Can a woman be a cherry popper? Up until yesterday I had never really thought about it. However, as the events of the day unfolded.. I had the strongest desire, for the first time in my life, to be a Cherry popper.

Let me back up. We had an unplanned party Friday night. My broken ankle son had a few friends over. About 15 minutes after they arrived, teenagers started crawling out of the woodwork, around 30 total. All in all it wasn’t too bad. We had one freak accident that resulted in a broken window and the police were called a couple of times by my neighbor who complains about everything. Both times the police officers just told us to keep the noise down and that was that. It was by no stretch of the imagination a wild party. It was actually very calm.

Then yesterday, I was outside with the kids when I got ambushed by my police calling neighbor, Cherry. No shit.. that’s her name. I have no idea if that’s what her momma named her, but I’m hoping so. She’s a rather large woman and I just can’t imagine anyone that looks like she does calling herself Cherry if that isn’t her name. Anyway, she’s not very nice and I think she has the police department on speed dial.

Not long after they moved in, she called me in the middle of the day to gripe about the kids being too loud, when they were really only being normal kid loud, there just happened to be a lot of them. I kept saying “Huh? What? I can’t hear you?” Trying to act like I couldn’t hear her over the loud kids, but she assumed I had a hearing problem.

This has ended up being kinda fun and has worked to my advantage on several occasions. Now she shouts when she talks to me, and regardless of what she’s saying I usually wave and yell, “Great thanks! How are you?” and walk off.. yeah I know.. I’m mean, but whatever.. she’s a bitch. We’ve had a couple of other issues, but for the most part we mutually try to avoid each other.

Anyway, a while back Cherry’s husband paid big bucks to have this really nice, already mature, Japanese tree hauled out to their house on a big flatbed truck and planted in their yard in her honor. It’s a Weeping Cherry, that she named “Cherry” which alternately makes me want to puke or laugh my ass off, I never can decide which. It used to be a lovely Weeping Cherry, much lovelier than Nagging Cherry…

  
Okay, that is her tree which obviously has problems because it’s Spring and it hasn’t bloomed yet, nor did it last year; but that’s not really her. It’s a close resemblance, but unlike the chick in the photo, Cherry is very much a prude and she doesn’t smile. Especially when it comes to that tree.

She started off saying that we had a situation, so I replied with my standard huh. She moves in closer and repeats herself but louder this time… “We have a situation! Last night one of your guests, broke a limb off my Weeping Cherry. I’m going to need to call a tree doctor or an expert of some sort to come look at it.”

So being hard of hearing, I asked her who Jerry was and what limb he broke.. was it his leg, arm.. and how it happened.

Exasperated but determined to be heard, she started shouting in my ear and pointing at the tree. My humor was starting to fade because they probably paid several hundred bucks for the tree, having it delivered and getting it planted. It was obvious where the conversation was going and I was beginning to get more than a little ticked off.

I told her, “I have no idea what’s wrong with your tree but I know for a fact nothing happened to it because of any of our guests last night. I personally watched them the whole time and they didn’t go anywhere near your yard.”

Which is the truth. Well it’s partly true. A few of them did go into her yard and piss on her roses after she called the police the second time, but they positively did not go anywhere near the opposite side of her house where the tree is located. Plus, by this time, we had made our way over to the tree and I looked all up under and around it. There were no broken limbs… so screw her. I KNOW this didn’t happen.

She yelled, “I’m telling you one of them popped a limb off Cherry!” So I yelled back, “What?? Someone popped your cherry? I’m confused I thought we were talking about your tree.” She made some kind of noise that sounded like wounded moose and mumbled under her breath something about me being “sooo vulgar”, which of course I could do nothing but stand there and grin because I couldn’t hear her you know and.. well she kinda had me on that one.

Anyway, I asked to see the limb or at least for her to point out where one had been broken off, and she claimed she couldn’t show me the limb because she had already disposed of it. She kept talking about the damn thing like it was a body part, saying it couldn’t be reattached, but the wound would need special bandages, blah, blah, blah. She never did show me the wound she was referring to, nor did I see any signs of one.

