who you place in a different conspicuous spot every day, who observes your children's behavior for the purpose of collecting data for Santa, to help determine naughty or nice accordingly. And it works pretty well, at least for the first week. It's sort of a combination of Christmas and a surveillance program. Like the North Pole meets the NSA. Well worth the purchase price, friends. The only problem is that the elf has to be in a new place every morning when the kids wake up. Resulting in the Cap'n or I waking up in a panic at 3am shouting - "Did you move the Elf? Did you? Damn it, DID YOU MOVE THE ELF?!?" - Lydia]

2) Dumbledore -- He's the greatest wizard there has ever been. In the history of ever. And I am snowed in with my kids until NEXT YEAR. I need his help. My situation is dire. There has to be, deep down in the pockets of that robe, or tucked inside that amazing beard, a potion that makes my children sleep for 17 hours a day. Not for always, just for now. When we are trapped in the house. And the four walls are closing in. And Christmas is less than a week away. And school and sports are cancelled. And I promised I would not drink until dark. And every business in town is closed except, miraculously, for the one McLovin works for (because he's *essential*). Which means, essentially, he is psyched to go to work and leave me in purgatory for the next three days. So send Dumbledore. Now.


3) That Rapping White Boy on Fresh Beat Band -- mostly because I'm tired of the debate about whether or not he is really singing/rapping in that one song that my brain insists on playing just as I'm going to bed. I'm all about keeping you, Santa, as real and believable for as long as I can. But pretending this kid can rap is beyond my capacity to bullsh*t. He's whiter than you, probably is from a place equally as remote and rural, and, frankly, if the boy could rap, does anyone really think he'd be on Nickelodeon? Thank you.




4) Statler & Waldorf -- Totally for my entertainment purposes only. They'd say all the things I think all the time anyway, and if someone gets offended, I can just shrug and say "it was the puppets, what do you want?"
Statler: What are we doing here?
Waldorf: I don't know. We got kidnapped, stuffed in a bag, dropped down a chimney and now we're here, with her. Bolted to our chairs.
Statler: Let's get out of here!
Waldorf: I would, but I can't stop staring at that kid's huge head.
Statler: You have a huge head.
Waldorf: I have a hand inside my head! What's his excuse?
Statler: I blame the turtleneck.


I am totally building a balcony in my kitchen.

5) Ty Pennington or Bob Villa or Handy Manny, or some other fool with a tool belt -- I love you, Santa. You're jolly and kind and put up with crap from kids that no other adult man in his 70's (80's??) would. And, you break into my house once a year while I'm sleeping and I'm fine with that. But to bring gifts that say "some assembly required" is the toy equivalent to saying contractions feel like "a little pressure." I spent last Christmas putting together a bicycle for SEVEN HOURS and only if my son was a one-legged, five-armed contortionist who was pedaling with his butt was that thing going anywhere.

Here's a thought: You've got elves. If there's one guy on earth who has the staff large enough to ensure that we don't have to be flipping through a 47-page book of instructions written in nothing but hieroglyphics and Chinese, it's you.

Alternative: Please include a sledgehammer. If nothing else, Lefty will enjoy destroying the butt bike.


6) Ruth Bader Ginsburg -- No, I know she's not on TV, but mini-Clarence Darrow is already working on his appeal should all the requisite gifts he's itemized not be found under the tree, and really, I'm exhausted. He's already muttering things about implied consent and the enforceability of verbal agreements. I think he is going to need a better legal mind that mine to prevail here. I offered Jack McCoy and his response was "bush league." What does that even mean? Point being, he needs someone else to play Legal Deaf Outside Indoor Homeless People with. And, I've heard she's tiny and adorable -- and Jewish, so we're not really keeping her from anything. Maybe she can fit in his stocking?

Love, Kate

P.S. I totally made you rum balls, though you may want to get a designated sledder.
[Editorial comment: Heh heh - you said 'rum balls' - Lydia]

P.P.S. If you show up with that little bilingual girl or that damn monkey, the freaking deal is off...

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(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. - 2009

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The Brutally Honest Christmas Letter: SGW

We were forwarded this completely awesome and very real family Christmas letter by our good buddy Ella Bean (the only thing we've changed are the names).  We've all received letters tucked into Christmas cards.  And you know how we feel about Christmas Cards.  Some are nice, some are nauseating but none are quite like this.  This is a Brutally Honest Christmas Letter and it is a thing of beauty.  We hope we get one next year. 

