Showing posts with label Embarrassing Moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Embarrassing Moments. Show all posts
Friday, April 3, 2015
Kids Say The Darndest Things 2
I had so much fun with my original "Kids say the darndest things" post that I couldn't even help but to put together another addition! This time around, my delightful Facebook fans provided the fodder for this laugh-filled post on the hilariously inappropriate things that kids say.
WARNING: Use the bathroom before reading this post
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Lunch Date Adventures
I love my best friend.
There is NOTHING I would rather do than spend some quality time with her without the kiddos interrupting every five minutes. And because every time we hang out she always makes me laugh until I can't breathe, I wanted to share a glimpse into our hilarious relationship by telling you about our lunch date today.
I don't know about you, but we have an open door policy written into our friendship. You know, the kind where you don't knock, you just walk in and make yourself at home. Mi fridge es su fridge. Is there coffee in the coffee pot? Good. I am going to pour myself a cup while I raid your cupboards in search of your chocolate stash. Then I am going to stink up your bathroom. With the door open. THAT kind of friendship. Ya get me?
Another thing you need to know about my best friend, Amy, is that she is not always a "ready when you get there" kind of girl. Even when I specifically say, "I will be there at 12:00 SO BE READY TO WALK OUT THE DOOR," she is usually just getting into the shower as I walk in. And today was no exception.
I arrived at 12:15. I knocked as I was walking in, shouting "Heeeelllloooooo" like I always do. No answer. Okay. No biggie. (I told you that she is always running behind) I could hear the shower running and her and her husband talking and it sounded like the bathroom door was open, so I slowly ventured toward that end of the house yelling "Hey! I'm here!" Still no response. I was pretty much terrified to get any closer because 1. Yer girl does NOT want to walk in on the "business" and 2. What if her husband comes busting around the corner el nude-o? So, I slowly backtracked into the kitchen, took off my boots, and waited patiently (Read: snooped through the stuff on the counter, checked out the fridge stats, read the notes on the white board)
After about 5 minutes, Amy comes busting out of the bathroom butt naked and around the corner into the kitchen, sees me and shouts to her husband, "Traci's here! Don't come out here naked!" So instead, he comes out wearing....Amy's pink robe.
Now I don't know about you, but seeing your best friend's husband in HER little tiny pink robe, set me off in a fit of giggles which were only amplified when he started sashaying across the kitchen, waggling his hips, and batting his eyelashes. I figured the ONLY thing I could do at THAT point is join in on the crazy, right? So I start giving him advice on how to be more feminine. Sway your hips. Flick your wrist a little more. Clench your butt cheeks tighter. "Oh honey! That's EXACTLY what Bruce told me earlier! But I told him NO on account of the hemorrhoids."
By this point I was ALREADY on the verge of panty tinkling. And the fun was just beginning.
After along wait, during which I was completely entertained by her husband's pink robe antics, she was ready, and we were off to enjoy a great lunch and some much needed talk time.
Our lunch was delish. We ordered two meals and then split them, so we were basically gorging ourselves to the point where only a good poop would make us feel comfortable enough to move. And we talked about tantalizing topics like the LAST time we had come to that restaurant and Amy had asked for EXTRA blue cheese and bacon so crispy that it was bordering on burnt on her well-done burger, only to be madly disappointed upon the food coming out still moo-ing and covered in limp chewy bacon. And how I, being the great friend that I am, had completely thrown her under the bus when our poor server innocently came by to hear how wonderful our food was and I laughed and pointed at Amy and said, "My food is GREAT, but you should ask HER..." all while stuffing our faces in true hungry girl style and laughing like crazy women.
Speaking of laughing, there is nothing more soul cleansing than a good laugh with your best friend. And what came next, well, it cleansed my soul from here to next year.
When it was time to pay our cute little waitress, who was 23, and YES I do know this because Amy asked, came by with the check and a cute little story about her lack of sleep due to her Thursday night partying. While she was busy telling us ALL about what a hard learner she was, Amy could only focus on one thing.
The speck of mystery sauce glistening on the poor girls chest.
So as our poor unsuspecting waitress babbled on, Amy reached out and PICKED it off. with. her. FINGERNAIL! The look on that poor girl's face was BEYOND priceless and I seriously lost all self control and burst out in a laugh that bordered on hyena.
"Sorry! You had a little something on there..." Amy quickly explained as the waitress looked on in pure disbelief.
