Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category


Wednesday, May 2nd, 2012

This morning, I miraculously got the kids up and ready for school today with time to spare. I sat sipping my coffee on the couch until time to get the kids in the car, with Tiller, Rollie, and Brody (the dog) all sitting beside me. I checked my email while the kids read Rollie’s Encyclopedia of Immaturity, Vol. II. (Because Vol. I was not enough.)

I admit, I pretty much block everything out, especially before 8 a.m., but they were reading entries like, “How To Make a Fart Sound With Your Hands,” “How To Make a Fart Sound With Your Arm,” and “Frozen Underpants.”

And then I hear:

R: “How to make a fucksock.”

I choked on my coffee.


R: “How to make a fucksock.”

T: “What’s a fucksock?”

Me: “Give me that book.”

Rollie hands me the book. I look down at the page. The heading reads, “How to Make a Fauxhawk.”

Kids are awesome.

What are you gonna do when you’re dead?

Wednesday, February 29th, 2012


The kids and I were driving home from QT (Yes, Todd, i returned the movie!) and we had the following discussion:

Rollie: “Mom, what are you going to do when you’re dead?”

Me: “Um. . what?”

Rollie: “Like, are you going to go under a tombstone in the ground. Or are you going to let your family burn your skin, so they can keep your ashes? Or are you going to give your body to scientists to use?”

Me: “Uh, I don’t really know yet, baby. Daddy and I have talked about it a little.”

Rollie: “Daddy wants to have his family burn his skin and keep the ashes.”

Me: “You realize that they burn the entire body? But the body is just a vessel for the soul while it is on earth, so it isn’t in the body anymore, so it doesn’t hurt. Because you’re dead.”

I look in the rear view mirror: Rollie and Tiller are staring back at me in the mirror.

Tiller: “So, what does Mr. Poole* do with the bodies?”

Rollie: “He plays with the skulls.”

Now, there’s a comforting thought.

*Mr. Poole is the school science teacher.

Funny Notes from The Boy

Wednesday, February 22nd, 2012

This gem somehow got lost in the leaning tower of procrastination on my desk.

From Rollie to his elf, December 2011

From Rollie to his elf, December 2011

My transcription:

Note to elf. From: Rollie
Elves are good at: Being funny and messy, good with forts, hard to find at morning, good at being awesome, and cool, and small.
Note to Rollie: You are good. I lik cookey.

It cracks me up that he wrote back for the elf and purposefully misspelled the elf’s writing. Funny kid.

But this one, this one will always and forever be my fave. It is hanging on his bedroom door.


“No cheating. No abbreviations. Just words.”


Yeah, I Wore Pink Tulle. So what?

Wednesday, November 2nd, 2011

“Mama?” Tiller said.
“Yes, baby?” I muttered while cooking dinner.
Tiller: “Mama, will you be a fairy with me?”
Me: “huh?”
Tiller: “Will you be a fairy with me?”
Me: “I don’t think so, baby. I’m not pretty enough to be a fairy.”
Todd: “You know, we just did a tooth fairy spot. I can get you a fairy costume easy.”
Me: “Shut up, Todd.”

And that’s how I came to be a pink fairy for Halloween.

A little background first:

Something that Scares Me

Monday, October 24th, 2011

Ferris Wheels. I actually cursed that Ferris guy for inventing the damn things while riding one last night. They really, really scare me. Rollie was determined to ride the double ferris wheel in the background of the picture below, and thank god in heaven, Todd took one for the team and rode with him. I would have had the big one.

So, Tiller decided she would go on the smaller one. I was all like, “Are you sure? It looks pretty scary up there, baby.” And she was all like, “YEAH! SCARY and FUN! Let’s go ride it, Mama!” and I was all like, Well, FUUUUCK. (In my head. I’m not that bad a mother.) And then, when we had to sit at the top of the damn thing, just a swangin’, while they loaded more people, and then the thing started up again, and we came around the front side, going down, nothing but clouds, trees, air and pavement in front of us, I said it again. Out loud.


Under my breath, one hand’s knuckles clamped tight and white around the metal bar in front of us, the other one white-knuckling a handful of Tiller’s shirt, my arm wrapped all the way around her back, under her arm, ready to snatch her from the jaws of death at any moment.

Tiller: “What’s that?”

Me: “Yuck. I said Yuck. Ferris Wheels make me feel yucky, like I might throw up.”

And the girl just laughed and laughed, kicking her legs, setting our seat to riotous swinging.

A Mind of Their Own

Friday, September 23rd, 2011

“MOOOOOOM!!!!!” I heard from the basement. Rollie was clomping up the stairs, with his pants down around his ankles.

Me: “Uh, yes?”

R: “Mom, I need to change my underwear and pants!”

Me: “Oh, no. What happened?”

R: “Well, I was trying to aim for the toilet, but when I peed, it went straight down in my pants and underwear and everywhere!”

Me: “Okay, well, those things happen. Just put those in the dirty clothes and go change. It’s okay.”

