FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: July 15, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Home for girl human
I’m about to sober up so I decided to write while I’m still tipsy.
My daughter has been difficult to deal with this weekend, and I about at my wits end trying to figure out what to do. I think I’ve found her a good home. My sister-in-law has offered to take her in and put her to work. She made a list of chores for her:
Feed the chickens, rabbits, and goats
Shear the yard dogs
Clean the pool
Scrub the kitchen floors with a tire brush
Hoe the okra and beans
Hose off the carport where the chickens got loose
Jane said she’d even let her push both carts on grocery day. Sounds like a good plan to me, but I don’t think the girl would be able to get up before the butt crack of noon. Nor do I think Jane would tolerate the girl’s smart mouth.
My son brought home a three-legged bearded dragon named Stumpy. He’s so cute that I decided we could add him to our animal collection. We’re growing grub worms in the basement to feed him. I bought an itty-bitty leash and walked him in the yard!
My mom is going to have to have her gallbladder removed. That makes six people in my immediate family. We must have a lot of gall. Perhaps the "sneak and cheat" laser surgery can be used on her, and the traditional "slice and dice" method won’t be necessary. I was the first one in my family to be de-galled, but since then my aunt, my grandmother, and two of my cousins have followed suit. Some women share childbirth stories. My family shares gallbladder stories with their guests.
I started this letter yesterday and I had to change all the "todays" to Monday and the "tomorrows" to todays. It gets kind of confusing. I’d better send it before I forget what day it is.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Sneaky Snake
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: March 29, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Sneaky Snake
Dear Friends and Letter Toleraters,
I was speed shopping last week when I bought a mascara for three dollars. The color was called berry brown. I wore it to church last Sunday. The pastor gave a touching message and I began to weep. When I looked at the Kleenex after wiping my eyes, the white tissue contained purple splotches! I had bought purple mascara. I looked like a real party animal.
The teacher called to tell me that my daughter has a 36 average in Pre-Algebra. I asked My Daughter about it when she got home. She told me not to worry about THAT because she also had detention. Evidently my daughter expressed her displeasure for the teacher in a disrespectful manner, and had to stand in the hall. And I thought she was only failing the class. The positive thing is that My Daughter feels better since she got all that tension and repressed anger out of her system.
My Son got a pair of pointy-toed boots and is practicing being a cowboy. He’s lasso-ed everything in the house, including the blind dog. I knew this would happen if we moved to the South. He still listens to Metallica, and I haven’t found any snuff cans so maybe there’s still hope. Do pray for us though – just look what God has to work with. My Husband is the only normal one in our family, and I don’t know how he got mixed up with us. Lucky, I guess.
I walked in from church Wednesday night and greeted My Husband who was nearly asleep on the sofa. “YOUR son brought home a snake”, he replied casually.
“What kind of snake did YOUR son bring home?” I asked.
“A big one.”
“Alive?”
“Yes, a python I think he said.”
“Did you tell him that he couldn’t keep it?”
“No, I thought you’d want to.”
At the top of the stairs a proud teen and a huge serpent greeted me. I’m not talking about a little grass snake. It is a 6-foot long python. “Son, we can’t keep a snake in the house.”
“But mom”, he started, “the guy I got it from is moving and has no place to keep it, and I’ve already paid him a hundred dollars.”
That was four days ago and the snake is still here. My Son is letting it warm up on the hood of his car as I type. Just when I thought it was safe to come out of the prayer closet, I have a constricting reptile and two teenagers to deal with – one of whom is not speaking to me. Tell me, do those Charter places where they send crazy people have time-share plans? I could buy a couple of weeks of red time and check in and out as needed. I could space-bank the weeks I didn’t use and take my friends on vacation with me.
By the way, I failed My Son’s term paper. What is plagiarism? Well, I need to go see what’s burning in the crock-pot. I’ll write more later.
DATE: March 29, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Sneaky Snake
Dear Friends and Letter Toleraters,
I was speed shopping last week when I bought a mascara for three dollars. The color was called berry brown. I wore it to church last Sunday. The pastor gave a touching message and I began to weep. When I looked at the Kleenex after wiping my eyes, the white tissue contained purple splotches! I had bought purple mascara. I looked like a real party animal.
