This is the title of a book I’m reading by comedian Jim Gaffigan. It’s pretty funny. I recommend it for all you parents out there. Lots to relate to. For me it’s him talking about how pale he and his children are. I totally get that. He even graced his book with a picture of himself in his swim shirt. I get that too.
My four-year-old has a full-body swimsuit. It’s actually called a rash guard–what surfers wear to avoid getting a rash from contact with their board. Why they make these in size 4 I’ll never understand. I can’t exactly picture my little girl hanging 10. But it was in the hand-me-down bag from another family, and since I’m cheap, I kept it. Plus, since two-thirds of my children are redheads, all the skin coverage they can get is for the better. In case you’ve never noticed, red hair=white skin. Look up pictures of your favorite red-headed actress and you’ll see what I mean.
The other third of my children may actually have been switched at birth. I seriously suspect this because she is capable of tanning. However, for myself (my mom is a redhead and I got her skin pigmentation but not the tell-tale excuse of the gorgeous red hair. Thanks for only passing on the lame genes, Mom!) and those two redheads of mine, the sun is our enemy. Sadly, I live in San Diego county, only a few miles from the coast; therefore, beach=fun fun happy fun time for children, and arch-nemesis for me. At least I’ve got my youngest mostly covered.
Of course wearing a rash guard anywhere other than the lower half of the West Coast or Hawaii just looks weird. This past summer we were in Ohio at a lake. I suddenly, for the first time, felt very self-conscious about my daughter’s wardrobe. “What a cute swimsuit,” someone said. “Is she Amish?” Read the rest of this entry
It was my fault, really. I spotted the butterfly just standing there on our back patio. I called the girls over to see it. They came on tiptoes. Then they sat in awe and spoke in hushed tones, not wishing to disturb it or scare it away.
Attempts to get them to eat breakfast were thwarted by the mystique of the orange, black, and white. Soon sketch pads came out and whole pages were being devoted to the majesty of the monarch.
Suddenly the silence was broken as one girl called out to me a curt but anguished, “Mom!” I rushed to the scene, sensing the distress in her voice. Read the rest of this entry
As the expression goes, when it rains it pours, which is ironic considering we’re in a severe drought and heat wave here in So Cal.
Anyhow, it’s like our house is falling apart. Last week there was an electrician and an AC guy here. Yesterday I had a linoleum guy come a-calling. Today was a banner day–a plumber and two more AC guys.
I commented to my husband that I had gentlemen callers in and out of here all day like I’m running a brothel. Then I pointed out that in a day or two the linoleum guy and the plumber would be back for a second round.
I tried to put on my best “seductive” pose, (I use that term very loosely–ah, pun!) but it backfired. Read the rest of this entry
My seven-year-old was learning how the Romans borrowed the concept of the gods from the Greeks, but had changed the gods’ names. She noticed that many of them shared their names with planets.
My nine-year-old then ticked off the planet gods in order from the sun and even stated their Greek counterparts (because she’s a total nerd). Then she made an observation. Read the rest of this entry
Seeing that a friend had a “No Soliciting” sign on her door, I decided to get one of my own, as I get knocks far too frequently for my liking. I am almost never presentable, (See “Mommy goes out on the town, before and after“) which makes these regrettable encounters all the worse, for the other person.
So even though I had the sign, it wasn’t yet up in the window of the door when some gentleman, probably from a solar panel company who was “doing work on others houses in my neighborhood,” as they always somehow seem to be, showed up.
Before I even let him speak I said, Read the rest of this entry
My husband could attest to just how obnoxious I can be when I’m full of my own cleverness. I tell you, no one can laugh at my jokes the way I can. I had a real doozy last night that I woouuuuuld share, but it would probably offend some people.
Instead, let me relay to you the opening lines of a thank you card I just constructed in response to something that happened the last weekend of July. Read the rest of this entry
(as if I need more reasons)
I wanted him to get the kids ready for bed because I was wrapping presents for our daughter’s birthday the next day. I said to him, “Could you please get the kids ready for bed? I’m taking care of some business…involving Tupac.”
He automatically knew what I was talking about. (Tupac = Read the rest of this entry