On today’s episode of Dubious Compliments from Stumps

“Mommy your face looks like a sandwich ’cause it has moles all over it.”

I assume she is referring to my sun damage age spots large pores freckles.

Um. What types of sandwiches have they been feeding my children at daycare?

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In unrelated news, I am pleased to discover that Stumps and Beans are quite creative and am veritably bursting with copious amounts of understandable mommy pride.

For example, just today Beanie repurposed a pair of toenail clippers into a shank.

“No Beanie. Stop Beans. STOP!!! Mommy she got the clippers! Mommyyyy she is trying to clip meeee!!!”

It is worth mentioning that they are both sick so I am home from work and we are quarantined to the house. Only 170 more minutes until Husband comes home. Not that I am counting. Or completely disgusted from doing many hours of post-puke laundry. Or entirely out of BRAT diet ingredients, Florastor, and Pedialyte.

Or going stir crazy and slowly rapidly losing my grip.

I would be a really shitty SAHM.

Much, much respect ladies (and the occasional gent). I don’t know how you do it.

Unfortunately I can’t unremember any of this

One of my children has been throwing up all afternoon and the other has a 102 degree fever. Pretty certain the one who has thus far not started vomiting just has not started yet.

Alarmingly, cleaning up multiple episodes of The Pukes off of all of our belongings is only the second most disturbing reality of my Monday evening.

Having one of my children ask to have her “bottom temperature” taken (repeatedly) this evening unquestionably topped the list.

What. The. Hell. Kid.

For very special occasions, such as her 60th birthday…

CIMG6390

…they sometimes let Mother Catlady out of the institution.

(pretty certain this couple is featured in the first few minutes of Mullholland Drive, dropping Naomi Watts off in Hollywood after she wins a jitterbug contest.)

If only I had the rudimentary photoshop skills necessary to superimpose sharp knives or chainsaws into their hands.

In case you are wondering if MC is deserving of her blog nickname, note the litter box beside the kitchen table.

Happy birthday mom. Love you :)

“…Intimacy! That’s the you in me…”

I can neither confirm nor deny that tonight’s Top 10 List items are true stories of romance from the House of Stumps and Beans.

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You know you’ve been married awhile when…

…a nightly dutch oven is as much a part of your bedtime routine as saying goodnight to your spouse.

…offering to take care of the kids’ bedtime rituals is the most successful type of foreplay if you want to ensure that you will score.

…”scoring” means getting a really long, deep, thorough, and attentive footrub.

…you beckon your spouse into the bathroom, point to the inside of the toilet bowl, and say “Baby come look at this. Should I call a doctor?”

…you beckon your spouse into the bathroom, point to the inside of the toilet bowl, and say “Baby come look at this. Grab the camera. Call Ripley’s.”

…the ultimate betrayal is not infidelity; it is discarding your spouse’s most cherished pair of exceptionally and unacceptably holey underwear.

…your beloved occasionally checks the garbage to make sure you haven’t committed the ultimate betrayal by discarding said cherished underwear. And while you aren’t 100% certain, you suspect that there was one time you caught him cradling that particularly frightful pair while whispering “My precious”.

…Your level of disgust with, and outraged overreaction to his farts pretty directly correlates with his general level of happiness in your marriage.

…You reserve your sexiest most risque lingerie – you know, those pink plaid pajama pants with the sassy word on the butt and the matching pink sweatshirt- for very special occasions like your anniversary or weekends when your parents are sleeping over in the next room and have promised they will get up with the kids the next morning.

and finally…

…you have ever yelled across the house “Hey! Bring me a new roll of toilet paper! Imma ’bout to tear it up in here!”

An etiquette lesson from my four-year-old

This morning I authored my 200th blog post. I struggled with writing this, as I felt the milestone deserved the respect, gravity, and solemnity one reserves for a truly memorable occasion. I only hope that what follows measures up. Deep breath. Here goes…

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“Ohmigod! Ew! Whoever just did that needs to excuse themself! Quiet toots that stink that you don’t apologize for that mess up other people’s air are RUDE!”

Despite Stumps’ very public admonishment, no one stepped up to claim responsibility and express any sort of remorse.

The only creature more honest than a 4 year old is an 84 year old

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, last night I took Stumps to a youth dinner theater at a friend’s church in town. Stumps and I were seated beside a nice couple who introduced themselves and welcomed us as soon as we sat down. The wife mentioned that they were in their eighties and had no grandchildren of their own, so they loved coming to the annual youth group musical. Also joining us at the table were the very friendly parents of one of the teenage performers.

Throughout dinner, it became somewhat evident that the older man at the table very likely had a touch of dementia. He asked me numerous times when my husband would be there (Husband stayed home with Beans), and where our family attended church (we typically spend Sunday mornings in our pajamas worshipping DVRed episodes of WonderPets.)

As my dear grandfather, Big Papa, died a few months ago after a heartbreaking decline into dementia, I found this all pretty endearing. If I closed my eyes, it was almost as if Big Papa was with us yesterday evening.

The dinner preceded the play, and after dinner the teens started the show. We each had programs at our placesetting, and approximately every 10 minutes, the man would hold up his program, gesture to his wife, and very loudly and conspicuously say “What is the name of the kid with no talent? I want to know his name!” To take the utter awkwardness of the situation to a stratospheric level, his wife was a bit hard of hearing, so he just kept getting louder.

All of the kids were great by the way – I thought the play was really cute and as I blogged about yesterday, my four year old LOVED IT. Loved it so much, in fact, that she wanted to ditch me at the end of the night and go home with the cast (Shameless groupie. Has she no self-respect?)

Anyway, all of that to say, I have no idea which kid he had in mind, but since he was saying this throughout the play, and the cast of characters completely changed with each scene, I think my seatmate was just somewhat disoriented and confused. I couldn’t bring myself to make eye contact with the other family at our table though, whose high school student was up on stage performing.

This is so completely something my own crabby and beloved Big Papa would have done in his last couple of years with us. A New Yorker by birth and lifelong lover of all things musical theater, I like to think that was just his cantankerous spirit dropping in to join us for dinner and a show. It was obvious that this particular elderly couple was absolutely beloved by everyone in the fellowship hall last night, so I am sure his questionably appropriate behavior didn’t even raise an eyebrow. And that makes me very happy. God bless those who suffer through their latter years with dementia. And even moreso, dare I say it…  God bless those who are brave enough to venture out with those folks in public when their filters are decidedly turned off!

I miss you terribly Big Papa. It was nice to catch a glimpse of you last night and hear you giving all of those adolescent amateurs a piece of your mind. Please join us for a meal and a little bit of hellraising again soon :’)