Good morning. As you all know, we’ve been following a story about a precocious little two year old and her family’s efforts to potty train her. Although they initially agreed to provide a daily report on their progress, the family has decided that this issue is too private to publicize. When pushed for an explanation, the little girl’s mother provided this written statement, “The treasure box is empty, the pull-up box is too, we’ll have to go another round, but we’ll go it without you!”
In other news:
Things are Looking up for Old Man McDonald
According to his wife, the swelling is all but gone on that back boil of his.
Could my job get any sillier?
Things are not going as well as expected with the little girl and her family. An anonymous source tells us that the little girl’s grand-godmother and her four-legged son were spotted leaving the house earlier today. The source went on to say that he overheard the grand-godmother say “baby, you’re too smart to continually potty on yourself like that”. She then closed the door behind her and walked away laughing and shaking her head.
Silly News 3 contacted the grand-godmother and her son at their residence, and although they refused to comment on the matter, they provided these photos of the little girl’s treasure box.
Can you spot the difference?
Dear Younger Self,
I feel that it is my obligation, as your senior, to fill you in on a few things. I intend to speak in such a way that you should have no problem comprehending; however, in an effort to eliminate any misunderstanding, I will also use colloquialism most familiar to you.
I am in charge now and I will be sure and remain apprised of all important issues, including but not limited to, annual dental exams. (I run this. I’m the shot caller and you can trust and believe I’m gone stay woke on everything I need to, including keeping my grill tight). In the event that I go out, I will decide when I am to return home and I will not party until the wee hours of the morning. (I bail when I say so and I won’t be turnt when the lights come on.) As a responsible adult, I return all phone calls promptly, I socialize with people in my age group and I dress and behave accordingly. (I’m grown. I hit ‘em back on the celly when I can, I hang with my squad, my gear is always on fleek and I slay every time I hit these streets). Please understand that I enjoy a low key and private style of life where I make every effort to mind my own business. (I’m basic, not boujee at all, and I always stay in my lane). In the run of a day, I make no effort to belittle others – I’m not overbearing, loud or outwardly aggressive, and I never go to the extreme. (I don’t throw shade and I’m never extra.)
Also, I can honestly say that although I drink, I do not have my deceased father’s penchant for libations. (Ion stay lit). My dear younger self, through this letter, you should gain comfort in knowing that I am perfectly fine with where I am. You, on the other hand, are out of control. (Look bae, this letter should give you life. By the way you know you have zero chill, right?) So now, without further ado, I would greatly appreciate it if you would sit quietly in the memories of my subconscious and allow me to take it from here. (now that’s a wrap, bye Felecia!)
Your Older Self
Yesterday we brought you news about a little girl and her family’s efforts to (effortlessly) potty train her. This morning we reached out to the family and asked if they would be willing to provide documentation via daily photos and commentary of their progress (or lack thereof).
As you can see the box is filled with all sorts of fun things for the little girl. Please check back later for information on her initial reaction to the box and her first day “in training.”
The idea was to potty train an already two and a half year old little girl who reportedly comprehends and articulates exceedingly well for a child of her young years. This was to be a piece of cake for little girl and her family. That family includes a 53 year “old” mom and a 13 year old “mother hen”. Mommy, as she is lovingly called, decided to create a treasure box for the little girl. They would use butcher paper to cover a cardboard box then embellish it with pom poms, stick-on letters, tassels and anything the little girl’s heart desired (after all, this box would hold all sorts of treats and treasures). Mommy and “Tori”, the little girl’s big sister, were sure that this would be more than enough to encourage their little angel. Unfortunately, the little girl with the blazing blue eyes and the cute little button nose lost interest somewhere between wrapping the box and gluing the tassels on. She left the table, grabbed her juice, her tablet and her “Corey”, went to the bedroom and put herself down for a nap.
I was just reminded of the night the power went out in my quaint, little hometown. My aunt sat outside on the hood of our station wagon wearing nothing but a bra and a pair of white cotton “granny” panties. Incidentally, the bra was one of those full coverage deals with enough hooks to trap and hold a bull. My aunt hadn’t seen her feet in years (if you get my drift) but she was ok with that and she always managed to keep the girls securely wrapped and covered. Apparently on that particular night, with it being so hot and so dark she felt like it would be alright to wrap but not cover the girls and to let the “grannies”air out, too. Well, it was ok, right up until my older brother shouted “dear Lord aunt Maggie, you’re outside in just your undies”. Why is it that when the power goes out rendering the entire neighborhood pitch black, the world seems to go totally silent, too? In that instant nothing could be heard except my brother’s loud mouth and it’s grand announcement – which seemed to come less than a millisecond before the street lights flickered…
and then there was light….
……and the sound of crickets,
crickets chirping and Aunt Maggie’s fleshy, backside, flopping forward off the hood of that car,
then thud, thud, thud, thud, thud as she galloped to the house and grabbed the door knob…
but the door was locked.
