Drumroll please . . .
Mar 21, 2010 
First of all, I want to thank everyone who entered this contest! I had a great time reading your limericks. And don’t they say that doing something creative builds brain cells? Okay, I may be making that up, but I hope you had as much fun writing them as I did reading them.
Second of all, it was very had to choose a winner, you were all so good (and you all hit on different crazy areas of my life—all of which I love to laugh about). However, since a winner must be chosen, here we are:
The winner is Melanie for “Ode to St. Patty’s Cuisine”
For those of you who didn’t get a chance to read it, here it is:
A green dinner sounds so creative,
Until you think “what’s it made of?”
Your kids will all scream
Because everything’s green!
But cabbage and corned beef’s so native!
Maybe it was the St. Patrick’s day theme that won me over, but either way, congratulations! Watch for the coveted gift card in the mail. 🙂
St. Patrick’s Day Contest
St. Patrick’s Day is one of my favorite pointless holidays. I love the stories of leprechauns. I love the iconic movies (like Darby O’gill and the Little People). I love the green. And I love pinching people. Okay, not really on the last one, but still. Just thinking about it makes me want to break into song . . .
When Irish eyes are smilin’ . . .
But I digress.
It’s a holiday that can be as much or as little as you choose to make it. I tend to be a minimalist, so the “little” part really appeals to me.
So knowing I made a goal to have a silly, pointless contest on my blog this year, I thought why not. This contest will run from the moment this is posted until midnight EST on Saturday, 20 March 2010.
I really wanted to make the prize super Irish, but all I could come up with was beer and potatoes. Somehow that didn’t sound very exciting. So instead, since Olive Garden’s signature color is green, up for grabs is a $25 gift card for there.
Here are the rules:
- Make up a funny and CLEAN limerick and post it in the comments. (Oh, heck, I don’t even care if you didn’t make it up, so long as it’s clean and funny.)
- Did I mention it has to be clean?
- I, as supreme chancellor and all-mighty contest thrower, get to pick my favorite to win.
- I’ll post the winner next Sunday.
Limerick /lim-rik/: a five-lined poem with aabba rhyme scheme. I could go on about the meter and syllable counts, but instead, I’ll give an example:There once was a girl from DC,Who lived far from all her fam’lyShe blogged every daySo in touch she could stayThen forgot to go out and sight see.Okay, I’m no poet. I fully admit this. But you get the idea.Please note, this contest is completely subjective. Anyone can enter (even relatives, gasp!). Odds of winning are about 1 in 4 since that’s about how many people comment on my blog. Consider all that legal mumbo jumbo said. You know: Taxes yada, yada, yada. Liability blah, blah, blah. You get the point.Good luck, and I can’t wait to read your entries!UPDATE: You may enter as many limericks as you want.
A Beautiful Sunset with a Kick
Yesterday was call (i.e. Rick worked all night). While London was at school, we had a full day. A playdate, gymnastics, and even a run to the toystore because Razors were on sale. (Brandt is now the proud new owner of his own scooter!)
What a great mom, huh? It’s not birthday or Christmas or any other holiday, but just because I know Brandt will enjoy it. So in gratitude, he should be happy boy with no complaints all day. Right? Yes, right.
After another playdate (when London got home), it was time to get down to work. London has piano practice and reading before dinner. Lucky Brandt gets to play.
London sits at the piano, but does Brandt not get the “lucky” part?
Me: Brandt, you need to let London practice.
Brandt: No! I’m going to play!
Me: Brandt, please get off the piano bench so your brother can pratice.
Brandt: No! Tinga! Pinga! Pinga! Bing! Bang! Bop! [that’s meant to represent his playing . . . hey! you try and make piano sounds with words, then come back and appreciate my genius.] 😉
London: I don’t need any help, Brandt!
Me: Brandt, please play somewhere else.
I physically remove Brandt from the piano bench and set him on the couch.
Brandt: That’s no fair! You made me mad, mom!!! And I won’t play anywhere else!@!!! [if only you could hear the intensity in his voice. There’s just no way to translate that into words]
And he promptly ran across the room and booted me in the leg.
Yeah. Seriously.
I picked him up, marched him to his room and deposited him in his bed. Then I plopped in front of the computer and stared at the screen. My ire was pulsing WAY too fast to try talking to anyone else.
I mean, 1) Where did he learn that!? Because I certainly have never kicked him.
2) How could he kick me? Me?! His own mother who suffered 9, count them, 9 months of a miserable pregnancy, 4 hours of labor, innumberable sleepless nights, not to mention the extra weight I still bear around my center.
And 3) I bought him a stinkin’ scooter today!!! Isn’t that like having a get-out-of-temper-tantrums free card? Well it should be.
So there I am, glowering at the computer screen, when London says, “Mom! Look at that beautiful sunset! Come watch it with me!”
Well how can you refuse that? You can’t. So we stood and watched the sun setting.
London: I just love watching the sky turn yellow and orange. And look at the line of cloud, mom. Isn’t that just SO cool?
Me: Very cool, London.
London [snuggling in close]: It doesn’t get any more better than watching the sun set with your mama, does it?
Me: No, kiddo. It doesn’t.
How do kids know how to say just the right thing sometimes? What a little cutie. And suddenly the event that left me fuming was connected to this other amazingly sweet moment. The kind you treasure as a mom. The kind that makes all those other not-so-nice moments worth it. The kind you never forget.