The teacher called to tell me that my daughter has a 36 average in Pre-Algebra. I asked My Daughter about it when she got home. She told me not to worry about THAT because she also had detention. Evidently my daughter expressed her displeasure for the teacher in a disrespectful manner, and had to stand in the hall. And I thought she was only failing the class. The positive thing is that My Daughter feels better since she got all that tension and repressed anger out of her system.
My Son got a pair of pointy-toed boots and is practicing being a cowboy. He’s lasso-ed everything in the house, including the blind dog. I knew this would happen if we moved to the South. He still listens to Metallica, and I haven’t found any snuff cans so maybe there’s still hope. Do pray for us though – just look what God has to work with. My Husband is the only normal one in our family, and I don’t know how he got mixed up with us. Lucky, I guess.
I walked in from church Wednesday night and greeted My Husband who was nearly asleep on the sofa. “YOUR son brought home a snake”, he replied casually.
“What kind of snake did YOUR son bring home?” I asked.
“A big one.”
“Alive?”
“Yes, a python I think he said.”
“Did you tell him that he couldn’t keep it?”
“No, I thought you’d want to.”
At the top of the stairs a proud teen and a huge serpent greeted me. I’m not talking about a little grass snake. It is a 6-foot long python. “Son, we can’t keep a snake in the house.”
“But mom”, he started, “the guy I got it from is moving and has no place to keep it, and I’ve already paid him a hundred dollars.”
That was four days ago and the snake is still here. My Son is letting it warm up on the hood of his car as I type. Just when I thought it was safe to come out of the prayer closet, I have a constricting reptile and two teenagers to deal with – one of whom is not speaking to me. Tell me, do those Charter places where they send crazy people have time-share plans? I could buy a couple of weeks of red time and check in and out as needed. I could space-bank the weeks I didn’t use and take my friends on vacation with me.
By the way, I failed My Son’s term paper. What is plagiarism? Well, I need to go see what’s burning in the crock-pot. I’ll write more later.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Eating
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: March 15, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Eating
Well, it’s that time of month again…………newsletter time. What did you think I’d say?
Eating is such an expensive habit. Just think how much time and money we could save if we didn’t have to eat. I had to get groceries today before I lost my nomination for “Mother of the Year.” I let the food supply get so low, even the dog lost weight. We had to eat the leftovers! I went to Sam’s Club so I could buy in bulk and perhaps not need to return for groceries again for a month or so. I saw a middle aged couple in the store. The woman was pushing two carts while holding a newborn baby and giving orders to the man who had his hands in his pockets and was being less than cooperative. I wanted to ask the parents if they knew that their cute little baby would grow into a monstrous teenager one day, but they were already fussing about something. Instead, I pulled out my Dollar Store play phone and reported them at once to God-0911. They looked like they could use some help.
I had on my pajamas and missed another opportunity to go with My Husband to the dump to take the trash today. I’ve been collecting it all week. My Husband says I did a good job getting it all into one pile this time. Usually I just throw the bags down the basement steps and leave them, but last time I did that, the bag broke open and dog balls (dry dog food) went everywhere. My Son suggested that I make a hole in the dining room floor and drop the bags directly into the can in the basement. I would have but I didn’t know how to load the shotgun to get the hole started.
Last Sunday we had one of those dog episodes as we were leaving for church. Indy puked yellow bile on the living room carpet as she normally does when she hasn’t eaten in days. Why hasn’t she eaten? Like I said before, we had to eat the leftovers. I guess she’s fasting and praying for table scraps because her exalted opinion of herself believes that she is too good to eat canned dog food, much less dog balls.
Well, now that I have groceries in the house, I have no excuse for not making dinner. I’m going to cook.
Love,
Expressy
DATE: March 15, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Eating
Well, it’s that time of month again…………newsletter time. What did you think I’d say?
Eating is such an expensive habit. Just think how much time and money we could save if we didn’t have to eat. I had to get groceries today before I lost my nomination for “Mother of the Year.” I let the food supply get so low, even the dog lost weight. We had to eat the leftovers! I went to Sam’s Club so I could buy in bulk and perhaps not need to return for groceries again for a month or so. I saw a middle aged couple in the store. The woman was pushing two carts while holding a newborn baby and giving orders to the man who had his hands in his pockets and was being less than cooperative. I wanted to ask the parents if they knew that their cute little baby would grow into a monstrous teenager one day, but they were already fussing about something. Instead, I pulled out my Dollar Store play phone and reported them at once to God-0911. They looked like they could use some help.
