Ever-Lovin'

There is a phrase that I am fond of repeating.

Actually, I have no choice because the reason for my favorite phrase happens on a daily occurrence.

I have five sons who scream just to hear themselves do it.

It seems to be their favorite pastime.

Throughout the day, I am constantly yelling, "Shut up!", or "Stop it!", or "Be quiet!", or when I've really had it, "Shut the *&%$ up!"

Well, not really, but that's what I'm thinking by the end of the day while I'm grabbing my hair and pulling what is left of it by the scalp.

There are times when I've given a blow-by-blow description of my day to Doc and my usual phrase ends up in the conversation.

"He was screaming his ever-lovin' head off!"

Again, this is a daily occurrence and I am forever repeating that particular phrase.

It's no wonder that Grumpy has picked it up himself.

Sneezy was ready for his nap this morning and we all knew it was time because the child made his bad temper more than obvious.

Grumpy took it upon himself to deposit the bad-tempered tyrant in jail, er bed and shut the door.

After he trooped downstairs, he informed me, "He is screaming his ever-lovin' head off!"

Ghastly

Ghastly.

I love that word.

It's the kind of word that you have to say with an English accent.

Ghastly.

Every time I hear it or read it, I laugh.

I can't seem to help myself. Just the sound of it rolling off my tongue emits giggles out of my mouth.

I then wonder how I can use it in my every day life.

What would I describe as ghastly?

Well, maybe the kitchen floor after dinnertime.

Yes. I would say that was ghastly.

Or, maybe the bathroom floor around the toilet after the boys have used it.

Definitely ghastly.

Even possibly, that one time when I was stranded on the road with five children and two flat tires.

That was definitely a time that exuded ghastliness.

Is that a word? If not, it should be. There are times in my life where that word should be used and laced with scathing sarcasm.

I wouldn't be averse to using it as a mild profanity, either.

It makes one feel quite brilliant actually when describing a scene that one would call revolting in the extreme.

Or just mildly disgusting.

The word ghastly should be used at all occasions of ghastliness if only to make one feel better.

Disgusting Stuff

"You know what, Mom?"

"What, Sleepy?"

"Inside your eye is disgusting stuff."

"Oh." I take a moment to laugh.

"Yeah. Bashful and Grumpy looked into my eye and said there is disgusting stuff in there."

Okay, then.

A Round, Little Plug

One evening, while visiting my parents, I decided to give my rank toddler a bath.

I plopped him down on the floor and looking into the tub, my face scrunched into confusion. This was an older tub and didn't have any mechanism to plug it up. I knew my parents had a special plug for it, but I couldn't find it anywhere.

So, I yelled down the stairs, "Mom! Where's the plug to the bathtub?"

To prove that I am getting old in more ways than one, I thought I heard her say it was on the floor next to the tub.

The only plug I could see was the toilet plunger.

"Huh," I muttered, and grabbed it.

I stuck that dang toilet plunger into the tub to see if it would plug up.

As I pushed it down, it popped right back up and I said to Sneezy, "They can't be using the toilet plunger to plug up the bathtub."

My face was a study in confusion as I yelled down the stairs, "Do you mean the toilet plunger, Mom?" just to make sure our wires weren't crossing.

In order for her deaf daughter to hear her, she raised her voice and said, "The plug is on the shelf in the bathtub."

"Oh," and there it was. A round, little plug.

This was definitely one of my dumbest moments.

Bashful comes in the house after having a rousing, good time outside playing with some neighborhood boys.

He bypasses the kitchen and troops downstairs to the bathroom.

He happily explains to me that there is yet another boy to play with while turning on the bathroom faucet.

I interrupt his dialogue to inform him that we do have cups in the kitchen and he is quite able to fill one with water from the kitchen sink.

The boy looks at me as if I have suggested something totally incomprehensible. His expression was like, "Why would I do something like that?" and proceeded to bend over and put his mouth in the running water.

I'm raising a bunch of barbarians.

Waiting for the Mail

This morning, I announced to the boys that two new movies would be arriving in the mail soon.

Happy anticipated this with bated breath.

