Monday, April 19, 2010

Bil Keane Had It Goin' On



Many of you will immediately recognize the above cartoon, Family Circus, and think of its creator, Bil Keane. You will easily recognize the "Not Me" ghost pictured here. Not Me was often accompanied by his partners, I Don't Know, and Nobody. These 3 were always present at the site of broken vases, spilled juice, or after mud had been tracked into the house.

As a child, around the age of 8, I'd read Family Circus in the comic section of the Sunday paper. The bright colors of the strip, along with the guaranteed quick read in a few sentences always caught my eye, but every time I'd read it I'd think, "Lame. lame lame lame lame. Lame." I'd then announce to the closest person, sometimes to just the air, "Family Circus is so dumb." Heavy emphasis on the last letter "m," followed by an eye roll.

Last week, while at the library, my 8 year old son came across the Family Circus Treasury, the bible of Bil Keane's work. He had found it on the shelf, while looking for the cooler, hipper comics, like Foxtrot, and Calvin and Hobbes. The cool hip stuff was out, like much the rest of cool hip stuff in life is. So, he picked up the Family Circus, drawn to it by its simple white cover with a large colorful circle in the front. He had never heard of it. We took it home.

He sat on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table, flipping through the large volume quickly he pronounced it, "lame-o, lame-o, lame-o." It fell to the side of the coffee table.

I picked the heavy book up from the floor later that night, and sat and leafed through it. I began laughing. Like hard laughing. I went to show my husband. He recognized the cover, and remembered, "Oh, yeah, him. I always thought it was so dumb."

We sat together and read. And laughed. Family Circus was wasted on the foolish youth we were. We have now grown into Family Circus. It is for the parents we have now become.

Later that night while cleaning up the kitchen, my bare feet stepped on some sticky ketchup that had been left on the floor, right in front of the refrigerator, where it was visible to anyone. Anyone. "Who spilled ketchup all over the floor?!," I shouted. Boom. I had become the short black haired Mom on Family Circus. All 3 boys came running, and right on cue, they began down the line."Not me," said the oldest. "I don't know," said the middle boy, "Nobody," said the youngest.

Bil Keane, Sir, please consider this my public apology here to you, today, in front of the world. Bil Keane, you were not lame! In fact, you rocked at this parenting gig!

And to Family Circus, to quote the Na'vi in Avatar, " I see you! I see you!"
****************************************************
Bill Keane is now 87 years old and is happily living in Arizona, enjoying the heck out of the children of his 5 children. He has also graciously accepted my humble apology.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Mouthy Housewives


My letter requesting help from Mouthy Housewives is published at their site today. I questioned the warning signals as to when and if Mommy needs to head to Blogger Rehab ["When does Mommy Have a Computer Addiction?".] You say you've never visited there? Oh, well, do not be consuming any sort of hot beverage at the time of your visit, because these sistas are cuh-razy.

Mouthy Housewives is a tongue in cheek advice column site, with letters of pseud0-concern answered by 4 very extremely beyond funny women. There are 4 major generous- with- their- advice divine prophetesses, along with equally hilarious guest advisers also offering their 10 cents worth (2 cents worth?! come on, they're a class act.) The comments are just as LOL, ROFL, LMFAO, ROFLMFAO funny as the divine advice posted.

Please pop over, and if you relate to any of the comments, or if you even find yourself nodding maniacally in agreement amid cries of "Yes!oh my precious goodness YES!", well, then it may be time to realize denial is not just a river in Egypt. Their advice to me today left me with a false sense of relief, which is all any of us are asking for anyway. As Fleetwood Mac sang it,"tell me lies, tell me sweet litle lies." Please.

Now, put that coffee down, and let me know what you think.


"Mouthy Housewives. Neglecting our families to give you advice since 2009."

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Happy Birthday To You!!

Believe it or not, Baby E embedded this video of his favorite song into his birthday post here today. Don't ask me how he knew to do that. But, anyway, he did, and it's his Birthday. Happy Birthday, honey!!

