Month: February 2004

It’s a sad day when you have to turn to the Internet to figure out the rules for playing checkers.

My son is apparently the greatest source of amusement my sister has in her life. Quite recently she had to walk away from us because she was laughing so hard she had to go to the bathroom. That was at the mall, where the three kids were picking out clothes for their new stuffed pals at Pawsandclaws or whatever that make-your-own bear place is. Junior had a monkey. His first outfit of choice? A tuxedo (which is funny – a monkey in a monkey suit, but I don’t think he knows any formalwear jokes so it probably wasn’t for that reason). When I nixed that, he went for blue silk pajamas. I forced a pair of jeans and a fleece vest on the monkey for day wear, and told Junior to get some shoes for him. He came back with brown loafers. I think that’s the point where my sister had to walk away. In the meantime, my niece was putting a J-Lo velour track suit on her kitty, and my nephew a camouflage outfit on a lion. I’ve got the kid picking out silk pjs and loafers. (Which we eventually swapped for sneakers.)

He’s a good kid, brilliant, loving, sweet, friendly, funny, smart (really!)…and yet…last night at her house he came out of her bathroom holding his ear, because he’d hit it on her toilet paper holder. Both my sister and I had the shoulder-shaking silent laughter going on. I actually had to make him show me how he did it, because there was no way on earth I could imagine how a male, standing to pee, could hit his ear on the toilet paper holder. (It involved peeking around the shower curtain to look in her tub, apparently.)

He also has a tendency to remove articles of clothing (what kid doesn’t?) but then he swings the item in his hand. It makes him look like a stripper. He did that in her kitchen last night, for no apparently reason, and while she tried to control a giggle fit, I could only say “If you’re going to be a stripper, just make sure you’re the best stripper you can be! I just want you to be happy!” in my best “mom” tone of voice. Which made her laugh harder.

I don’t really want him to be a stripper, by the way. I’ve got at least 12 years to get him interested in something else.

My Matchbox/Hotwheels ice cream truck collection just doubled in size…to 2. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Hey, why didn’t I know that Jody had an ice cream truck collection?” and the answer would be “because I never mentioned it.”

I don’t mention it because I don’t want the world inundating me with ice cream truck-related crap…I only bought the first one because of the Open Letter I wrote the the ice cream man. When a reporter from some Midwestern state actually contacted me for an interview about the article (!) I thought maybe it was my claim to fame. Or something.

So now I have two, because I bought one on Monday. It’s actually pretty creepy. I don’t know if kids would buy this one. It’s lime green with a big clown jack-in-the-box painted on the side, and a sign on the top says “Treats for Creeps.” Uh, okay. It also says “I scream” on the side. Ya, I’d buy something from THAT guy.

My original truck is cool because the door slides open and closed, and when you open it, the little man appears in the window to take your order. Now that’s a cool detail.

So please, do not send me more ice cream trucks. I wouldn’t want to have to rent space to house the collection.

Me: So you’ve just given up. You’re never going to even try to wipe you’re own butt? When you are forty, I’ll be seventy-three. You’re not going to want that.

Him: When I’m a grown-up, like a grandpa, there won’t be anyone to wipe my bum.

Me: No.

Him: So I’ll have to sit on the toilet the rest of my life until I die.

I am just flat out of funny. I’ve got nothing to say. Well, I have lots to say, and it would get me the Nobel Prize of Mundane-ity. You just don’t want to have to deal with that. If you do, you’re in a worse place than I am, really.

So I’ll just tell you what I’m having for dinner tonight. I went to Bob’s Turkey Farm in Lancaster with my parents the other day, and I picked up these little flash-frozen Thanksgiving dinner thingies. I think I decided on that because the chicken pot pie doesn’t have any veggies in it, and I didn’t want to be responsible for making sure I had some on whatever day I decided to make it. I mean, I have veggies, but sometimes only canned stuff, if I haven’t gotten to the store. (Not that I feel the need to explain this to all you vegans who just paled and removed my site from your list of bookmarks.)

Anyway, when you go into their store, it smells like Thanksgiving! What a way to get you to spend all your money on turkey products!