Top Secret Video Footage!

Okay...I sneaked into ABC studios and stole some of our show footage to share with you. But you can't tell anyone...I mean it. Okay fine, it is just two clips from the ABC website. But it is still a sneak peek: http://abc.go.com/primetime/supernanny/index?pn=index

Let me give a little preemptive speech:
I look anorexic. But I really do eat.
My kids are beating the shit out of each other, but....I got nothin'. They really do that.
My husband is hot. Ladies, you can lust but he's all mine. (and he even does housework...Oh baby!)
I scream a lot in the clips. I scream a lot in real life.
There is a hump on my lower back. That is a microphone, not a tumorous growth.
I think that covers it. Enjoy the clips!! Oh, and you can thank me by clicking this link: Humor Blogs. It will really boost my HB ratings and make me a happy blogger!

Go Ross!

I love stories like this and I always feel compelled to share them because they illustrate so succinctly the true meaning of perseverance. A sister humor blogger, Leigh, has a brother who is a nominee for the US Olympic Hall of Fame. He is counting on our votes. I visited the voting site and I think that he is an extraordinary man. But don't take my word for it...go there and read for yourself. While you're there, look to the right at the poll in the sidebar. If you feel as touched as I do by Ross's accomplishments, please cast your vote for him!

On days that I feel like poking my eyeballs out and dropping them in a boiling vat of Wesson cooking oil, I will think of Ross and all of the other Paralympians and refrain from bitching excessively. (I will still bitch, but not excessively.) It is people like Ross who inspire me to keep on keepin' on! You go Ross!

What's Missing?

Can someone please tell me what a "daddy" gummy bear vitamin looks like? We've gone through the whole bottle and I cannot seem to stop Ella from having a melt down over the lack of a "daddy" gummy bear in the bottle. Wait...I just had an idea (I'll be right back)

I remembered that she has started to point out the physical differences in Daniel and I, lately. Daniel had to kick her out of the bathroom yesterday, because she would not stop pointing at him in the shower and singing, "Daddy has a wiener!" So, I took a leg off of one of the other gummy bears and attached it to the crotch area of a non "daddy" gummy bear. Voila! Instant sex change, and Ella has stopped freaking out. Sometimes you gotta think like a two year old!

I do wonder, though, if the kid who gets the amputee gummy bear is going to freak out?

Don't Bogart The Valium, Lionel!

Many people get all excited when Friday rolls around. Those people are known as childless heathens, on this blog. "What the hell is so great about Friday?" moms around the globe would like to know. Friday is just the beginning of the beginning of three straight days of madness.

You want an example? Well, you're getting one anyway, so sit down, shut up and pay attention!


Friday-

1. I have to shower and get dressed (ugh!). We have a birthday party to attend today.
2. Kids will get out school, hyped up for the party and begin the annoying "When does the party start?" chant.
3. We will have to go to the store and get a birthday gift for a party that starts in an hour.
4. We will attend the party, without Dad (who will be relaxing at work) and I will look like a total idiot as I try to keep tabs on all of my kids.
5. We will go home and prepare for Saturday's football game.
6. Kids will run around the house, wired from birthday party candy, until I snap and put them all in bed.
7. I will clean the house, in case a potential buyer stops by to see it. All of my cleaning, however, will not hide the fact that this is a crappy neighborhood. So, I'm basically wasting my time.

Saturday-

1. Kids get up at 5:30 on the weekends.
2. I make breakfast and clean up the mess.
3. Dad takes 3 oldest to football practice.
4. I meet him at the park with youngest 4 to watch the football game.
5. We all go to the chiropractor after the game.
6. We grab some lunch on the way home.
7. Yard work.
8. Another birthday party in the evening.
9. More wired children, more loss of sanity, less sleep than Friday.

Sunday-

1. Church.
2. The whole process of getting ready, getting there, getting through it and getting back home takes up a good seven hours, no joke. I feel less Christ like than last week, as I have had to threaten death a few times, during the whole process.
3. Make lunch/dinner.
4. Get ready for Monday by giving baths, doing laundry, laying out outfits.
5. Realize that so-and-so has an unfinished project due on Monday.
6. Complete school project.
7. Get kids into bed by eight.
8. Sit down on couch and pass out five minutes later.