"It-it-it's okay!" the waitress stuttered, "I am glad you got it..."
By this point, I am practically choking on my own spit from pure insane laughter. And Amy is still chatting away at the poor girl, "Yea, I knew it wasn't one of your cute little moles because it was catching the light..."
Oh. My. Goodness. If every person in the restaurant wasn't staring at me by this point, I would have been totally surprised.
Then Amy looks at me and says, "What? It was RIGHT there! I wouldn't have wanted her to walk around with that all day long! And I was GOING to use my napkin, but then I saw how used it was and thought 'dirty!', so I just used my finger! "
By the time the waitress made her escape, my laughter had turned into a red-faced, crying, can't catch my breath debacle as I squeezed out these words, "You. Could. Have. Just. TOLD. Her! Maybe added a little finger point to the spot..."
"Oh my! I didn't even THINK of that!" she said as she joined in my laughter. "How much tip should I leave?" she asked.
"Enough to cover your physical assault of her CHEST!" I retorted.
"Yea... I better leave a little extra!"
And when we calmed down enough to actually look at the bill, we realized that our lunch entree was called the "willy wrap" which started our rollicking all over again.
I am sure they were ALL happy to see us leave. Especially our poor assaulted waitress with the cute moles. Thank goodness it wasn't just a freckle.
THAT would have been awkward.
There is NOTHING I would rather do than spend some quality time with her without the kiddos interrupting every five minutes. And because every time we hang out she always makes me laugh until I can't breathe, I wanted to share a glimpse into our hilarious relationship by telling you about our lunch date today.
I don't know about you, but we have an open door policy written into our friendship. You know, the kind where you don't knock, you just walk in and make yourself at home. Mi fridge es su fridge. Is there coffee in the coffee pot? Good. I am going to pour myself a cup while I raid your cupboards in search of your chocolate stash. Then I am going to stink up your bathroom. With the door open. THAT kind of friendship. Ya get me?
Another thing you need to know about my best friend, Amy, is that she is not always a "ready when you get there" kind of girl. Even when I specifically say, "I will be there at 12:00 SO BE READY TO WALK OUT THE DOOR," she is usually just getting into the shower as I walk in. And today was no exception.
I arrived at 12:15. I knocked as I was walking in, shouting "Heeeelllloooooo" like I always do. No answer. Okay. No biggie. (I told you that she is always running behind) I could hear the shower running and her and her husband talking and it sounded like the bathroom door was open, so I slowly ventured toward that end of the house yelling "Hey! I'm here!" Still no response. I was pretty much terrified to get any closer because 1. Yer girl does NOT want to walk in on the "business" and 2. What if her husband comes busting around the corner el nude-o? So, I slowly backtracked into the kitchen, took off my boots, and waited patiently (Read: snooped through the stuff on the counter, checked out the fridge stats, read the notes on the white board)
After about 5 minutes, Amy comes busting out of the bathroom butt naked and around the corner into the kitchen, sees me and shouts to her husband, "Traci's here! Don't come out here naked!" So instead, he comes out wearing....Amy's pink robe.
Now I don't know about you, but seeing your best friend's husband in HER little tiny pink robe, set me off in a fit of giggles which were only amplified when he started sashaying across the kitchen, waggling his hips, and batting his eyelashes. I figured the ONLY thing I could do at THAT point is join in on the crazy, right? So I start giving him advice on how to be more feminine. Sway your hips. Flick your wrist a little more. Clench your butt cheeks tighter. "Oh honey! That's EXACTLY what Bruce told me earlier! But I told him NO on account of the hemorrhoids."
By this point I was ALREADY on the verge of panty tinkling. And the fun was just beginning.
After a
Our lunch was delish. We ordered two meals and then split them, so we were basically gorging ourselves to the point where only a good poop would make us feel comfortable enough to move. And we talked about tantalizing topics like the LAST time we had come to that restaurant and Amy had asked for EXTRA blue cheese and bacon so crispy that it was bordering on burnt on her well-done burger, only to be madly disappointed upon the food coming out still moo-ing and covered in limp chewy bacon. And how I, being the great friend that I am, had completely thrown her under the bus when our poor server innocently came by to hear how wonderful our food was and I laughed and pointed at Amy and said, "My food is GREAT, but you should ask HER..." all while stuffing our faces in true hungry girl style and laughing like crazy women.
