Red Roses for Con-fused Lady

~

The subject of this post should be sung to the tune of "Red Roses for a Bluuuuuuuuue Lady" by the great Jimmy Osmond, just for the record.

You know the one.

"RED Roooooo - ses,

for a

bluuuuuuuuueeee

Lay-dee!"

And now, blog audience, you are quite welcome for the jingle that I have just placed in your subconscious, which will play and replay over and over and over again all day today.

YOU ARE WELCOME!

Okay, yeah, that's NOT the story.

So the other day, it was my birthday. If you were paying attention and reading my posts, you would have known this. Ahem.

Anyhoo.

Had a great birthday weekend, and a great birth-DAY.

On the day of my birth-DAY, I received the most beautiful delivery of long stemmed red roses. I mean, they were GORGEOUS.

September 29th clearly isn't anywhere near a flower holiday, so this bouquet was put together with lots of time, effort, and love.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Awwwwwwwww. Two Swords is the BEST!"

Well.

Yes, he is.

But the flowers weren't from him. And I knew they weren't from him. Not his style.

I digress.

So Two Swords and I are wondering who they were from.

Couldn't be my Mom, cuz I just saw her for my Birthday weekend, and she did a lot for me then , and she wouldn't send flowers on top of all that (nor would anyone or did anyone expect her to).

Thought maybe it was Two-Fisted Chris and Mermaidelicious, cuz that is DEFINITELY their style, but Two-Fisted Chris set his alarm especially early this Tuesday morning, to make sure he was the FIRST of my brothers to call me on my birthday (he ended up being the ONLY brother to call me on my birthday, but I digress and will take my baggage and stow it in the overhead compartment), and he told me that a card was on the way, and he's not all that great at keeping secrets, and I didn't sense that there were Vegas flowers coming my way, so I crossed him off the potential list.

So me and Two Swords read the card.

It was the most beautiful card! I would write the message for you, word for word, but wouldn't you know, I can't find the card RIGHT NOW?

UGH.

Well the beautiful message was something like, "May God continue to bless your life with the most abundant of blessings, for you are most deserving," and something else beautiful, and something else beautiful and ...

NO NAME.

There was no name signed to the card.

And I could not tell who had sent the card from the message.

One of the reasons, is because I just happen to be soooo popular, it could have been any of THOUSANDS of people.

Ahem.

So Two Swords and I thought about it and thought about it and thought about it, going through all the possibilities of people we knew who would have taken the time to write such a thoughtful note.

We came up with nothing.

So I decided to call the local florist, and see if they could tell me who sent the flowers.

So Local Florist says, "hmmmmmmmmmmm. Whoever placed this order did so through 1800flowers, and I don't have their name or their credit card information or anything. I can't even tell you what STATE they live in."

Once I heard this, I was able to eliminate about three people from my posse who I know absolutely HATE 1800flowers. And those three people were already eliminated from our mystery, as none of them would have sent me flowers on my birthday, or would have even KNOWN it was my birthday.

Mystery continues.

I ask Miss Local Florist if there was anyway we could call 1800flowers and see if THEY would tell us who sent the roses.

Miss Local Florist said, "I can try, but you know 1800flowers, who knows what they'll come up with."

Okay fine.

This wasn't enough for me.

I decided to send out the following email to everyone in my address list and facebook list, to see if I could solve the mystery my DAMN self. (nope, I do NOT have OCD. NOT me!)

I just received a beautiful bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed red roses for my birthday that did NOT come from my husband.

The card was attached, with a very sweet message, but no name was given

I have called the florist and asked them who sent the flowers, and they don't know, because they were ordered thru 1800flowers.

I would really like to know who sent them so that I may properly thank you!

And so Billy can stop worrying that I have a 'guy' secret admirer!

And I wasn't trying to call out the rest of you for NOT sending me flowers on my birthday, I just didn't know what else to do!

Thank you all for engaging me in my obsessive-compulsive-disorder!

Have a great day!

So here's what happened next.

I received about one hundred and sixty-three "man am I a JACKASS for not remembering your birthday, and man, I feel even worse that I never thought to send you flowers on the birthday I forgot, but Happy BIRTHDAY!"

So in a way, I elicited my own birthday messages!

Never thought of that before.

Might just have to do it again next year!

Ahem.

About eight hours later, Miss Local Florist finally called back.

The sender of the flowers was revealed.