Fine, she had no proof to back up her accusations.. I figured I could do the same damn thing and started making accusations of my own, which I whole heartedly believe to be true, “All I see wrong is the part that has been dying for some time now. Is that what you are referring to? Are you trying to claim someone here messed up your tree so you can try to make me buy you a new one or pay for your tree expert.. since it OBVIOUSLY needs help?”

She got pissed and sputtered out her non-appreciation of me implying that she was a liar. I had enough at this point and told her. “I’m not implying a damn thing. I’m flat out calling you a liar because I know they didn’t touch your tree. However, if anything happens to your roses…….” and I walked off.

The last I saw, she was scurrying off to inspect her roses, with that mouth going a mile a minute.. “My roses? What did they do to my roses? I have you know those roses are…..” I have no idea what followed.

I went inside before my desire to be a Cherry popper became a reality.

37 Groovy Comments

I just returned from a torturous morning spent watching 20 plus 6 and 7 year old children in my daughter’s 1st grade class. Her teacher was running late due to car problems and my ever fickle child picked this morning to revert back to her kindergarten antics of not wanting to go into the building.

Last year out of the approximate 180 day school year we missed 154 of them, so fear of that horrible habit settling back in with her, had me dragging her into the school this morning kicking and screaming. When we got to her classroom we were met by one of the office staff, Joyce, who happens to be a friend of mine since this is my 10th consecutive year having a child in that school. She asked me to watch them for just a few minutes until the teacher arrived.

Did she care that I was in pajamas? Hell no she did not, she knows me for the “should have can’t say no tattooed on her forehead” person that I am and only replied.. “Yeah and you’ll still be in them when you pick her up this afternoon. Besides they are 1st graders, they won’t even notice. Really cute pajamas by the way.”

She started walking out of the room like it was a given that I would watch them. So I told her.. “But I’m not even wearing a bra!” She shrugged and told me as long as I wasn’t planning to whip a tit out she didn’t care and left the room. Bitch!

It took about 2 minutes before the little boy in her room, who has to be the spawn of Satan, came up to me and started giving me shit. I’m going to call him Aaron for various reasons. One being because I don’t want to give his freaky ass momma a reason to sue me if she ever reads this, but mainly because it fits with my song at the end of this post and it works out nicely for me.

Aaron is the class terror.. he is disruptive as hell, mean to the other students, mean to the teacher and he pisses in his pants EVERY frigging day. It doesn’t matter where he is, in the room, lunchroom, hallway.. wherever. He will ask to go to the bathroom, gets permission and stands up and pisses in his pants. His mother sends him a change of clothes.

Anyway, Aaron comes up to me and points out that I’m wearing pajamas. I said, “Yes I know. Have you been to the bathroom?” He turned around and wiggled his butt at me. So I told him to wiggle his bottom over to his chair and plant himself in it, while the rest of the class chanted out to watch out because he would pee on me. Oh hell no he will not, I thought but scooted out of his line of fire just in case he tried.

The kid just stood there staring at me, so I stared back determined to out stare him. The rest of the class was up out of their chairs doing I don’t know what and I really didn’t care. Right at the point that I really needed to blink he said, “You need to do something with that hair of yours.” I bit back the “fuck you” that was on the tip of my tongue since he was just a kid and said.. “I’m entering a beauty contest later.. don’t you think it looks good?” Out of the mouth of a six year old.. to an adult (who in the blink of an eye started acting like she was 6 years old too), the little brat says…

Aaron: “It looks like shit!”

Me: “Hey! You need to watch your mouth little man!”

Aaron: “I’m telling on you!”

Me: “Telling on me? What did I do?!?”

Aaron: “You’re being mean to me.”

Me: “I haven’t done anything to you but tell you to sit back down.”

Class: (chorus) “He’s going to pee on you! He’s going to pee on you!”

Me: “Everyone be quiet! Sit down in your chairs and do.. yeah whatever.. something quiet. That includes you too.”

As I pierced the damn brat with a stare that said “or I’m going to kick your ass”, which was a waste of a good I’m going to kick your ass stare because it didn’t phase him.

Aaron: “I’m going to bite you.”

Me: “Have you had your rabies shot?”