Lionel Ritchie once said he was easy like Sunday morning. Either that statement was made before he became a dad, or he was on drugs. If it be the latter, I'd like to know where I can get some.

If he was a bloodhound, he'd be shot!

So I ran out of bleach spray and decided to add some regular old bleach to one of the squirt bottles. This morning, there was a note on the counter, laying next to a shirt that had little bleach spots all over it. The note read:

"He who put bleach in the water bottle shall perish! (After buying me a new shirt, of course.)- Daniel"

Sheesh! Had he looked at the squirt bottle, he would have seen that it was the pink one, and therefor mine, to do with as I please. So I wrote him a little response:

"He who looks at the bottle closely, avoids the risk of using someone else's squirt bottle. And also...he who has yet to learn to smell the contents before squirting them, needs a lesson like a few bleach spots on their shirt! -Kadi"


*Note to self: Never leave a smart ass note to husband on laundry folding night, unless you want to fold solo!

Pick Up Line Protocol

If I have to idle behind one more chatty freakin' Patty in the school pick up line, I'm going to go ape shit on someone. As if we all have nothing better to do than wait for two moms to shoot the shit while we sit with our thumbs up our rears. Today, I finally yelled, "Why don't you exchange numbers and finish this later?" They both looked at me in my big white Mormon-mobile, as if I was the rudest person on the planet.

But really, who's the rude one here? I've got two kids who have to poop...make that one. Reed couldn't wait and now the van smells like a bucket full of butt holes. One of the kids has discovered the most annoying sound in the world and is sharing it with us, very loudly. My own bladder is about to burst from not having the chance to empty it, as is always the case. The sun is beating down on my face, relentlessly, and the gas tank is almost empty.

But how dare I interrupt Chatty Patty's brag session about her precious little Timmy who said "Mama!" today. Reed also said his first word not too long ago. But you don't hear me chewing some lady's ear off about it in the middle of the pick up line. Of course, his first word was not a word that I'd want to share anyway, but that is beside the point! To those of you who think that pick up time is a social event: Start a blog! Then you don't have to hold up the 300 parents who actually have a life and just want to get the hell out of there as fast as possible. Plus, I seriously doubt that the recipient of Chatty Patty's long winded dialogue really cared to hear about little Timmy. Mom's like to do the bragging, not listen to bragging. I'm willing to bet that she would love Chatty Patty to start a blog, just to bring her some relief. I'm also willing to bet that she'd never read it, because of my whole theory on moms and bragging.

So what have we learned from this post?
1. Do not ever hold up the pick up line at school, unless you have a death wish.
2. Do not excessively brag to your friends about your kids. You are allowed one brag per month, so make it good. Otherwise, they do not care!

Any questions? (I mean, other than "Why am I such a bitch?")

Boring...but better than eating soap!

I just realized that I'd better be more conservative in my story telling, for awhile. I am probably going to get a lot of readers after the show airs (five if I'm lucky,) and I would hate for them to take me too seriously when I post things like the Kirby Man letter. Like Lori (I think it was Lori,) pointed out, it might make us look like we never actually learned anything from our SN experience. Dammit! This is really starting to put a kink in my funny bone. Have no fear, I won't water it down too much. If people don't like the humor, they can just get out of my kitchen...er blog.

Anyway, I've got an update on the Mommy Swimsuit Issue. In speaking with some of the moms who have so bravely volunteered to participate, I realized a few things. One, there are actually moms out there who love their bodies enough to pose in a swimsuit. I think that it just awesome! A lot of women are ashamed of their bodies, but I think that the female figure is gorgeous, no matter what size or shape it is in! I'm so pleased that other people agree with that sentiment.
Secondly, I realized that there really is a shortage of websites that (tastefully) pay homage to the beauty of real moms. Yes, there are the Dove ads and a few other sites. But not enough, in my opinion. So I had my lovely blog designer, Jennisa, create a place where we will do just that!