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It is our pleasure to bring you the 2010 edition of the Brutally Honest Dashwood Family Christmas letter. Edward lost his job in July. After several months of searching, two really good prospects that fell through the cracks and a manic roller coaster of hope and defeat, he found gainful employment in October with a local company. He is thriving in this new position, so much so that he traded in his held-together-by-bailing-wire-and-duct-tape Accord for a high falutin' 10 year old minivan, officially making the Dashwoods a two minivan household. Yes, we have reached the pinnacle of cool. We retain some of our former redneckitude with the run-down Accord still making its home in our driveway. Edward hasn’t found a way to let it go yet but he’s convinced we are going to make a small fortune when we do sell it.

Elinor began a long and sure-to-be-lustrous career as an adjunct professor at the local community college. She taught a six-week class on freelance magazine writing this fall and, despite her debilitating nervousness and fear of public speaking, received positive reviews and was asked back for the spring semester. This experience, coupled with the trauma of job loss, led Elinor to discover the joys of anti-anxiety medication. It is truly a match made in heaven and a relationship she plans on nurturing for the long haul.

Brandon made a reluctant return to sports this fall. He donned cleats, an adorable uniform and hit the field for a season of soccer. His last attempt at sports was the spring/summer prior to kindergarten. What a difference 2.5 years makes! While he is far from the star of the team, Brandon follows the ball closely and understands the game. This is no small victory considering we spent his last baseball season touting the virtues of standing up in the outfield instead of lying face down in the dirt. He still fancies himself an artist and is determined to make a career out of that. While his talent is undeniable, we’re in ongoing negotiations about said career path.

Marianne started kindergarten this year and shocked us all by being a model student. She loves school and refers to the principle as “The Boss.” I’d tell you about the character award she received for being a caring student but that would go against the tone of this letter, wouldn’t it? Since entering school, Marianne’s opportunities for extra-curricular activities have increased ten-fold and she roped her Mom into becoming the Daisy Scout leader. Marianne is a bit of a diva, enjoying the limelight of the stage. Her ballet/tap class performs at community events regularly and Marianne has no problem donning a “pageant smile” and performing in front of a crowd. She is determined to enter a pageant but, to her dismay, her mom and dad refuse to relent and allow her to dress up like a 5-year-old street walker and perform for middle-aged “judges.”  Not happening.

Margaret is a heaping helping of crazy. She’s into everything and seems to have an internal honing device that allows her to find danger wherever it may be. She’s got a particular affinity for electrical outlets, pet food, cleaning products and knife drawers. Baby-proofing has never been much of an issue for us, but Margaret is breaking all of the rules. She smiles constantly, wakes up happy and has the most contagious laugh we’ve ever heard. Despite the increased need for security measures, Margaret has breathed new life into the Dashwood household and is sure to make this year’s holiday season extra jolly!

Merry Christmas from the Dashwoods!


(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

MommyLand Rewind: We Wish You A Hideous Christmas Exchange

I would love to buy Kate an amazing Christmas gift. Something fabulous. [Editor's Note: Hello SHOES!!! - Kate] She deserves it. But alas, well... There is the Cap'n to contend with. And rather than brave the sh*tstorm, I am giving in and getting creative. I suggest you do the same.

I am instituting the First Second Annual Hideous Christmas Exchange. Hideous and Christmas kind of rhyme which is the only reason this proposal is not called "a holiday invitation not limited solely to those people who like Jesus because we want all the Jews and Atheists and Buddhists and everyone we know to get in on this, too". I just like things to rhyme, ok?

There are only two guidelines. The gift you buy has to suck in a serious and meaningful way and it must cost $5 or less. Here are some suggestions:

