Ode To A Game Show

I was going to write a new blog post but I was on vacation.

Then I was busy washing my hair.

Then the dog ate my computer.

OK, the truth is I’m just lazy and haven’t posted in forever.

I’m still too lazy to write something,  so in the meantime, please enjoy this freeform poem written by my 8-year-old son.

Wheel of Fortune

On Wheel of Fortune you can get a big jackpot with just one spin.
Lots of money and of course puzzles.
More fun than Jeopardy.
Both created by the same person.
PS – I love Wheel of Fortune. I watch it almost every night.


Handwriting Fail

My last post was about a stupid patient. This post is also about an idiot. But it’s not another patient. The idiot featured in this post is me.

Two days ago I was the poor son of a bitch the lucky parent who got to take J to a birthday party at Pump It Up. Oh yay, another Pump It Up party. Two hours of fun for the kids, a 120 minute headache for the adults. I grabbed J, the present and the invitation and headed to Pump It Up for the kabillionth time.

When we got to Pump It Up, there was a large group of kids and adults inside. A large group of unfamiliar kids and adults.  Who were these people? I didn’t see any of J’s friends or their parents.  I assumed our party was already in the play area, so I approached the front desk.

Pump It Up Employee: Are you here for [unknown kid]’s party?

Me: No, we’re here for [known kid]’s party.

Pump It Up Employee: There’s no party for that kid today. Do you have the invitation? Maybe her party is at the other Pump It Up.

Me: SHIT! If her party is at the other Pump It Up, I’m going to be SO PISSED! (I didn’t actually say this out loud, although it seemed pretty loud in my head.)

I pulled out the invitation. Was I at the wrong Pump It Up? Nope. The address on the invitation was exactly where I was standing. The invitation also said the party was November 21, 2010.

So where the hell was the birthday party?

The Pump It Up employee looked up J’s friend’s name on his handy dandy computer. Then he gave me the bad news. Her party was not November 21,2010.  It was November 24, 2010.

November 24?

Wednesday November 24?

Wednesday November 24, the day before Thanksgiving?

How could this be? Who has a party the day before Thanksgiving? Plus, the handwritten invitation said the date of the party was Nov. 21, 2010.  It didn’t say Sunday Nov. 21, 2010, but it did say Nov. 21.

Or did it?

I took another look at the invitation. Upon closer inspection, I realized what I thought was the 1 in 21 was really a very skinny, very messy 4 in 24.

The party was not November 21, it was November 24.

Me: Does this look like a 21 or a 24? It looks like a 21, right? I’m not an idiot…I’m just the innocent victim of sloppy handwriting, right?

Pump It Up employee: Yes, it looks like a 21.

The Pump It Up employee agreed with me – I wasn’t an idiot. But he was probably just humoring me so I would leave him the hell alone. 

OMG, I was an idiot! An idiot who showed up to a party on the wrong date. An idiot with a 4-year-old kid who thought he was going to play at Pump It Up today.  How was I going to explain this to him?  I could tell him, “Mommy made a mistake and thought the party was today because your friend’s mommy has shitty handwriting.”  Or I could have him join that unknown kid’s party already in progress. Honestly, who would notice an extra kid?

But we didn’t crash a stranger’s Pump It Up party, we went home. I still had the invitation, so I showed it to my husband. He said I was right…it looked like a 21 not a 24. And he wasn’t just humoring me so he could get in my pants.

Maybe I’m not an idiot after all.

Bed Head

The last time I checked, bed head (or bedhead) was not in the dictionary. It is, however, in Wikipedia. In the Wikipedia entry for bedhead, there’s a very good description of it.

But what about  those people who learn best by visual cues? Those people may read the Wikipedia definition and be confused. They may think, I’ve read this definition but I still don’t know what bed head is. Help!

I bet if this picture was part of the Wikipedia entry, those visual learners would no longer be confused and they’d know exactly what bed head is.

Oct. 2008 - J waking up from a nap


 Hmm…anyone know how to edit a Wikipedia entry?

(Thanks to Heather from The Spohrs Are Multiplying  for recently posting a picture of her daughter’s bed head which made me remember my own kid’s crazy bed head.)

