It’s been an interesting week with many lessons learned. I thought I would share some of these with you today…
Lesson One: Mnemonics…
Mnemonics: learning techniques that aid memory. My 7th grade teacher was a big fan of these and I can still remember some to this day. For example: to remember how to spell adolescent, think “a pineapple smell.” Clever, right?
As Sugar and I work almost nightly on her spelling words, I try to come up with funny mnemonics to help her remember words that trouble her. This week’s list is full of words that sound the same but are spelled differently. Honest to Christ I wish I could send half the people on my Facebook list back for lessons on they’re/there/their. My friends are NOT smarter than fifth graders, y’all.
Still this morning she was having trouble with counsel/council, bazaar/bizarre and course/coarse. It stumped me how to help her to remember some of them, but a helpful hint for remembering coarse came to me in a flash. I said, “Sugar, the hairs on his ARSE are coARSE.” Appropriate? Absolutely not, but you can bet your arse she’ll remember how to spell it.
Lesson Two: Customer Service DOES Still Exist.
Last Saturday EN and I took the girls to the Texas Roadhouse for dinner. It is one of our favorite places to go. The girls can act like complete hooligans and no one can hear them because people are too busy listening to loud music and dancing.
I always order the exact same thing, because I’m adventurous like that… We have fried pickles for an appetizer, I drink sweet tea and I get catfish for dinner. Of course we chow down on those rolls and butter when we first arrive.
I’m not sure why I looked at the menu because I knew I was going to have the same thing. In fact, I passed by a cupcake at the party we attended beforehand so I could eat without (much) guilt. I glanced over the menu and was horrified to find that the catfish is no longer listed. The waitress came to take our order and I nearly accosted her… WHERE IS THE CATFISH? I mourned as I ate my dinner and vowed I would write a damn letter. Yeah right. I always say I'm gonna write a letter!
EN reminded me of my vow to tell those Roadhouse people what I think of them, so I actually went through with it. I filled out a little form online and figured I would hear nothing back. Let me tell you something, Texas Roadhouse takes their customer complaints seriously. The manager of the restaurant called my house AND sent me an email. His email wasn’t merely an “I’m sorry you are unhappy, you miserable bitch” response. He explained why the catfish was no longer on the menu and said he too hoped it would come back someday. Meanwhile, here’s a gift card for a free appetizer. Woo hoo! I guess I’ll have to expand my horizons and perhaps have a STEAK at a steakhouse.
Lesson Three: Maple Syrup Smells Like Little Kid Pee Pants
If your little child is eating pancakes with maple syrup when you leave for work in the morning, do not kiss them on the face when you leave. Limit your smooch to the top of their head. Why? Because maple syrup stinks and the smell does NOT go away. Ever.
Spice was chowing down when Sugar and I left this morning and I made the mistake of grabbing her face and giving her a big kiss. I was driving into work and I caught the scent of syrup. What the… oh, yeah. So now I’m faced with two choices. I can either smell like little kid pee pants all day or I can wash my face, thereby removing my makeup and looking like a freak show all day.
Lesson Four: There Are Still Some Cool Moms Left
My darling angelic Spice was bad at her after-school program the other day. Shocking, yes I know. I’m impressed that she’s gone this long without more drama. Apparently, she was playing with her little kindergarten friend, throwing their snack trash at each other, etc. They were spoken to about that and I think they tried to calm down.
It was time for them to line up and Spice went and spit in her friend’s older brothers hair. My kid spit on another kid. What GIRL spits? Since the boys’ mother is on my Facebook list, I immediately sent her an email apologizing for my kids behavior. She emailed back right away and said, “Apology not necessary. I’m sure next week my kid will do something nasty to her.”
Let’s face it, there are some parents these days that make a big deal out of the smallest incident. I am glad she was laid back about it. When I saw her yesterday, she laughed about the incident and I encouraged her to look through her son’s backpack for the apology note I made Spice write to him.Spice's little kindergarten friend was delighted to regale me with the tale of Spice spitting ON HIS BROTHER'S HAIR.
Lesson Five: Your Mama Can’t Dance Even If Your Daddy Can Rock And Roll
I’m not going to lie, I dance like Gumby having a seizure. It’s not pretty. There are two instances in which I am a fabulous dancer: in my own mind and after a few drinks. Even after the few drinks I’m still only a fabulous dancer in my own mind. But after the drinks, I don’t mind letting the world bear witness to such madness. I become The Dancing Queen.
The girls have been dancing a lot lately. They’ve been teaching themselves how to do the LMFAO Shuffle and the SpongeBob dance. I watch that shit and think, “Why do you have to practice that? You aren’t even moving! Easy peasy.” Like the showoff I am, I got up and busted a moved. My children, the little monsters I gave birth to, laughed at me. They didn’t just put their hands in front of their mouths and giggle politely, they guffawed. They hooted. They hollered. They pointed and laughed and screamed, “Do it again, Mama!!” Who invited them to come live at my house anyway?
My sincerest hope is that you took away at least one valuable lesson from this post. It was a week full of upsetting instances that I just can’t bring myself to blog about… so focusing on the ridiculous has given me a smile this morning.
And if you live far away and have access to fried catfish, send me some. Please and thank you.