  • Anything appliqued with Santa, reindeer, or kittens in snow that is intended neither for toddlers or the elderly.
  • There are some darling holiday-themed earrings. Like the jingle bell ones. Because I want to sound like a cat all day.
  • Figurines - any kind. But especially angels with a lot of cleavage.
  • Something for the house? A lovely Mrs. Claus doll whose skirt hides your toilet paper?
  • I would dearly love a green and red dickey.
  • Anything macrame will do.
  • Don't forget the gents - I just bought the Cap'n a reindeer tie that plays Silent Night at the dollar store. He is going to love it because 1) it cost a dollar and 2) it would not look out of place on the 89 year old men who eat breakfast every day at McDonalds with their friends while making outraged comments on what they see in the paper.
  • I saw this huge rack of earth-toned man clogs at Walmart last week. Now who wouldn't love that?
When considering your purchases, ask yourself the following questions:
  • Does this item deeply offend you?
  • Would this item sit on the super-ultra-clearance rack at Big Lots for a really long time? Because it is so awful and random that no one else would ever want it?
  • Do you secretly want to keep it?
  • Will people see you holding this object and wonder if you are on your way back to the nervous hospital?
If you're inclined to answer yes to any of the above, you should buy it. Let me also say that if you are forced to participate in some lame ass Secret Santa/office gift exchange, you might really want to consider jumping on this bandwagon. You may find it is the last year you are asked to participate. I call that win/win.

So in spirit of Kitsch-mas, we are asking you to please take a snapshot of the most hideous holiday gift you've ever seen, give it a pithy caption and send it to us.

Season's Greetings,


Lydia & Kate
lydia.and.kate@gmail.com

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

What To Expect From Kate & Lydia Over Christmas

After today, Kate and I are taking a little time off over the holidays -- but we will be back full time after New Years...with all the whacktacularness you've come to expect from us.

In the meantime, we dove into the MommyLand vault and dug up some gems from last year. We're calling it the MommyLand Rewind. But, just in case you think we're being super lazy and just hitting "RePost" and strolling away to go sit and have coffee at Starbucks, oh think again...we've re-worked this for 2010. Which is even awesomer because we're thisclose to 2011 so it'll be immediately out of date. Again. *sigh*

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We raise our glasses (and slosh them just a little) to you. We adore you, mommies!

xo, Lydia and Kate

PS Kate wanted to write more, but Lydia is whining about going to get a Venti Ralph Macchio. [Editor's Note: The Starbucks part was supposed to be a joke, Stupid. - Kate] [Shut up and drive. Hooker. - Lydia]



(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

There's Something About Target...

I have a thing for Target. Besides the fact that they have bulk sizes of Sharpies and kid gloves and scarves for ONE DOLLAR - which is awesome because then I don't lose my ever lovin' mind when one of the IHPs lose one forty-five minutes after they put them on - it's also becoming increasingly clear that magical things happen in Target.



Last week I was in Lansing, Michigan. [Editor's Note: Dear Michigan, Thank you for welcoming me to your state by stringing together the coldest. days. in. the. history. of. ever. I think I actually forgot how to breathe when I walked outside. My lungs are still thawing. - Kate] Well, I was in Lansing for about a half hour, but you had a Target and I was in a hurry and, apparently, incapable of traveling without forgetting something important which necessitates an unscheduled stop.

I was in the office supply aisle -- which, coincidentally, led to the bulk Sharpie discovery -- and overheard this: "OK. Stop dancing around. What's on the next card?"

And I was like, "Whoa. Is there a dance contest happening in Target? Because I'm so ready to tap-off."

Across the aisle was this adorable little girl whose main job, I think, was to spin. Constantly. I don't know how she didn't fall down. I just stared at her. And her brother was sort of dodging and weaving around this little human top to capture a small, white index card in his mother's hand. I immediately named them Edward and Catherine (no, not Cullen... the one who was King for about seventeeen minutes. You know, because royalty is always in Target. Not sure what I'm talking about? Here. ) I don't know if Catherine was deliberately spinning in a way to block her brother, or if centrifugal force was at play here, but I don't think the defensive line for the Cowboys could have gotten past her. She was like a pirouetting Brandenburg Gate.

Mom finally planted her hand on her daughter's head and handed an index card to each of them. They both squealed and zipped off down the aisles, and ten seconds later they were yelling, "FOUND IT!" and coming back with their discoveries. He had Windex. She had band-aids. They were announcing what they had to their mom and she was thanking them and praising them and then handing them another card. Which set Catherine off on another flurry of squealing and spinning and dashing off for treasure. Edward stayed.

Edward: I don't know this one.
Mom: What does it spell? [runs her hand over the card]
Edward: C-A-S-C-A-D-E. It's a green box.
Mom: What else do you see on the box?
Edward: Dishes.
Mom: Good. So what is your guess.
Edward: Soap?
Mom: Close. Let's go look.

And then she turned around and sort of looked through me like didn't-I-have-something-to-do-besides-stare-at-her-family? I don't know how long I hadn't moved. Part of it was the fun of it all. The spinning and the squealing and the not hurrying. And the index cards! Because that is soooo much cooler than my list because it had pictures and the kids could help and play Treasure Hunt and why didn't I think of this? 

