Today was LONG. And tiring. And a little bit funny at times. I’m going to just ramble for a few minutes as if it hasn’t been months since I last posted. Go with me. Or don’t. No biggie.

I was up a lot last night with the child that has always had ear problems. At nine months, she had tubes put in and adenoids taken out. After they brought her out from those procedures, I thought for a second that she’d been switched with another, much uglier, baby. Minor surgery plus a LOT of screaming can make a baby look pretty smashed-pumpkin. In case you didn’t know.

Anyway, I’m ALREADY off topic. Her ears are not as bad as they once were, but she still tends to go that direction when congested. So she was up crying a lot last night and in and out of her bed, my bed, and no bed. We told stories about some crazy kid in the first grade and laughed at things that had happened recently. And then, shot from no sleep, we headed to the doctor this morning. We ended up at the Walgreens clinic because her pediatrician was slammed today. This is always a risk. Showing up to wait at Walgreens without an appointment is like I imagine it would be to spend 5 minutes playing slots in Vegas. Lose-lose.

We got there at 9. As we were signing in on the touch screen, which took 8 times longer because she wanted to sign herself in, the message popped up, “There are FIVE people ahead of you in the queue.” FIVE? That’s like a whole platoon! That’s a day’s worth of patients, man. I knew I was in for it. But my choices were this and this, so I sat down in a sea of other queued patients and waited. For 90 minutes. When we finally got called back, we were introduced to Dan, the very perky nurse practitioner with an odd nose and palate. Just odd. Ask my daughter about it sometime. She’ll tell you. He reminded me of a local dentist who calls your teeth “little rascals.” He was very perky, very talkative, and much, MUCH too enthusiastic to be treating an ear infection.

After a few minutes of paperwork and sech, he asked me what meds I had already given her.

“Just ibuprofen,” I answered.

“HEY!” he replied, much too exhuberantly. “Good call, Mom!” Then he looked at my girl. “Your mom did GOOD. She’s super! That was EXACTLY the right call. Gets that inflammation right down.” Insert hand motions for helping inflammation. At this point in my typing, I am laughing. You probably did have to be there to appreciate this, but this guy was SO OVER THE TOP on the ibuprofen thing. There was no rocket science behind my choice last night. Either I gave her the ibuprofen for the pain or I stayed up ALL NIGHT telling stories about weird kids in first grade. And at 2 a.m., man, I’m tired. I’m not above some marker sniffing at that hour. Yes, I am. Really.

Anyway, that Dan guy was weird. And he praised me for the ibuprofen enough to fill a 5-paragraph essay. Enough so that my 8 year old thought it was disturbing. But he fixed us up with something better than grape markers, so I’m cool with it.

I sat a lot today. In waiting rooms. Pharmacies. Cars. In so doing, I checked Facebook maybe 50 times. (Not enough going on today. Help a girl out, why don’t you.) That’s when I saw the picture with 25 comments of the cutest little boy ever. One of the comments was simply, “Previous.” I love that. I love it when someone comments “Previous” and never realizes they did it. Even though I know what they meant and that their phone likely came up with it, I still read it as “Previous” in my head and go on my way, merrier than before. Reminds me of the time I asked my friend if they were going to the park rectally. Not directly, mind you. Which was what I meant. Good, good times.

Read that however you like.
I’m going to bed now.

The Mundane, the miscellanea, and the Monday

I realized tonight, several days too late, that I passed up a goldmine chance to gag you with a pun. Instead of ThrowBACK Thursday last week, which was a post about gross things, I could have entitled it ThrowUP Thursday. Oh, what a difference a preposition makes.


Oh well.

Moving on.

