I'd Rather Have My Eyelids Stapled to My Brow
The newsletter from school that came home in Noah’s backpack featured a duck reading a book entitled ‘Silly Stories.’
I like silly, it’s what I write about. I started reading. The first column “Where’s Your Funny Bone?” asked what makes your child laugh. Funny noises, being tickled, or maybe a funny picture; nowhere did it mention jumping off the roof of the shed with cardboard attached to arms to see if people can actually fly. So, I moved on.
The next column, “Attention All Shoppers” drew me in. I’m the shopping editor for a publication I write for. Surely, this will help me with my next edition. Take your child grocery shopping, it read.
I gasped so loudly that the cat fled the room. I’d rather have my eyelids stapled to my brow.
As one who loves a good challenge, or simply a kick in the pants, I took my boys shopping. Actually, I take them shopping often, though not my choice; it is what a mom must endure. I thought about the newsletter’s advice and decided it was time for the boys to learn the basic food groups. We started in the deli aisle, pulled a number from the dispenser, 78, not too bad, I thought, as the next number announced was 56. We should be out of here by December.
While at the deli where fresh loaves of bread and pies straight from the oven are too tempting for little fingers, I had to apologize seven times to the bakers about the holes popped into the banana cream pies and plastic wrapped around the bagels.
As a deterrent to destroying the baked goods while waiting for our deli number to be called or for facial hair to sprout on my boys’ prepubescent chins – which ever came first - we plodded through the produce aisles in search of fruit that might be fun.
“How about nectarines?” I asked.
“Mom that’s mouthwash,” said Noah.
Christian, always ready to help, quipped “No, silly that’s Listerine. Aren’t nectarines those little oranges?”
“No, they're like a peach without the fuzz.” I said
“Oh, I thought that stuff was mold.”
“Ok, then how about cucumbers?” I venture.
“You mean puke-cumbers.”
Into frozen foods we go. I can explain that frozen is better than canned, but not as good as fresh. They don’t care, and head right for the two-gallon container of fun-fetti with even more marshmallow ice cream. Oh good, I say, that is part of the dairy group.
By the time I got home, popcorn became a vegetable and fruit snacks were inducted into the fruit group. However, what am I going to do with seven banana cream pies?
Breakfast the next morning was more fun than flying off the shed, the boys announced, as I washed off banana cream pie from their cheeks and added extra sprinkles to the fun-fetti ice cream. Though our diet may not be the most well balanced, our food-group lessons are a blast.
November’s newsletter is going to feature turkeys. Might be interesting.
I like silly, it’s what I write about. I started reading. The first column “Where’s Your Funny Bone?” asked what makes your child laugh. Funny noises, being tickled, or maybe a funny picture; nowhere did it mention jumping off the roof of the shed with cardboard attached to arms to see if people can actually fly. So, I moved on.
The next column, “Attention All Shoppers” drew me in. I’m the shopping editor for a publication I write for. Surely, this will help me with my next edition. Take your child grocery shopping, it read.
I gasped so loudly that the cat fled the room. I’d rather have my eyelids stapled to my brow.
As one who loves a good challenge, or simply a kick in the pants, I took my boys shopping. Actually, I take them shopping often, though not my choice; it is what a mom must endure. I thought about the newsletter’s advice and decided it was time for the boys to learn the basic food groups. We started in the deli aisle, pulled a number from the dispenser, 78, not too bad, I thought, as the next number announced was 56. We should be out of here by December.
While at the deli where fresh loaves of bread and pies straight from the oven are too tempting for little fingers, I had to apologize seven times to the bakers about the holes popped into the banana cream pies and plastic wrapped around the bagels.
As a deterrent to destroying the baked goods while waiting for our deli number to be called or for facial hair to sprout on my boys’ prepubescent chins – which ever came first - we plodded through the produce aisles in search of fruit that might be fun.
“How about nectarines?” I asked.
“Mom that’s mouthwash,” said Noah.
Christian, always ready to help, quipped “No, silly that’s Listerine. Aren’t nectarines those little oranges?”
“No, they're like a peach without the fuzz.” I said
“Oh, I thought that stuff was mold.”
“Ok, then how about cucumbers?” I venture.
“You mean puke-cumbers.”
Into frozen foods we go. I can explain that frozen is better than canned, but not as good as fresh. They don’t care, and head right for the two-gallon container of fun-fetti with even more marshmallow ice cream. Oh good, I say, that is part of the dairy group.
By the time I got home, popcorn became a vegetable and fruit snacks were inducted into the fruit group. However, what am I going to do with seven banana cream pies?
Breakfast the next morning was more fun than flying off the shed, the boys announced, as I washed off banana cream pie from their cheeks and added extra sprinkles to the fun-fetti ice cream. Though our diet may not be the most well balanced, our food-group lessons are a blast.
November’s newsletter is going to feature turkeys. Might be interesting.
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