Tag: funny stories

Tootsie Rolls

Published on by cmglife

Is it shameful of me to turn my music higher because the voices of my fighting children are bleeding through the music?

I haven’t turned the music that much louder. I can still hear a sharp inflection in one of their voices here and there. I don’t leave the music blaring for very long, my conscience won’t allow me. I tentatively pause my music every two or three minutes and turn it back on when I hear a moment of silence. Unfortunately, I am not totally removed from my family, I can still feel the angry footsteps as they approach.

Tonight the argument is about sorting Halloween candy. My ten year old has just gotten around to dumping out her pillow case full of candy on the floor. My 16 year old, who acts like a 10 year old, is harassing her about giving him the candy he wants before it is thoroughly sorted into piles. I remember how important the sorting was. I asked him if he could remember that far back, have a little empathy. He just gave me a look while loudly chomping on a tootsie roll…..I guess not.

Shelly T.

Published on by cmglife

I have a friend at work that is trying to train (is that the right word?) me on how to be a better mother to my teenage son. I have never asked her in any way or form for this help nor do I think I need it. But, she has taken me under her wing and I try to pay attention. Her son is brilliant, good looking, tall, athletic and a really nice guy. We try not to roll our eyes as we hear yet another story of his amazing bigger than life accomplishments.

I don’t know how she got the impression that my role in Tristan’s life was less than adequate. It may have started with my ADD. Yes,I have ADD ( tested and everything). Now because of that I have a very hard time staying focused for long periods of time, oh who am I fooling, for ANY period of time.

My friend’s concern started at the beginning of the school year when she asked me which classes Tristan had signed up for.

“AP Chemistry,” I would say not very confidently (you know that little “up speak” we do with the last syllable). I had been told, read his schedule, etc., but was now trying desperately to remember another class. “Spanish, uh, hmm”.

She was on to a new question, “Oh, Spanish II or III?”.

“Three,” I say enthusiastically, feeling the pressure may be off. I’m not really sure if it Spanish III, but I have to prove that I am interested in my son’s education. Then I realize she may have a way of checking on this information, she is a former Assistant Principal of the high school Tristan attends. Maybe she already knows very well what he has and she’s just screwing with me.

“Who does he have?” she asks interested. And the thing is I know she is being sincere. She doesn’t see me as the bug under the microscope that I feel like.

“I would have to check his schedule, I can’t remember,” I mutter uncomfortably. I actually went so far as to print out his schedule and keep it on my desk in case she asked again, which she didn’t.

Every morning she checks in with me and asks me if I’ve checked the paper to see if Tristan has been mentioned in the sports section. He’s in soccer and they are having a really good season.

“ You’ve got to start a scrapbook. I did with Brett.”

A scrapbook? A scrapbook? I have photos from 1998 still sitting waiting to be put into an album. My granddaughter will be 3 years old before I hang her 3 month old photos and she wants me to start a scrapbook? I said she was a friend, I never said we were close.

“I don’t get the paper,” I say apologetically.

“Oh, you’ll have to get the paper, he’ll be in it all the time and you’ll want to cut out the articles for his scrapbook!”

My compliance in this matter has become a slippery slope.

The next day she brought me a “One Month Free” coupon for the Herald.

Gnat in a Glass

Published on by cmglife5 Comments

I am not a violent person as a rule, unless there is a house fly or a fruit fly around. Tonight I am trying to write and having a glass of wine. For some reason the one fruit fly in the house has supersonic scent receptors (making all these scientific terms up) and is buzzing around my head in front of the laptop screen. It’s driving me crazy, I cannot relax. The thing is obviously trying to take a nose dive into my wine. I am trying to keep track of it. Luckily I type better without looking at the key board or the screen. I wonder why that is?  I always type better when I’m talking on the phone too.

Back to the fruit fly….I keep trying to kill it by clapping my hands around it, but it is too small and it keeps getting pushed out on the air stream created by me.

The other day I was trying to take a short nap after work. I lay straight on my back with the tv off and the door to my bedroom open. This way when I fall asleep, a child, a dog or a phone call will inevitably wake me up after 15 min or so. If I don’t do this I will sleep for an hour and then berate myself on how much time I’ve wasted.

This particular afternoon I was lying there, dead tired, when a fly came into the room. Not just your run of the mill house fly, but one of those huge (Blue Bottle?) slow, noisy flies. It would not stop and I couldn’t help follow it with my eyes, hoping I wouldn’t have to get up and find the flyswatter. It did leave at one point, but came back. I finally had to go after it and I did, with a vengeance. Actually enjoying the final kill against the window!

I was trying to get all philosophical about the aggression and the fly and why it is easy to kill a fly, but I am too old and busy for that! Hate to say it, but “been there done that”!

You know that fruit flies have a 5 day lifespan; well I think it has died. Or it’s made its way into my glass and I’ve swallowed it without knowing, either way, it got what it deserved!

Exotic Currency

Published on by cmglife3 Comments

Today I was in the store buying a pair of sunglasses that would fit over my glasses. I know they make prescription sunglasses, but I am too cheap to buy them and I would probably lose them anyway. I thought this was a great compromise. My children are so embarrassed by me wearing my regular sunglasses over my glasses. They make me look I’m wearing those old fashioned mad scientist’s goggles.