Then Catherine came back with a box of detergent as big as her and yelled out, "MOM! Move your cane. I can't get the box in." She reached into the cart and pulled out a long white walking stick.

Huh?

By then the kids were trying to heave the detergent box into the cart and as any mom knows, there's that split second right before a big mess happens that you could have prevented it. I jumped in. I might have yelled something like, "I got it!" but it wasn't like she needed any warning. Because despite my love and skill for walking in heels, I am the loudest walker on the planet. I sound like a furkin' Clydesdale. Even carpet can't save me. Forget any sneaking up on anyone. Ever. I might as well wear a bell. But you'd never hear it. Because of all the STOMPING. I even tiptoe loud. It sucks.

Anyway, I clomp over there and catch this box just as it's about to splat all over the place. Catherine spun out of the way and settled herself right behind her mom's knees.

Me: There you go, dude.
Mom: [to me] Thank you. [to son] Say thank you, Edward.
Edward: Thank you.
Me: You're welcome. [to mom] I'm sorry. I'm know I'm going to sound incredibly nosy. But how do you -? I mean, my kids act like crack addicts when they come here and ask for everything. Yours are awesome.
Mom: [laughed] Well, I do cloak myself in sympathy. And say things like, 'I'm so glad I can't see how badly you're behaving.' It's so wrong. But [runs hands around herself like she's touching an imaginary cape] Cloak Of Sympathy.
Edward: We can only get what we have cards for.

And he handed me one. It was a little index card with a picture of Tide or whatever, and then word T-I-D-E and then all the little Braille dots that I assume said Tide. I looked down at him and said, "This is pretty cool."

Edward: And, she counts everything in the cart.

By this point, Catherine had resumed playing Treasure Hunt and was given another card, and sent to go find its match. Mom reached in the cart, felt around and told her son the detergent was maybe too big and heavy to walk home with and they probably needed to get a smaller box.


Edward led his mom to the detergent aisle. Together they put the box back on the shelf and then she knelt down and they talked about what box might be the best choice for their walk home. Catherine came back with shampoo held over her head, yelled "SHAMPOO!" tossed it in the cart, and got a snuggle and a kiss from her mom.

I should have walked away at this point and let them be. I reminded myself that I was in a hurry. Sheesh. I'm always in a hurry. Rush here, go there, clock, timers, lists and my constant announcements of there being "no time!" ever for anything. Whose fault is that? One word: Mine.

I never slow down. I'm pretty sure I've never snuggled anyone in Target. I think I was missing the part of life that happens when you stop, kneel down on the ground, wrap your arm around your son and talk about detergents.

I walked back over. Apologized for being all intrusive - again - and said, "I just really want to say thank you. I'd forgotten to enjoy mine the way you do. I'd forgotten that look they have that just melts your heart. The way they've looked at you."

Mom: "Oh, what I'd give to see that look. I've felt it. Never seen it."
Me: "It's a great look. But it's a better feeling."

Yesterday, we went to Target. I took all the IHPs with me. And, for the first time, we didn't rush. And we had a list. And coupons with pictures. And they went on a Treasure Hunt. And of course they asked for other stuff that wasn't on the list.

But I think they maybe liked the snuggles best.

Who knew you could find snuggles in Target? As it turns out, they're in the detergent aisle.

xoxo, Kate

And, to Catherine and Edward's mom in Lansing, Michigan -- Thank You. Thank you for the best Christmas present ever.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Funniest F**king Thing I Heard All Day: Santa's Post

When it gets too late, Lydia and I can't talk on the phone anymore because we act like we're seventeen and giggle and annoy our husbands. So, we text.

From last night:

Kate: I'm about to put my fist thru my mutherf**kin' computer. Can you please come over and shoot me in the face?
Lydia: I can't shoot you in the face. I'm too busy frenetically flapping around accomplishing NOTHING. What up B? You writing? I'm working on Santa right now. That sounded porny. I'm working on Santa's post right now. Never mind.

The. End.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Blogging on the Potty: Parenting Fail

My littlest kid turned two recently and her father bought her a toy laptop, or as she calls it 'a pooter'. Her father bought her a pooter because of her ongoing fascination with my laptop and the amount of time I have to spend getting her to not touch it.  I keep it on a high shelf but sometimes I forget and leave it somewhere she can climb like the monkey she is and smack it. 