I had on my pajamas and missed another opportunity to go with My Husband to the dump to take the trash today. I’ve been collecting it all week. My Husband says I did a good job getting it all into one pile this time. Usually I just throw the bags down the basement steps and leave them, but last time I did that, the bag broke open and dog balls (dry dog food) went everywhere. My Son suggested that I make a hole in the dining room floor and drop the bags directly into the can in the basement. I would have but I didn’t know how to load the shotgun to get the hole started.
Last Sunday we had one of those dog episodes as we were leaving for church. Indy puked yellow bile on the living room carpet as she normally does when she hasn’t eaten in days. Why hasn’t she eaten? Like I said before, we had to eat the leftovers. I guess she’s fasting and praying for table scraps because her exalted opinion of herself believes that she is too good to eat canned dog food, much less dog balls.
Well, now that I have groceries in the house, I have no excuse for not making dinner. I’m going to cook.
Love,
Expressy
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Curb Feelers
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: March 4, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Curb Feelers
Mail E-males and Email Females,
Just when you thought it was safe to be online, here I am again.
I tried to cook dinner last night. Yes, Ralph, it burned. Of course it did, I was on the phone with Debbie. The pan boiled over and Campbell’s tomato soup went everywhere. In fact there was more soup under the burner than there was in the pan. My Husband was out of town so we ordered from Pizza Hut. Yep, we went to the edge and back. Well, some of us came back. Others liked the edge and decided to stay. I have a nice room with a view.
A little guy about four years old came to my door the other day selling flowers he had dug up in his backyard. They looked a lot like weeds to me, but they did have roots and could have been his mother’s pansies. He only wanted fifty cents a bag so I decided to play along. I gave him a dollar bill, and held out my hand for my change. He refused to give me any of his quarters and wouldn’t even give me a second bag of weeds for a dollar. Four-year olds can’t be reasoned with. That’s inflation I suppose – the price doubled in less than two minutes.
My Son got a new fish. He didn’t get the ferret he had on his Christmas list and now he’s gone aquatic crazy. He has three 20-gallon tanks already and is talking about getting a 55-gallon tank. His room is starting to look like a pet store. This new fish is called a Gormey or something like that. It has long whiskers on the sides of his mouth that look like curb-feelers. You do know what curb feelers are, right? They are usually found attached to the fender near the front tires of Lincolns and Cadillacs (models prior to 1980). They are semi-flexible metal sticks that jiggle, and if they have any purpose at all, they must make some noise to let the driver know he’s too close to the curb. That’s why I call them curb-feelers. Anyway, this fish changes color like a chameleon to match its environment. One day he’s blue, one day he’s red, then brown. He must be moody. Remember mood rings? This is a mood fish with curb-feelers. Check it out!
It snowed fifteen flakes today and the schools were closed. I went to work and left the kids in bed. I had planned to have hotdogs for supper since I have a bored (Board) meeting tonight. I stopped by the grocery store on my way home and picked up hotdog buns. When I got home I couldn’t find the hotdogs. The kids had eaten them for lunch so I guess we’re going to the edge again tonight.
Don’t everyone write back at once. I can only handle so much excitement.
Love,
Expressy
DATE: March 4, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Curb Feelers
Mail E-males and Email Females,
Just when you thought it was safe to be online, here I am again.
I tried to cook dinner last night. Yes, Ralph, it burned. Of course it did, I was on the phone with Debbie. The pan boiled over and Campbell’s tomato soup went everywhere. In fact there was more soup under the burner than there was in the pan. My Husband was out of town so we ordered from Pizza Hut. Yep, we went to the edge and back. Well, some of us came back. Others liked the edge and decided to stay. I have a nice room with a view.