My high school BFF - Miss Jayne aka MARGUERITA (remember her from the Sushi outing after the bell concert?) sent them.

The note was right up her alley. Should have known, however, she came to my little birthday soiree weekend, and I eliminated her from the list just like I eliminated my mother, because she had 'done enough' already.

But sweet Marguerita came through and sent me gorgeous red roses.

And here she is, in all her glory.

Friends, meet Marguerita. For the record, her maiden name was Reilly. I'll let you do the math on that one.



And now Two Swords is no longer worried that I'm having an affair. (with a dude, at least).

And I am still enjoying the beautiful roses.

And the one hundred and sixty three "Happy Birthday, sorry I suck emails."

Not Me Monday!

~

We did NOT celebrate my birthday a few days early this past weekend.

We did NOT travel to my parents' compound on the Gulf of Mexico.

We did NOT have our UNusual wings and beer and fries and grilled cheese sandwiches (for a certain young captain who NEVER has menu difficulties at restaurants).

We did NOT have our UNusual fabulous time at said wings and beer establishment.

During our NON-fabulous time, a certain young Captain (NOT Jake Sparrow!), did NOT have to get up from the table to use the restroom.

His father did NOT take him.

They were NOT gone longer than usual.

Upon finally returning to the table, Billy Two Swords was NOT shaking his head in utter disgust.

I did NOT ask the INevitable question, "What did NOT happen in there?"

Two Swords did NOT say:

"HE PEED ON HIS FACE."

Sigh.

People?

I can understand peeing on someone else's face. Since the Captain has done this to ME before.

But how does ONE pee on ONE's OWN FACE?

Allegedly (according to Two Swords), the urinal was NOT too high for the young Captain.

He did NOT stand on his tiptoes.

He did NOT aim his 'unit' straight up into the air.

He did NOT pee on his shirt.

He did NOT pee on the wall.

He did NOT pee on his face.

He did NOT pee everywhere BUT the urinal.

When the urine-soaked Captain finally clambered up into his seat, I did NOT notice beads of urine all over my precious son's hair.

I did NOT gently wipe away said urine drops with a few napkins and continue eating my delectable teriyaki chicken wings with blue cheese dressing as if NOTHING UNusual had happened.

NOT me.

NO way.

NOT in this family.

~

Dirty Diana

~

This morning, I received the following email message from my mother:

Hey,

I just sent Reilly an email by accident, would you please delete it before she has a chance to read it.

Thank you,
Mom



Well, to be perfectly honest, I had forgotten my daughter's email address, so I had to ask Mom to give it to me, and lo and behold, Reilly the Red hasn't checked her email since May.

She had a few birthday wishes, and some cute pictures that Grandma had sent her, but that was it.

So it wasn't hard to find the email that was 'mistakenly' sent to her by her GRANDMOTHER.

The subject of the email was "God Bless England".

I clicked to open it, thinking it was a picture of Queen Elizabeth, or images of Stonehenge.

Ummmm.

Nope.

It started like this:

A Mexican, an Arab, and an English Man are all in the same bar.

(Please note, the text was in fact IN RED, and was in fact in a font larger than blogspot will allow me to use.)

(Also, please note that my seven year old daughter has an IQ of 137 and reads on an 8th grade level.)

And it ended like this:

In England, we have so many F***ing illegal immigrants that we don't have to drink with the same ones twice.

For 10 months now, my mother, Grandma Diane, has been very vocally complaining about the fact that she has not yet been given a Pirate Name.

Well, Mom, you did it to yourself.

Ladies and gentlemen:

Meet Dirty Diana.



Rest assured, in this photo, she is not reading Hustler magazine to my children.

Allegedly.

~

Johnny Appleseed

~

Captain Jake Sparrow learned all about Johnny Appleseed in school yesterday.

Interestingly enough, I also acquired some new knowledge about Johnny Appleseed when the Sparrow recounted the version he had learned.

I took notes.

Very good notes.

Cornell notes, by the way.

Allegedly, this is what Miss Ashley taught him.


There was a man named Johnny Appleseed.

He drove around and planted seeds and went to people's houses in his truck.

He drove a truck, cuz he's a guy.

He had nowhere to sleep.

People let him sleep in their houses, but only downstairs.

They gave him ice cream.

And they let him watch TV.

They let him watch grown up fishing shows, and apple shows.

He left.