[Please play video while reading for maximum heart tug effect :)]



We danced to your favorite song today. It was your birthday, and we were home alone, and we had the volume turned up as loud as we could stand it. And while we danced, I wished that this song would never end.

We were dancing and laughing, and you suddenly stopped and looked at me, and said, "Mom, it looks like you're going to cry..."

I answered, "No...no, this isn't crying. It's laughter through tears, and it's the best feeling in the world. It means my heart is so full it can't hold anymore."

Which must've made perfect sense to you, because you went right back into the song as if you had never left it. And so did I.


Happy Birthday, Baby E. When you saw me getting quiet while I watched you open your presents today, it's because I couldn't believe I'm the one who gets to be your mommy.

See this picture of us together? See my face? That's the way you make me feel. Everyday.
Like I won the lottery.

I love you.

Happy Birthday!



Monday, April 12, 2010

Little Shovel, Little Shovel, and To Whom You Belong

I keep Baby E's little tykes red shovel here, propped up right in front of my parking spot in our garage. Year round, season in, season out. It's the first thing I see as the garage door opens, and it can never be missed. On purpose.

"Mom, when we get home, can we make those mini apple tarts again?" We are only a few, short blocks from home, and I begin to slow down in anticipation of the turn ahead.

I sigh, too audibly to not be heard, all I can think of is how behind I am with everything that I need to do. "Let's see, I have a lot to do first, alright?"

"I hope we can, those are so good, and fun. If we do make them, can I use the wooden hole puncher to push down the dough to make the room for the apple filling?"

His request breaks my heart, but we've been gone all day, and I have so much catching up to do before it's time to make dinner.

I turn right, and head up the short distance to our house. As I pull in front of the driveway, I reach for the remote, and press the button for the garage door to open. It opens ever so slowly, and then I see it. As the garage door opens, I catch sight of what I always keep right.there. Right there in the line of fire. Propped up in all it's bright redness, so sharp against the white drywall of the garage. It's Baby E's red shovel.

I placed it there so that I have to watch it while I pull the car in. I have it there so that it has to be walked past as I enter our house through the back door. I have it there for me to see every time that the garage door lurches open.

The magical, mystical object of power that this object is. It reminds me that he will not always be the size of this little shovel. This shovel fits him now, but it'll be one day very soon, when he'll be too big, too old for it. He won't look to me, his most comfortable friend, the one that he wants to do all things with. I am like his red shovel to him. I am there, I am his closest friend, I serve all purposes. I can scoop sand, or smooth lumps out of mud puddles, or make bricks out of snow.

I placed his shovel there when we bought it for him 4 years ago, when he was too little to handle it masterfully. Every year, he has grown more adept at his use of it. It still suits his purposes. I placed it there, so that I would see it, and I do see it. Five or more times a day, I see it. I see it coming and I see it going. It's always clearly there.

It shouts to me, "I'm holding a handful of diamonds here for you, measured in minutes. If you want them, they're here."

I pull the car into the garage, I see the little red shovel. I smile while I shut the engine off.

"I know why you're quiet, Mom, we can't make the pies, right?"

I look at the little red shovel, "Actually, you know what I was thinking? I think your brothers would love your apple pies for dinner."

Sunday, April 11, 2010

The Dork at The Keyboard, Exhibit C

Ultimate Blog Party 2010ok something tells me this is going to turn into a blog post. Wait, it already is. How can I get rid of this purple ink?!?

Gaah! Now it's gone, I think I have to go wake up the geeksquad (14 yr old son).

When will I learn that "It's that easy..." usually comes back to bite me in the a**.

Oh, Snap, my husband told me never to push "Edit Html." Snap. I know just what I'll say, too, "Honey, it all happened so fast..." He hates it when I stay up at night, by myself, with the computer on.

Ahem...Heee-eeyyy! Anyone wanna come to a party? (That was Step 2, right?) No, I think the perky twins said something about a link back. "Alexander? Honey, can you come downstairs a minute and help mom?"

5minutesformom

"There. Good night, mom." "Good night, honey, I love you...."

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