A letter to my mom I’ll never send

Dear Mom,

I love you. I really do. But please, please, please, for the love of me, my sanity, and the few naturally-colored hairs I have remaining, STOP BUYING MY KIDS CRAP!!!

I know, I know, you’re Grandma and grandmas are supposed to spoil their grandkids rotten, but seriously, the floorboards are starting to creak from the weight of all the crap you continue to buy and unload here.

Yes, I know it’s your beeswax what you do with your money and yes, I understand that some of what you bring you got at a yard sale. None of that matters! It’s not about your money, it’s about MY HOUSE. Their little rooms are like a toy battlefield. There’s toys everywhere. I know that you think that’d be handled if I were more organized, but truthfully, I can’t be organized because there’s just too much crap to organize!

My kids are all now past the age where they desire to play with toys all day, so please consider buying them an experience: tickets to a concert or event; a subscription to a magazine; admission to a zoo or aquarium; heck even gift cards to the movies would be preferable to cardboard buildable robots or more pieces of hot wheels track.

When they were little, I forced a grin and accepted the mounds of happy meal toys you’d bring each month, but as I look around at all the new doohickeys that are fun to build, but take up space–I’m looking at you Geckobot–I cringe.

So please, do us all a favor and buy them something consumable–and I don’t mean food! (That’ll be another letter. 😉 )

Love,

Imma B.

 

 

 

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Obsession Confession: The Ranch

I recently gave up my satellite subscription because I was tired of pay $100 a month and all that was ever on was reruns of Reba, Last Man Standing, Home Improvement and every now and then Flea Market Flip. (I occasionally watched  HGTV, but I couldn’t stand Tarek and Christina, The Property Brothers or Dave and Hillary. I just can’t relate to the lifestyles they’re living or helping other people live. Just like with those house hunters type shows where people had these astronomical budgets. Hmm, if I had a $600,000 budget, I’d be living in a mansion with a butler and six maids around these parts. Then again, being hick from the stick like I am, my dream home costs less than $200,000. So…)

Being the budget-conscious divorcee that I am, I looked into Netflix and I have to say I absolutely love it! For less than the price of a new paperback, I have more options  that I could ever watch.

My current favorite is The Ranch with Ashton Kutcher, Danny Masterson, Debra Winger and Sam Elliott. I wasn’t a huge fan of That 70s Show when it originally aired, but a few years later I watched all the reruns when it came on the CW in huge blocks. It wasn’t a must see, but I did enjoy it. With Kelso and Hyde as the main roles in The Ranch I didn’t start watching with the idea of soon having an addiction.

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Boy was I wrong!

I think it’s hilarious. I don’t love the f-bombs scattered throughout, but the witty jabs between brothers about everything from their personal lives to stupid things they’ve done–either as a kid or just two minutes ago is fantastic. Sam Elliott’s dry, frank humor has me rolling! As do the scenes where the boys are actually doing ranch work. This mainly strikes a funny bone because if these two HAD grown up on a ranch, it wouldn’t be nearly as amusing either to them or us as the audience. What I mean is they wouldn’t be making some of the mistakes that get them into trouble or think it’s gross to impregnate a cow.

 

The writing and acting are topnotch. There is only one, teeny, tiny thing I’d change, but I won’t say it. Instead I’ll ask for anyone else out there who watches it: are you Team Abby or Team Heather?

Daily Word Prompt: Caper

This is totally off-base, so just go with me for a minute. Remember, Imma weird one.

Each morning when I get online, I always click the Reader section of my blog. Why? Because everyone else is far more interesting than me!

Anyway, today on the daily word prompt page the word was caper and my eyes about bugged out. Memories of summer camp, yes, hot, sticky, terrible food summer camp filled my mind.

Why? Because when I went to camp after every meal, each of the cabins had chores. Clean the dining hall, clean the bathrooms, pick up trash, sweep the breezeway, wash dishes, etc, etc.  While the meal was being brought out and put on a buffet table so all of us pigs could run to the trough, the camp director would go up on this little platform and say, “It’s time for capers.”  Then he’d read off a chore and a cabin number, and that cabin would have the shout and cheer like maniacs about the privilege to be the ones to go clean the toilets after they ate.

The cabin who cheered the loudest for whoever chore they had would get to go through the meal line first.

I grew up thinking that “caper” was just a nicer way to say chore. I didn’t realize until I looked it up in the dictionary that it means to leap or skip about in a sprightly manner;prance; frisk; gambol.

Oh, what a misguided childhood I led. 😀

via Daily Prompt: Caper

My kinda luck…

For as long as I live I may never understand why I have such strangely humorous luck.

Or in other words, why it is that people don’t listen to me when I speak.

My latest example is the children’s division coordinator at church asked if I’d do story time one week this month at church. I said yes, but not the second weekend. I won’t be at church. I’ll be traveling for a wedding.

Which weekend was I put on the schedule for?

The second weekend. Of course!

Anyone else out there suffer from this type of craziness? Or is it just me? (I have other examples, too. This happens all the time. This was just the most recent.)

“Mom, can I cut the couch?”

Imagine this…

Monday morning we were at the table chowing down on our cereal.

“Mom,” Linc says between bites of cereal.  “You know how things fall into the cracks on the couch?”

I nodded. The remote to the DVD player is currently MIA and if I had to guess it’s camping out in the company of some spare change and lint in the deep, dark crevices of the sofa. It’s what it is. We’ve all dropped our remote down there and every few days have to fish it out.

