Feb
8
The Terrible Toothbrush Situation
by Leslie
I’m not sure what’s been up with my girls for the past 48 hours. They’re like those brothers from Oasis with all the fighting. I actually had to pull them off each other this morning when I emerged from the kitchen after cleaning up breakfast and found a tumbling mass of fists, fury and hair.
“WHAT is going on?!?!” I shouted as I nudged them in opposite directions.
“Well, Lucy used my toothbrush,” Julia growled from underneath her tangled locks, looking a little like that girl from “The Ring.”
“It not yours. It mine!” Lucy shouted over her shoulder as she retreated to the bathroom with the brush in hand.
“What’s the big deal, Julia?”
“Mom! My toothbrush has her spit on it now!!!”
Now this coming from the girl who not only uses my toothbrush on a regular basis, but has attempted to brush the cat’s teeth with hers. It’s the same girl I’ve seen pull a toothbrush from the trash.
You see, I’m a staunch proponent of dental hygiene. And because my kids do things like use my toothbrush to comb their doll’s hair, we have about a gajillion of them floating around. This way, when some random hair shows up in my bristles or I catch a whiff of what smells a lot like toilet water when I pick up my brush, I can just toss it out and use a new one.
“Now I can’t brush my teeth.”
“Just use a new one, Jules,” I said rolling my eyes.
“You’re taking her side!”
“I’m not on her side or your side. I’m on the side where everyone has clean teeth.”
“I just want my toothbrush!”
“Then use your toothbrush.”
“But Lucy used it and now it’s RUINED!”
“Well, she can’t un-use it. So, get a new one.”
“I just want my toothbrush. I JUST WANT MY LIFE BACK!” she screamed.
Who would have thought that’s all that was holding it togther?
Feb
6
How to Make a Steelers Fan
by Leslie
I insisted on driving Dave and I on our first date. We were just getting to know each other and I figured it’d be less likely that I’d end up in pieces in the trunk of my own car, you know, if he happened to be a psychotic killer or something. We were walking to my spot in the parking lot when he noticed my Steelers license plate frame.
“Steelers fan, huh?”
“Oh yeah. I grew up near Pittsburgh,” I told him. “Are you?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m totally a Steelers fan.”
“Really? This close to Cleveland?”
“You bet. Yep. See? It looks like we’re meant to be.”
Now, I don’t like to assume someone is lying to me, so I tried my best to take him at his word. But I couldn’t help but notice his wardrobe was without Steelers apparel. And on Sundays? It was the Browns on television.
“Hey. I only watch the Browns when I can’t watch the Steelers,” he assured me. “Browns football is better than no football.”
In his defense, he didn’t have so much as an orange and brown t-shirt. He did have some wrestling shirts, however. I hid them. And replaced them with black and gold. Today, he’s wearing one of them and sitting in the recliner with the baby in one arm and a Terrible Towel I draped over the other while I whip up some pizza and wings and finish icing his Steelers cake. And he will cheer for the Steelers. So he can satisfy his fundamental physiological needs for food, drink and, most importantly, sex.
Here we go Steelers! HERE WE GO!!!!!
*Edited to add: Dave wants you to know he’s been a Steelers fan since 1978.
**Edited again to add: Should you ever procure a time machine, I’d love it if you’d stop by 1978 and ask 5 year old David if this is true.
***Edited once again to add: You may want to take a video camera in your time machine. I’m sure you’ve thought about this, though. If you’re smart enough to get yourself in a time machine, you’re smart enough to remember your camera. But you might be in a hurry, especially if you hijack the time machine.
****Edited just one more time to say: How about coming back in your time machine just before I write this post? That way, I can just embed Dave’s video of truth. These extra edits are lame.
Feb
5
This is Monster.
He’s managed to stay alive in our fish tank for coming up on three years.
See? I don’t kill everything.
Feb
4
The Case of the Missing Fish
by Leslie
Remember our cute little puffer fish?
(Look at that little guy. He’s waving at you!)
Yeah, well. They didn’t make it.
I know.
Never get a fish tank. Because if you never get a fish tank, you can never get two fish tanks. Also, because getting a fish tank is like being indebted to the mafia. You pay and you pay and you pay. And then there’s death.
After the tragic loss of the puffers, it was decided that we should begin again with a clean slate and this time? We’d do a cold water tank with hearty (i.e. hard to kill) goldfish. We set up the tank and let it run, just like we learned the hard way that you’re supposed to. Then Julia chose a chubby fantail. Lucy picked a sleek comet. We brought them home, introduced them to their new tank, fed them and said goodnight to two rather largish fish.
We woke up this morning to just one fish.
Lucy’s fish has vanished without a trace.
Lucy is devastated, of course. She’s been talking her way through her feelings of loss, but it’s difficult when there’s no real closure. She’s concluded that Julia’s fish is “weird to live with,” so Silver Friend (that’s what she named him) went to live somewhere else. Probably with Santa.
Dave and I are still scratching our heads, though. Where the hell did that fish go?
Feb
3
Lucy, Stealer of Thunder
by Leslie
Phoebe had her four month check up today. (Yes, Phoebe is four months old! And 15.12 pounds! And 24 inches long! Yay Phoebe!)
Given that the appointment was for Phoebe, you’d think it would have been mostly about Phoebe. Spotlight on Phoebe! But there was Lucy – a big black hole from which no one’s attention or adoration could escape, from the moment we walked in the door and she greeted the waiting room with, “Hey, everybody! Wanna see my piggy tails?” then slowly pulled her hood off her and head and shouted, “Ta-da!”
She went on to demonstrate and/or tell stories about: how fast she can run, how high she can jump, her spinning ability, her sister Phoebe, “my Julia in school,” Spongebob Squarepants, how much her grandma weighs, trees, leaves, ornaments, elevators and nose blowing. By the time Phoebe’s name was called, Lucy had fake-fallen down and decided we were there for the doctor to fix her knee boo-boo. In fact, she scrambled up onto the paper-covered patient seat and demanded it. The intake nurse was polite and obliged, rolling up her pant leg and feeling around the area of affliction before declaring it “a good knee.”
Still, Lucy was not satisfied.
When the doctor arrived a few moments later, she informed him that her elbow just wasn’t right. He asked her to sit down so he could check it out after he looked at Phoebe. Lucy waited impatiently until the doctor rolled his stool in front of her. She raised her elbow and he placed his stethoscope on it and listened. Lucy leaned toward him and whispered, “That not my heart, Doctor.”
“She knows what that’s for!” the doctor laughed as he got up to head out the door. “She’ll be right in with the shots,” he told me and he left.
We waited. Lucy had just been spying something yellow with her little eye when the nurse with the shots walked in. Lucy immediately slumped in her seat and looked pitiful. The nurse greeted her and asked if she was okay.
Groping at her stomach, Lucy groaned, “There’s a whale in my tummy. Bleeehhhhhh.”
“Oh my. Let’s check it out,” the nurse said. She put Lucy up on the paper-covered patient seat and looked in her mouth. “Uh huh. There’s a whale in there, alright. What should we do about it?”
Lucy pointed to the tongue depressors. “Get that stick and dig it out!”
The nurse didn’t do that, but she did show Lucy a book with stickers in it, which was enough to distract her so she could finish with Phoebe. Phoebe got three! big! shots! Lucy got a Superman sticker and a whale sticker. And the appointment was over.
It wasn’t so long ago that Dave and I were worrying about Lucy and how she’d find her way between a big sister and a little sister. I think it’s fair to say that was time wasted.
Stuff I Do
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Stuff You Should Do
You know, Stuff.