A little guy about four years old came to my door the other day selling flowers he had dug up in his backyard. They looked a lot like weeds to me, but they did have roots and could have been his mother’s pansies. He only wanted fifty cents a bag so I decided to play along. I gave him a dollar bill, and held out my hand for my change. He refused to give me any of his quarters and wouldn’t even give me a second bag of weeds for a dollar. Four-year olds can’t be reasoned with. That’s inflation I suppose – the price doubled in less than two minutes.
My Son got a new fish. He didn’t get the ferret he had on his Christmas list and now he’s gone aquatic crazy. He has three 20-gallon tanks already and is talking about getting a 55-gallon tank. His room is starting to look like a pet store. This new fish is called a Gormey or something like that. It has long whiskers on the sides of his mouth that look like curb-feelers. You do know what curb feelers are, right? They are usually found attached to the fender near the front tires of Lincolns and Cadillacs (models prior to 1980). They are semi-flexible metal sticks that jiggle, and if they have any purpose at all, they must make some noise to let the driver know he’s too close to the curb. That’s why I call them curb-feelers. Anyway, this fish changes color like a chameleon to match its environment. One day he’s blue, one day he’s red, then brown. He must be moody. Remember mood rings? This is a mood fish with curb-feelers. Check it out!
It snowed fifteen flakes today and the schools were closed. I went to work and left the kids in bed. I had planned to have hotdogs for supper since I have a bored (Board) meeting tonight. I stopped by the grocery store on my way home and picked up hotdog buns. When I got home I couldn’t find the hotdogs. The kids had eaten them for lunch so I guess we’re going to the edge again tonight.
Don’t everyone write back at once. I can only handle so much excitement.
Love,
Expressy
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Hay!
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: February 25, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Hay!
I saw a sign in front of a house on Sunset Road that read, “HAY FOR SALE 776-0012”. I thought to myself, “Only Gomer Pyle would market his house with such a sign.” Then I realized the people were selling straw (i.e. hay) and not the house. I drove down the road laughing and repeating, “HAY… For Sale, Hey ya’ll it’s fer sale! Wanna buy my house?” I shouldn’t admit stuff like this should I?
DATE: February 25, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org
SUBJECT: Hay!
I saw a sign in front of a house on Sunset Road that read, “HAY FOR SALE 776-0012”. I thought to myself, “Only Gomer Pyle would market his house with such a sign.” Then I realized the people were selling straw (i.e. hay) and not the house. I drove down the road laughing and repeating, “HAY… For Sale, Hey ya’ll it’s fer sale! Wanna buy my house?” I shouldn’t admit stuff like this should I?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Multi-tasking
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: February 13, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com
SUBJECT: Multi-tasking
I’m not sure if this is an amends-ment to the constitution I wrote you yesterday, or a pre-ramble to the one I’ll write next week, but here I am again.
As I sit here typing, I am being simultaneously affected my many stimuli. I am listening to a song I recorded on my keyboard. My Daughter is playing Mozart on the piano in the living room, and the blind dog is snoring. It reminds me of the time we lived in Ohio. My Husband walked in at suppertime, and found the house in a roar -- literally. My Son was upstairs playing his guitar. My Daughter had left the radio blaring in her room when she went to the living room to practice songs on the piano and flute. The computer was left on in my office because I was writing a song while duplicating a tape from the keyboard. I was listening to a teaching tape in the kitchen where something was burning for dinner. Every time I went to check on the tape dubbing, I would start singing the song coming from the keyboard. When I went to check on dinner, I’d start singing the theme from Lion King that My Daughter was playing. The TV was on in the den, and I didn’t know My Husband was in the house until I walked right into him on my way back to the living room to remind My Daughter to watch for B flats. He was mouthing something to me, but I motioned for him to hold on while I answered the phone. Does anyone else live this way? I’m not sure if we’re healthy or if we have adapted to organized chaos.
My son and I worked on a term paper for seven hours Sunday afternoon. He must pass senior English in order to graduate high school. I thought I would simply be typing from his notes, but somehow he had forgotten to take any. He also forgot to read the book that he was to report on. Minor details. I sat down and composed seven pages of B.S. (brilliant stuff) on a book neither of us had read. We only had five sheets of printer paper in the house, it’s Sunday night, and the report is due tomorrow -- no panic.
