|Thank you to Marian at Just Keep Swimming for letting me play with the cool kids on the blog playground!|
Remember playing Telephone when you were a kid?
You and your friends sat in a group, someone would start a silly story and end with a dramatic cliffhanger, then the person next to you continued telling the story, etc...etc. The stories always took a drastic turn to the silly and ridiculous and it usually ended it someone peeing their pants. Errr...maybe that's what's happening with all of us silly mamas writing this story. Get your coffee, pretend like you're doing something important and read on...it's my turn to continue Swimming Telephone tag, started by one of my favorite fellow bloggers - Marian at Just Keep Swimming. It’s the blogger version of Telephone – and it’s got some of the funniest bloggers putting their 2 cents in. In this game of Telephone, our heroine is a mama having the MOTHER of All Bad Days. So far we’ve discovered…
- Mama’s 3 year old son escaped and had a junior joy-ride in the driveway (Nicole at Ninja Mom)
- Her middle child got tattooed with a Sharpie by his big sister, complete with an f-bomb shout-out (Kristina at There’s No Time For Pants!)
- Big sister got a lovely reverse mohawk from middle-child brother (Robyn at Hollow Tree Ventures)
- The new school year begins tomorrow
- And to top it off? Our heroine’s mother-in-law just showed up
- Robyn chimes in with "You Must Be Kidding" & panics as company arrives
- Finally, JD from Honest Mom donates her laughs with "Thank God for Grandma" which you can read in full below..
Here's the previous post from JD with “Thank God for Grandma” . My contribution starts with "It IS 5 o'clock somewhere!
Thank God for Grandma?
“Grandma’s here!!!” my daughter shrieked, and she and Tattoo Boy dashed for the door. Mohawk Girl flung open the door and greeted my mother-in-law with:
“Grandma! Guess what?”
“Um, school starts tomorrow?” My bespectacled MIL asked, playing along.
“No! I made brother into a tiger! And we played beauty shop!”
Now, my MIL is no fool. The woman raised five boys and two girls and she knows what “beauty shop” means.
She turned Mohawk Girl around to witness the horror.
She rolled up Tattoo Boy’s sleeves to witness the art.
And then she took in my get-up (hadn’t changed out of my peek-a-boo PJ shirt), took in the look on my face, and took charge.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You go put some clothes on,” MIL dictated. “I will keep Mr. Arty Arms here and clean him off. Permanent marker is no match for this grandma,” she muttered to herself, taking off the boy’s shirt. She stopped short when she read the f-bomb on his arm.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How does she even KNOW that word?” she gasped, making the sign of the cross. “Apparently the girl needs some Bible reading. When was the last time you went to church, anyway?” She looked at me accusingly.
My mouth opened. Then shut. I had no words.
MIL shook her head and the instructions continued: “You take Miss Hairdo out to get that catastrophe fixed. And little Mr. Man here…” she trailed off. “Where is Mr. Man, anyway?”
OMG. Where was Mr. Man?
I booked it into the kitchen and something told me to look down. I did. And what did I see?
A red-crayon-drawn line all the way through the kitchen, leading into the dining room, over into the playroom.
“Mommy! I drew a paff for you to follow!” hollers Mr. Man from the playroom.
I can’t see him. Where is he???
I follow the “paff” and what do I find?
Mr. Man hanging from the rafters. Literally. HANGING FROM THE RAFTERS.
My MIL comes up behind me with the two hellions in tow.
“Is it too early for a glass of wine?” I whisper to her.
“Well,” she ponders, “It is 5 o’clock somewhere.”
It IS Five o' clock somewhere! by DG
Pfffft! I can't start drinking yet can I? Yes. Yes I can. But first, I grab the kitchen bar stool, climb up unsteadily, and grab Mr. Man from the rafters as he giggles and yells, "Mama look at me! I'm a monkey!"
My mother-n-law watches with an expression that is one part disapproval, two parts empathy - she's been down this road before - and her son, my husband is severely flawed in more ways than I or he would like to admit so she knows to keep a lid on it for now. As I put Mr. Man at the table, I do what I do best, pre-occupy him with a snack, and the others immediately follow. Chocolate in the morning? Yes. And though I haven't even cleaned up their egg-filled breakfast dishes, I immediately toss them each a chocolate-y snacky-type bar and fill their cups for the third time already today - I'm certain I will do this at least 10 more times before noon. My mother- n -law decides to take a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to Tattoo Boy's arm.
She has more patience and will to get this task done than I do, so I quickly pour another cup of coffee and think I'll pour some Bailey's Irish Cream directly into my coffee cup only to find that my husband has put the bottle back with approximately 3 droplets left. Why does he put empty things back on the shelf? I'd like to ask my mother- n- law but I bite my tongue. Mommy's little helper will have to wait until wine o'clock, much later after I get these children fixed. I am a bit horrified that my mother n law is scrubbing the f word off of her grandson with a magic sponge, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I catch my reflection in the mirror in horror. Last night's makeup and hair, and I'm still dealing with a wedgie from hell. I have to do something about Mohawk Girl's hair, Tattoo Boy's arm is now missing several layers of skin, and Mater's Manager is plotting his next move. I inform my Mother- n -Law that I'm going to run to the bathroom to get my face on and get ready to go and drag myself down the hallway. When I open the door to the bathroom, I am stunned to find something that is about to make my morning look like a walk in the park....
What is that poor woman going to find in the bathroom? I pass the sticky keyboard (sorry for the crumbs, chomp chomp), along with my empty bottle of Bailey's to the brilliantly funny Bethany at Bad Parenting Moments for the next piece of this crazy puzzle!