I Ain't Got No Vee-Hicle

This has been the condition of our yard for the past week. All we need is a tattered, threadbare couch on the front porch and we'll be bona fide, certified rednecks!

I might ask mah cuzzin Billy Joe Jim Bob tuh brang me sum chickens and a coon dawg.

(In my poor Hubby's defense, it rained ALL WEEK, and the parts for my van had to be ordered!)

Maybe I Should Save It for Halloween . . .

Time to take the old Christmas tree down, dont'cha think?

My Doomed Career

Today I put the "Wiggly Wiggly Christmas" movie on for Screech in order to get some Christmas baking done. I was inspired to dance along during the first number, which prompted a full-blown-screaming-tearing-Mommy's-clothes hissy fit from Screech. Funny, I would have expected her to laugh.

This reminds me of the time that Hubby was talking to our then-six-year-old niece about an upcoming Christmas concert that his musical family was planning. She asked worriedly, "Aunt Laura's not going to sing, is she?"

~sniff~ I guess I have no hope of making it in the performing arts!

The Stealth Sickness

We've had some kind of stomach bug go through the house. I've nicknamed it "The Stealth Sickness" because a child will be fine and playing happily one minute, then will suddenly throw up without warning. This is followed by diarrhea. Lovely. Pete had it first a few weeks ago, and it lasted a few days. Then he got it again a few days ago, and then Drama Queen got it. This morning Screech told me that her tummy hurts. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At least Pete and Drama Queen have the bowl technique down pat, so this minimizes cleanup. I have them keep a gigantic plastic bowl nearby at all times. A few days ago, Bunny watched as Pete, um, utilized his bowl. I would have expected her to be frightened or even disgusted, but instead she asked earnestly, "Is that cat food? Is that chocolate milk? What is it, Mommy?"

My son - the magical fountain of food. At least Screech didn't try to sample any!

We have had a few messes to clean up due to the stealthy nature of this illness. (They're better! Wait, they're not! It's all over now! Uh oh, here they go again . . . ) Early this morning, as I slept peacefully in my cozy bed, Hubby dealt with the aftermath of one of Pete's episodes. Pete had been bowl-less because we THOUGHT he was better. And this was after having had a huge dinner of a curried chicken and broccoli casserole. Emphasis on the broccoli, Pete's fave vegetable.

My hubby, he is a saint.

I didn't get halfway through typing this post when Screech started throwing up. Poor thing, it scared her to death. It freaked her out and there was a huge mess. The second episode (15 minutes later), she did her thing right in the bowl. I heaved a huge sigh of relief as she heaved in the proper place. Then she proceeded to wipe her mouth on a decorative Christmas pillow.

No, This Is NOT Pizza Hut!

I mentioned in this post that I regret our choice of phone number. Here are two of MANY reasons why:

12:17 A.M. (as in, MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT) Brrrrrring!

Groggy Blogger: (croaks) Hello?

Drunken Idiot: Izzis Pizza Hut?

Groggy Blogger: No.

Drunken Idiot: Can you look up the number for Pizza Hut for me?

Groggy Blogger: No, I won't. You obviously didn't do such a great job looking it up yourself the first time, so you need to try again!

Sigh. I know I should have been more like Jesus, but it's hard when I'm rudely awakened. Here's another doozie:

Drunken Idiot: Izzis Pizza Hut?

Disgruntled Blogger: No.

Drunken Idiot: Can you go up to Pizza Hut and tell them that there's a hair in my pizza?

Big sigh. BIG, huffy, grumpy sigh.

Please Help Me!

This is Screech here. Please help me!!! As you can see from this picture, I am very, very sad. This morning my mommy (the 80's queen) made me wear this:

I know I look all happy and cheerful in the picture, but trust me, I was not laughing when she put it on. I screamed bloody murder and wailed, "I don't wanna wear thi-i-i-i-i-is!!!!" I begged to wear my Pooh outfit, or something cool - heck, at least something made in this decade. I shreiked, kicked and flailed my arms and legs for a good five minutes, but she won because she's stronger than I am. (I am so getting her back for this when I'm 16! I'll probably go through a combination goth/grunge phase.)

I don't know where she got this thing, but it has to be at least 20 years old. She's made me wear stuff like this before - on October 31, 2007, to be exact. You know, it's really sad when you can take a regular outfit, add a simple accessory and end up with a Halloween costume:

Please help me, I beg of you!!! Call the fashion police. Call Mrs. Fussypants. Call social services. Please . . . help . . .meeeeeee . . . .

The Joys of Boys (part 2)

(This post will make a lot more sense if you have already read yesterday's post, The Joys of Boys.)

