My Comedic Life

This is the funny stuff that happens in my life:

During the day, when one of my boys catches me daydreaming there is this standard question: "Are you colonizing planets, Mom?" This stems from our year of home-schooled Earth Science and every time there was a somewhat "suitable planet" I would ask the kids, "Hey, do you guys think...."

*DVD Player hits pause*

And then they would respond, "Mom, can you just... focus on the class instead of dreaming about people living on other planets? Just once?"

Actually... no, I can't. My poor kids.

****

Nudity- 11/13

Boy #4 gets a gander at the three new paperback proofs that have landed on the dining room table for the Blood Series. I watch him move through book 1, then 2, then finally-- #3.

He holds up #3 and says, "Mom, what are ya doin'?"

I raise my brows, knowing the bomb of teen wisdom will drop and I will soon be infinitely wiser.

Yeah.

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently.

He looks at the cover with a measure of clear disdain. "Well, you did okay with book #1, she's got like-- clothes and whatnot."

I wait. I'm smarter now.

He holds up book #2 in which Julia's hair (my female MC) covers her female upper bits. "But this? Mom... she's not wearing a top!"

I nod. "The important stuff's covered sweet pea."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah... I guess."

Yet, I can see he's unconvinced.

He hold's up the damning copy of #3. "She's naked here mom. N.A.K.E.D." He cocks his brows to his hairline like: defend this.

So I don't.

"You're right, her naked back is facing the viewer."

He waits, knowing there must be some logic to all my nudity madness on the covers.

I grin. "She's got clothes on for the cover of book four." 

Boy #4 blanches. "Mom!" he wails- his point not made in quite the way he thought it would be...

I hum a tune as I walk away to fix supper.

Eggnog- 12/12


Boy #4 fills a 20 oz. glass full of rich and delicious eggnog to enjoy during a family game of dice in which certain defeat looms because Grandma is Queen. Husband takes swig when son is not looking:

"Dad," #4 looks at poker face husband, "Did ya have some of my eggnog?" *eyes narrowed with suspicion*

"Nope. Just took a whiff of it." *epic lie*

"I see your lip marks on my eggnog." *Germaphobe rant coming*

Grandma pipes in, "Ya know, you're going to have to get over that. What happens when you want to french kiss girls and all that?" Grandma's eyes remain level and disinterested as she enters the Sex Zone topic with Germaphobe kid.

Awkward silence ensues.

"You're not like going there... are ya Grandma?" *look of mild horror overcomes Teen Countenance*

She shrugs. "You can't get all up-in-arms about germs while you're making out," she restates logically.

My husband and I bite insides of our cheeks. It's too precious for words. We let the Wise One take the heat.

"How did we go from dad wrecking my eggnog with his germs to talking about making out with girls with my grandma?" *#4 gives us the hand* "No, just... no guys. I'm not discussing tongues and girls in the same sentence."

He rolls the dice. *pauses* Then stands up to put the cup of eggnog in the freezer to kill off Dad Germs....



Smartphones


"Mom," boy #4 waltzes into house, clunking loads of junk on the floor of the mudroom and slamming the door.

I look up from writing a scene of poignancy, which instantly floats away to be lost in the ether.

Huh.

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you answer my pic text?"

I stop what I'm doing and scroll through the screen of my smartphone to see video of new ice cream flavor. Bubblegum. Yum.

"Ah..." I begin.

Eyebrows raise knowingly on #4s forehead. "Are ya still having trouble navigating your Galaxy?"

Hates to admit tech-issues at all costs. Staggers through response.

"Ah..."

"Mom!" boy #4 stalks over, tears smartphone out of my hand while my eyes stray back to the story. "You don't have a chime activated! Why do you have 'brew' on here? Do you even use brew?" he asks incredulously.

Hell no. I shrug.

"Argh! Let me rip through here and organize your phone," he says, lifting the phone in the air like an ugly exclamation point, Saving the Day for Mom whose indifference is legendary. Dreams of Fruit Ninja and Angry Birds dance before my eyes. I so need those apps.... Not.

"No," I say, "thinking about learning how to navigate the smartphone makes me want to weep from boredom or throw up."

#4 stares at me, finally responding with, "You need your dumb phone back then. You're not using the full potential of this cell, Mom," #4 lectures.

My face lights up. 

"No, Mom, I know what you're thinking."

Everyone always does. I'm not sure why.