Speaking of laughing, there is nothing more soul cleansing than a good laugh with your best friend. And what came next, well, it cleansed my soul from here to next year.
When it was time to pay our cute little waitress, who was 23, and YES I do know this because Amy asked, came by with the check and a cute little story about her lack of sleep due to her Thursday night partying. While she was busy telling us ALL about what a hard learner she was, Amy could only focus on one thing.
The speck of mystery sauce glistening on the poor girls chest.
So as our poor unsuspecting waitress babbled on, Amy reached out and PICKED it off. with. her. FINGERNAIL! The look on that poor girl's face was BEYOND priceless and I seriously lost all self control and burst out in a laugh that bordered on hyena.
"Sorry! You had a little something on there..." Amy quickly explained as the waitress looked on in pure disbelief.
"It-it-it's okay!" the waitress stuttered, "I am glad you got it..."
By this point, I am practically choking on my own spit from pure insane laughter. And Amy is still chatting away at the poor girl, "Yea, I knew it wasn't one of your cute little moles because it was catching the light..."
Oh. My. Goodness. If every person in the restaurant wasn't staring at me by this point, I would have been totally surprised.
Then Amy looks at me and says, "What? It was RIGHT there! I wouldn't have wanted her to walk around with that all day long! And I was GOING to use my napkin, but then I saw how used it was and thought 'dirty!', so I just used my finger! "
By the time the waitress made her escape, my laughter had turned into a red-faced, crying, can't catch my breath debacle as I squeezed out these words, "You. Could. Have. Just. TOLD. Her! Maybe added a little finger point to the spot..."
"Enough to cover your physical assault of her CHEST!" I retorted.
"Yea... I better leave a little extra!"
And when we calmed down enough to actually look at the bill, we realized that our lunch entree was called the "willy wrap" which started our rollicking all over again.
I am sure they were ALL happy to see us leave. Especially our poor assaulted waitress with the cute moles. Thank goodness it wasn't just a freckle.
THAT would have been awkward.
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Tuesday, October 14, 2014
The Perils of Co-Showering
I take showers with my four year old.
Whew! Glad to get that out there. Everybody has an opinion about it these days, and most of those people don't even HAVE kids.
It started when she was a baby. It was just easier for me to take her in with me than to trust that the older three kids would leave her alone (and well) long enough for me to shower. And since I enjoy NOT smelling like baby vomit, I had to come up with SOMETHING! And so the idea of co-showering came into play.
When she was really little, it was a team effort with my husband and I taking turns holding her while the other got clean, then one of us would exit, dry off, and then get her out. As she got older, the hubs bowed out. It may have had something to do with the time that she played ding-dong-ditch with his man parts, but I am not certain, and he's not talking. No really, we made a pact to never talk about that (embarrassing yet incredibly hilarious) moment EVER again.
Shoot! I am totally breaking that vow right now. Don't tattle!
So now it's just us. Me and her. And it is just part of our normal routine. I mean, if you don't make a big deal out of something, the kids won't either, right? And they certainly are used to seeing me halfway dressed as I have been walking around in my underwear since they were born. (Not planning on changing that either. Get over it!)
And several funny stories have come about because of our stance on co-showering. The first being the time that she assaulted the man parts with a giggle. But we aren't talking about that one. (See! I CAN keep a secret, honey!) There was also the time that she pooped. THAT was a treat. Let me tell ya. Nothing like playing hopscotch over turds in a slippery bathtub while trying to avoid tripping over a toddler or bringing down the whole shower curtain bar.
And then there was the time that she peed on my feet.
Good times.
But my absolute favorite story is the one that just happened!
Her and I were showering, like usual, me washing her hair, her playing with cups and other toys, when all of a sudden, she milked me! Or at least she tried too! (I TOLD you she had an obsession with boobs!) Before I could even stop her, that child reached up grabbed ahold of the old milk jugs and gave a squeeze! And I KNOW she was a-milkin' because she was holding her cup up to catch the juice!
Oh Lordy! Will this child's breastfeeding fascination EVER end?
I tried (unsuccessfully) not to laugh so that she would take me serious when I told her that "Cows are for milking, NOT mommies! and that "milking mommy's boobies was NOT appropriate touching" and then I asked her if she would like a good milking when she gets some ta-tas of her own? Of course, she giggled a big "no!" And I don't think she believed me when I told her that I WILL pay her back for all this breast assaulting when she is a tween/teen and has her OWN.