It will be a blog dedicated to, written and contributed to, by moms! The first issue will be the Mommy Swimsuit Issue, of course! It is slated to premier at the beginning of March. I am still looking for mom's who are confident enough to don their suit and strike a mom like pose. Those interested can email me. Each month, we will add a new portfolio with a different theme. The blog will have interviews with moms, beauty tips by moms and lots of other fun mommy stuff. I'm so excited to get it started!! In the meantime, check out the "Birthing Beauties" blogsite to see how completely gorgeous it is. The only thing that can possibly make it better are the beauties who will grace its pages.

For those of you who keep up with the Supernanny show, take a gander at my post over on Guerrilla Parenting. Don't forget to leave your opinion. I know you have opinions because you litter my blog up with them all the time!!! (I kid, I kid.) Go check it out!
Have a great Thursday!

The Vacuum Wasn't The Only Sucker!

Dear Kirby Salesman,
The ambulance left in such haste last night, that I didn't get a chance to let you know my thoughts on what a great vacuum the Kirby, really is.

The stuff it pulled up from the carpet was amazing! Please know that when the boys peed on the carpet as you were cleaning it, they were just curious to see if it would be able to handle a normal task in our home. You see, feces, barf and urine are regular carpet decor in our home. We need a vacuum that can do wet pick up as well.

I saw that you were horrified when Ella found an old apple under the bed and proceeded to eat it. Trust me when I say, she's eaten much worse. I've spent hours in the ER after she ate some wild mushrooms in the back yard. Eating strange things, in this house, is a common practice. Reed's habit of eating dog poop was something to worry about. A moldy apple is a just good dose of penicillin, in my opinion. But I understand how it could be disturbing to someone who has never had kids.

I'd like to apologize for the injury. I've told the kids a million times, not to ride their bikes in the house. They know that if they do, they will be punished. I never expected them to attempt a jump over the kitchen table. I guess I should have been more clear on the rules. I would like to remind you of the waiver that you signed upon entering our home. It is a standard practice here at the Prescott house, and you were warned of possible injury. I sincerely hope that your concussion isn't too serious.

Lastly, I'd like to express my regret for the unfortunate accident that broke your fine machine.
That sledge hammer never should have been so easily accessible. I'm shocked that Phillip was able to lift it up by himself! He's quite the aspiring comedian! Maybe we shouldn't have shown him that Gallagher video, after all. Your company does have insurance to cover these kind of instances, right?

At least you learned a lesson from your visit to our home. Never, ever offer to do a free demonstration in a home that is inhabited by seven crazy children, knowing damn well that we don't have the money to buy a $2,000 vacuum.

The paramedic seemed interested in learning more about the Kirby, however. Maybe you should pay him a visit after you get out of the hospital. Unless, of course, he also has seven children! I hope you get well soon and that you rethink your decision to have that vasectomy that you were screaming about, as the ambulance pulled away. Children really are a blessing!

*Cheers!

Kadi Prescott

*The visit wasn't really this bad. I have to add these disclaimers for new readers. Some do not get that this is a humor blog. Oh, and will someone please click on this: HB. My ratings over there are rapidly declining. See? Another sucker clicks every minute!

Thoughts On Stardom And Nose Picking

You know, in retrospect, I've been very good about keeping my mouth shut. I really hate secrets, especially when they are my own. As you can tell, my life is pretty much an open book (or blog page.) So when I was put under a gag order by the Supernanny contract, it was painful. I so badly wanted to share my experiences with all of you. To go through something so life changing and not be able to write about it, was excruciating! I would call my mom every night and tell her about everything, because she was the only one who I could talk to, (plus she's one of my best friends.)

What you will see on the show, is just 43 minutes of what happened over 12 days. I'm interested to see just what they will leave out. There were so many great lessons that we learned and awesome moments. It would be hard for me, if I was in charge of editing, to pick only 43 minutes of footage. I wonder if they would send me the footage? Probably not. In any case, it should be an action packed episode. See what I'm doing here? I'm not divulging any specifics, as I am still under contract. Plus, I really want the show to maintain some kind of element of surprise. If I told you what happened, you wouldn't watch. So I will tell you some stuff that doesn't happen, based on previous episodes:

• We do not have a hilarious and rascally Mimi who takes care of our kids while we work.
• We do not leave our eldest in charge of all the little ones, while we work.
• We do not pack our children's days full of extracurricular activities.
• We do not almost get a divorce on national television.
• I am not preparing to go on a world tour.
• We do not feed our kids an all junk food diet.