On July 3, 2017, I celebrated my 28th anniversary as a law enforcement officer. With my busy schedule and this crazy little thing called life going on it really slipped my mind. Sound unbelievable that I’d forget about such a monumental occasion? Follow this link:
and it’ll become crystal clear that I’m not kidding. At any rate 28 is the magic number when you live and work in this state which means I can retire now but I love my job, I love my boss and I love most of my co-workers (two good points about the one’s I don’t love… 1. they know who they are and 2. they’re smart enough to steer clear of me!
(Yes, law enforcement is a tough field, for various reasons, but I’ve always been a “good cop” and my plan is to continue to be just that………
ON YOUR SIX —109
Looking for an opinion and I apologize up front if this offends anyone. (By the way if you are in fact offended, then obviously, you’re one of those people I’m referring to and you’re apparently not smart enough to read between the lines and grab this constructive criticism by the horns and ride it’s ass to the ground)… which is what I think I’d do… but I’m not the one on the other side of this keyboard, am I?
Ever heard someone say, “know what I’m saying”, when conversing? I happen to have several friends who use that question.. or statement… or whatever the hell part of the English language it is. Now in true sarcastic form, which happens to be my chosen form of speech, I often respond by saying “uh-huh” knowing damn well I not only don’t know what they’re saying, I don’t even give a shit at that point. When the first “know what I’m saying” comes out, I know that there are several additional grammatical murderS to follow- so I check the hell out.
Living my life like it’s golden……
It’s been several months since I last wrote and boy, oh boy, have I been busy! Here’s a snapshot of what I’ve been up to…
I’ve joined a weightlifting circuit, I’ve learned to juggle, I’ve become pretty proficient at sign language and I’ve run at least 3 full marathons while carrying a 25 pound sack of sugar. I’ve also completed and exceeded all standards necessary to receive certification in the 1st edition of “Mind Reading for Dummies”. Oh and although it took longer than expected I finally aced that potential security detail- driver’s course. (Believe me, driving forward while- looking back, giving instructions, phoning a friend, checking an airway and trying not to panic and spook the hell out of the people you’ve sworn to protect isn’t as easy as it looks on telly). I’ve also become a master hair stylist.. this one has been a long time coming too, but better late than never, right? As if my plate wasn’t already overflowing, I’ve also taken and passed seven academic courses each of which resulted in my receiving an A+… and I should receive my dental assistant licensure in the mail within the next few days.
Now how’s that for the 53 year old mom of a precious and precocious 2 year old, a beautiful and brilliant middle schooler and a stunning and sagacious young adult?
- In case you didn’t catch it, they’re all girls and they are the wind beneath my wings!
Living my life like it’s golden…
P.S. stand by for more fun, wit, sarcasm and charm as I live vicariously through my oldest, nonchalantly with my teen and on the edge of everything through, with and for my toddler —
I had a conversation with a friend in which we were discussing relationships. We talked about the ins and outs, the goods and the bads and everything in between. We even talked about what I refer to as the “er” factor. You know the feeling you get or have when the relationship ends and the smoke clears.
We talked for several hours and when the conversation finally ended we decided to take a poll (for fun) just to see how many different “ers” there actually were.
So go for it— share your “er” with us…
It doesn’t have to be the “er” from a break up… it just needs to a relationship related “er”.
Here I’ll start us off-
I once dated a guy I’d met at a friend’s pool party. He wasn’t really my type but I wasn’t seeing anyone and he seemed nice so I agreed to go out with him. We’d only gone out four times when he popped the question. Talk about a desperate weirdo, I mean how else could I describe a guy who, on the fourth date, asks if he could borrow a cd from my “Jackson 5 Greatest Hits” collection? My “er” word for Mr. “I wish I had a Michael Jackson bobble head like yours”?—
ABSOLUTER– Expressing finality with no implication of possible change
Why? Because I knew he had an absoluter snowballs chance in hell of seeing me again —absolutely no way—
Shall you pour yourself a nice tall drink
If you plan to come and sit?
Shall I bore you with my rhetoric
Or dazzle you with wit?
Should you enjoy my company
Shall you visit me again
If you invite me to return
Will you appear insane?
Should I hold back on intros
Or should I call your name?
Should I hold close my secret desires
And say you never came?
For it is with my eyes wide shut
That I must say to you
I’ve wrapped you in my latest web
As all black widows do~~~
My little “Tinker Toy” (no, that’s not really her name) is a budding young entrepreneur. Tonight she decided to open her very own doggie adoption business.
Yes, that’s the name of it and yes, she knows that the word “hug” has only one -g- even when the plural form is used. She told me that she wanted the name of her business to stand out. She also told me that she had to use a bandaid to attach her sign to the wall outside her bedroom/office because she couldn’t find any tape… yes, that’s creative and yes, I told her where she could find a roll of tape for future use.
Okay, so this is the sign she posted for her potential customers.
I was contacted and told that I should visit her place of business.
Upon arrival I found this…
My precious little brainchild made name tags and information cards for each of her two little dogs and tied them on with a piece of ribbon. (No, she did not have to use a kitchen knife to cut the ribbon- yes, she found scissors; right next to the box of band aids!)
Question: Do these poor little dogs look as pitiful to you as they do to me?
I laughed until tears rolled down my face.
P.S. Laughter is the best medicine!