Anyway, I counted out cash, 29 dollars, and handed it over to the cashier. She looked at me as if I’d just given her a handful of monopoly money.

“Oh,” she said,” I don’t usually take cash.” She counted the exotic currency while I was busy shoving receipts and stuff back into my wallet that had been freed when I took out the cash.

“Are you going to pay with some cash and some on your card?” she looked confused holding the money up.

Then it was my turn to look confused.

“There’s only nine dollars here,” the poor thing says.

“Oh,” I say, “I must’ve put the twenty back with the receipts!” And I gave her the twenty.

Then, trying to be helpful, she asks, “Do you have 16 cents, so you don’t have to break a dollar?”

Why couldn’t she just have left well enough alone?

“I think so,” I say and start digging in my coin purse, being careful not to give her the stray hair that is at the bottom. I put the 16 cents on the counter and kind of edge it over to her.

She begins to count it, picking up one very shiny coin to examine.

“This is an interesting one, ” she says and holds it up for inspection.

I’m thinking this girl has got to be kidding! It’s a *!?* penny for god’s sake! Then I realize what she’s got.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that is probably an English penny,” and I go into to a rambling explanation as to why I have an English penny in my coin purse, “I was in England in June and I haven’t gotten around to giving my coins to my dad.”

The question begs to be asked. Why do I still have those coins in my purse? Why am I carrying them with American coins? This has been an accident waiting to happen all along.

 

Word to the Wise

Published on by cmglife

Never buy and download songs to your iPod after you’ve had a glass of wine (or maybe two, who’s counting). Especially when your 16 year old son says,” Hey, Mom, I’ve got some songs you’d like!”

I’m cleaning today and listening to my iPod as I always do. To my dismay “Hit and Run”  comes on (and many more follow). It’s a song described by my son as “pop punk”. Oh the shame.

Hang Ten Atlantic

Published on by cmglife

We were in England last June. It was a different kind of a trip because my kids were along this time and I wanted it to have a bit more activity than simply visiting the relatives and seeing old things. One of the things I planned was surfing. My son, Tristan, 16, was very gung ho about the whole thing so I signed him up for lessons. I know, kind of unusual thing to plan in to do in England.

As the story continues, we made the arrangements but the date was cancelled because the “waves weren’t big enough” that morning. They said check back tomorrow. So we decided to go look for something else to do instead.

We were free for the whole afternoon so I took a chance and did a search on the Garmin for castles. Up came “Lynfield Castle” that wasn’t too far away. It was only 40 or so miles, that was alright, we had all afternoon. My dad was game, and of course we were, and more of course, I was!

We drove, and drove and drove. The roads we were taken down! The hedges were so huge on some of the roads it was claustrophobic! I had terrible premonitions of other vehicles coming the other direction, but strangely one never did!

Finally after driving for a good hour we arrived in Lynfield. I pealed my fingers from the dash and got out. Lynfield was a pub, a few houses, a church and the “castle”. Which wasn’t a castle at all, it was a first century prison!

Now the surfing story begins. We headed down to the beach and stopped at the lessons place, they said the waves were good today. After Tristan got his full body wet suit on he headed out. We noticed we could tell him apart from the other surfer students because he was the only one with his shirt on backwards.

While we were hanging around the surfing shop, Allison, 10, decided that she would like to try. After much discouragement, (from me) she decided on body board surfing instead. She got into her full wet suit.

Out to the beach we went. The waves were crashing that day. The weather was very cold for those of us not in wet suits, us being my dad and I. We watched as Tristan had his lesson. He seemed to be getting pretty good form there on the beach.

After a half an hour or so of lessons they headed into the water where the “form” that had been attained on the beach turned into a bunch of scrambled arms and legs. Occasionally his head would pop up above the froth of the waves, but none the less it was not a pretty site. Tristan continued on though. Taking his board and walking out to the break, waiting for a wave, hoisting himself up effortlessly and falling. His new nickname is now “hang four”.

So after watching Tristan for 10 minutes, Allison finally decided it was her turn to try. I attached the strap of the body board and off she went crashing into the waves. She seemed to be having a hard time of it. The waves kept throwing her all over the place and the board kept hitting her in the head! This went on for a few more minutes until I got a tap on my shoulder from the life guard. He said,” The strap is supposed to attach to her ankle, not her wrist!”

We fixed it to the correct limb and it was sort of better. Allison doesn’t have much patience, especially when it’s something new she’s learning. She kept at it though.

She was supposed to stay between the two tall flags located on the beach. The only problem was she kept moving further into the flagged area designated for surfing only, not body boarding. After yelling and waving our arms a lot to get her attention didn’t do any good, I waded out up to my knees trying to get her to pay attention to the flags. Finally, the lifeguard gave up too and flipped on his lights and sirens. That got her attention. She got over to her side, flipped the body board over and it hit her in the head again. We are always on pins needles with Allison’s temper; it has been a terrible thing in the past. And today was no different. She stomped out of the water and up on the beach slamming the board down with a “Damn board”. It had to be bad, she’s only 10 and not allowed to swear! I didn’t even say anything. I was just glad I didn’t have to pick up any body board pieces!