There, now you know exactly what to expect from our episode. Oh, no? Then you'll just have to watch! For those of you who do not get Supernanny out in your neck of the woods, I believe that you can watch it on www.abc.com. I'm making a disk of the show, just for posterity, but if you are dying to see it and can't, let me know and I'll make you a disk (though I don't know why you'd really want to watch us make fools of ourselves.) Oh, and Big Momma Pimpaliciousness, (did I spell that right?) I'm not a celebrity, but of course I will send you an autograph if you really want one. Ha! That's funny...an autograph. I'm just a regular person who picks her nose when no body's looking, just like everyone else! What? Nobody else does that? Ooooops. Okay, maybe I'm not that regular!

The Art Of Husbandry

My husband may not be a brain surgeon, or a rocket scientist, but he is one of the smartest men I've ever known. He was telling me last night, of some advice that he had given to a co-worker. This co-worker was sleeping in his car, as the result of a quarrel with his new bride. Daniel told him the following:

"You just say, 'You were wrong. This is unacceptable. This isn't just your house. You will change your attitude and stop being such an ass.' Then, turn away from the mirror, look at your wife and say, 'I am sorry. I was wrong and I won't do it again."

His young friend protested, being the stubborn greenhorn that he is, and Daniel just asked him, "Do you want to be right, or do you want to be married?"

It only took my dear husband 10 years of marriage to learn the art of husbandry. I am the luckiest girl in the world. Okay enough mushy crap... I'm off to the book store with six kids. Wish me the luck 'o the Irish, patience of Job, the speed of a cheetah and the billfold of Donald Trump. Every time we go there, it ends up costing me a fortune. I leave with the one book that I came for, and fifty others than have been mangled by my children.

One More Week Of Anonymity

While I'm not expecting to become a celebrity from doing the show, I can't help but be a little anxious about going out in public after the show airs. The people at Stater Bros. already treat me much differently, because they know that we are going to be the next SN family. (The crew followed us through the store, one day.) Grocery shopping hasn't been the same since. I was there with all of the kids on Monday. We couldn't get through the store without the butcher guy stopping us. (His mom had seven too, he saw us in the store with the crew, when was the show going to air, let's give all the kids butcher hats...yadda yadda yadda.) Actually, he was a really sweet guy. But the whole thing was really weird.

Every time I get up to the check out counter, the clerks start in with the questions. On Monday, I told them about the air date. They've been asking about it since November. After I told the cashier, she shouted out the info to the next cashier. I wanted to duck down or put on a ski mask, or something. I could feel all of the eyeballs on me. It is kinda like having a million little spiders crawling on your skin (or so I'm guessing.)

Is this how it's gonna be? Nah...a week later it will be a new family and we will be forgotten, thank God! I could never be a celebrity. I like being able to run an errand in my crusty sweats, while I slurp down coffee and yell at the kids to get back in the car. Ahhhhh...sweet anonymity! I will miss you while I'm away next week.

Twelve Tuesday Tidbits

Oh crap. It's only Tuesday? Can someone please put me out of my misery? Yeah, this week has been that good. Here is a list of random stuff that I've encountered and pondered, so far:

1. Came home to 150 crickets jumping around my house. Apparently, they can chew through foil. If I find one in my bed tonight, I will be pissed. I hate having lizards as pets!

2. I've been answering stupid questions from readers over at Guerrilla Parenting, regarding my intent for doing Supernanny. Some people get such joy from making other people want to skewer their own eyeballs. For the thousandth time...NO, we did not do the show for 15 minutes of fame. I was on Family Feud a few years ago. It was wayyyyy easier on my stress levels, paid better and required me to look like a fool for a maximum of five minutes. That was my shot at fame. This was a sincere cry for help.