Poor Persnickety Pete. Getting blamed and blogged about for something he didn't do.

Sweet, innocent Pete. He didn't whiz in the laundry hamper.

He did it in a pair of boots.

And poured the smelly stuff into the laundry hamper.

Multiple times.

Big sigh.

What to do? Well, he's never done anything like this before.

That we know about.

~shudder~

And it's not like he broke our longstanding rule of No-Whizzing-in-Footwear-and-Pouring-It-into-Laundry-
Containers.

To me, this fits squarely under the heading of childish irresponsibility. Still, I felt that there should be some consequences. All I did was have him take several audible whiffs of the boots (my, this seemed effective) and made him throw the boots away (which had to be done anyway).

Thankfully, the boots were his own. I don't think I could have ever forgiven him if they had been my $4500 Louis Vuitton ostrich boots.


(Yeah. Right.)

I've enjoyed hearing everyone else's stories of inappropriate eliminating by their boys. Most involve trash cans or carpet, but my favorite is the one about the air vent in the floor. It took 3 bath towels to sop it up.

I think I can live with throwing a pair of boots away and adding some extra Downy to the laundry.

The Joys of Boys

Y'all know that I have serious laundry issues. So I definitely do not need any more.

As I was going through one of the hampers this evening, I noticed that the clothes were damp and a bit more, um, malodorous than usual.

My first thought was that our elderly cat was responsible. I quickly dismissed this idea because she is too obese, old and out of shape to jump that high. Besides, I've cleaned up enough cat and child messes to know the difference.

A mom's nose knows.

Knowing that Pete has a tendency to wait until the last minute, my next assumption was that he'd had a wet accident and tossed the odiferous undies in the hamper without telling me. As I searched for the smelly skivvies, I found more than wet underwear.

I found wet shirts. I found wet pants. I found wet socks. Many of these wet things belonged to Hubby and me.

(Putting on imaginary Sherlock Holmes cap.)

Hmmmmm . . . .

Hubby has not had any accidents this week.

I have not had any accidents this week.

Which leaves only one possibility:

Dear friends, my son has been whizzing in the laundry hamper.

(Counting to ten.)

(Again.)

(Again.)

(Not helping.)

(Banging head against wall.)

Why, why, why???

Perhaps he is marking his territory.

Does this mean that he's going to do the laundry from now on?

My Secret Life as a Bunny (Part 2)

Yesterday I told you about my foray into the bunny business. In answer to your questions, I stuck (or shall I say, "stunk"?) it out for the whole school year.

My favorite part of being Cecil was the children. As school mascots go, bunnies are cuter than, say, vikings or gladiators, which gave me instant celebrity status among the kids at the games. One child whom I'll never forget hugged on me at every game. It was obvious that she was mentally challenged in some way and I always made a point of approaching her. She gave me a plastic stretchy heart bracelet that I still have to this day.

To further my career, I played the Easter Bunny at a local mall for one season in college. (I'm quite sure that I was the only applicant with previous experience.) The mall provided several CLEAN costumes. They were nearly identical to the Cecil costume, minus the teenage boy sweat.

There were several of us playing the famed furry creature. Besides me, there were a couple of other college girls and a really cute, popular high school boy who just happened to be my height. (This detail will be important later in this post.)

We had a lengthy job description, which included things like "no talking" and "no hopping" (it looked "awkward"). That took a lot of the fun out of it. Oh, well. No one said anything about skipping, so skip I did!

For the most part, it wasn't that exciting. (I always worked the slow nights. If you want to avoid the lines, your best bet is a Tuesday.)

I was always so excited for a child to come. The one good thing about it being so slow is that I was able to spend as much time as I wanted with each one. They often sat on my lap for a long time, pouring out their little hearts. I remember one little boy shared how his team had just lost their soccer game. I nodded soberly and patted his shoulder, and he seemed to feel better.

Sometimes, I would get up and dance with the children to the mall Musak, and they just cracked up. I had as much fun as they did!

The most depressing moment was when someone brought the tiniest baby I ever saw for me to hold. I heard the mother say that they had come straight from the hospital. I was so angry and wanted to yell, "Lady, do you know how many kids have sneezed, picked their noses and butts, and rubbed their grubby hands all over my fur????" The young mother obviously didn't know any better. I'll never forget her standing there with her greasy, stringy hair and decaying teeth, smiling at her tiny baby and saying over and over, "She's so little." Meanwhile, I was trying as hard as I could to hold the baby securely while letting the least bit of fur touch her as possible. I remember praying the whole time, "Dear Lord, please don't let this precious baby get sick."

