family humor storytelling

It Was a Mystery

It was a mystery


It was a mystery.

At 6:00 am, there was an enormous mess of a white powdery dust all over the kitchen floor.

It started in the pantry and trailed across the kitchen.

The trash cans were covered it in.

The laundry room had also been nailed.

It’s where we keep the cleaning supplies, and the broom and dustpan were covered in it too.

My first thought was drugs.

Yeah, I like to watch crime shows.

My head said flour.

But my heart was hoping that Lennie Briscoe would come knocking on my door.

I had two suspects.

The first Grown Son is a slob and would never clean up his own mess.

Since an attempt was made to sweep, he was eliminated as a suspect.

The second Grown Son occasionally makes a slight effort to clean up.

He got the blame.

But he vehemently denied it.

The first Grown Son was confronted.

He burst out laughing and confessed that he had knocked over the flour during a midnight snack.

I informed him that flour can’t be cleaned with a broom.

It just flies around and makes an even bigger mess.

This situation calls for the shop vac.

We’ve got our own Breaking Bad crime drama right here at home.

Or maybe not.

humor lifestyle storytelling

The Porta Potty Guy

The Porta Potty Guy


I was driving down a two-lane country road.

I kept plenty of room between me and the pick-up in front of me.

The guy behind me was annoyed.

He wanted me to speed up.

I refused.

He rage-lane-changed around me.

And then he pulled up short.

And slowed down to give the truck in front plenty of room.

Yeah, the guy in front was hauling a couple of Porta Potties.

You’d have to be in a crazy-insane kind of hurry to crowd the Porta-Potty Guy.

I’ve never been in that kind of a hurry.

I’ll never be in that kind of a hurry.

But if anyone ever wants to test it out, it would be very entertaining to watch.

humor lifestyle storytelling

That Is An Outright Lie

That is an outright lie



Socks are the bane of my existence.

I hate socks.

Women’s socks are labeled as one-size-fits-all.

That is an outright lie.

The one-size-fits-all sock is never small enough nor snug enough.

In the girl’s department socks have sizes, but the large size is 4-10.

Which is the same as the one-size-fits-all sock.

The medium size is 10-2.

Excuse me?

There is an unaccounted-for size that wants to wear socks that fit.

Too-big socks create a sock bump.

Which is a nightmare.

Too-small socks slide down and bunch up.

Which is a nightmare.

Is a 2-6 size range for socks too much to ask for?

Apparently it is too much to ask for.

Thank goodness for flip-flops.

family humor storytelling

They Have Been Warned

They have been warned


My back is feeling much, much better.

I am no longer hobbling.

But I am very, very stiff.

The Grown Sons have been taking full advantage of the situation.

They have been placing garbage in the hood of my sweatshirt.

I can’t twist around to get it out.

They think they’re hilarious.


I’m tired.

I’ve lost the will to care.

If it’s just paper, I can live with it.

However, if I discover that they’ve put anything gloppy back there, like a yogurt lid or a banana peel, they will be eligible for the death penalty.

They have been warned.

family humor storytelling

Happy Birthday, Mom

Happy Birthday, Mom

Happy birthday, Mom.

She’s been gone for many years now.

I make a chicken tetrazzini dinner every year to celebrate her birthday.

Part of the tradition involves the Grown Sons complaining bitterly about the mushrooms.

This year, emboldened by his pending move to his own apartment, one Grown Son rudely declared, “Those mushrooms smell like the dog’s a$$hole.”

This led to an animated discussion about how in the world he came to know that particular bit of information.

Grandma would have thoroughly enjoyed this conversation.

In no particular order of preference, Mom loved:

  1. Her grandkids
  2. Sauteed mushrooms
  3. A well-placed insult

If anyone ever wonders what it’s like to be a boymom, it can be summed up as a lively discussion about the dog’s a$$hole while lovingly preparing Grandma’s birthday dinner.

Happy birthday, Mom, I miss you every day.

family humor storytelling

I Pulled a Muscle in my Back

I pulled a muscle


I pulled a muscle in my back.

I’m in agony.

I can’t stand up straight.

I’m hobbling around the house, barely able to function.

The guys have been kind.

They have been helpful.

They have also been mocking me ruthlessly.

They, too, are hobbling around the house, just like me.

My loving family has also added sound effects to their hobbling.

Apparently sound effects are extra-special funny.

I fear for the day when I really am old and infirm.

Bob assured me that since he is older than me, he will certainly be stricken first.

I’ll remember that.

Sound effects will definitely play a part in his crippling old age.


Spring Is In The Air

Spring is in the air

Spring is in the air.

The days are longer.

The air is warmer.

The sun is brighter.

But just in case you weren’t sure, that first harbinger of Spring has made it abundantly clear that the seasons have changed.

The fire ants are back.

Stupid ants.

humor lifestyle storytelling

They Are In No Position To Judge

They are in no position to judge


The pregnant giraffe that I have been obsessed with since last fall still hasn’t given birth.

Apparently they misjudged her due date.

They misjudged it by a long shot.

I still follow her on YouTube every day.

The Grown Sons continue make fun of me.

They say they could just upload any old video of a giraffe birth.

“Seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all,” they say with callous, youthful indifference.

But I’ve grown attached to Johari.

I want to see HER baby, not any old YouTube clip.

Besides, the Grown Sons have been known to watch videos of other people playing video games.

They are in no position to judge.

family humor storytelling

That’s Bad News For Me

That's bad news for me


I read an article that said that tall women tend to have a longer life span.


That’s bad news for me.

In my mind I can hear the Grown Sons scoffing.

It sucks to be you,” is what they might say.

Or, “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

Now I’m mad.

Their imaginary disrespect is insulting.

That’s it – I’m leaving everything I have to the dog.

And that may happen very soon, according to the article that I read.


If I Never See Snow Again…

If I never see snow again...


That was the weirdest week of my life.

Now I know how the Donner Party felt.

If it had gone on any longer, I might have turned into Jack Nicholson in The Shining.

Honey, I’m hooome.”

At one point, three days in, with no power and no water and freaking frigid temperatures, the electricity finally came back on.

I was like a kid at Christmas!

I bustled about, tidying up, anticipating the house heating up.

I was especially waiting for the water heater.

Oh, how I wanted hot water.

And then….

And then the power went out again.

I could have wept for my lost shower opportunity.

I zipped my parka back up and plopped back under all of my blankets.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And…finally…the power came back on!

This time I was more cautious.

It might not last.

After an hour, I thought that maybe the electricity was here to stay.

Should I take a shower?

By this time it was late at night.

If we lost power again, I would be stranded in the pitch dark.

In single-digit temperatures.

Should I risk it?

We’re still on boil-water orders.

What if the water isn’t clean?

Oh, but what the heck.

I’ve waited long enough.

I brought a flashlight just in case.

It was the most glorious shower I have ever had in my life.

If I had gotten violently ill from dirty water, it still would have been worth it.

But I didn’t get sick.

If I never see snow again, it will be too soon.