Aaron: “What’s that?”

Me: “Never mind. If you bite me, I’m going to bite you back.”

Aaron: “I’m telling on you!!! My mom is gonna be mad at you!”

Me: “Tell your mom kid.. I’d like to talk to her too and tell her what a brat you are. Wait! Her name isn’t Candy is it?”

If it was Candy (aka Big Bertha), I was planning on doing some real quick ass kissing because that woman scares the hell out of me and could kick my ass without even working up a sweat.

Joyce: (enters the room) “How’s it going? Just checking on you in here. It’s kind of loud, we can hear the commotion all the way down in the office.”

Aaron: “She said she was going to bite me!”

Joyce: “What?!?”

Class Chant: “Ms. Cathy’s gonna bite Aaron!” “Aaron’s gonna pee on Ms. Cathy!” “Ms. Cathy’s in her pajamas!” “She needs to comb her hair!”

My traitorous flesh and blood child: “She doesn’t have on a bra.”

Aaron: “I have to go to the bathroom!”

Me: “That’s it! I’m outta here.”

I yelled bye to my daughter, ran as fast as I could away from all those mini Satans in 6 year old bodies and Piss Aaron before he had time to whip it out and aim.

49 Groovy Comments

Around this time last year I was sporting a lovely black cast from my knee down due to.. okay let’s call it what it was.. stupidity. There is no other word to describe 4 broken bones in the foot of a 43 year old woman that just knew she could grind a rail on a skateboard because her sons made it look so easy.. and like so much fun. Trust me it’s neither.

Anyway, last night, in what looks to be a yearly trend, another skateboarding accident took place. This time it was my 15 year old son that was hurt, not me. He landed some kick flip vert doodad hickey majigger wrong and landed standing up on his ankle. Ouch! Since he couldn’t walk on it at all, and the last time he broke a bone I told him he was fine (I know.. I’m a bad mom) and waited a whole day before I took him to see about it, I figured we better not take a chance on this one. Plus it had swollen up to the size of a cantaloupe and it scared me.

So off we go to the emergency room where we spent way too many hours to be told to put ice on it until we could see an orthopedic specialist this morning. They did, however, give him some really good drugs, which was great for him, but sucked for me since it was 4:20am when we finally got home and he was out like a light.

Hmm.. what to do? He is 5 inches taller than me, weighs about 20 pounds more than I do, no one is around to help me get him in the house and I can’t wake him up. So I did what any good mom would do, I went and got him a blanket and some pillows and left him in the car. I did lock it though so he would be safe. No I didn’t really. I did get the blankets and pillows but I stayed out there with him until around 6:15 this morning when my neighbor knocked on the car door and woke us up wanting to know why the hell we were sleeping in the car.

Anyway, after seeing the orthopedic specialist this morning, we now know that my poor baby has a 3rd degree sprain which they say is worse than a broken ankle.. but lucky him.. he has two broken bones in his ankle too. Apparently, there is an inner and an outer bone, the outer one is broken, the inner is fractured. Oh! And he tore the ligaments. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about any of it until the swelling goes down, so until then he has to wear one of those boot brace thingies and use crutches.

This is what a pissed off 15 year old looks like when you won’t let him stay home by himself while you go to pick up your other children from school…

I couldn’t leave him alone. I had a fear the house was going to catch fire, explode, have a gas leak or something and he wouldn’t be able to move swiftly enough to get out in time.. so he had to go with me.

Now, for your viewing pleasure, hahaha.. this is a video of his and his skateboarding buddies in Atlanta last week. It shows them in action and pretty much how an injury of this nature could take place. I believe I kind of upset him when I remarked, “Geez! It’s no wonder you broke your ankle.. you guys are terrible!” Then he very haughtily informed me that this was a video of their bloopers. Yeah, sure.. whatever you say sugar, but I certainly hope it is, otherwise they should just hang it up.

I am very proud of his video making ability though. I think he did a great job on it…

This next extremely short clip that takes place at some house I’ve never seen before.. see how good of a mom I am? I don’t even know where my child was when he tried to win the stupidest stunt of the year award. Anyway, this one shows why I should consider myself lucky that he just has a broken ankle and not a broken neck…

In case your wondering.. yes, he gets his graceful moves from his mom.