Another memorable moment was a large, gussied up, hoity toity family that came to have their portrait made with the Easter Bunny. I wish I could remember all the children's names. They sounded like surnames, and they all ended in -ton. The ones I do remember were Carrington, Wellington, Washington, and Remington (some were girls!) They weren't little kids, either. Most of them were teenagers. I think the thing that struck me the most was how seriously they took themselves, as if this were an expensive portrait studio. I remember thinking, c'mon, people. This is the MALL! You're getting a POLAROID!

My most interesting visitors were also teenagers. Remember the high school hottie I told you about earlier who also played the Easter Bunny? And remember that the Easter Bunny is not allowed to talk?

This is where it gets fun.

A group of giggling teenyboppers came bouncing over to see me. Well, not me. But apparently they didn't know that.

These girls were poured into their jeans and wore heavy makeup. Imagine Bratz dolls coming to life. ~shudder~

They were rather, um, flirtatious.

I don't want to go into the way that they sat on (read: straddled) my knees.

~Throwing up. Violently.~

True to my job description, I didn't talk. I just sat there, doing my bunny duty while silently begging them to leave.

If only I could have been a fly on the wall at their school the next day! I could just imagine their conversation:

Giggling Girls: Batting eyes. Hiiiiiiiii, Jooooooooooooooooshhhhhhhhh!!!!
We enjoyed seeing you last night!!!!!

Josh: What are you talking about?

And now you know . . . the rest of the story!

My Secret Life as a Bunny (Part 1)

Yesterday's post brought several emails commenting on my job as mall Easter Bunny, so I thought I would share a little more.

My life as a bunny started in high school, where our school mascot was a "Briar Jumper." (I'm sure this was emasculating for our football team. Ooh! The Big, Bad Bunnies!)

At some point, I tried out to be "Cecil," the mascot who got to wear the plush costume and generally act the fool at all the games.

This is called, My Dream Job.

I had it all. I was bouncy. I was bubbly. I could do cartwheels. I was energetic. I had school spirit. There was only one thing standing in my way.

The cheerleaders were doing the judging. ~shudder~

This was not my ideal judging panel.

Now, I've got nothing against cheerleaders. (In fact, I desperately wanted to be one and get to wear a short skirt and have guys drool over me.)

It's just that, well . . . popular kids tend to eschew unpopular kids.

(This is a polite way of saying, "chew them up and spit them out".)

Now, I can just hear a bunch of you saying, "But Mammarino, it couldn't have been that bad."

Y'all. I was in the VIDEO CLUB, for cryin' out loud.

Not to mention the Art Club.

Heck, if I'd just joined the Chess Club I could have hit the nerd trifecta.

Back to the tryouts. My only real competition that I could see was Chuck. He was a shoo-in because he was already cute, popular and was the class clown. And, I have to admit, he was the perfect Cecil.

I wasn't too worried, though, because they had to pick two or three Cecils. Surely they would see how good I am and I could snag a spot.

Long story short, I was cast as an alternate. Better than nothing, right?

Still, I was dejected. A naughty part of me that I only talk about to God (and, apparently, to the hundreds of people that read this blog) secretly wanted Chuck or someone to get sick just once so I could fulfill my dream of being Cecil.

I got my chance. Good old Chuck and his comrades never even had to catch so much as a cold. It seems that because the task of playing Cecil was so exhausting, they had to schedule two Cecils per game, switching at halftime. However, there was a slight problem with this arrangement.

There was only one costume.

By halftime, that costume was dripping with sweat. You could have wrung it out, filled a 5 gallon pickle bucket, and wrung it out some more.

Just imagine putting on a heavy winter coat that was drenched in stagnant water. And hadn't been washed in, oh, about a year. (That was another thing; they only had it in the budget to have the suit dry cleaned once a month or so.)

Mmmm, boy. No better way to spend a Friday night then by bathing in a teenage boy's sweat.

The costume head, of course, couldn't be cleaned very efficiently, either. Yessirree, that was a treat for the old olfactory system.

Guess who got called on to sub? A lot? Like, almost every single game for the whole school year?

You got it. We geeks are good for something.

Tooth-Tugging Tip for Terrified Tots

Drama Queen is a chicken when it comes to getting loose teeth pulled.

A yellow-bellied, lily-livered, gutless wonder.

This is a gross understatement.

A couple of weeks ago, she had a tooth that was so loose it flapped when she talked. It kind of reminded me of the door my cat uses to get to her litter box in the garage. Except upside-down. I kept expecting to hear it squeak when it flopped back and forth: eeh-ooh-eeh-ooh-eeh-ooh . . .

