Overheard in on Ash Wednesday

C: “Mom!  Mom!  I figured out what I am giving up for Lent!”

Chichimama: “Oh!  Ah, great! What?”

C: “I’m giving up cleaning my room!”


Overheard in the Car

C: “Why aren’t we taking the expressway?  It is faster.”

Chichimama: “Huh?  What are you talking about?”

C: “The Cross Bronx Expressway.  It said it on the sign back there.”

Chichimama: “Oh, sweetie, there is NOTHING fast about the Cross Bronx Expressway.”

C: “Well, they should really change the name to the Cross Bronx Parkway then.”

Chichimama: “Snort.”

A question for the masses

So I have been put in charge of cake for my grandmother’s 97th birthday bash.  It is supposed to snow on Saturday.  The party is at 11:00am, about 3 hours from my house.  Do I a) bake the cakes on Friday, thereby guaranteeing that it snows and I am stuck with enough cake for 25 people in my house, or do I b) wait until 5am Saturday morning to bake the cakes, knowing that if I don’t make them ahead of time the reports of snow will be proven false?

Bonus question: How badly am I cheating if I make the cakes from a box and the frosting from scratch, thereby convincing my extended family that I in fact made the whole thing from scratch?  Because we all know it is all about the frosting…

Tiki Bar

I almost bought a tiki bar today.  I was shopping for my dad’s birthday gift, and while HomeGoods did not have the perfect set of double old fashioned glasses, it DID have a tiki bar.  Why they were selling a tiki bar, I have no idea.  But there it was, right between the Easter decorations and the pots and pans.  Calling my name.  Because what out backyard really needs (besides someone who won’t kill every living thing in it) is a tiki bar in the back corner.


Can’t you picture it?  A warm summer night, tiki torches lit, and me passing out fruity cocktails to the neighbors from behind the tiki bar.  Kids, doing something not dangerous and not involving me.  Me, in a cute dress, Mike being grillmeister.  Ah, the life. 

We never have our neighbors over, however, and I have no idea how to make fruity cocktails.  And I know that one good hard rain and that tiki bar is toast.  Plus, it cost more than I spend on my kids wardrobe in a year.  But it didn’t stop me from standing in front of the tiki bar long enough that a sales clerk came over and helpfully pointed out that there is storage!  For, you know, fruity drink supplies!  At which point I snapped a picture, claimed that I would have to check with my husband, and made a hasty departure from the store before my inner tiki bar tender got the best of me.

Farwell dear tiki bar.  May you find an owner who appreciates you and will bother to make room for you in the garage when it rains.

Overheard at the breakfast bar

A: “And my friend T was back!  She had been out for a whole week!”

Chichimama: “What did she have?”

A: “I don’t know.  She didn’t say.”

C: “Well ASK her.”

A: “She doesn’t talk much, even at circle time.”

C: (under his breath): “I wish I had that problem.  Then I wouldn’t get in trouble all the time.”