I think I’ve strained my brain. Why do kids wait until the last minute and expect someone to bail him or her out? Because, they can! My Daughter is the worst about this, but she’s also the luckiest person I’ve ever known and she glides graciously from one self-instigated crisis to the next. She can make things appear and disappear better than Houdini. I’ve seen her lose and find the same item three times in one week, always in the nick of time. For instance: the first time we went to the mall this week, she didn’t have enough money to get the designer shoes she wanted. I thought, “Now she’ll have to clean her room and do her chores so she can earn money to buy the shoes.” She started cleaning her room by gathering her laundry. She found the $32 in the pocket of her jeans. When the mail came later that day, her grandmother had sent $20 for Valentine’s Day, so we went back to the mall to buy the shoes. She only needed $57 total. She begged me for $5, but I held firm hoping to get her room cleaned this month. She opened a coupon book I had in my car and out pops a coupon for 10% of any purchase at Shoe Carnival. Not being a complete ogre, I took her to Shoe Carnival and wouldn’t you know it, the shoes she wanted were on sale, in her size. With the 10% coupon, she actually came out with money in her pocket; money that she will probably lose tonight and find next week when she wants to buy new jeans.
I hear the ice cream truck. Gotta go for now!
Spressy
DATE: February 13, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com
SUBJECT: Multi-tasking
I’m not sure if this is an amends-ment to the constitution I wrote you yesterday, or a pre-ramble to the one I’ll write next week, but here I am again.
As I sit here typing, I am being simultaneously affected my many stimuli. I am listening to a song I recorded on my keyboard. My Daughter is playing Mozart on the piano in the living room, and the blind dog is snoring. It reminds me of the time we lived in Ohio. My Husband walked in at suppertime, and found the house in a roar -- literally. My Son was upstairs playing his guitar. My Daughter had left the radio blaring in her room when she went to the living room to practice songs on the piano and flute. The computer was left on in my office because I was writing a song while duplicating a tape from the keyboard. I was listening to a teaching tape in the kitchen where something was burning for dinner. Every time I went to check on the tape dubbing, I would start singing the song coming from the keyboard. When I went to check on dinner, I’d start singing the theme from Lion King that My Daughter was playing. The TV was on in the den, and I didn’t know My Husband was in the house until I walked right into him on my way back to the living room to remind My Daughter to watch for B flats. He was mouthing something to me, but I motioned for him to hold on while I answered the phone. Does anyone else live this way? I’m not sure if we’re healthy or if we have adapted to organized chaos.
My son and I worked on a term paper for seven hours Sunday afternoon. He must pass senior English in order to graduate high school. I thought I would simply be typing from his notes, but somehow he had forgotten to take any. He also forgot to read the book that he was to report on. Minor details. I sat down and composed seven pages of B.S. (brilliant stuff) on a book neither of us had read. We only had five sheets of printer paper in the house, it’s Sunday night, and the report is due tomorrow -- no panic.
I think I’ve strained my brain. Why do kids wait until the last minute and expect someone to bail him or her out? Because, they can! My Daughter is the worst about this, but she’s also the luckiest person I’ve ever known and she glides graciously from one self-instigated crisis to the next. She can make things appear and disappear better than Houdini. I’ve seen her lose and find the same item three times in one week, always in the nick of time. For instance: the first time we went to the mall this week, she didn’t have enough money to get the designer shoes she wanted. I thought, “Now she’ll have to clean her room and do her chores so she can earn money to buy the shoes.” She started cleaning her room by gathering her laundry. She found the $32 in the pocket of her jeans. When the mail came later that day, her grandmother had sent $20 for Valentine’s Day, so we went back to the mall to buy the shoes. She only needed $57 total. She begged me for $5, but I held firm hoping to get her room cleaned this month. She opened a coupon book I had in my car and out pops a coupon for 10% of any purchase at Shoe Carnival. Not being a complete ogre, I took her to Shoe Carnival and wouldn’t you know it, the shoes she wanted were on sale, in her size. With the 10% coupon, she actually came out with money in her pocket; money that she will probably lose tonight and find next week when she wants to buy new jeans.
I hear the ice cream truck. Gotta go for now!
