I'm a grandma!

My husband lubbed my last post so much he says I can count it as my valentine to him. (YAY, I'm off the hook.)


He said that post made him want to give me 100 fortune cookies just to see which ones will actually come true.


But he thinks that should count as his valentine to me. (cheap skate!)


It didn't take me long to figure out that he didn't actually read my post, he skimmed it and missed the whole point.


He thought I was seriously going to put on my flawless bronze legs and my thong and call him Jack in a Brazilian accent.


HELLO! I thought I made it perfectly clear that I left my flawless bronze legs in my pre-mortal life. I haven't seen them since 1967. And the only body part that has ever worn a thong is my feet.



Hey, guess what!? I don't need thereapy afterall. I found a Jack that I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH.


Jack Weyland. I don't love Jack Weyland!!!


When I read his book Sam in college, I tore it to pieces, poured Mountain Dew all over it and started it on fire. That was during my feminist phase so I threw my bra into the fire too.


And then I made s'mores.


When life hands you lemons, make s'mores. That's what I always say.





So peeps, I've been absent yet present again. It's because my daughter has been in labor.


It's so hard to watch your daughter in labor.


She's only 14 so of course it wasn't baby labor, it was mental labor.


But giving birth to ideas is exactly the same process as giving birth to babies.


An idea must be conceived then carried in your mind while it grows and grows until it makes you crazy uncomfortable and crazy cranky. Carrying an idea around wears you out. You begin retaining water. You get heartburn. You can't sleep at night.


And worst of all you can't fit into your old ideas anymore.


Well, this is exactly what my daughter's group has been going through with their history day project on John Adams. They have had the longest, hardest labor--with no epidural. I was tempted to perform an emergency C-section because John Adams is a huge baby! (And he has bad teeth too). He almost broke their poor little backs on his way out of their brains.


Once I got to help my neice give birth--baby birth, not idea birth. She was pushing that baby out for so long I thought her face was going to pop off. Because I hate seeing anyone curse, instinctively I jumped up and put my hands on her head and pushed down as hard as I could. Every time she pushed, I pushed.

To this day she says it didn't help her get that baby out, but I know it did.


So that's what I did for my daughter and her group last night. They were sweating and cursing and swearing they would never have another idea ever again, so I jumped up and put my hands on top of their heads and I pushed down as hard as I could until their ideas popped out.


My daughter and her group are now the proud parents of a brand new history day script.


And I'm a grandma!


(btw, love being a grandma! They have to perform it, block it, dress it, feed it, burp it and teach it how to walk. Hee hee All I have to do is sleep through the night and spoil it. I think I'm going to buy it an XBOX 360 next week. And Rock Band too, of course.)

My daughter took a sick day today but should be fully recovered shortly.

No gifts necessary, but thanks.

.....................

p.s. Here's a birthday shout out to one of my very favorite blogging buddies ever. You go, LoW. You're almost over the hill. LY, LoW!!!

Lub my Hub

My BBFF, Funny Farmer is such a funny farmer. She has, as of late, been concerned about my standing in my marriage.


I told her that my standing is fine--it's the sitting that gets tedious.


So this post is for Funny Farmer and all of you who are curious george about my tendency to fall in love with unavailable famous Jacks.



If you must know all the boring details of my life . . . I lub my hub.


There, I said it!


In fact, I would go so far as to say I lub my hub-a-dub-dub.


He's like an ole comfy pair of jeans that I can pull on for every occasion (except blogging).


I lub that I don't have to picture him in his underwear to keep from getting tongue tied and twisted when he talks to me. (Okay, that came out the wrong way and only a handful of you will get it--sorry.)


I lub that I don't have to put on my flawless bronze legs to impress him. Flawless bronze legs are a dime a dozen around these parts, but tired, overwhelmed wives with ginormous hair who can't keep the house clean are harder to come by.


I lub that he gets that.


I lub that he is totally cool about me calling him Jack, as long as I say it with a brazilian accent and matching thong.


Something to work towards.


I lub that he lets me fall in love with any Jack or Jill I want, as long as they're unavailable and famous.


BTW, I thought of two more Jacks to add to my list--Jack Sparrow and Jack Sprat. And Kristina P. suggested Jack Daniels, which I'm considering as an alternate.



My husband suggested Jack the ripper, which I'm considering as an alternate to that alternate.


I'm not in love with any of them yet because none of them have made me think deep thoughts about life or about kissing.


(Jack Sprat hasn't anyway.)




So bottom line, peeps. I lub my hub THIS MUCH! And I lub my Jacks this much.



What can I say, I've got me a big heart, (and there's plenty of room for everyone).

Grab your reading glasses and a Code Red

Seriously, go grab a Code Red because my kids think this post is going to crash and burn!

(Get it . . . crash and burn!)

(And it will very likely self destruct in 24 hours.)


Pay attention to the fine print because I learned a new skill today.


Remember when I had the best day ever thanks to Jack Johnson?

And remember how weird he acted when I asked him about Curious George and the man with the yellow hat?

And remember how we became best friends and I then I realized that famous people are people too so I made a vow never to post photos of him again?

Well I lied.

We didn't really become best friends.

And I'm going to post more photos.

But in my defense, the photos were taken accidentally.

I kid you not.

He and his lovely cool-cat wife and his super cute l'il boys just happened to sit down right in front of me at my daughter's soccer game today so how could I NOT accidentally take photos of him, huh? huh? huh?

When the universe sets up a photo op, you don't ask why, peeps!

So after sitting behind JJ and his LC-C wife and SC L'il boys, I learned a thing or two that might not be common knowledge, like who he eats bananas with and who he voted for. Oh, and where he gets his special powers.

So why not share?

First:

I think he should hire me to shoot his next 3-D album cover.

Second:





Third:


The man with the yellow hat is alive and well:


And finally (and most importantly):



(Now if that doesn't get me at least one more vote for BEST HUMOR BLOG I don't know what will.)

P.S. It's April's birthday today. Let's to cover her blog with streamers! Happy Birthday April!! LY!!

Oh wait, it's T's birthday too!(belated) And Shelle's anniversary. PaRtAy! LY T!! LY Shelle!!