3. I have been getting some nighttime anxiety attacks again, as of late. I think it is the knowledge that we are about to be scrutinized in front of millions of people...no pressure though.

4. Marlie waved a magnet in front of my computer touch pad today. When the screen went black, I had to restrain myself from breaking her touch pad (if you know what I mean.)

5. I promised to take the kids to the Dollar Tree to spend their report card money. Daniel got home too late from work though and our plans had to be delayed. As the kids began their monumental meltdowns over the cancellation, we told them that this was a lesson in flexibility. They proceeded to give us a lesson in vengeance. Never piss off a group of kids who have access to a lot of toothpaste. They spent the evening learning a lesson on how to clean toothpaste artwork off of closet doors.

6. Dorky Dad thinks that the comment from Anonymous was all in good fun. Yeah, right. Don't be such a dork! Oh, wait...

7. I am excited about the Mommy Swimsuit Issue! It is coming along nicely. Meaning that I have not done my photoshoot yet. But fear not, you will soon see the most awe inspiring blog of beautiful mommies in bathing suits (most will have a snot encrusted shoulder.)

8. We were invited to a birthday party on Friday. All of us. The family doesn't know us that well. Poor unsuspecting people!

9. I was thinking about Grandpa today. I'm kind of glad that he will not see us on Supernanny. It would kill him (no pun intended) to see me as anything other than perfect. But I miss him so much. He would have called me after the show, despite his almost certain horror at my many faults, and say, "K-k-k-Kadi. This is Grandpa. Have I told you how proud I am of you today?" Oh great, now I'm gonna cry.

10. Three of my kids will be playing flag football this Saturday. Two sons and Marlie. I'm sticking Ella in dance, gymnastics and every other girly activity as soon as she turns three. I'm not taking any more chances. (But Marlie is going to embarrass all of those boys on the field!)

11. I found out what was in those face masks. I don't care if it is a cadaver. My skin has never been so radiant!

12. I'm hoping that the rest of this week gets progressively better. My lower back is out. My youngest son has decided to constantly scale the counters and bunk beds. My daughter is going on a cool field trip tomorrow, and my husband gets to chaperon (he won the coin toss.) The baby ruined a book that I bought for my G.P. blog giveaway. My oldest sons have renewed their long held commitment to killing each other, and spend their time at home trying to do just that. We are getting a crappy tax return. Things have to get better.

Shameless: Part II

Dear Anonymous,
Just in case you haven't used up your snotty remarks quota for the day, have I got some material for you! My HB pal Don Lewis, is in the midst of choosing a new sidekick to do his evil blog bidding. At my suggestion, he is contemplating hiring a naughty school girl named Caddi. Coincidentally, she looks a lot like yours truly. If you take a look back at the post that you so harshly commented on, you'll see that the similarities between Caddi and I are uncanny!
Why don't you pay him a little visit, you ray of sunshine, you. I'm sure he'd love to hear your thoughts on what a sick perverted man he is for finding the humor in my blogging.
I'm off to start dinner prep and have a glass of wine, now. Feel free to call me an alcoholic and shame me again.

Insincerely Yours,

Shameless

Dear Anonymous,
I received your "What a slut. You should be ashamed of yourself," comment on my "Are All Males Pervs?" post. Hmmmmmmm. I hardly consider myself a slut, but I guess I could be in denial. So let me ask you, who am I servicing that would classify me as a slut? My husband? He's the only man I give myself to. I've never cheated on him, never even been tempted. We have shared ten wonderful years together and remain joyfully monogamous. Slut is hardly a word that people would use when describing me. Neurotic, scatter brained, flaky, vain, financially irresponsible and weird, are phrases more likely to be heard when talking about me.