30 Groovy Comments

And whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few of my favorite things. Umm no, they’re not. I do like the raindrops on roses and sometimes those brown paper packages can have some vibrating-ly good surprises inside, but are they some of my favorite things? Pfft, hardly!

What are some of my favorite things? Blogs! There are some absolutely wonderful blogs out there, that I visit daily, covering a variety of topics. It’s a very difficult thing to pick just a handful out of so many and label them as my favorites.. however…

Cathy, an unbelievably talented blogger/writer, has tagged me. Woohoo! I’m on her list of favorite blogs! I’m extremely honored, not only to be considered a favorite by someone whose wit and style I truly admire, but also the company on her list with whom she placed me. The woman just left me speechless I tell you.. and that is a HARD thing to do.

Now I have the extremely difficult task of choosing 5 of my favorite blogs out of the many and bestowing the same fate on them. Listed in no specific order, some of my favorites are…

When Your Only Tool Is A Hammer
Fantastic blog by a stay at home dad who takes me on strolls down memory lane, makes me think and usually has me laughing out loud. I’ve found he is a wonderful way to start off my day.

Jennyhaha’s Flaw & Disorder
Funny, quick witted mom of three with a quirky sense of humor that I love. I picture her writing with a smile on her face and I mirror that smile while reading her posts.

Once Upon A Time
A beautiful real life fairy tale of a Vancouver mermaid and a Montreal photographer, who met, fell in love, and are working on their happily ever after.

I Eat Snowman Poop
A refreshing, no holds barred blog where you can find a little bit of everything discussed in an insightful, humorous and straight-forward “in your face” manner.

Nucking Futs
This one is my blog crush. Feisty as hell red-head who puts herself out there with a like it or leave it attitude. Her blog screams at me every time I visit.. “You know you would love me in real life!”

Whew! That was incredibly hard because there are so many more that rank right up there with those five. Like the ones that have already been listed by others doing this meme, the ones that teach me something new, save me money, make me laugh out loud, long for my children to still be small, think outside of the box and take my mind places my body has never been. The list could just go on, and on, and on.

Thank you all kindly for letting me peek into your corner of the world and adding to my ever growing list of favorite things that brighten my day.

When the dog bites. When the bee stings. When I’m feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.

30 Groovy Comments

Some people spit, some people swallow. Personally, I’ve always been a spitter and feel pretty confident I’ll always be one. There are just some things that (I think) are not meant to be swallowed.. EVER. However, there are those people in the world that can swallow most anything and not even gag. Then there are others that go ahead and swallow but practically throw up in their mouth because they can’t control the gag reflex that immediately follows when a gross substance is sliding its way down their throat.

Unfortunately, the option to be a spitter or a swallower without causing a disruptive scene has been taken away from us. Even more unfortunate is the fact that unless you are a professional with outdated equipment, there is absolutely nothing you can do about this travesty. Me being the non-professional, self-proclaimed spitter that I am, I think this sucks.

Now take my youngest son for example, he is a swallower-cum-gagger. I know this because he swallowed then gagged, which subsequently set off a chain reaction of me gagging and then his little sister. Hell, the whole incident affected her so adversely that she had to go running for the bathroom where she stood over the toilet dry heaving for 5 minutes. Luckily, my gagging fit was manageable since I only experience a couple of “Mmmuh.. mmmuh..” episodes while in the midst of a conversation.

It was a very gross moment for all of us. However, in my son’s defense it really wasn’t his fault since he had no idea he could spit if he wanted to. Some of you may be wondering how it’s possible he didn’t know this. I find nothing strange about it at all considering that each of the dental facilities he has visited are relatively new and no longer have the old fashioned spit sink that used to sit next to the patient’s chair. Now everything is done with suction. If you want to actually spit, you have to tell the dentist so he can stop what he is doing, get up and spit in the main sink located on the other side of the room.

Now tell me, if you happen to be a spitter too, just how frigging inconvenient is that crap? Personally, it pisses me off. There should be a spit sink damn it!

49 Groovy Comments