*No actual flies were hurt in the making of this blog post*
Have you ever thought about what people might think if they saw what goes on behind-the-scenes at your home? Do you ever wonder what it would be like to catch a glimpse of someone else’s daily life? Here is your chance! Today, 12 bloggers are inviting you into their homes (or their subconscious) to be a fly on the wall. Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:
Whew…it takes forever to put in those links, so the least you can do is click on each one! AFTER…you buzz around my house for a while…
*CUE CREEPY MUSIC and EVIL LAUGH*
Man-Child: “I had so much fun hanging with daddy the other day.”
Me: “That’s awesome! It sounded like you had a BIG time.”
Man-Child: “Yeah…you know what we should do?”
Man-Child: “We should have a day. We can play the Wii and Candyland and go on hikes and make cookies and watch movies!”
Man-Child: “So when do you want to do it? Now?”
Me: “Umm…how about Saturday? It would be hard to schedule THAT much fun after work/school and on a weeknight. We should save our “date” for when we have more time, like Saturday.”
Man-Child: “Date? Wha…? Mom, I’m only 6. I can’t date.”
Me: “No, not THAT kind of date. Just a mom/son date. A special day.”
Man-Child: “No. I don’t think I should be dating.”
Me: “I’m your mother, I think its okay.”
Man-Child: (shakes head) “No, THAT just makes it weirder. Just forget it. I’m going to go play Star Wars on the Xbox.”
Me: (stands there dumbstruck and bewildered) “Did you just shoot down your own mother?”
Just a door right? Nothing scary about a door. I mean it looks harmless enough. Yet, this seemingly innocuous door unleashes feelings of angst and terror to anyone who dares to open it. What is behind this door you might ask? Look for yourself…. You’ve been warned.
Yes, I am aware it’s just linens. A linen closet. You are actually lucky, because I think there are some comforters missing. My kids are all “waaa waaa, it’s freezing in this house”, so they may have braved the
beast linen closet seeking additional warmth. I think our sheets and pillowcases are breeding. Every time I open this damn closet, it appears more overwhelming. It’s on my list of things to organize…right up there with my spice rack, scrapbooking “area” and various other nooks and crannies that might be taking over my house one square foot at a time. The hoarder network will be calling me any day now. On a good day, it only takes 4 kids, grunting, a pulled groin muscle, and lumbar pain to shut this door once it’s been opened. Instead of just buzzing around being all judgmental about my lack of organization, why don’t you pitch in and help! I’m not ashamed to admit defeat. I know when I’ve been beat. If we ever move, I might just leave that for the next family. It’s almost a rite of passage really. It makes women out of girls and men out of boys. I’d be doing a public service…when you think about it. Think really hard. See? Am I right or am I right? That’s what I thought. Moving on…
Man-child got some puzzles recently. These puzzles were redonk. Have you ever tried to piece together a 100 piece Lenticular 3-D image of Darth Maul? If you want to go cross-eyed while nursing a migraine, you can find them at Target. I work with the elderly, and one of the things you hear is that working puzzles, crosswords, brain teasers, etc…helps stave off the influences of dementia, keeps your mind sharp…er. The kids actually love working puzzles, even though we all wanted to mercy kill each other after working the Darth Maul puzzle of pain and anguish. Seriously…laugh all you want, e-mail me and I’ll mail you one. Then we shall see who is laughing!
The warning label is actually for adults. You might be tempted to choke yourself by eating the puzzle. Don’t do it. However, working the puzzle sort of became this family event, so the other day when I was out running errands, I bought another one. Not 3-D. A mere 750 piece puzzle of a cute little baby tiger playing near a stream. Join me, while I eavesdrop on my two youngest daughters:
Linds: “Hey, Em…wanna come help me work the puzzle?”
Linds: “What are you doing?”
Em: “Uh…working the puzzle?”
Linds: “No, not that like that. See how I did the outline of the puzzle first, then I started in the upper right hand corner, picking all the similarly colored pieces and systematically began fitting them together. You start down here on the other side, with the darker pieces.”
Linds: (sigh) “It’s a puzzle, you have to use logic. Just start sorting out the darker pieces.”