Spressy
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Chip & Dale
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: January 24, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com
SUBJECT: Chip & Dale
We’ve been hearing noises in the house near the daughter’s room. I’m pretty sure it’s not haunted. What ghost would want to live with us? I sent my husband to the attic to investigate. It seems that we have inadvertently rented the room upstairs to two squirrels. They were peering through the small opening of space above the support beams. We couldn’t very well shoot the varmints without blowing a hole in the roof.
We have a live trap that was totally useless when we tried to catch gophers, but I thought it might have more appeal to squirrels. My husband was convinced that we should put the trap on the back porch.
"But the monsters are in the attic, I argued!"
Go figure. Two weeks went by, the apple rotted, and still no trophy. Yesterday my teenage daughter spoke to me for the first time in weeks. Her words were, “Come get this thing out of the attic, it’s driving me crazy.”
I replaced the apple with a pear and put the trap in the attic. The next morning I awoke to a knock on my bedroom door and more kind words from the teenager, “We caught it. Now come GET it so I can sleep!”
We have one of the critters in custody. I suppose my husband can take him to the dump, and let him out there when he takes the trash.
FROM: Mamadearest@abc.com
DATE: January 25, 1998
TO: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: RE: Chip & Dale
I told you when I was there last time that you needed to close up that hole in the gable of the house.
DATE: January 24, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Mamadearest@abc.com, MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com
SUBJECT: Chip & Dale
We’ve been hearing noises in the house near the daughter’s room. I’m pretty sure it’s not haunted. What ghost would want to live with us? I sent my husband to the attic to investigate. It seems that we have inadvertently rented the room upstairs to two squirrels. They were peering through the small opening of space above the support beams. We couldn’t very well shoot the varmints without blowing a hole in the roof.
We have a live trap that was totally useless when we tried to catch gophers, but I thought it might have more appeal to squirrels. My husband was convinced that we should put the trap on the back porch.
"But the monsters are in the attic, I argued!"
Go figure. Two weeks went by, the apple rotted, and still no trophy. Yesterday my teenage daughter spoke to me for the first time in weeks. Her words were, “Come get this thing out of the attic, it’s driving me crazy.”
I replaced the apple with a pear and put the trap in the attic. The next morning I awoke to a knock on my bedroom door and more kind words from the teenager, “We caught it. Now come GET it so I can sleep!”
We have one of the critters in custody. I suppose my husband can take him to the dump, and let him out there when he takes the trash.
FROM: Mamadearest@abc.com
DATE: January 25, 1998
TO: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: RE: Chip & Dale
I told you when I was there last time that you needed to close up that hole in the gable of the house.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Pillows That Throw People
DATE: January 10, 1998 11:52
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
TO: Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: Pillows That Throw People
Remember the sales magazine you and I looked at together last week? They gave instructions on how to tell if your bed pillow was 'broken' or not. We were both surprised to find out that if you fold the pillow in half and put a shoe on it, the pillow is good if it throws the shoe off but if the shoe stays in place, the pillow is broken. I got home and gave mine the test. They were broken all right so I went to the store and bought new pillows that I thought would do. I mean, how do you know if it's the right pillow except to sleep with it? Well, Pa and I settled down for our long winter's nap last night to give these new babies a test drive. My new pillow and I got into a fight about midnight and I threw it out of the bed. About 3 a.m. I woke up with my neck hurting. I had to get up and take Advil. I think the pillow threw ME! I had crazy dreams all night. I dreamed I fell off a boat dock: Cappi, it really shouldn't be this hard to get a good night's rest. At least it's Saturday and we don't have to get up early to go to work!
After the pillow fights, I finally settled back down happy to sleep on my broken pillows but about 8:30 a.m. the doorbell rang. I couldn't imagine who would be at my door before I had my coffee on Saturday morning. I was afraid it might be Ed McMahon with my sweepstakes winnings and I'd be on T.V. wearing my old nightgown and having groaties in the corners of my eyes. I'm sure I looked kind of beat up after all we had been through since midnight. Fortunately it was only Donna coming to pick up her daughter who had spent the night with my daughter.
I guess I'll go and take a nap now and try to recover from sleeping! I'll write again soon.
Expressy
FROM: Cappucino@coffeehouse.com
DATE: January 20, 1998
TO: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: RE: Pillows That Throw People
Spressy, the only thing broken in my bed is my marriage! Jim and I fight every night.
FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
TO: Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: Pillows That Throw People
Remember the sales magazine you and I looked at together last week? They gave instructions on how to tell if your bed pillow was 'broken' or not. We were both surprised to find out that if you fold the pillow in half and put a shoe on it, the pillow is good if it throws the shoe off but if the shoe stays in place, the pillow is broken. I got home and gave mine the test. They were broken all right so I went to the store and bought new pillows that I thought would do. I mean, how do you know if it's the right pillow except to sleep with it? Well, Pa and I settled down for our long winter's nap last night to give these new babies a test drive. My new pillow and I got into a fight about midnight and I threw it out of the bed. About 3 a.m. I woke up with my neck hurting. I had to get up and take Advil. I think the pillow threw ME! I had crazy dreams all night. I dreamed I fell off a boat dock: Cappi, it really shouldn't be this hard to get a good night's rest. At least it's Saturday and we don't have to get up early to go to work!
After the pillow fights, I finally settled back down happy to sleep on my broken pillows but about 8:30 a.m. the doorbell rang. I couldn't imagine who would be at my door before I had my coffee on Saturday morning. I was afraid it might be Ed McMahon with my sweepstakes winnings and I'd be on T.V. wearing my old nightgown and having groaties in the corners of my eyes. I'm sure I looked kind of beat up after all we had been through since midnight. Fortunately it was only Donna coming to pick up her daughter who had spent the night with my daughter.
I guess I'll go and take a nap now and try to recover from sleeping! I'll write again soon.
Expressy
FROM: Cappucino@coffeehouse.com
DATE: January 20, 1998
TO: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
SUBJECT: RE: Pillows That Throw People
Spressy, the only thing broken in my bed is my marriage! Jim and I fight every night.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Woman with Reptiles in Basement and Teenagers in the House
Email Episodes goes behind the scenes to expose a loony, codependent mom named Expressy as she struggles to raise her wacky teenagers. As she opens her home and heart to a homeless human, a multitude of reptiles and other animals she begins to face mid-life crisis and realizes that she has lived her whole life trying to please others at the expense of her own happiness.
Expressy records her daily dilemmas in emails to a group of friends and family members who probably didn’t care to know what she was up to. Through her writing Expressy finds the courage to step out of her dysfunction and begin to truly love herself. You’ll laugh at her hilarious antics and be inspired by her bravery. A must-read (if you can get a copy) for anyone who wants to drop the façade and simply be human.
Expressy records her daily dilemmas in emails to a group of friends and family members who probably didn’t care to know what she was up to. Through her writing Expressy finds the courage to step out of her dysfunction and begin to truly love herself. You’ll laugh at her hilarious antics and be inspired by her bravery. A must-read (if you can get a copy) for anyone who wants to drop the façade and simply be human.
Email Episodes A Hilariously Honest Look at Life
Take a frustrated woman, give her a computer, and she will tell the world more than they ever wanted to know.
This is the simple, straightforward, storytelling concept developed by Yvonne Perry for her debut novel, Email Episodes. She documents everyday events that take place in the life of Expressy, a wife and mother whose life is falling apart.
What else can you do besides laugh or get a tattoo when: your kids are teenagers, your husband wants a divorce, you're having a mid-life crisis, you're grieving from relocating three times in less than five years, you're dealing with repressed issues from your childhood, and the church turns its back on you? Expressy walks out of her chaos and leaves the limitations imposed upon her to find a life that is full of love, joy, fun, and hope. You will laugh at her hilarious antics while being inspired by her courage. Take Expressy's hand and begin the comical journey toward wholeness.
This is the simple, straightforward, storytelling concept developed by Yvonne Perry for her debut novel, Email Episodes. She documents everyday events that take place in the life of Expressy, a wife and mother whose life is falling apart.
What else can you do besides laugh or get a tattoo when: your kids are teenagers, your husband wants a divorce, you're having a mid-life crisis, you're grieving from relocating three times in less than five years, you're dealing with repressed issues from your childhood, and the church turns its back on you? Expressy walks out of her chaos and leaves the limitations imposed upon her to find a life that is full of love, joy, fun, and hope. You will laugh at her hilarious antics while being inspired by her courage. Take Expressy's hand and begin the comical journey toward wholeness.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