Her favorite pastime in the world is to walk quietly over to my laptop while I’m typing something and then wreaking havoc. She chooses her moment so that I’m engrossed in what I’m doing, then presses the power button so that computer shuts off and slams it shut (usually with my fingers still in it) while cackling “BYE BYE POOTER! HA HA HA HA!” and then scampers off as fast as her doughy little feet can carry her.

She is two. Maude help me, my baby is two.

So this pooter has become a very popular toy in our house and both of the big kids want to play with it all the time. Why big kids dismiss their own toys as lame and for babies but then go ape-schmidt over new toys actually designed for babies, I have no idea. I told the big kids if they could just wait until she went to bed, I would let each of them have a turn playing with it. Because Mini-mini-me does not want to share her pooter (basically a glorified See'n'Spell) with anyone and expresses this through shrieking and foot stomping. She screams: “NO! MINE POOTER!” and then hunkers down on the floor and taps at it and tells everyone: “SHHHHH! I WOOKING!” which is I guess what she sees me and her father doing. Mostly me (Lydia says in a sad, shame-filled voice). Though I have made a huge effort since school started to not even turn on my computer when she’s awake. But sometimes, I have to check email or see when the t-ball game starts or some crap like that.  I thought I was doing a good job of keeping my attention on my kids during the day and Rants from MommyLand at night, after all the kids had gone to sleep.

Yeah. Mom of the Year. Again.
That night, I put the baby to bed and approximately two seconds later my 5 year old son Hawk had disappeared into his room carrying the pooter. I could hear him happily playing with it when all of a sudden, a horrible smell came wafting down the hallway. I went to investigate because it smelled like someone had unleashed hell and hell was made of old cabbage and Spam.

There was Hawk, sitting on the potty. Naked, but for a jammie shirt unbuttoned with Hefner-like flair, with the pooter on his lap. He was engrossed in his work – tapping away with a furrowed brow and a slight frown on his face.

“Hawk! What on earth are you doing??”

Without looking up he said: “Can you please go find something else to do? I’m working on the blog.”



(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Monday, December 20, 2010

The Christmas Tree: FFTIHAD

Kate tells me that this is funny.  I'm not sure I see it.  So here's what happened: I strategically placed our Christmas tree between shelves, boxes and the fireplace and then stuffed it into the corner of the room so it would be hard for the kids to knock into it.  Just keep that in mind.  The tree was up for less than 24 hours when I saw this:

Apparently, in the three minutes she was unsupervised my 2 year old snuck down to the playroom - knocked it over soundlessly like a fat little panther and then just came upstairs like it was no big deal.  Sometime later my older kids saw it and freaked out screaming like they'd just seen Santa get gunned down by renegade elves.  I looked at Mini-mini-me playing on the floor of the kitchen and asked her if she knocked over the Christmas tree. Without even looking up from what she was doing she was like: "Oh yeah."

The. End.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Holiday Travel with Toddlers

Today's post is being simulcast on our new column at The Washington Times.  The column is called Maternal Ammunition and we're super excited about it.
 
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Holiday travel with a toddler almost always spans the range from wonderful to frustrating. The key is to lower your expectations, keep your sense of humor and roll with the problems that will inevitably pop up.

Tip #1: You’re probably going to lose your mind at least once. But that doesn’t mean it’s a bad trip. Having a little mommy melt-down is all part of the process. Just try to have it in the car and not in front of your in-laws. Travelling with kids is stressful and exhausting and you probably did 90% of the planning, packing and preparation. Your child is also probably so geared up that you’re wondering if someone gave him an espresso. So let your husband know ahead of time that if he starts to see signs that a breakdown is imminent, to quickly get you a People magazine and a Starbucks. Twenty minutes later you’ll be good as new.

Tip #2: Traffic does not dictate how fast you get there and how many times you will stop. Your toddler’s bladder does. Be patient and bring something to knit. It’s going to take much longer than you think to arrive at your destination. Don’t gamble on a newly potty-trained kid’s ability to hold it or the carrying capacity of a Huggie. Because remember, just like in Vegas, whatever happens in the car, stays in the car. And we don't mean secrets, we mean the lovely aroma afterwards.