Em: “But I want to work on the baby tiger. It’s cute.”
Linds: “The baby tiger is in the middle. You can’t start it yet. That makes no sense.”
Em: “Can I play Christmas music?”
Now we hear only the dulcet sounds of Christmas cheer while they work together.
Linds: “That piece has fur. Clearly doesn’t go there. Quit trying to work the tiger.”
Em: “Is dinner almost ready?”
30 minutes later…the girls are called to dinner. I go in to see how much progress they’ve made. Linds has almost the entire right hand side of the puzzle pieced together. But Em…
Me: (to Linds) “Did you both end up working on that side?”
Linds: “Pfft. No. I did all that. Em did that piece.”
Me: “That one piece?”
Me: “Em? 30 minutes and only one piece?”
Em: “It’s haaaard. And Linds has too many rules.”
My husband and I were out together running Christmas errands, if you were a fly in the car, you’d hear the following conversations:
Husband: “The should invent “Popo Powder”. I mean if they have “Monkey Butt Powder”, then it stands to reason that “Popo Powder” should also exist.”
Me: “No one calls it a Popo except you. Call it a bald man in a boat, a bearded clam, beaver, cha cha, cooch, hoo-hoo, va ja ja, vag, etc…but no one calls it a popo.”
Husband: (in a singsong voice) “Popo popo popo Powderrrrr!”
Me: “You’re so stupid.”
Me: “Seriously, do you know how confused our girls were when they heard other kids use this phrase “the popo are behind us”? They thought they were being chased by a va ja ja, instead of the police.”
Husband: (laughs harder)
Me: “There will not be enough therapy in the world…”
A few minutes later, this truck pulls out in front of us. It’s one of those obnoxious hummer trucks with the personalized tags.
Husband: “Who is John Galt?”
Husband: (points to obnoxious truck)
Me: (reads the license plate frame) “Who is John Galt?”
Husband: “I like this guy already.”
Me: “This guy is a tool.”
Husband (in a condescending tone) “You do know who John Galt is don’t you?”
Me: (rolls eyes while trying to convey an air of knowledge and superiority, plus I know he won’t be able to help himself and he will answer his own question before I have to admit that I don’t have a clue nor do I care.)
Husband: “Ayn Rand. Atlas Shrugged.”
Me: (sighs) “Yeah…I KNOW…and?”
Husband: “Blah blah blah objectivism blah blah blah…”
Me: “Oh, so you’re an objectivist now?” (thinking is that a thing? Objectivist? God, I hope so…or he will never stop tormenting me with his superior intellect)
Husband: “See, we don’t talk anymore.”
Husband: “I just want someone who I can converse with about the mysteries and origins of the universe and human existence.”
Me: “You have Raven.” (the dog)
We decide we are going to drop off man-child’s Santa gift at his parents house because we have nowhere to store a bicycle without him finding it and ruining Christmas. Hubs keeps trying to call and his dad doesn’t answer the phone.
Husband: “I hope they aren’t out running errands.”
Me: “If they were, he’d probably answer his cell phone. I’m sure they are home, putzing around, getting ready for dinner.”
We turn down their street.
Husband: “The Christmas lights are on, that’s a good sign.”
Husband: “The front door is open (they have a screen door and every light in the house appears to be on, and oh look…there’s the dog), so that’s probably a good sign right? I mean they probably are home?”
Me: “Are you kidding me? Yeah. I’m pretty sure this all means they are home. Oh look there they are? Do you reckon John Galt is there too?”
Husband: “Why can’t you be nice to me?”
Speaking of Popo…
I found what I thought was a little travel sized bottle of my favorite perfume in my cabinet, so I get all excited and spritzed a little in those special places. I noticed it felt kinda sticky…and my panties (I hate this word) seemed to be sticking to me a little…uncomfortably. I look at the bottle. Apparently, it’s perfumed “hairspray”. Awesome. I don’t have pics, but I did rock the faux-hawk on the va ja ja if I might brag for just a few…
Husband: “So I got an e-mail from a co-worker suggesting I buy you an Adam Levine “fathead” for Christmas.”