But I will!
After all, I have YEARS to plan the perfect revenge.
It started when she was a baby. It was just easier for me to take her in with me than to trust that the older three kids would leave her alone (and well) long enough for me to shower. And since I enjoy NOT smelling like baby vomit, I had to come up with SOMETHING! And so the idea of co-showering came into play.
When she was really little, it was a team effort with my husband and I taking turns holding her while the other got clean, then one of us would exit, dry off, and then get her out. As she got older, the hubs bowed out. It may have had something to do with the time that she played ding-dong-ditch with his man parts, but I am not certain, and he's not talking. No really, we made a pact to never talk about that (embarrassing yet incredibly hilarious) moment EVER again.
Shoot! I am totally breaking that vow right now. Don't tattle!
So now it's just us. Me and her. And it is just part of our normal routine. I mean, if you don't make a big deal out of something, the kids won't either, right? And they certainly are used to seeing me halfway dressed as I have been walking around in my underwear since they were born. (Not planning on changing that either. Get over it!)
And several funny stories have come about because of our stance on co-showering. The first being the time that she assaulted the man parts with a giggle. But we aren't talking about that one. (See! I CAN keep a secret, honey!) There was also the time that she pooped. THAT was a treat. Let me tell ya. Nothing like playing hopscotch over turds in a slippery bathtub while trying to avoid tripping over a toddler or bringing down the whole shower curtain bar.
And then there was the time that she peed on my feet.
Good times.
But my absolute favorite story is the one that just happened!
Her and I were showering, like usual, me washing her hair, her playing with cups and other toys, when all of a sudden, she milked me! Or at least she tried too! (I TOLD you she had an obsession with boobs!) Before I could even stop her, that child reached up grabbed ahold of the old milk jugs and gave a squeeze! And I KNOW she was a-milkin' because she was holding her cup up to catch the juice!
Oh Lordy! Will this child's breastfeeding fascination EVER end?
But I will!
After all, I have YEARS to plan the perfect revenge.
photo credit: khunaspix via www.freedigitalphotos.net
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Tuesday, May 27, 2014
All aboard the Hoo Hoo Express!
As any of you who follow my blog on Facebook (click here) know, my 4 year old daughter, Brennan, is OBSESSED with 2 things.
Boobs
and
Babies.
Pretty much daily, she climbs up into my lap, lays her head on my "pillows" (this is where the boobs first come into play), and rubs my fat "baby" tummy. Minus the baby. (Cuz this mom is D-O-N-E, done!) It is during these precious moments that the baby badgering begins. "Why is your tummy so fat? Is there a bay-bay in there?" Followed by "Well WHY isn't there a baby in there? I really WANT a baby to be in there!" And on my luckiest days, she stops there.
I don't get lucky very often. (I am married after all)
When I can't quench her insatiable thirst for a younger sibling THAT way, she starts in on a new angle... "When I was a baby, I drank milk from your boobies!" She says with a giggle. "Why do boobies have milk ONLY for babies?" (She asks this because she previously was told that the Milk Express has permanently left the station and will NOT return without the birth of another baby. And I am pretty darn sure that she is itchin' for a big swig of good old fashioned boob juice) "Maybe you should have a baby so we can get more milk!" Emphasis on the "we" proves my earlier point. Then the crazy boob rubbing and talking comes in. "Oh boobies! I love you so much! You are so boob-e-full! (giggle) Who is my booby, booby?!!" This lasts several minutes and is quite uncomfortable (for both me AND the boob-e-full boobies), until I finally say "THAT'S ENOUGH" and physically remove her hands and try (usually unsuccessfully) to change the topic.
Epic fail.
All that usually does, is kick the stubborn drama-queen into full gear, and I get the "Well I didn't ASK to be the LAST baby! You had 3 (fingers up to prove her point) other babies before me and I don't want to be the littlest." No luck? She pulls out the cuddly soft side with "God puts the babies in there." matter-of-factly stated. Ooooh no... I know what she is REALLY saying: "Haha woman! I get the last laugh. You have ZERO say in whether another baby gets put in that sucker! I will just pray every night for a baby. And you will be SCREWED!"