Tip #3: No matter what mode of travel you’re taking (plane, train or automobile), accidents happen. Sometimes they happen on Mommy. You know to carry a spare change of clothes for the kiddo but it doesn’t hurt to bring one for yourself too. Nothing’s worse than asking yourself the age-old Mommy question: “What is THAT smell?” and then realizing it’s coming from your shirt.

Tip #4: Talk to your child and decide together some rules for the road. Changing up a little person’s schedule and throwing them in a new environment can be overwhelming. Letting them make some of the rules gives them the feeling that they have some control over what’s happening. That in turn can cut down on tantrums, tiredness and acting out. And let’s be honest, bad behavior in someone else’s house always seems much worse (for Mommy) than when it happens at home. And if someone doesn’t like the “I get to carry Thomas the Train with me wherever I go” rule, they can go suck an egg. Because the “I won’t take Baby Jesus from the manger and lick him” rule is one we can all agree with.

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To read the fifth tip, click on over to Maternal Ammunition - and if you feel like it, leave a comment.  We're pretty new over there and they haven't figured out yet that we're dorks, so you'd really be doing us a solid.

xo, Kate & Lydia
 
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Friday, December 17, 2010

By Popular Demand! Devil Cupcake T-shirts!

Is your baby a precious little cupcake baked by the devil?  Then look at this! It's baby and toddler stuff with a devil cupcake right on there so people will be warned what they're dealing with. We even have one that's for girls and one that's for boys - though they're both totally adorable and equally evil.

You can buy it at our store - right here!







All of this is thanks to a very talented and totally hawt friend of ours named Heather Forde (you can check out more of her amazing work on her website Running With Scizzors).  Heather did these cupcake designs for us and we are ecstatic and so grateful.

Hope you like them, too!
xo, Kate & Lydia

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

Is There an App for Baby Dialing?

Before I got my fancy new smart phone, I made sure that it was capable of locking. Like bomb-proof locking so that only I could use it. Why? Because of my youngest child, whom you may also know as Mini-mini-me or the little cupcake baked by the devil. At 18 months, she figured out how to unlock my old phone and had no end of fun dialing random numbers.

I became somewhat infamous among those unlucky enough to have their numbers saved in my phone for baby dialing. Not butt dialing. BABY DIALING. She would sneak into my purse or my pocket and take my phone and push buttons and open and close it until she got it to call someone. Then something happened that made me finally give up and just upgrade my phone for a new one that the baby could not use to humiliate me.

It was late on a Friday night –after 10:30pm- and I thought all the kids were asleep. I was in the bathroom when I heard a familiar beeping coming from my phone.  My phone that was supposed to be turned off and charging in the kitchen.

“Honey? Are you using my phone?”

Silence.

“Seriously – Cap’n – are you using my phone?”

Silence.

“Can you answer me please?”

The bathroom door SLAMS open and there stands Mini-mini-me in her jammies. Holding my phone. A struggle ensued which was neither effective nor dignified as I was seated on the throne at the time. My husband finally came to see what all the commotion was about and took the phone from her. He handed it back to me as I walked out of the bathroom.

“Just so you know, Lydia, when I got the phone from her – she had called someone.”

Dread filled my heart. I looked at my phone. OH DEAR MAUDE.

The baby had managed to dial the father of one of the girls in my Girl Scout troop. On his personal cell phone (which I only had as an emergency contact from a recent hike with the girls). At 10:30 on a Friday night. What the hell was he going to think? WHAT THE HELL WAS HIS WIFE GOING TO THINK?

I found out. I saw the couple in question a few days later and went over to apol
ogize. I didn’t even get a word out when the husband started snickering at me and walked away. I looked at his wife and started to explain myself. She put up her hand and said: “Stop. Please don’t worry about it. Normally I would feel pretty weird about a woman calling my husband’s cell phone so late – but I heard the voicemail so it’s completely fine.”

Voicemail?

“Ummm… What did the voicemail say? Because I actually didn’t call you. The baby did.”

“Oh I know. The message went something like this: "Mini mini me! Is that my phone? GIVE MOMMY THE PHONE THIS MINUTE! No! Please baby! MOMMY IS ON THE POTTY! Give me the phone! No – don’t touch that! Gahhhhhhhh! No touching that - GIVE MOMMY THE PHONE – Come back here!" Then flushing, then the sound of what I can only assume was you washing your hands and then your husband’s voice saying Gotcha! And then the phone went off.”

And with that, I add yet another story to the vast internet archives that are me making an ass of myself in public.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

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