London: Can we do this again some time, mama?
I hope so, kiddo. I certainly hope so.
Maestro London
Growing up, we had a rule: when you turn 5, you start piano lessons. So what a slacker am I . . . London was already 6 and I hadn’t started him on lessons yet. I wanted to wait till we could afford to have someone else teach him, but that could be years.
Sooo, I took the plunge a few weeks ago and London is doing great! I think his favorite part is getting to put the stickers on the pages he’s passed off. My favorite part is playing duets with my child. If I’d known how awesome that felt, I would have started him a long time ago!
In Memoriam . . .
Dearly beloveds, we are gathered here today in memoriam of yon Valentine’s Day plant. We must bear the shock that death brings—especially poignant when in the rose of bloom.
In life, it gave of itself for the pleasure of others. Never seeking for self. And though its leaves have yellowed in shrivel haste, our memory lives on that we might have roses in March. And in April. And in May. And all the way to December, whereupon we can finally forget.
And though the tragedy strikes harsh, we find comfort in knowing it has moved beyond this cold, cruel world to the pastures of a better place. A kinder place. A place where black thumbs exist no more.
And thus, “I hold it true, whate’er befall; Despite outrageous valentine cost; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost/Than never to have loved at all.” -Alfred Lord Tennyson (with a slight adjustment by J.S. Johnson).
Mount Vernon, part 2
As promised, more of Mount Vernon.
This is our proof we were there. Do we look cold? We were. This is at the end of the outdoor trail. We were ready to be done. But, despite the cold, we all had a good time.
But we all had our favorite parts:
At the very beginning, the boys were given a map of Mount Vernon. On the back of the map were nine puzzles to solve at the various locations. They promised a prize at the end if they were able to solve them all. London was very into it. He loved his map and was determined to get the prize. It turned out to be a smushed penny with a picture of Mount Vernon. Lucky boys!
In the museum, they had a children’s center with a large dollhouse that had all kinds of intricate furniture. Brandt was enthralled. Redecorating, sending the dolls through the doors . . . that’s all he wanted to do.
However, I did convince him to pause to play dress up. It wasn’t easy, but isn’t he super cute in his colonial ensemble?
A Bun in the Oven . . . Literally
So I open the oven a couple of weeks ago and a bunch of smoke pours out. Fire alarm goes off. Something smells burned, but it wasn’t the dish I was cooking.
“That’s odd,” I tell Rick. “Something must have spilled in the oven. Guess we’d better clean it.”
But of course, I forgot.
Next time I’m baking, same thing. Burned smell. A little less smoke. Fire alarm. “Hmmf, we’d better clean it.”
So fast forward to today. I’m about to bake some rolls for dinner and amazingly, I remember about the burn smell before turning on the oven.
I pull out the wire racks, and guess what I find pushed way to the back?
Yeah, it would be the black one. I just set the other one there so you could see what it was before it was sacrificed.
Point of the story? Finish your French baguettes in one sitting . . . because they are yum! (Assuming, you know, you don’t burn it.)
Mount Vernon, part 1
Okay, last picture for today. Since this is a living history sight, they have period actors and actresses. Martha was answering questions in the greenhouse theater. She was really great.The most interesting tid-bit I learned from her is when she pulled a little corset out of her sewing basket. She said she saw babies of 6-months in herring-bone corsets. Can you imagine!? Thankfully things have changed.
So after we’d been listening for a few minutes, London looked at me with an uneasy expression. Why is Martha Washington still alive? So I explained how she was just pretending to be Martha. He gave me another weird look. Why is she pretending to be someone else? He was seriously weirded out. I tried to explain the whole living history concept, but it was lost on my 6-year-old. Oh well. It was still fun.
So next time, I’ll share more pictures of us and what we liked best. Sorry if this felt like a history lesson, but I found it all fascinating!
To Honk or Not to Honk?
So, we were driving at night. HUGE drifts of snow cover full traffic lanes. They blindside you at every corner. They fill half of every parking lot. But the snow is not the problem.
Blinker on to enter the Kohl’s parking lot. Roll slow over the sheets of ice that cover the road.
But no.
Two people (no cars in sight!) are standing in the middle of the entrance. Apparently oblivious of the car (for which the entrance was intended; and which could cause them some serious bodily damage).
We stop. We wait. They don’t move.
In the end, Rick flips off the blinker and heads to a different entrance.
Discussion ensues.
Me: You have a horn you know.
Rick: I don’t like the horn. I think the horn is rude.
Me: It depends on how you do it. If you lay on the horn, of course it’s rude! But if you tap, tap, tap, it’s merely a way to say, “Excuse me. May I get by?”
Rick: Well I think it’s rude.
Me: You, who drives ten inches from the next car thinks the horn is rude?
Rick: I drive in DC, so sue me.
Me: If you had any money, maybe I would. [Okay, so I didn’ really say that.]
What I really said was: Hmmm, this would make a good subject for a blog. Let’s let the masses decide.
So we ask you to end our perfectly civil “discussion” for us. Is it rude to honk the horn?
Khyah Doll
Khyah discovered Brandt’s doll, and it was love at first sight. Aren’t they cute?
A little love bite.
And a little schlurbit.