Furthermore, I have nothing to be ashamed of. Shame is a feeling that people possess when they know that they have done something wrong. In my opinion, I have done nothing wrong. I find the humor in life. Yes, it is occasionally taboo material. But it is honest, raw writing. This world needs more people who are unafraid to express their true feelings and be able to make fun of themselves. I am a doting wife, a loving mother, devoted daughter, loyal friend and humor blogger. I find no shame in any of those things. In fact, I feel satisfaction in what I have accomplished and continue to accomplish. I will not point the finger, as you have so haughtily done, and judge you based on your words. But I will say that I feel sorry for you. Anyone who cannot see the humor in life, must have a very dull life indeed.


That being said, I would like to remind all of you that your submissions for the Mommy Swimsuit Issue need to be turned in by March 3rd (I'm still waiting for yours, Diesel!) I am even having my favorite blog designer, Jennisa, whip up something special for the debut! Be sure to check back on March 5th for the big premier! This should really give Anonymous something to chastise me about!

The New Voice In My Head

So I was browsing the online Nordstrom beauty counter, looking for face cleanser, when I spotted a new anti-aging serum. My heart started racing as I read the description, "Visible improvement withing six weeks. Decreased fine lines and smoother complexion. Improved elasticity." I ran to get my wallet when I heard a voice say, "You don't need that." I reeled around to look for my mother, whom I was sure had just uttered that horrible statement. But she wasn't there.
"Who's there?" I shouted out to the invisible kill joy. "It's me," the voice responded. "Who?" I asked again. "It's me, your spending conscience. You don't need that serum."
I was becoming agitated. "Where did you come from?" The voice laughed," I've always been here. You've just never listened to me." I was getting really perturbed at the sudden audible voice of reason, "Well, get the hell outta here. I'm trying to buy this serum and I don't need you interfering!" My newfound conscience got louder, "What would your husband think?" I pondered her logical words and the possible consequences for a brief moment. Then I grabbed a pair of earphones, drowned out her annoying good sense and bought the serum.
Silly conscience. She's gonna need to be smarter than that in order to stop me!

Unmasking The Mask

In preparation for my bathing suit debut, I am doing some much needed beautifying. I'm the kind of woman who will use any product that claims to produce a youthful result, regardless of the mile long list of possible allergic reactions and legal disclaimers, posted on the back of said product.
My husband calls me crazy, but he sure enjoys the benefits of some of my kooky, if not down right risky beauty practices. The latest dirty little beauty secret I've stumbled upon is a face mask. I'm a self professed mask junkie. I've been applying masks since I was in high school and will spend ungodly amounts of money on a mask that promises great things. I know...it's just another sickness I have.
While staying at Grandma's house this weekend, her neighbor stopped by to pay a visit. I was complimenting her glowing skin and, despite her broken English, I could understand every word that she said about a Taiwanese face mask she uses. (When it comes to divulging beauty secrets, there are no language barriers!) After she left, I kept thinking that I should have asked her the name of the product. Low and behold, she rang the doorbell, five minutes later, with a bag full of the individually packaged masks. JACKPOT!!!! I almost cried out in joy, but was able to restrain myself and just hug her.
Nevermind that I cannot read the writing on the package. I care not what the ingredients, warnings and possible side effects are. If it makes my skin baby butt soft, I'll take the good with the bad. So I tried one out this morning and HOLY COW...my skin is really baby butt soft. Even Reed is jealous! My only problem is how to get more after I run out. Would it be rude to find a reason to visit Grandma's neighbor, ask to use the restroom and then pilfer through her drawers to find more masks? I mean, I would leave her some money. Or maybe I can decipher the writing on the package and find the distributor! Does anyone know how to translate Taiwanese? There's a free face mask in it for you, if you can!

Why I want to die before I get old:

What happens when you get old? Aside from the obvious answers, loss of bladder control, loss of teeth, loss of memory, there are a few things that I realized happen as one nears "The Final Frontier:"

1. You cannot part with anything. My grandma has more junk than Wonder has bread and I'm pretty sure it reproduces. I distinctly remember cleaning out her fridge, cleaning off her countertops and throwing out loads of crap when I stayed with her last week. Yet, her house was just as cluttered as ever.

"Keep talking, Grandma! I'll follow your voice until I find you!"