I’m A Hot Mom

I’m a hot mom.

Gosh Lori, that’s kind of conceited.

No, really it’s not. I don’t think I’m a hot mom…my 8-year-old son thinks I’m a hot mom.

Gosh Lori, that’s kind of creepy.

No, really it’s not.  It may sound creepy like a Greek tragedy. Or a 5 hour Lifetime movie. But trust me, it’s not. Read on….

R: You’re a hot mom!

Me: Thank y-….wait, what did you say?

R: You’re a hot mom.

Me: Hot mom? Where did you hear that? I know, you heard your father ask me when Hot Mom Day at the pool was, didn’t you?

R: No.

Me: Why would you say I’m a hot mom? What do you think “hot” means?

R: That’s the grown up way to say you’re pretty.

(OK, all together now: Awwwww! How sweeeet!)

R: You’re the hottest mom in the world!

(One more time: Awwwww! How sweeeet!)

Me: Really? I had no idea that I was the hottest mom in the whole world!

R (ponders his last statement): Welllll, maybe not the whole world. But definitely the hottest mom in Chicago!

So, there you have it.

I am the hottest mom in the whole world Chicago.

Who am I to argue with an 8-year-old?

Wordless Wednesday


This picture is in desperate need of a caption.

Who’s got one?

I Share Clothes With My 4-Year-Old

My boys are back at school.  

Yippee! Woo-hoo! Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah! Roma-Roma-ma-ah! Ga-ga-ooh-la-la! Whatever the hell that means.  

R started 2nd grade and J started his last year of preschool, or what some call pre-kindergarten. One of the perks of pre-k is that the class goes on field trips.  I don’t know where they will be going on their field trips yet, but when R was in pre-k at this same school, his class went to the fire station, a local Whole Foods store and the police station.  Correction…they tried to have a field trip at the police station.  You see, when R’s preschool class arrived at the police station, they had to leave because the police were in the middle of throwing a perp in jail. (I heard the criminal was found guilty of disappointing 18 preschoolers and received 10 years with no chance of parole.  Who said our criminal justice system doesn’t work?) On field trip days, the children are supposed to wear their preschool t-shirts. Last week, J’s teachers sent each child home with a brand new preschool t-shirt. You wouldn’t think a t-shirt would cause confusion, but this one had me scratching my head.  

(The following italicized sentences are my thoughts. Because my thoughts are always more profound in italics.)  

Hmm, this shirt looks kind of large. What size is it? The tag says size youth small 6-8.  

Youth small? Are you kidding me? This shirt isn’t small, it’s big. Really big. Like Notorious B.I.G. big. You could fit a family of four in this shirt!  

J is small. A “normal” size small is big on him, so I figured this bizarro size small t-shirt would be HUGE on him.  

Is that a t-shirt or a dress?

As you can see from the picture, I was right…the t-shirt was ginormous.  Humongous. It was so big that the t-shirt could probably fit a grown adult like me.  

I wondered…  

Could I fit into a size youth small 6-8?  


Or maybe I could….  

Dude, where’s my head?

OMG, the t-shirt actually fit me!  

This means either:  

1. Some kid working in the t-shirt sweatshop put the wrong size label on the t-shirt or  

2. I’m a tiny human being and I need to shop in the children’s department  

I think we all know the correct answer.  

#2 of course.  

(My blog, my delusions.)

2:00 AM

2:00 AM


Zzzzzzz…. Wha? Huh?


Mumble, grumble….grumble, mumble.

I get out of bed, still half asleep, and walk down the hall to R’s room.

I put my hand on his door knob and wonder what I’ll find behind the door. 

Is he sick? Are his allergies flaring up again? Did he lose his teddy bear?

Please don’t let it be vomit.

Me: What’s wrong?

R (sitting up, holding one sock): I can’t find my other sock.

Me: I’ll find your sock. 

(I pull back his covers to look for his sock)

Me: I found your other sock. It’s on your foot. You’re wearing it.

R: Oh. OK. Good night! Zzzzzzz…..