Today, my eastern side of the county kids were out of school for our local strawberry festival. My oldest is not in school on this side of the county, so he didn’t have the day off and said he was JUST FINE with us going ahead without him. (1) I’m slightly offended by the ease in which he pushed us out to sea. (2) OK. I’m over it. We’re going without you. Since AG wasn’t along, we did little kid things. The weather started out perfect. I mean, PERFECT. But by 1 p.m. we felt like we were all wearing lava tunics and were dying for some indoor air conditioning. It was a little embarrassing, really. It was the first time in 12 years of parenting that I have actually gone to a festival on the day they let us out for the festival. It just seemed like the thing to do. And in case you are sitting there feeling slighted because either your mother doesn’t love you enough to take you to a festival or you don’t love your children enough to take them, I will regale you with stories of everything you missed. I mean, do you have time for this? If you don’t have time for this, here’s the short version:

Take Dramamine, park at the church ACROSS from Taco Bell, avoid the ice cream unless you are certified, and get the biscuit.

Now, if that’s not enough for you and you really DO have time for more, here’s the long version:

(1) Stopping in to Publix at 9:45 a.m. saved me $5 on 4 festival tickets. Boo-chaching-YAH.
(2) I drove in to Taco Bell/Pizza Hut, which is a block from the main gate, to park. “Is it $5?” I asked. “$10,” the very hurried dude answered. Um, does that come with 2 Burrito Supremes? Cuz I’m not paying that. The good news is that all I had to do to reduce my parking fee from $10 to $5 was drive 50 feet down a sidewalk against traffic. That was awesome.
(3) I was almost 100% convinced that this post would contain a vomit story after the twisty hot air balloon ride in Kiddieland. Fortunately, the ride ended 30 seconds before that moment. Mama’s Boy was green around the gills, but recovered nicely.
(4) To make themselves feel better about charging $4 for a $1 soft serve cone, they overstuff the cone to accommodate Shaquille O’Neal. This SOUNDS like a good idea, I realize. But when you are 6, 7, and 9 with virtually no frozen dessert skills, the overstuffed thing becomes a recipe for cone-in-trash. Mama’s Boy was the first to go down. Apparently, this is his first ice cream cone. It began dripping before I had even pocketed my change from buying it. Within seconds, it was POURING over the sides of the cone paper. I tried consulting with him, offering advice, using visual aids and very charismatic hand gestures. Nothing was working. It was like a mudslide, people. I mean it. So finally, in an unpremeditated moment, I grabbed the cone and did the around-the-world lick to clean up the drippies. What else could I do? It was going BAD. Well, that was it for him. Oh, forget it, he said. Now you’ve ruined it. Ruined it? What are you talking about? I had to do it? I had to fix it? Now it’s gross. You LICKED it. So I tried to offer my cleaned up version back to him. He wouldn’t take it. So I dropped that overstuffed, licked-clean cone into the bottom of the nearest trash can. The other two cones ended similarly, but took longer to flame out. This was a bit like riding a mechanical bull, only it was, “How long can you lick the confounded cone before IT LICKS YOU?” Huh? Well. Now, I’m really making you jealous.
(5) The strawberry shortcake that I had for lunch almost made up for the ice cream fiasco. I bypassed the slice of pizza and saved myself for the shortcake. Beloved was the only child who would eat “slimy” strawberries, so we just got two of these. We had the choice of shortcake or biscuit as our bottom layer. I chose biscuit and she chose shortcake. Her shortcake disintegrated within about 7 seconds and then who looked like the smart one? I mean, if it’s a contest…and isn’t it always?

I am Mama’s Boy

Sometimes it helps just to call a spade a spade.

I can’t blame the boy for his struggles. He is me. I am him. Except when he is his father. There’s some of that, too. He’s either going to set us up in the nicest nursing home EVER someday or wind up in a prison where we can’t even visit him. At this point, I must admit I’m hoping for the former.

I feel like a mess with nothing but the calendar to attribute it to. At midnight on August 1, as the calendar fluttered to the new month and the clock changed, I think I felt my eyes shoot open in sudden and overwhelming stress.
This was not the case last year? What is my problem? In fact, it’s been several years since I felt like this.

