©Lisa Barker
He had on his pirate cape, his pirate hat...and a pink purse slung over his right shoulder. He was ready for action.
Until the ants attacked.
Little girls keep tissue, lip gloss and hair barrettes in their purses. Little pirates keep Goldfish Crackers and apples. Ants like Goldfish Crackers and apples.
Ever hear a pirate scream? It’s a bloodcurdling cry that sends shivers up a mom’s spine. I came running. “What’s the matter?”
“Ants! Ants!” he screamed and danced in place. Pirates don’t like ants. Rolie-polies are okay. And butterflies. But not ants.
We shook out his purse, but the ants kept coming. So we had to hang it from the swing until the ants had their fill and left.
The next day my little pirate was dressed and ready for action again. This time he had his hook and a sword.
“Where’s your purse?”
“Oh.” That’s my youngest son’s way of omitting information he doesn’t want to give. He didn’t want the purse anymore. He’d surrendered it to the plundering and pillaging ants. But now he had my pink sequined flip-flops. A pirate is never fully dressed without some sort of pink accessory, don’t you know.
But he needed something in which to carry his Goldfish Crackers. This time he made do with a sandwich bag. I gave him two treats for the dog as well and off went Pirate Boy and his loyal companion.
Later he tells me that Pirate Dog loves Goldfish Crackers and that dog treats taste great.
“Dog treats? Those are for the dog!”
“Oh.”
“What else have you and Pirate Dog been up to?”
“Nooooooooooooothing.” This is the second stage of pirate denial. A quick scan of the back porch step revealed some clues.
“I thought I told you to leave the dog’s water dish alone.”
“It’s mud.”
“It is now. What’s the dog going to drink?”
“Apple juice!”
“And I suppose he wants a sippy cup, too.”
So I arranged some refreshments for Pirate Boy and Pirate Dog and they left to scour the backyard for treasure. Soon, my kitchen counter was lined with interesting pirate treasure for me: odd shaped rocks, a dried weed flower and something unidentifiable that only Pirate Boys can name but I was too prudent to ask.
“Can I have my shoes back?”
He relented, embarked on another pirate adventure and soon returned jubilant. “I found my cowboy hat!” he crowed, with it perched on his head, dusty and sprinkled with cobwebs. And off he went to seek treasure and hidden dog treats at great peril.
But I didn’t worry. He’ll not be bested or vanquished. That’s because all pirates know the power of accessorizing.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
To Love, Honor and Suffer
©Lisa Barker
Being accused of snoring is one thing. Being accused of honking is completely ridiculous.
“I don’t honk in my sleep,” I told my husband.
“Yes, you do.”
He told me to get some of those strips that you put across your nose to help reduce snoring. I’m game, but I said, “It might not work. I’m fat and I can’t sleep on either side very well anymore so I have to sleep on my back.”
“And honk.”
“I do not honk!”
“Yes, you do.”
Fine. I went to the store and perused the remedies. I found some sprays and what little I read surprised me. Was my husband supposed to squirt my throat or give me a shot up the nose when I snored? I wasn’t about to give him that kind of power. Happily married couples don’t give their spouses the power to blast them with anti-snoring spray just willy-nilly. And knowing my husband, that kind of power would go straight to his head.
I’d be lounging on the sofa watching my favorite show when all of a sudden I’d get a blast of anti-snoring spray in the face.
“What’s that for?”
“Just testing.”
“But I’m not snoring.”
“You honked.”
“Yeah, that again.”
So I studied the boxes of strips. None of them guaranteed a thing and I figured since I was at the ‘honking’ stage of snoring I definitely needed something far superior. That’s why I chose the nose rings. Yes, I did because there comes a time in a married person’s life when they love their spouse so much they are willing to try the ridiculous just to please their beloved.
Besides, I’m afraid of the dark and can’t sleep without my husband in bed and he was threatening to sleep on the sofa unless I found a way to stifle my nightly Canadian goose call. And, the box guaranteed that their product blew all the others away. Pun intended?
As it turned out the nose ring really worked and I didn’t snore at all. It kept me awake most of the night because I forgot I was wearing it and kept swatting my nose while my husband got the best night of sleep in his life.
I, on the other hand, had to listen to him snore all night long, if that’s what you want to call it. It sounded more like somebody trying to start a weed whacker. At least I can honk steadily and not have this burst of sound like ripping sheets, followed by dead silence and then another quick burst. Who can fall asleep to that?
I think I’ll get some of that spray stuff. I’m sure the power won’t go to my head.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.
Being accused of snoring is one thing. Being accused of honking is completely ridiculous.
“I don’t honk in my sleep,” I told my husband.
“Yes, you do.”
He told me to get some of those strips that you put across your nose to help reduce snoring. I’m game, but I said, “It might not work. I’m fat and I can’t sleep on either side very well anymore so I have to sleep on my back.”
“And honk.”
“I do not honk!”
“Yes, you do.”
Fine. I went to the store and perused the remedies. I found some sprays and what little I read surprised me. Was my husband supposed to squirt my throat or give me a shot up the nose when I snored? I wasn’t about to give him that kind of power. Happily married couples don’t give their spouses the power to blast them with anti-snoring spray just willy-nilly. And knowing my husband, that kind of power would go straight to his head.
I’d be lounging on the sofa watching my favorite show when all of a sudden I’d get a blast of anti-snoring spray in the face.
“What’s that for?”
“Just testing.”
“But I’m not snoring.”
“You honked.”
“Yeah, that again.”