Tiller, chiming in: “Did Rollie pee in his pants?!”

Rollie: “I didn’t do it! My penis did it on its own!”

Me: “Well, they do sometimes have a mind of their own.”

Crazy Shirts Alive and Well

Sunday, March 13th, 2011

“Crazy Shirts are Alive and Well,” says a distracted Tech Writer Attempting to work on projects at coffee shop on Sunday afternoon.

There are a plethora of Crazy Shirts available for my viewing pleasure today at the coffee shop. For the uninitiated, Crazy shirts are any bold and colorful patterned button down shirts worn by aging men trying to look interesting or cool despite beer guts and receding hairlines. Most commonly-seen are the hawaiian shirt variety, but lucky crazy shirt sightings might include geometric Max Headroom-style shirts, and other CRAZY patterns. Todd and i first identified the crazy shirt phenomenon a few years ago when given free tickets to see The Church at the Variety Playhouse. Crazy shirts abounded at that show.

Crazy shirts are alive and well at Alcove Coffee this beautiful Sunday afternoon. Thank God the hippie chick isn’t working and some punk rock kid with pink hair and piercings is controlling the music, or i would be in compete and utter hell.

p.s. Wife of most recent crazy shirt sighting had on a female version, involving palm trees on a sea blue background bordered by rum and tequila bottles. This will need further research.

How to Answer a Telephone, & Other Lost Arts

Tuesday, December 21st, 2010

Todd and I both have iPhones. Before that, we both had plain old-fashioned cell phones. When we moved from our house in East Atlanta to our current home, we didn’t even bother plugging in a phone. We have a land line, but we just don’t use it. I have forgotten what it was like to have one.

Well, a few weeks ago, my phone was acting up, and I was working on a project with someone, and we needed to talk, so he asked me for my home phone number. I didn’t even know the number. I vaguely remembered putting it into my phone contacts when we moved in. So, i gave that number to the friend, and then told him to wait about ten minutes while I went to look for a phone.

To plug into a wall.

I had to go find a phone that is ten times the size of my cel phone, and which plugs into a wall jack. And it wasn’t even a cordless phone. It has a cord, tying the talker to within 5-10 feet of the wall jack while on the phone.

Weird. We had our conference call. I sat at the kitchen table while I did, rather than walking around, doing laundry, unloading the dishwasher, walking outside to let the dog out.

I remember the hours on end that my friends, boyfriends, myself spent talking on the phone. I would lie on my bed, or on the floor near the phone jack. I would sit on the desk in my parents’ kitchen, talking on the phone. “Do you like her? Well, she likes you. I think you should ask her to go with you.” Ad nauseum.

I never talked on the phone outside. Or in the car. Or on the bus. Or in the grocery store. Or in the coffee shop.

Oh wait. We didn’t have those either.

Todd and I don’t answer each others’ phones. The kids know not to answer our phones. They have never had the opportunity to yell, “I got it!” or for me to yell, “Answer the phone!” or hear me yell upstairs, the mouthpiece cupped to my breast to muffle the sound of my voice as I raise it over the sound of his stereo (ha!) blaring, “Rollie! Phone!”

So, that was a few weeks ago, and I haven’t used the house phone since. I left it on the wall, though, because it made me laugh. And then I forgot about it.

Until ten minutes ago, when we all heard a ringing. A strange, archaic ringing. The kids ran to the stairs to yell down, “something’s making a noise, Mama!” There might have been a tinge of panic in their little voices.

I said “Where is it coming from?” Because I didn’t recognize it, either.

“From that thing on the wall!” Rollie yelled. “What do i do?”

I laughed as I realized it was the phone on the kitchen wall.

“You answer it!”


Rollie: “How?”

Me: “You pick it up and say hello!”

After all of this, of course, he did not make it to the phone in time. Oh well, if they call back, we’ll be ready this time. Armed with the knowledge of outdated phones and their etiquette.

Ham Lincoln

Thursday, December 16th, 2010

Tiller: let’s play the guessing game . You go first.
Me: okay. What are the rules?
Tiller: you can say a person. Or an animal. But not a food.
Me: Okay.
Tiller: but it can be a person with food in their name. Like George . . . I mean, abraHAM Lincoln.

Fairies in the Manger

Wednesday, December 15th, 2010

The other night, Todd and Rollie left for Boy Scouts and Tiller and I were still at the dinner table talking. She was telling me how she had her feelings hurt because Vivian and Anna both got to be Mary when they played manger, and she did not get a turn. I was amazed that she really knew about the manger and Mary. Upon further questioning, she also knows what a manger is, who is in the manger (Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus), and that there were animals all around, because there “was no hotel.”

Me: “Didn’t some other people come to the manger?”
Tiller: “Yes. The wise men, and the fairies.”
Me: “The fairies?”
Tiller: “Yes, the fairies come to see the Baby Jesus.”
Me: “Honey, I think you mean the Angels.”
Tiller: “Oh, yes! They have wings like fairies!”