I digress.

“So last night Abe and I were moving the couch–”

“Why?”

“Because we wanted to see if when we dropped something behind the cushions if it’d fall straight to the floor.” His matter of fact tone was almost more than I could bear.

“We’ve had that sofa for six years, don’t you think if it worked that way, we wouldn’t have spent so much time blindly groping into the interior of the sofa for lost objects?”

“That’s because there’s a liner,” he says as if he’s just made the greatest discovery in the world.

“Yes, there is.” I tried to keep the sarcasm from my tone, but I’m pretty sure I failed. “Hence, why we have to fish…”

“OK but see, the liner goes so deep down the couch, Abe nor I can reach our hand down there, so…” He shrugs as he trials off.

“And?”

“Well, Abe and I want to cut the bottom of the couch so things just fall out the bottom.”

Mom, can I cut the couch?

I’m sure the look on my face spoke volumes of the annoyance and disbelief I was feeling.

“See, it’ll be great,” Linc says as if he really thinks he’s convincing me of this. “Then we won’t have to reach down in there when we lose stuff, it’ll just fall out the bottom.”

“Uh huh, I see.” I seriously just lied to him. I don’t see. I do see his brother Abe nodding his head in agreement like a bobble head dog. I see Linc looking all excited that he thinks he just won me over. I can almost my blood pressure rising. But what I don’t see is the utility it a huge whole in the bottom of a leather sofa so things that are dropped can fall out the bottom!

“So we can do it?” Abe asks, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Sure.” I smiled. “Just as soon as you both do enough chores to earn the money to buy that sofa.”

My two youngest boys both looked at me as if I’d just taken away their puppy.

“Sorry, guys,” I started. “There isn’t any use in this modification other than just destroying the furniture.”

Let me pause here to say, at least they asked me first. I do have to give them credit for that. There are several people of my acquaintance who’d be telling this story a little differently–like after they’d discovered a freaking huge hole in the bottom of their sofa. So at least there’s that.

Back to the story…

“But what about not having to reach down into the cracks?” Linc persists. ” Remember the time you found the grilled cheese?”

I think I just threw up a little in my mouth at the memory of the an ancient, cold and partially deteriorated grilled cheese that I once pulled out from the back corner of the sofa. “That’s what I have you guys for. You eat on the couch, you can be the ones to dig in the crumb abyss.” I tried not to grin at their disgusted faces. “The answer is no.”

Linc’s eyes lit again as if he’d just had such a brilliant idea that I couldn’t say no. “What if Mickey gets stuck back there?”

“Son, if you think asking me if your guinea pig crawls around on the couch and gets stuck back behind the cushions and so far down your arm cannot reach is going to convince me to allow you to cut a hole in the bottom of the couch, then I think it’s time to go find her a new home before you can be so negligent.”

And THAT is how you stop the nonsense. I know, I know Imma Mean Mom. But good gravy, what the hell is the obsession with destroying the furniture? I’ve seen so many dang sitcoms I almost feel shamed into having little debates with my kids about things that I’m never going to allow to happen just to be “fair”. However, in my world, no means no and Mom’s word is final.

So, what crazy request have you received from a kid that you felt like an idiot debating? Imma curious and I wanna know so comment below!

Imma B.

Obsession Confession: I like my burritos like I like my chicken…

Fried.

Yes, it’s true and apparently weird that not only do I fry chicken in my house, I also fry my burritos. Now, don’t get too grossed out, I don’t bread them first. 😛

This is how I grew up. I had no idea it wasn’t the “norm”. But apparently nobody else I know, except my mom, fries burritos.

I’m a very, um, shall we say, impatient and basic cook. I don’t  use a lot of spices or steam this, sauté that, bake this and smoke that all to make one dish. Nope, I’m a fewest steps possible to get an end result. I just didn’t learn how to cook.

Anyway, for my burritos, I lay out my tortilla, spread some befriend beans (Taco Bell brand is my favorite), sprinkle on some cheese, then pour on some Taco Bell burrito sauce. That’s it. Then I wrap them up and toss them into the flying pan coated with either butter, vegetable oil or olive oil.

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After a few minutes, I give ’em a flip.

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I know, I know, it’s not everyone’s cuppa, but I rather like it and hey, if you’ve never had burritos this way, give it a go. You just might like it.

What weird/unusual food obsession do you have? Come on, confess it!

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Hell in the Frank Household

I’m currently living in an inferno. It’s bad enough I live in the deep south, but now my air conditioner is on the fritz so it’s definitely become an inferno.

I started to notice the A/C hasn’t been able to keep up at the end of July and August the past two years, but this year it hasn’t kept up at all. In the past it’s just been a little warm in he house. This year…

Trapped in Hell

This has been us this past week. (Well, some of us, I’ll get to the rest in a minute.)

I was thinking it was time to suck it up and get a new unit when one of my boys came up and said, “Mama, I think I’d like a buzz cut.”

His hair isn’t THAT thick. Nor that long. I checked my thermostat. It was 78 in the house. That was with all the fans on and the poor air conditioner blowing as hard as it could, bless its heart.

The final nail in my poor A/C’s coffin came yesterday when I went to pick my eldest son up from summer camp and he was wearing a hoodie. Yes, a hoodie. It was 95 degrees outside and the air conditioner was blowing like crazy in his cabin to keep it 72 degrees in there and he was cold! My poor baby.