And then he traveled again and planted more seeds.

He kept traveling and traveling and traveling.

And then he went home where he lived far, far away.

He wanted people to see apple trees when they went apple driving.





This is the Johnny Appleseed Gospel According to Captain Jake Sparrow.

Thanks be to apples.

Amen.

~

Tools for My Ears and Two Dots From My Teacher

~
So I just wrote the title to my post, and realized it kinda has a "Beer for My Hor-ses" ring to it.

Ugh.

Today, The Captain had a rough day at school.

Just like any other day, really.

Now that he is in K-4, his daily behavior is monitored by "Dots".

One dot, a warning.

Two dots, a timeout with your head down.

Three dots, death row.

Or something like that.

The Captain's MO (modus operandi) seems to hover at the Two Dot mark.

Every day, we pick him up from the Butterworth camp, and say, "How many?"

And it's usually, "ugh. Two Dots Mom."

But since he is learning that azul means blue and that 1 followed by a 5 is 15, we're kinda cutting him a little slack with the dots.

I mean, it's the Captain we're talking about here.

And then there was today.

A typical Two Dot day.

Or so I thought.

Until I asked, (which we habitually do), what was the inappropriate behavior that caused the Two Dots?

Captain: "Ugh! I just don't want to tell you about this stuff! Ugh!"

Hurricane Rojo: "Jake, why did you get the first dot?"

Captain: "Ugh! I was goofing off and being la la la la la WILD while my teacher was getting ready to read the book."

Hurricane Rojo: "Jake, why were you getting la la la la la WILD while your teacher was getting to read your story?"

Captain: "Ugh! Mom! She wasn't EVEN reading yet! If she was READING, I would NOT have been la la la la la WILD! She wasn't ready!"

(Hurricane Rojo's expertise with the Art of War by the great Sun Tsu has led her to the conclusion that this engagement cannot be won and has decided to move onward to the Battle of Two Dots).

Hurricane Rojo: "Jake, what were you doing when you got your second dot?"

Captain: "Ugh! Mom! I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS ANY MORE AND WHAT ARE WE HAVING FOR SUPPER? NOTHING?? NOTHING?? NOTHING??"

Aside - what the hell does supper have to do with the dots, and since when do we have NOTHING?? NOTHING?? NOTHING?? on the menu?

Hurricane Rojo: "Jake, I am going to ask you one more time, why did you get your second dot?"

Captain: (stops in the middle of the parking lot, throws his backpack on the asphalt, waves his arms in the air, and screams at the top of his lungs) "BECAUSE I WAS WRESTLING ON TOP OF BEN! THAT'S WHY! ARE YOU DONE WITH THIS NOW?"

Whoa.

The Captain recently started wress-a-ling. The real kind. With mats. And shoes. And headgear. And RULES.

And Rule #1 with the Coach was:

NO WRESTLING ANY WHERE, EVER EXCEPT AT WRESTLING PRACTICE ON THE MAT!

So the Wress-A-Ling Sparrow knew he was in for it.

The thrown backpack and flailing arms kinda gave it away.

We finally get in the car, and I decide to reach for my psychologist hat, and put it on for a few minutes.

Dr. Rojo: "Jake, let's start our afternoon over, okay?"

Captain: "ugh"

Dr. Rojo: "Jake, were you having problems with your listening ears today?"

A very calm Captain responds, very quietly, "Yes."

Light bulb! Am I genius? Have I discovered a problem? Found the solution? Press on, Dr. Rojo, press on!

Dr. Rojo: "Jake, what are the problems you had with your listening ears today?"

Captain: "Mom. It's sad."

Dr. Rojo: "Really, Jake? It's sad?"

Captian: "Yeah Mom. Sad."

Dr. Rojo: "Jake, can we fix the problem with your listening ears?"

Captain: "Yeah Mom, I think I can, if you'll let me."

Okay.

I'm hitting the pause button.

What the fork is this kid talking about? I don't know what hat I'm wearing, what dot we're on, what the hell he did, why he freaked out and tried to pile drive his best friend at school, and what could possibly cause him a sad reaction involving asking permission to fix his ears?

Am I the only one who needs a map through this post?

Dr. Rojo: "Jake, how can I help you fix your listening ears?"

Captain: "Mom, I need to stick my drill and my screwdriver and my sticks up into my ears and fix them cuz they broke today. They just don't work, and I gotta fix them cuz I don't want no more dots!"

