Showing posts with label Nap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nap. Show all posts

Friday, February 21, 2020

Fly On The Wall: All-Time Favorite Remarks (Part Three)

     Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. Today, four bloggers are welcoming you into their homes for a sneak peek at what goes on behind closed doors.

     Every now and then I enjoy looking back on past Fly On The Wall posts and reading some of the funnier comments made by family members. Today, I'm sharing my favorites from 2016 (with the startling realization that not much has changed around here in four years---my family is still nuts).


HUBS: "My legs and knees are so sore and stiff from driving in this car for five hours, I can barely stand. It's a good thing no one is trying to rob us at gunpoint right now because I wouldn't be able to run. I'd just hand over my wallet and tell them they're welcome."

SON: (attempting to iron his shirt) "Who the heck put the iron setting on wool, for god sake?"
HUBS: "I did. I ironed sheep yesterday."

INSURANCE SALES REP: (on the phone with my husband): "Mr. Doyle, I'll need you to sign the insurance documents we sent to you, then scan and email them back to me. You do know how to do this, right?"
HUBS: "Are you kidding me? My wife and I are so old, we still use Wells Fargo to deliver everything by horse."

HUBS: "For us, the saying 'Ride or Die' is the equivalent of sitting in a motorized wheelchair and pretending we're Peter Fonda reliving his role in Easy Rider."

HUBS: "Isn't it cool to think we're staying at a hotel on Aviles street---the oldest street built in the U.S.?"
ME: "As old as you are today, I would think you'd recall watching them build it."

HUBS: "You carry enough cheese sticks in your purse to open your own dairy farm."

ME: "There's some leftover steak in the fridge if you're hungry."
HUBS: "No thanks. I still have a couple of hooves in me from last night's dinner."

ME: "Look at that giant harvest moon!"
SON: "What is it harvesting?"
ME: "Your brain cells."
HUBS: "That will be a small harvest...."

HUBS: "You know you're old when you have to drive with a knee brace on."


ME: "Why are you breathing so heavy?"
HUBS: "I'm practicing Lamaze for when I give birth to my holiday food baby. "

SON: "The hot dogs have gone rogue. They abandoned their packaging and fell down into a bin at the bottom of the fridge."
HUBS: "Yeah, I know about that bin---our refrigerator is an official wiener collector. "

ME: "Why do you take a nap on the couch an hour or two before going to bed at night?"
HUBS: "It's a part of my 'Pre-Sleep' ritual."

HUBS: "I ate too much of that Cuban picadillo tonight. I'm crop-dusting beans and rice everywhere I walk. "

ME TO MY DAUGHTER: "Of course I won't tell anyone what happened. I understand the girl's code of silence."
HUBS: "Since when do girls know how to keep silent?"


     My husband just might be right about that. After all, nothing is too sacred when it comes to these Fly On The Wall posts....


****WANT MORE MENO MAMA? You can find my latest work for CONSIDERABLE here: https://www.considerable.com/contributor/marcia-kester-doyle/


Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:

Baking In A Tornado                  https://www.BakingInATornado.com
Never Ever Give Up Hope             https://batteredhope.blogspot.com
Menopausal Mother                   http://www.menopausalmom.com/
Spatulas on Parade                    https://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com  
        






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Friday, June 2, 2017

Did You Steal My Spandex....Again?

     Do you need a little humor to boost your mood after watching all the junk on the news lately? Are you looking for a fun, poolside read? I have the perfect solution to kickstart your summer with some much needed laughter. For a limited time, you can STEAL MY SPANDEX at the low price of just .99 cents for the ebook version, which is available on Amazon and on Barnes & Noble.

     Just so you know that you're spending that .99 cent wisely (instead of hitting up the Dollar Store for a seashell soap dish), I'm sharing one of my favorite chapters from the book as a sneak preview to help convince you that your money will be well spent on a few hours of humor:


 
                         SLEEPUS INTERRUPTUS




I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes—napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little paradise under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. They understand all too well that if my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard ogre, and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by midafternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three-hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I so desperately crave. No, I’m not referring to young children screeching or running through the house. What I’m referring to are things like the obnoxious neighborhood ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring “Pop Goes the Weasel” from massive speakers as it drives repeatedly past my home. The driver’s timing is always precise—just as I am in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with George Clooney: POP GOES THE WEASEL!
At times like this, I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange Creamsicle, burrow deeper under the covers, and wait for the offending truck to pass. Just when I start to slip back into the land of Nod, the doorbell rings and the dogs go insane. Over their incessant barking, a salesman tries to convince me that I need to switch cable companies and add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have. Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not have even more opportunities to live vicariously through the people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late-night infomercials? 
The salesman leaves, and I finally get the chance to drift back into the slumber I have been looking forward to all week. I never know how much time passes—it could be two hours or two minutes—but inevitably, the next-door neighbor who won last year's Curb Appeal Award will decide to do a little creative landscaping. As he trims the base of his perfectly squared hedge with a weed-whacker, small stones ricochet loudly off my bedroom window. It sounds like a woodpecker on steroids. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate-wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous cacophony of flying debris from my neighbor's new lawn toy.
I decide to give napping one more shot when suddenly I find myself baking in a four hundred and seventy-five degree oven. Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat and riding out the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
Giving up on the fantasy of a three-hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see my husband sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips puffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background—a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting—and marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells, barking dogs, and men locked in combat. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT jealous. 
Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles a troll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me, and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe ADD before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me, and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary about the sleeping habits of wombats, while curled in the arms of the man I love.
Don't you feel better now after laughing? I thought so. What are you waiting for? Buy the book while it's still on sale. THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT! **Sale ends June 8, 2017**