When those questions get her no where, she puts the REAL baby questions into play! Sticking her finger into my belly button, she asks, "Is THIS where babies come out of?" "No", I tell her, "That is where babies get hooked inside their momma's tummies. Then after you are born, a doctor snips your umbilical chord off and you get a belly button in it's place." Hmmm. This always makes her ponder for a minute or two before she starts getting deeper and MUCH more persistant. "Where do they COME OUT OF then?"
Well, after several hmms and haws over THAT beaut of a question, the hubs had finally had enough. So the last time she asked, he stated, loudly and with hand gestures that I really wish I could emulate in writing, "They come from your VA-GI-NA!"
Cue hysterical giggles.
No seriously. That is what that statement did. She was uncontrollable! "Daddy is SILL-AY! Huh, momma?! That isn't where BABIES come out of!" "Oh yes it is", the hubs counters. "Babies come straight out the Hoo Hoo Express" Still giggling, she looks at her dad, then looks at me, to see me nodding my head in solemn (well, as solemn as I could muster after hearing the term "hoo hoo express" come out of my husband's mouth) agreement.
Huh. "Can I watch a movie?", she asks. Whew! Maybe, just maybe, the hubs has shut her up on the baby makin' questions!
Naw... She will be back at it again tomorrow. I'm sure. This girl sure is stubborn. I wonder where she gets it from?
Boobs
and
Babies.
Pretty much daily, she climbs up into my lap, lays her head on my "pillows" (this is where the boobs first come into play), and rubs my fat "baby" tummy. Minus the baby. (Cuz this mom is D-O-N-E, done!) It is during these precious moments that the baby badgering begins. "Why is your tummy so fat? Is there a bay-bay in there?" Followed by "Well WHY isn't there a baby in there? I really WANT a baby to be in there!" And on my luckiest days, she stops there.
I don't get lucky very often. (I am married after all)
When I can't quench her insatiable thirst for a younger sibling THAT way, she starts in on a new angle... "When I was a baby, I drank milk from your boobies!" She says with a giggle. "Why do boobies have milk ONLY for babies?" (She asks this because she previously was told that the Milk Express has permanently left the station and will NOT return without the birth of another baby. And I am pretty darn sure that she is itchin' for a big swig of good old fashioned boob juice) "Maybe you should have a baby so we can get more milk!" Emphasis on the "we" proves my earlier point. Then the crazy boob rubbing and talking comes in. "Oh boobies! I love you so much! You are so boob-e-full! (giggle) Who is my booby, booby?!!" This lasts several minutes and is quite uncomfortable (for both me AND the boob-e-full boobies), until I finally say "THAT'S ENOUGH" and physically remove her hands and try (usually unsuccessfully) to change the topic.
Epic fail.
All that usually does, is kick the stubborn drama-queen into full gear, and I get the "Well I didn't ASK to be the LAST baby! You had 3 (fingers up to prove her point) other babies before me and I don't want to be the littlest." No luck? She pulls out the cuddly soft side with "God puts the babies in there." matter-of-factly stated. Ooooh no... I know what she is REALLY saying: "Haha woman! I get the last laugh. You have ZERO say in whether another baby gets put in that sucker! I will just pray every night for a baby. And you will be SCREWED!"
When those questions get her no where, she puts the REAL baby questions into play! Sticking her finger into my belly button, she asks, "Is THIS where babies come out of?" "No", I tell her, "That is where babies get hooked inside their momma's tummies. Then after you are born, a doctor snips your umbilical chord off and you get a belly button in it's place." Hmmm. This always makes her ponder for a minute or two before she starts getting deeper and MUCH more persistant. "Where do they COME OUT OF then?"
Well, after several hmms and haws over THAT beaut of a question, the hubs had finally had enough. So the last time she asked, he stated, loudly and with hand gestures that I really wish I could emulate in writing, "They come from your VA-GI-NA!"
Cue hysterical giggles.
No seriously. That is what that statement did. She was uncontrollable! "Daddy is SILL-AY! Huh, momma?! That isn't where BABIES come out of!" "Oh yes it is", the hubs counters. "Babies come straight out the Hoo Hoo Express" Still giggling, she looks at her dad, then looks at me, to see me nodding my head in solemn (well, as solemn as I could muster after hearing the term "hoo hoo express" come out of my husband's mouth) agreement.
Huh. "Can I watch a movie?", she asks. Whew! Maybe, just maybe, the hubs has shut her up on the baby makin' questions!
Naw... She will be back at it again tomorrow. I'm sure. This girl sure is stubborn. I wonder where she gets it from?
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