Dr. Rojo: "Jake - are you sure the only way to fix your listening ears is by sticking your tools into them?"

Captain: "Yeah mom. They are really broke. I mean bad broke."

Thankfully, at the dinner table, Billy Two Swords told him he was going to have to tell his coach that he wrestled outside the lines, and that his claim that his listening ears were broken and needed to be 'fixed' by tools was ridiculous.

Again, could someone please tell me why I went to college , exactly?

In the words of the illustrious Captain Jake Sparrow, "UGH!"

~

Dick Butt Kiss

~

Captain Jake Sparrow and Reilly the Red were headed for bed this evening when the following commercial came on.

You've probably seen it by now.

But just in case, here is the Dick Butkus Fedex commercial my children just discovered TONIGHT.

And they heard "Dick Butkus", but they thought they heard "DICK BUTT KISS".

And they laughed.

And they laughed.

And they laughed.

And for fifteen minutes, the two of them are cracking each other up, falling down on the floor laughing, taking turns saying:

"DICK BUTT KISS'

phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

"Reilly! Did you hear that? DICK BUTT KISS!"

phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

"Jake! DICK BUTT KISS!"

phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

And I have to admit, it was pretty hilarious.

And then Reilly asked, "Is that guy's name REALLY DICK BUTT KISS?"

And me and Two Swords said, "Yep, sure is."

And then the phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

started all over again.

It took forever to get them settled down.

I think I still hear The Sparrow giggling to himself in his room:

"dick butt kiss - phaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"

~

Bears, Cheetahs, and Thongs, OH MY!

~
Today was Mrs. Butterworth's birthday.

Yes, Mrs. Butterworth is a real person.

And yes, Mrs. Butterworth is her real name.

And no, she doesn't have a pirate name, because her name is Mrs. Butterworth for crying out loud, and she needs no other name with a fabulous name like Mrs. Butterworth!

And if you don't know Mrs. Butterworth, well, friends, YOU are missing out.

Mrs. Butterworth just happens to be the greatest preschool principal in the entire preschool universe.

I might go one step further and say that she is the greatest principal PERIOD, but, since she already has a big head from all this crap, I'll stop.

Today was Mrs. Butterworth's 39th birthday.

It's okay to say that because she said I could, and because she is EXACTLY eight days older than me. (you better be marking your calendars!)

So how do we get to bears and cheeetahs and thongs?

Right.

So, me and Captain Jake Sparrow headed to the Dollar Store this morning before school, to get a plethora of gag gifts for our principal (and dear friend) who has an amazing sense of humor (how can she not with Fallon Pirates in her life) and to hopefully brighten her birthday with gifts that no one else would think to get her.

So Sparrow asks me what are we going to get Mrs. Butterworth.

And I had the following in my mind (keeping in mind that since we're the same age, I know what's coming to me, so I figure I get like this one chance to throw the first pitch, knowhadimeanverne?)

Granny panties, old lady curlers, Geritol, etc.

But Jake didn't quite understand all that.

So I shifted in third gear.

And we had our twenty dollar budget, and just started going up and down the shelves.

Jake picks Silly String.

I picked a RIP Halloween headstone.

Jake picks a Spiderman plastic wine glass.

I picked old lady curlers.

Jake picks orange flip flops.

I picked Beano.

Jake picks Milk Duds.

I picked High School Musical pom poms.

Jake picks a feather boa.

Jake and I together pick a fake moustache eyeglass face.

I picked Swedish Fish.

Jake picked a Bear shaped air freshener.

And then we enter the unmentionable aisle.

I was searching for the grannie panties.

Jake spots them first.

Nope.

Not grannie panties.

Thongs.

Yep.

Thongs.

And the Captain says, "How about these, Mom? Do you think she'd like these?"

And since I had pretty much given him carte blanche, and since I knew (don't ask how) that Mrs. Butterworth is a fan of that particular type of unmentionable, I said, "What do you think, Jake?"

And the Captain says, "Yep. Let's get her these Cheetah ones."

And in the bag they went.

And can I just interject here once again, that when I started this blog I fully intended it to be rated G for ever and ever and ever, and how can I help it that my son has fabulous taste in women's underwear? Seriously? How can I not be proud of him, and support his interest in quality gift-giving?

So off we trudge to school.

HUGE birthday bag with balloon attached, stuffed to the gills with tissue wrapped "crap" presents.