He even knew what time the mail lady usually arrived and asked if he could go outside and get the mail.

He put on a mismatched outfit and shoes and trudged out the door.

After a while, I came out of my daze and noticed that there was no Happy exclaiming his excitement and waving the tell-tale red envelopes in the air.

I called and called for him in the house and then Grumpy noticed that Happy was still outside.

We realized that the mail hadn't arrived yet because Happy had decided to lie down on the ground and wait for it come.

No Time for A Sock

It was time to go to another birthday party.

We were rushing out the door as usual when I noticed that Grumpy had yet to put some socks on. I told him to go find some and went out to the car. I mentally crossed my fingers and thought, "He can find his own socks, for Pete's sake! He's nine!"

We sat in the car and waited for him to come out so that we could be on our way.

We arrived at the party all accounted for and I told the boys to take their shoes off when we got in the door.

I was talking to a friend of mine when she looked behind me and started laughing.

I turned around and there was Grumpy with only one sock on.

"Wha....where is your other sock?" I demanded huffily.

He sheepishly replied, "I couldn't find another one."

Chocolate and Exercise

A few months back, my husband bought an exercise bike.

Oh, joy.

I pointed to the general direction of the TV and said he better put it there if he expects it to be used at all.

I love to kill two birds with one stone.

I have neglected that poor bike and dust has settled over it for the past couple (okay, maybe a few) weeks.

Last night, I discovered a box of Ghiardelli chocolate-covered pretzels.

Considering my weakness for chocolate and the empty bag this morning, maybe I should dust off that exercise bike.

Nostalgic Chicken

One beautiful summer day, Doc, the boys, and I were visiting beautiful West Virginia and my family.

We were sitting out on the deck scattered around in chairs and Mom was making dinner for us all.

She made fried chicken and homemade French fries.

We sat outside and enjoyed our feast and ever since then, I've craved that meal with more than just hunger pains.

Tonight, I'm making a dummed-down version of that meal.......shake-n-bake......because I can't make fried chicken.

I am making homemade French fries, though.

I'm going to eat this meal with Doc and the boys and I'm going to miss you, Mom.

Now, I better go before I burn it.

My Buddy

My parents have the cutest dog in the world.

He is a cocker spaniel and his name is Buddy.

He is aptly named because he is my dad's buddy. He loves cuddling with him in his favorite chair or sleeping with him in bed.

Buddy is twelve years old now and deaf as a doorknob. (or is it doornail? Whatever.)

He is a barking dog and now that he is older there are times when he doesn't realize that there are people walking their dogs on the street and my parents will get a reprieve from the ferocious barking and snarling of teeth (a little exaggerated, of course, for dramatic purposes).

He will occasionally see the passing car by chance and bark his ever-lovin' head off and I'll hear my mom yell the usual, "Buddy!" and I often wonder if he even hears her. He can still see her face, though, and the firm, no-nonsense look she gives him quiets the dog, but I can tell how hard it is for him not to bark by the continued rumbling in his throat.

While visiting about a week ago, Buddy became my cuddle buddy. This wasn't a good thing, though. That meant Buddy was lieing on the couch next to me. Which wasn't allowed.

Oops.

I should have realized since Mom's couch is white.

White.

Buddy is black as midnight and has fur as soft as the softest stuffed animal. Grumpy would have been pea-green with envy. So, when Buddy jumped onto the couch and snuggled up next to me, I thought he was allowed and it was perfectly fine with me. I enjoyed running my fingers through his silky hair.

So, when Dad told Buddy to get off the couch, I joked, "I'm just his sister. He won't listen to me."

Throughout my visit, Buddy got to be bad. I think that's why he liked me so much. We spent the whole week cuddling together on the couch.

At the end of my visit, Mom took Buddy for a walk and he came in with dirty paws. He immediately jumped onto the couch and left Buddy-size paw prints on her very white couch. Since I was in the kitchen at the time all I heard was, "Buuuudddddyyyyy!!!" in a Mother-is-exasperated-voice.

Poor Buddy. I come to visit and now he's in trouble.