Husband: “Haha…yeah, I would, we just have no place to put it.”
Me: “The ceiling of our bedroom…?”
Husband: “I’m starting to get a complex…”
Me: “Does this mean I’m not getting it?”
Me: “Why did you take your shirt off?”
Man-child: “I’ve decided to be shirtless for now on. I’m shirtless boy.”
Man-child: “I used to be pantsless boy. Now I’m just shirtless…with pants.”
Me: (bigger sigh)
Man-child: “Do I have to wear a shirt to school?”
Me: “Yes, you do.”
Man-child: (sigh) “How about pants? Do I have to wear pants?”
Me: “Seriously? You know you have to wear pants.”
Man-child: “You’re no fun.”
Me: “I know.”
Man-child: (bigger sigh)
Me: “Did you wear those pants to school?”
Me: “Em….ummm, they give you camel toe?”
Em: “I know, I didn’t take my jacket off.”
Me: “YOU KNOW? And you wore them anyway?”
Me: “OMG. Em?!?!?!”
If you were a fly on the wall of my subconscious, you would have seen the following interaction at Target yesterday:
I pull my cart in behind this lady checking out and her baby boy. She’s almost done, which is good because I have to pee like a racehorse. She’s asking the checker questions, but I’m not really paying attention. Yet. She pulls out this ginormous wallet crammed with everything but the kitchen sink…and I thought I was disorganized. It’s like my linen closet and spice cabinet are fighting for space inside her wallet. Jeez. Stuff is flying out, she keeps talking. He mumbles something back.
He has now finished scanning all of her items, she’s still digging around in her wallet-purse, and she keeps looking at me. I’m only starting to get irritated, and I have to pee, but I keep smiling because it’s Christmas. She continues to dig around in the Bermuda Triangle of a wallet, and continues to look over at me. I’m still smiling. The baby is cute. I’ll focus on the baby. Why does she keep looking at me? Why isn’t she paying? She hasn’t loaded any of the bags in her cart yet either. She looks at me again! WTF?
OMG what is SHE DOING!
Focus on the baby. Cute baby. Baby is smiling. Peek-a-boo baby your mommy is insane! Yes, such a cute boy…can’t you cry or crap or something so she has to leave…what is she doing!
She then says loudly “Well, I guess I’ll just have to use a credit card.” OMFG. “I could have sworn my debit card was right here?” She then proceeds to pull out a wad of paper, “Oh right, I have some coupons, can you scan these?”
Yay! She’s finally paying!
Why does she keep looking at me?
She’s not moving. Why isn’t she moving. He’s scanning my items and she’s still standing there. OMG QUIT LOOKING AT ME!
She finally loads up her cart.
She is still standing there. I can’t move forward. I swear to God lady, I will PEE RIGHT HERE!
She finally moves. I sigh in relief. Finally, an end is in sight. I can do this. I can make it home.
She keeps looking around. She is walking so slowly. He’s done scanning my items. I pay. I don’t want to have to pass her or walk with her, what is she doing?
Sure enough, she is waiting for me.
“Can you believe this place? Worst customer service ever!”
I didn’t even make eye contact, why is she talking to me! I give her my most bland smile, mutter consolingly and keep walking. She walks with me!
“I’m just so angry. I’m going to call and complain as soon as I get home. I mean he didn’t even bag my groceries, and you don’t leave a woman with a baby and a cart full of groceries, you help! Can you believe this place? Look, there is no one around to help me to my car. What am I supposed to do?”
I can’t help it. I’m pretty sure I looked at her like she had lost her friggin’ mind. Had she NEVER been to Target?
“I usually only shop at Market Street, and now I will never cheat on my store again. This place is horrid. Imagine not helping women with babies! I’m shaking I’m so mad.”
I mutter something about my daughter working at Market Street.
She keeps whining.
WHERE IS MY DAMN CAR.
“Have a nice day, I hope it gets better!” I cheerily wave as I race to my car.
What is wrong with people?
This question is rhetorical. In case you were worried, that you’d have to explain.
Now scroll all the way back up, and click on the other links. Sneak a peek into their homes and lives. Go ahead. Do it. You know you want too.