And what did Mrs. Butterworth think of her gifts?

What do you think?



Please note, she opted not to display to the cheetah thong.

She is a preschool principal after all.

Even if she is the best preschool principal in the whole universe.

Happy Birthday, Mrs. Butterworth!

We love you!

One more thing -- when I tucked the Captain into bed this evening, he asked me if he I could ask Mrs. Butterworth tomorrow:

"Mrs. Butterworth, the next time you come to our Daytona 100 (um, 500) party, can you please bring your really cool mustache face?"

He didn't mention any thong requests.

~

Not Me Monday!

Previously, I did NOT write a post about Jake in which he did NOT describe his netherregions as "BIG and HUGE".

The other day, Billy Two Swords was NOT taking a shower.

He did NOT call me to come in from the other room.

I did NOT think that perhaps he did NOT need a towel or something.

NOPE.

Two Swords did NOT flash me.

He did NOT say, "So.....do you think THESE are BIG and HUGE?"

To which I did NOT respond.....

NOTHING.

Or NOTHING that I will repeat here.

NOT me.

NO way.

Did NOT happen.

~

DIVORCE

~

Alas.

I guess it was inevitable.

We should have known it would never work from the get go.

He, the social animal, never knew a stranger, friends out the ying yang.

She, the introverted book worm, mouthy, offensive, agoraphobic tendencies.

DIVORCE.

It appears that there is no other option.

She has asked for the divorce.

No matter how much love remains between the two of them, the request has been made.

Oh, wait.

NO...........No................No.............

Not the Hurricane and Two Swords! NO! No! we are NOT getting a divorce! Sorry about that!

Nope. Not happening. No worries there.

Actually, Reilly the Red asked me the other day if "we", being the "family", could divorce Jake.

Seriously.

And her father was thousands of miles away tending to a tragedy, so I winged it.

I told her, No, there would be NO divorcing in this family, mom or dad, brother or sister. Nope. Not going to happen.

"But he's a MONSTER!"

And then, I swear, she actually called him an "AMOEBA".

At SEVEN.

Swear.

I thought it was comical, and would blow over.

Nope.

And just for the record, to the Captain's credit, he wasn't even 'that' bad on this particular day.

His sister had just plain had 'enough', I guess.

So I thought I had made it pretty clear that no, there would be no divorcing, he's your brother, you love him, you're mad at him right now for lord only knows what, get the heck over it and shut your piehole.

She holed up in her room. The children's doors do NOT have locks, (gosh sometimes we are soooo wise), but if they did, hers would have been locked.

And my nearly perfect daughter wrote me the following letter. Word for Word.

Dear Mom

I know it's been a ruff 7 years but it's time

for me to go

your wish has came true I'm leaving

Senserly

Reilly

And then she drew a smiley face.

And added a PS.

I'm leaving towwmmorow

Guess what.

She wrote this note a week ago today.

Ummmm.

She's still here.

~

Does THIS Scare You?

~

So Captain Jake Sparrow arrived home from school yesterday.

He walks in the door.

And this is how he greeted me.

He stood there.

With left arm outstretched.

And a bandaged pinky extended away from the rest of his fingers.

Didn't say hello.

Didn't hug me.

Didn't throw down his backpack and demand a lollipop.

Nope.

He stood there.

And he screamed very loudly:

"Does THIS scare you?"

By THIS he meant his bandaged pinky.

Two Swords cracked up.

I told Jake, that No, his bandaged pinky did not scare ME, but did it scare HIM?

And then he unleashed with the drama of the scary, bandaged pinky.

His BFF, Blayden, stepped on his finger whilst going down the slide.

Near fatal injury, I know.

When I took the bandage off to clean it up and put on another, I saw that yes indeed, the injury would have hurt, and would probably hurt for days and mistakenly muttered, "Man, Blayden did a number on your finger."

And that's all we heard for the rest of the night.

"Blayden did a NUMBER on my finger!"

"Hey Dad! Did you see the NUMBER Blayden did on my finger?"

"Mommy! The NUMBER Blayden did on my finger really hurts!"

Rewinding to his arrival at the homestead, I probably should have just said, "EWWWWWWWWWWW, Yes Jake! Your cut, bandaged finger scares me! EEEK! Stay away! Ooooooohhhhh I am soooooooooooooo scared!"

Note to self.

~