There are a lot of changes this year. Our oldest goes to middle school, though truthfully the worry here is minimal, as he is not having to go to a humongous, hormone-infused public middle school. Thank you, Lord, for that one. The younger three, however, are starting over this year at our sweet little neighborhood school. This will be great, I feel sure. But we know no one. NO.ONE. Not them. Not me. We will walk in cold and start from the ground up.

To top it all off, SquishyKnickers is a kindergartner. Noooooooooooooooo. In about 2 weeks, you may hear a wail ascend and wonder if it is just the crickets or the wind. It will probably be me.

If you hear something strange and disturbing today, that might also be me. Back to school shopping.


What the world really needs more of is George Zimmerman. I was hoping to watch a dude gain weight on a daily basis as I heard more about racial slurs. If his trial was shot with stop action photography, you’d be able to watch him get fatter as the trial progressed. I’m guessing jail food is not as bad as they say…

As tired as I am of George Zimmerman, I’m even more weary of racial slurs and the media blitz about them. I would go as far as to say that most of them people whining right now use the words they are whining over. I mean, the news this morning is all about Trayvon Martin calling Zimmerman a cracker before he got shot. Cracker is horrible? When did that become horrible? The answer is, yesterday. No one knows the real meaning of it or the origin. But if you use it, you’re a racist. Better go get yourself a real lawyer and start eating twinkies.

Moment of silence for the twinkie, please. Miss those things.

Call me a cracker and I’ll call you a sandwich. See how stupid this is?  I’m fine with cracker. I like to eat them. They are salty. And crunchy.

I don’t even like Paula Deen and I think what has been done to her is deplorable. We are a sick society looking to crucify the very people we idolized 5 minutes before. And the ones slaying her in the media are probably vile, vile people. More vile than Paula will ever be. Her main mistake was being too honest. I think that’s sad.

I just made my kids tacos for lunch. Fresh. It’s the only time this summer I’ll feel proud of our lunch, so I decided to post it. Of course, Squishy Knickers stuck with chicken nuggets. She is missing a few connections in her brain that link her to refined eating.

My upstairs sounds like the kids are running a saw mill from 1922. Don’t worry, they aren’t. I don’t even let them read books about sharp machinery. It’s the sound of three kids skating on very old wood floors. We inherited 3 pairs of skates and it just happened to fit the three youngest kids PERFECTLY. As I listen to the skating, watch the skating, worry over the skating, and protect my flip-flopped feet, I have waffled between “send thank you note” and “infest her house with live crickets” to the person who gave us the skates. Mostly I’m grateful. And if there is anyone to blame, it is me. I said, “YES! We’ll take them!” to a Facebook post. That’s what I get for taking a short break from Edward Snowden and getting on Facebook.


I bet the government already knew I was getting the skates…


All jokes aside

Knock knock jokes wear me out.

What percentage of them are actually funny? And aren’t there just 14 that circulate the planet and have been doing so since 1941?

My youngest tries them out on me all the time.

Knock knock.
Who’s there?

Human who?
Human BEEEEE-ing.

I furrowed my brow and then forced up some canned laughter from a dark section of my brain.

hahahahahahaha. That was a good one, I said.

No it wasn’t. That was horrible. Human being? What does that even mean? At what point does it become lying? When do I become the mom who chuckles just enough so that Tone Deaf Tillie tries out for American Idol thinking she sings like an angel?

Fortunately Fox does not have a Knock Knock Joke reality show. I bet if they read this blog they’d produce one. But I wonder what their focus would be…kids telling terrible knock knock jokes about human beings and interrupting cows or the moms that enable them…

The Real Liars of Knock Knock Joke Households.

Dear Informinator,

You’re so vain.
I bet you think this blog is about you.
You’re so vain.
I bet you think this blog is about you, don’t you, don’t you, don’t you?