BUY IT HERE:
AMAZON
BARNES & NOBLE


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Friday, August 5, 2016

Sizzling Summer Writers Series: Guest Post By Stacey Gustafson

     Many of you will recognize the name of my guest writer today. She has been featured on my site before because I've always admired her clever sense of humor, and I can easily relate to most of what she writes about---family life and midlife chaos. I'm thrilled to bring back Stacey Gustafson, the funny woman behind the blog,
 Are You Kidding me? and the author of the bestseller, Are You kidding Me? My Life with an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives.

     I met Stacey at the 2014 ERMA convention, and had the pleasure of spending time with her again at the 2016 workshop last April. I discovered that not only is she an entertaining writer, but also a GREAT stand-up comedian. She did a little show for us at the convention and received a standing ovation because her act was HILARIOUS!! Do yourself a favor---check out her blog and BUY HER BOOK. You'll love it! Please welcome her today to Meno Mama's site with lots of comment love!








Want a surefire way to get your kids and husband off the couch fast? Just say you’re going to take a nap. All hell breaks loose.

Let me start at the beginning. We enjoyed going out for breakfast on Saturday mornings. Nothing beat a big stack of hotcakes, thick smoky bacon, side of hash browns and a plate of toast to induce a coma later in the day. By noon, I could barely move much less keep my eyes opened.

Time To Ask Friends Over
“Okay. Can I have some friends over?” my daughter asked, bolting off the sofa and stuffing a bag of popcorn in the microwave.
“Talk to your dad. I’ll be in my room with the door shut. Try to keep it down.”
Ten nanoseconds passed. My husband yelled from the bottom of the stairs, “Remember guys. Be quiet. Mom’s sleeping.”
Attempting to sleep here!
After years of trying to get my son to try piano and violin lessons, he tapped his way from the kitchen, up the staircase, down the hallway and into his room with a pair of drumsticks that had been MIA for four years. Click, clack. My eyes fluttered opened like a moth around a porch light.

Don't Forget the Dog
Not to be excluded, our dog, Stanley expressed his displeasure regarding my nap as well. He sniffed under the door and catapulted his 20 pound body forward. Ping. He gave me a smug look as the door burst free, routed in the blankets and staked out a comfortable spot at the end of the bed.
“Buddy, if you’re quiet, I’ll let you stay,” I said, hopping up to shut the door.
What’s that? Faint rustling of feet came from the staircase. Big man feet. Like a stalker, he paused, hesitated and then ever so slowly, turned the knob on the double doors. Kabong! Doors burst free. With a shuffle of sock feet, my husband whispered, “Don’t worry. It’s just me. I’ll be done in a second and out of here.”
Yeah, right.
After using the toenail clippers and electric razor, he stomped out of the room, pulled the doors shut and yelled downstairs to my daughter, “I’m on my way!”

Still Taking a Nap
I drifted off for a couple of minutes. From outside the opened window, I detected the whine of a chainsaw and the distinct smell of gasoline. When I married my husband, he was not a lumberjack. But Paul Bunyan decided to do a little light remodeling in the backyard. Now.
Oh, come on.
I popped up in bed, blinking like crazy. Out the window I spied a saw. And a tree. Timber. Next up, I watched as he reinstalled loose fence panels with a hammer. Bam, bam, buzzzzz. When finished, with a flourish he let out a big whistle for the kids to join him and admire his workmanship.
By that point, the dog couldn’t contain himself. He charged the open window and jumped up and down to get a peek at the commotion. Ruff, ruff, growl.
Finally, I stuck my head out the window and said, “Hey!”
“Mom, did you get a good nap? Come on out.”
Yeah, a full five minutes.
“Look what Dad just did. Isn’t it great?”
“Looks fine. I’m coming.”
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I’m going to sack out on the couch. Quietest place in the house.

BIO:

Stacey Gustafson’s book, Are You Kidding Me? My Life With an Extremely Loud Family, Bathroom Calamities, and Crazy Relatives, ranked #1 Amazon Best Seller in Parenting & Family Humor and Motherhood. She is a humor columnist, blogger and wannabe comedian who has experienced the horrors of being trapped inside a pair of SPANX. Her blog, Are You Kidding Me? is based on her suburban family and everyday life. Her short stories have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul and seven books in the Not Your Mother’s Book series. Her work appears in Midlife Boulevard, Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop, Pleasanton Patch, Lost in Suburbia, Better After 50 and on her daughter’s bulletin board. She lives in California with her husband and two teenagers that provide an endless supply of inspiration.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1O7xnY1
Twitter: @RUKiddingStacey


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