"Yes, that's an excellent idea. Smart," I say with emphasis on that last word.

"Ugh! Mom, don't go back to that. Don't you want smart?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm for dumb all the way...."

#4 rolls eyes at the Lost Cause that is His Mom.

*One week later* dumb phone arrives via post and I'm so ecstatic over pawning the Galaxy off to boy #1 (who navigates the entire catalog of capabilities in one day) that I post it on FB. Loyal FaceBookers come back and affirm my choice. See how that works?

Note: I love my new hint, I am smarter than it and that's how I like my gadgets...



 Reading my Books Again Before Writing the Next Installment


Husband gives me a studious look. "What are you reading?" Midday, me reading would be a rare event. I prefer to Shaft Myself on tons of Sleep by reading late into the night.

"Blood Singers," I reply.

His brows come together in a classic Danny Frown. "Isn't that..." he waves his hand around absently.

"Book #6," I supply with a smile.

Frown deepens. "That was your first one?"

Huh, kinda complicated. "It was the one I wrote in 2007 then revised and re-pubbed in March."

"So technically it is your first book published as your sixth?"

I guess so, but... brother. "Yeah," I answer. Trying to care about order and all that when chaos is so much more my Happy Place.

"Haven't you already read that about seven times?"

I nod my head. Actually, this is more like 8-9 at this point.

"But the voices aren't 'fresh' if I don't re-read it right before book #2," I say in explanation and with the certainty of historical precedence.

"Voices?" he queries.

I nod solemnly, keeping my humor under wraps with a supreme effort, always an ugly task.

But he's sly after twenty-five years of Living with Me and a smirk overtakes his face. "Ya know, there's help for that."

A grin breaks over my face. "My readers," I answer and his brows shoot up to his hairline.

"And what do they do?"

"Read the voices, of course...."

*smile at each other*


About Butts

In talking with my Beta about butts:


*apple bottom* that's not a bad descripter. Apples are the food of the gods. Just sayin'..... I have No Butt. I am trying to Get A Butt. Huh.

On Creating Vlogs


I recently see another blogger post a vlog and think, "Sounds like a good way to establish a connection with my readers."

Stumbles along through Mac navigation process*scratches head*stews*mumbles-to-self*figures it out.


*two hours later*

I make video talking about whatever I think people will like while not giving thought to much of anything else. Typical impromptu ramble.

*watches video*

I notice I'm not sitting still and my knee is swinging, my hands are moving as I listen to my supposed voice.

Do I really sound like this?

Huh.

*Hits mute button*

Relief washes over me.

Watches hands flail. Hits minimize.

*Can't see video any longer*

Perfect.

Hits "publish" for my blog.

#1 boy walks in, sees precarious perch of laptop on stool. Eyebrows raise because, let's face it, nothing I do is predictable. He's sure that I have an explanation for that.

"Mom?" Wary expression. "What's that doing here?" Points to laptop.

"I'm doing a vlog."

Grunts a response. Which is rudimentarily interpreted as: swell, thanks for the clarification. (Yeah, I can get all that from a grunt, just so ya know).

#1 paces back and forth (this is normal).

I ask, "Do you think I'm kinda hyper?" Leg's swinging, hands flailing....

*paces* "Ah, no."

I watch Boy #1 pace over the top of my bouncing knee.

"You're just mom."

Right.

Seeing the DNA at work guys?



Moving furniture


Kid #4 and I lug late 80s, solid oak bedroom set to another room. It's the fifth hour and it's just us. Husband is away getting a new bed for the first time in almost twenty years.

"I have a plan," says kid #4.

My eyebrows raise to my hairline. Who has a plan for moving furniture? You pick up the miserable load, shuffle to destination B while saying see ya later to A. "What do ya mean, A Plan?"

"Well... I think if we put the mattress on end and slide it along the tile we don't really have to lift," kid waves hand around to show how stupid it would be to lift the mattress.

Right.

"Okay, we're going to try your Plan," I say with my usual reservation when I don't have the idea first. 

*ten minutes later*

For reasons unexplained, sliding the mattress along the tile floor as it makes slow progress from bedroom A, through the kitchen to bedroom B strikes us as funny at almost midnight.

We begin a laughing fit that seizes us without mercy and the mattress begins to become unwieldy, flailing about like an unmoveable object.

By us of course.

Kid #4 lurches to catch The Monument as it falls and hits me in the face because he can't see me on the other side. Of course, my mouth is open because of the hysteria fit and it makes a resounding smack.