Those raised in the 80s will now be singing this song for approximately 23 days. I’m sorry about that. It had to be done.

Clearing the air.

There are three people right now that I can think of who should have their own blogs. I will approach you all privately, only to be rejected. The Informinator is one that I will just mention publicly. There is so much I could say about her. It would never end. If I am lost and need an address or direction orientation, I call her first. If I were in jail or in surgery or trapped under something heavy, I’d call her first. Somehow, she’d know what to do.

She doesn’t have a smart phone and this is now a huge point of contention between us. Up until 2 months ago, we had a pact to stick together on the phone thing. We said we’d get smart phones together in February of 2013. But then my Dumb Phone died and my husband had a smart phone sitting unused at his office. I don’t think the Informinator is over this betrayal even now. Weeks have passed. She still won’t make eye contact with me. Maybe that’s because I’m usually sweaty when she sees me, but I think it’s the smart phone issue. I tried to console her. I said, “Informinator, if you had a smart phone, you’d be SOOOO smart that you’d want different friends. We’d all be too dumb for you. Think of it as a way to keep your relationships strong.” She just gave me the stink eye and kept on walking.

At any rate, since she doesn’t have the blog I try to get her to have, she contributes to mine by way of smartness and wry comments. If you ever read the comments section, then you’ve seen her little nuggets. The most recent one was this:

The Informinator says:

Are you ever going to tell them you never made it out of the driveway because you had a flat tire? They deserve to know.

This comment made me laugh out loud. It followed my HEY EVERYONE I’M GOING BIKING post. I did try to bike the 12 miles. I tried hard. I planned my route, packed my backpack, got dressed, pumped my tires, and got myself a large water bottle. I was ready.

Then, because I saw the Informinator’s name on AOL’s instant messenger, I messaged her about this. I mean, OBVIOUSLY, IMing the Informinator before biking is a precursor to actually biking.

(9:17:12 AM) missysnapp: Tires are pumped. Backpack secured. Lock in backpack. Publix is destination.
(9:17:34 AM) informinator: rain coat?
(9:17:35 AM) missysnapp: Must make it to Publix.
(9:17:37 AM) missysnapp: Ha
(9:17:44 AM) missysnapp: No rain in forecast till later
(9:17:50 AM) informinator: or will you be too fast for the rain to even land on you.
(9:17:58 AM) missysnapp: you are so right
(9:18:14 AM) missysnapp: much larger chance of overfilling my backpack.
(9:18:25 AM) missysnapp: Conditioner is on the list, if that scares you at all.
(9:18:33 AM) missysnapp: 😀
(9:19:11 AM) informinator: just remember the kmart debacle of 98. or whenever it was.
(9:19:44 AM) informinator: do not buy a giant jug of gatorade.
(9:19:49 AM) informinator: or a lantern
(9:22:17 AM) missysnapp: Duly noted.
(9:22:28 AM) missysnapp: To allay your fears…
(9:22:36 AM) missysnapp: I am not wearing my spandex bike shorts.
(9:22:42 AM) missysnapp: But only because I could not find them
(9:22:54 AM) missysnapp: I am off!

Immediately after this online conversation, I went outside to take pictures of myself ABOUT to go biking. They are so stupid that I will post one. Plus, besides the stupid factor, it proves that I was ready and willing to go biking.

Actually, it proves nothing except that I am a big enough loser to pose with my bike.

About 10 seconds after taking this shot, I got on my bike and pedaled three times.

Only to discover that the front tube was totally blown. Even if I had a spare tube in my possession, which I didn’t, I couldn’t have changed it. I don’t know how to change bike tires.

And that was that.

I was really mad about this. This forced me to go for a long walk, which wasn’t nearly as interesting or as exciting as my Publix adventure. Who knows what would have happened?

I have my tire ready to take in tomorrow. Maybe we’ll get another shot at this biking thing.

I’ll take pictures…