So I studied the boxes of strips. None of them guaranteed a thing and I figured since I was at the ‘honking’ stage of snoring I definitely needed something far superior. That’s why I chose the nose rings. Yes, I did because there comes a time in a married person’s life when they love their spouse so much they are willing to try the ridiculous just to please their beloved.
Besides, I’m afraid of the dark and can’t sleep without my husband in bed and he was threatening to sleep on the sofa unless I found a way to stifle my nightly Canadian goose call. And, the box guaranteed that their product blew all the others away. Pun intended?
As it turned out the nose ring really worked and I didn’t snore at all. It kept me awake most of the night because I forgot I was wearing it and kept swatting my nose while my husband got the best night of sleep in his life.
I, on the other hand, had to listen to him snore all night long, if that’s what you want to call it. It sounded more like somebody trying to start a weed whacker. At least I can honk steadily and not have this burst of sound like ripping sheets, followed by dead silence and then another quick burst. Who can fall asleep to that?
I think I’ll get some of that spray stuff. I’m sure the power won’t go to my head.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker and syndicated through Parent To Parent™ and is available for newspapers, websites, e-zines and newsletters. Here's all the info you need to publish Jelly Mom™.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Fleeting Youth, Fleeting Sanity
©Lisa Barker
When the kids aren’t present sometimes judgment falters and we parents do things that maybe we shouldn’t.
When I was ten years old I had a skateboard. My father found it in the garage and, perhaps feeling a bit younger than his thirty-five years, hopped on to give it a go...and landed flat on his back.
The moral of the story is: Parents aren’t as young as they think they are.
Time marches on. Now my dad is sixty-five. Recently he visited, and was amazed by the flexibility of my youngest daughter who is almost six years old. Even though she is wheelchair bound she is able to stick her right foot above her head and is quite comfortable, leaving it there for hours on end.
Well, my dad got to thinking about this later on when he got back home. Did it hurt? How did she do that? If she can do it, then so can I....
So he got down on the floor and tried to raise his foot above his head...and immediately cramped up because sixty-five year old bodies don’t work like that. Thank goodness he got his leg back down before my mom had to call the paramedics.
“What’s the problem, Ma’am?”
“My husband’s leg is stuck in the air.”
“Ma’am?”
“His foot is stuck behind his head.”
“Oh-kayyy.”
Can you just imagine them wheeling my father out on a stretcher, covered with a sheet and his leg still in the air?
Well, to prove that the nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree I went ice-skating with my daughters one year in recent memory. It was probably on the 25th anniversary of the day my dad tried the skateboard. At thirty-five years of age my curiosity kicked in and I tried to ice skate for the first time in my life.
I soon learned that the faster you go, the better you balance – until I accidentally hit the brakes and did a tremendous belly flop and slid ten feet.
It wasn’t the fall that bruised my ego; it was the shock on the faces of my children. You know the look. It’s the one that says: You’re so old! Did you break everything? Are you dead?! Lucky for me the only thing that died on the ice was my pride and a fleeting memory of my youth.
So kids, do your parents a favor. Don’t leave your roller blades, skateboards, pogo sticks and other parent-crippling devices around. Who knows when one of them is going to feel like a kid again and leap to their doom?
On second thought, just put the family doctor on speed dial. You’ll need it.
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Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
When the kids aren’t present sometimes judgment falters and we parents do things that maybe we shouldn’t.
When I was ten years old I had a skateboard. My father found it in the garage and, perhaps feeling a bit younger than his thirty-five years, hopped on to give it a go...and landed flat on his back.
The moral of the story is: Parents aren’t as young as they think they are.
Time marches on. Now my dad is sixty-five. Recently he visited, and was amazed by the flexibility of my youngest daughter who is almost six years old. Even though she is wheelchair bound she is able to stick her right foot above her head and is quite comfortable, leaving it there for hours on end.
Well, my dad got to thinking about this later on when he got back home. Did it hurt? How did she do that? If she can do it, then so can I....
So he got down on the floor and tried to raise his foot above his head...and immediately cramped up because sixty-five year old bodies don’t work like that. Thank goodness he got his leg back down before my mom had to call the paramedics.
“What’s the problem, Ma’am?”
“My husband’s leg is stuck in the air.”
“Ma’am?”
“His foot is stuck behind his head.”
“Oh-kayyy.”
Can you just imagine them wheeling my father out on a stretcher, covered with a sheet and his leg still in the air?
Well, to prove that the nut doesn’t fall too far from the tree I went ice-skating with my daughters one year in recent memory. It was probably on the 25th anniversary of the day my dad tried the skateboard. At thirty-five years of age my curiosity kicked in and I tried to ice skate for the first time in my life.
I soon learned that the faster you go, the better you balance – until I accidentally hit the brakes and did a tremendous belly flop and slid ten feet.
It wasn’t the fall that bruised my ego; it was the shock on the faces of my children. You know the look. It’s the one that says: You’re so old! Did you break everything? Are you dead?! Lucky for me the only thing that died on the ice was my pride and a fleeting memory of my youth.
So kids, do your parents a favor. Don’t leave your roller blades, skateboards, pogo sticks and other parent-crippling devices around. Who knows when one of them is going to feel like a kid again and leap to their doom?
On second thought, just put the family doctor on speed dial. You’ll need it.
---------------------------------------------------
Jelly Mom™ is written by Lisa Barker, mother of five and author of "Just Because Your Kids Drive You Insane...Doesn't Mean You Are A Bad Parent!" and is syndicated through Parent To Parent™. To publish Jelly Mom, buy the book or leave comments, please visit http://www.jellymom.com. Sign up for the complimentary Jelly Mom™ weekly newsletter and receive a BONUS GIFT!
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