Kid #4 loses it totally, "I've hit my mother!" he screams, laughing.

Huh.

We rescue the mattress and after laughing for five minutes about my bludgeoning, continue to slide The Lovely to its final destination....


Kids flying the Coop
(ya write what ya know, right?)


My husband holds large yard waste trash bag in one hand and I hold its twin.

(Internally debates if Hazmat suits are required.)

We survey room of recently MIA son who now Knows All in the Real World.

"I'll get the trash and you get the laundry."

"Right," I say, pretty intimidated by not seeing any surface... of any kind.

*an hour later*

Husband holds up something that has a black outside with unidentified innards. "What do you think this is?"

"Why don't you smell it and see?" I ask innocently.

Dry Gag.

My face breaks out in a criminal grin....


The Importance of Dog Poop


Epic Savage battle scene unfolds between the fragment and our Guys with Gills in living color inside my head, I furiously punch the keyboard, writing down the events as they transpire while soaking up the heat on the patio. 

Swing, pierce, slice, parry... dismember....

*nauseating smell breaks through writing frenzy*

What? Is That? *looks up from keyboard to see small dog making large prize in doggy yard*

*sighs* as wisps of creative intellect are whisked away for Dog Poop Duty.

I begin to discard poop as boy #4 enters. "Mom?" hands jammed in jean pockets.

"Uh-huh," I look up with an inverted plastic bag with Warm Excrement inside.

Boy stares at Poop Prize then looks at me, shifts weight, scratches head. "There's ripe bananas on the kitchen counter."

(Mentally alerting the Media) while holding prize in hand. "Yeah?" Irritated.

"Can you make banana bread today?"

"Argh! My cool battles scene was interrupted for dog crap! Banana bread!?" I throw up my hand with the poop like a stinky banner, "I. Can't. Get. Anything. Done!" Standard rant.

Boy #4 smiles evilly. "Yeah... that sucks, Mom," (this is what I get for not having dumb kids and thinking sarcasm was a cool training perspective.) He continues, "What's for supper?"



On self-manicures:


   Hubby comes into the bathroom, surveys the carnage, lifts his head and says, "Are we saving money here?"

   This is a question that doesn't warrant a response but I'm undaunted as usual, "No! We live in the furthest corner of the earth and I can't get cute nails unless I do it myself!" Huffs.

   Husband surveys horrible, blotchy flowers on otherwise great feet. "Are those cute?".

   A long protracted silence ensues. "Get out! It's a work in progress!" Snarls.


****

Supper at my house

Hammering on keyboard furiously during EPIC zombie dismemberment scene....

In strolls boy #3. "Mom..."

I grunt intelligibly. 

"Mom!?"

Thwack-chop-slice-hack-eviscerate... "What?" eyes bore holes into offensive interruption.

Kid scratches head and shifts weight while scene continues to play out in my head while I am not TYPING said scene.

"Yeah... what's for supper?" 

The Most Important Question of The Day.

"What?!" Shrieking rager emerges from hidden interior crevice.

Kid isn't fazed. "Yeah... can <fill in the blanks> come over to eat supper?"

Zombie scene fades to be replaced with: can I make enough pizza in the next two hours for eight teenage boys?

Huh.

"Okay... yeah, I can roll with that program," I say.

Kid fist-pumps."It's Friday so pizza, right?" Hope-springs-eternal expression overtakes face.

The question swells in the room and I answer, "Yeah, no problem."

Oh My Gosh, the dough takes a Million Light Years to rise. I won't have enough time! Is the !@#$ pepperoni frozen? Do I have any Prego for cripe's sake... ?

A smile takes over #3s face. "Thanks, Mom."

I smile back.

Life with four sons....



4 comments:

  1. LOL...I can see where some of the snark in Death comes from now!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Nichole BouchardJune 24, 2012 at 8:05 AM

    I laughed the whole way through this. Been there, seen that. And you write it exactly as it is. Very intelligent, very funny, and very real. Love this!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hey guys... thanks! I'd like to fake everyone out into thinking I have A Handle on my Unique Chaos!

    Guess what? So-don't! LOL! Thanks for sharing~ :D

    ReplyDelete
  4. OMG!!!! LMAO!!!!! This is priceless! I see a new series here! Reality in its finest moments...you know, we may be related...this is all too frighteningly familiar!

    ReplyDelete