2. You have a pharmacy in every medicine cabinet, cupboard and pantry in the house. I cannot tell you haw many times one of my kids brought me a bottle of prescription cough syrup or bottle of asprin, when we stayed the night on Saturday. First thing Sunday morning, Daniel went to Home Depot and bought locks for all of her cupboards, while I properly disposed of staggering amounts of medicine.

3. You really become color blind (at least, my grandparents are.) I'm talking about colors of clothing, paint and even people. Grandma loves to wear outfits that are assembled from every shade of a certain color. No mind that she has on olive pants and a lime green top. Green is green. Furthermore, she attends a church that is 99% African American. I don't think that she has ever really realized that she is the only white person there. The first time that Daniel and I attended a party at the chruch, it was quite a shock. She had not prepared us for it. Luckily, the people there are wonderful and do not make my grandparents feel unwelcome because they are Caucasian.

4. Expiration dates lose their meaning. Grandma will eat anything in her fridge, regardless of how long it has dwelled on the shelf. "But Grandma, it's moldy!" I have exclaimed on many occasions. To which she replies, "Just scrape it off!" My whole family knows not to eat anything from the fridge. But it is funny to watch unsuspecting visitors watch in horror as she fishes left over mystery dishes out, and offers them as hors d' ourves.

Strawberries, anyone?

5. You thrive on routine. Dinner at 6 pm, Jeopardy at 7 pm, and bed at 8. If anyone threatens the order of events, they shall be severely scolded. No matter how odd the routine seems, like my grandma's habit of handwashing and hang drying all socks, it cannot be altered. I dare not throw a sock in the washer, for fear of hearing the speech on the evils of machine washing socks. We know better than to interfere with the screwball ways of our grandparents. It is their habits that keep them going. One little change could trigger a geriatric melt down...not pretty.

"You did what with my socks?! Do you realize what you've done?"

6. Every animal becomes a pet. Every pet is a member of the family. My Grandma feeds all of the local cats, racoons, skunks and opossum. They come right up to her back door. She has names for all of them. I wouldn't be surprised to find them in her bed, one day.

Say hello to Mr. Cuddles and Blossom, frequent guests at Grandma's house. Now you know why we don't let the kids play outside when we're there!

Gotta run now, Grandma's on the phone and she's saying that Mr. Cuddles may have eaten some left over Chinese take out, gone stark raving mad and thrown some socks in the washing machine. This could get ugly.

Did you know that Humor Blogs never throws anything away? It's true, they have the world's largest collection of moldy humor blogs!

The Little Things

Hey all! I apologize for the lack of posting this weekend. I thought that this weekend was going to be an uneventful, calm weekend. Instead it ended up a lesson in preparedness...


Saturday started out pleasant. My mom, sisters and I had lunch at my favorite spot, The Mission Inn, in Riverside. On the way home, I called Grandma to check on her. She sobbed as she recounted her trip to the gas station. Apparently, Grandpa left her prepared in many ways, except for the everday common sense kind. Poor Grandma didn't know how to release the parking break on her car, fill the tank with gas and many other things that we all do on a daily basis. My grandpa spoiled her. People were shocked to learn that she actually knew how to drive, because he always drove everywhere.


So after listening to her gas station melt down, I packed up my whole family, drove down to her house and we stayed the night with Grandma. I went over a few basic survival skills. We went to clear out her email account, but could not access it, because Grandpa didn't write down the username and password. He always pulled up her inbox for her. He also forgot to tell her what the password is on her cell phone voicemail. Even if he had told her, her brain is like mush right now.


This morning, we all went to church. Once I got past the weirdness of being the only Caucasian people in the place, I could focus on Pastor Gridiron's sermon. (My grandparent's belong to an all black church. Don't ask why. But the worship is awesome!) The sermon was about being prepared to succeed. He talked about the comparison of feeding someone for the day and teaching them to provide for themselves so that may eat for a lifetime. It was so fitting that Grandpa gave Grandma everything she could ever need and want. Yet in his absence, some of the most important things that she needs are the lessons that he never taught her. He was a tutor, a mentor and a teacher. But he failed to teach Grandma to fish so that she could eat for the rest of her life. It was an eye opening experience, to say the least.