By Heather O.
I ate a marble yesterday. Well, ok, I didn’t swallow it, but I did put it in my mouth and try to chew. Now, a normal person would have said, “My goodness, this isn’t a jellybean, it’s really a colored marble my son has tossed into his Easter basket. Silly me!” Not me. No sirree. I bore down real hard, thinking, “This is the freakin’ stalest gumball I’ve ever eaten.” Good thing I have hard teeth.
Our neighborhood has a cute tradition of putting out rabbit footprints all over the street and on driveways and stuff, to show that the Easter Bunny has been there. Apparently, some members of the HOA do it, and apparently, trekking through the neighborhood with a bunny foot making machine is not the boring job you would think it would be, especially if you happen to be drunk. The drunkeness could also explain the interesting traffic pattern choices our particular Easter Bunny made. Someone actually had to call the cops on Mr. Bunny’s helpers because they got a little rowdy after their foot stamping escapades, and people didn’t want them to wake up their little darlings and ruin the whole dang thing. I guess Mr. Bunny’s helpers have a lot to learn from Santa’s elves. Or vice versa, depending on how you look at it.
My kid finally has some interest in watching Disney’s Cinderella, which, as far as I know, shows no violence whatsoever other than some pumpkin mutilation and some feline intimidation, which at our house doesn’t pass for violence but rather nature at its best. I heard my musical genius of a son in the bathtub the other night, singing angelically, “A dreeeeaaaam is a wiiiiiish your heeeaaarrt makes….wheeen you haaaave a BOMB!” followed by some impressive explosion noises and a mighty splash that covered my bathroom floor with water. I can only pray he doesn’t have terrorist intentions towards palaces in general, and that watching Cinderella hasn’t scarred him for life.
DH and I thought we might like to take our son to the new TMNT movie (That’s shorthand for ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’, for those of you whose lives do not revolve around this truly freaky phenomenon). Before I sprang it on J that we would go, I read a review, just to see if this was really something we wanted to subject ourselves to. The critic called the movie TOOIFM, which, upon further reading, stands for “Totally Out Of It’s Freakin’ Mind.” Educational and unbiased, that’s what I like about critic’s reviews. And nothing says high quality child’s flick like “It’s the perfect vehicle for an actor like Zhang to continue practicing English.” And that was under the “What’s good about it” section. Yeah, we rushed right over there, simply because the man who normally pulls out our fingernails for fun was on vacation, and we had no other torture option available for the evening.
What’s going on at your house?
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