But, I digress.

She complained that it hurt when she ate, but the mere suggestion of pulling it (either by herself or me) sent her into a tizzy.

Another gross understatement.

We're talking screaming.

Hyperventilation.

Shaking like a bowl of Jell-o during an earthquake.

Flinging her body from wall to wall.

(This is why her blog name is Drama Queen, y'all.)

You may think that I must have pressured her.

(sweet, sympathetic Mommy voice) "Honey, do you want Mommy to pull it for you, or do you want to pull it yourself?"

Sound like pressure to you?

Well, you say, maybe she had some traumatic incident with a previous tooth being pulled.

Nope. Unless you count the Tooth Fairy forgetting her. For two nights in a row. (I have a sneaking suspicion that the little winged pixie discovered blogging.)

After many meltdowns, Drama Queen came up with the fantastic idea of having me pull it while she was asleep. I thought this was brilliant, because the anticipation seemed to be the worst part.

She changed her mind before she put on her jammies.

Later, after Hubby tucked her in, he came down and said, "Drama Queen told me to tell you to PLEASE to pull her tooth."

All righty then.

A few hours later, I snuck into her room to do the deed. Drama Queen, still mostly asleep but vaguely aware of my presence, shook her head vigorously, her brown hair slapping the sides of her pillow.

I didn't pull the tooth.

(I am firmly against telling my child that I won't pull her tooth and then surprising her by suddenly doing it anyway. I figure I'm giving her enough reasons to need therapy as it is.)

The next night, we went through the same thing:

"Pleeeeeeease pull my tooth!"

"Mommy, I changed my mind. Please DON'T pull my tooth!"

"I really mean it this time. Pull my tooth!"

"Nooooooo!!!!! Don't pull it!!!!!!!"

On it went for two hours, ending with, "NO! Don't do it!!!!!!"

When I stole into her room that night to get the writing journal we share (I'll post about this another day), I read this note:


Okey dokey. I guess that settles it.

I grabbed a Kleenex and got a grip on the tooth. Drama Queen's eyes flew open and grew wide. (Imagine a startled owl being choked.) I tugged lightly (it was hanging by a thread, for Pete's sake) and the tooth popped right out.

There wasn't even a drop of blood.

Drama Queen remained dazed and silent for a full 3-4 seconds. Then, as what had just happened seemed to sink in, she started to whimper. I asked if it hurt, and she half-moaned a "yes". (I knew good and well that it didn't, but this is Drama Queen we're talking about here.) I left to get her some Orajel. When I returned seconds later she was fast asleep.

In the morning she had absolutely no recollection of anything.

After I recounted the whole story of how I pulled her tooth, she happily announced that she would like for me to ALWAYS pull her teeth this way.

Works for me!



(For more WFMW tips, visit Shannon's blog.)

Here are some of my previous WFMW tips:

Handy Earache Relief

Uses for Leftover Bread

Leaky Diaper Fix

Snack Mix Recipe (at the end of the post)

Awesome Stain Recipe

"FUN"damentals of Family Life

Wite-Out Woes

Public Service Announcement

When NOT to Save Money

HELP!!!!!!

For the love of Pete, please help me. I can't get Captain Feathersword out of my head. He's in there half-singing, half-growling,

"I WANNA CUP OF DOROTHYYYYYYYYYYYY'S

LOVELY ROSY TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEA.


I WANNA CUP OF DOROTHYYYYYYYYYYYY'S

LOVELY ROSY TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEA."

Can you believe his last job title was "Opera Singer"?

I love the Wiggles, y'all, but I would prefer to have a choice regarding when they can and can't enter my cerebral cortex.

I am going to lose my mind.

See y'all later.

Lousy Day

Today I had a bazillion things to do. Tops on my list was to call Simplicity regarding some erroneous directions on step 2 of the pattern for Drama Queen's dress for a Civil War dance (which is just a week away!)

(STEP 2. Not step 14. Not step 21. This really irked me. If they're gonna screw up the directions, why does it have to be at the very beginning? Couldn't they have picked a later step? I'm working on this late at night when the kids [read: Screech] are in bed. Since I can't go past STEP 2 I have to wait until 9:00am the the next day, call the helpline, leave a message, and then wait for them to call me back. I was steaming, thinking of all the sewing I could have been doing!)

Next on my agenda was to drop Drama Queen off at Master's Academy of Fine Arts, then pick up Cutie, a sweet, 10-year-old homeschooled girl in my neighborhood. She LOVES Screech and agreed to be a mother's helper for a couple of hours so I could get some sewing done. After lunch, I was going to take Cutie home, put Screech down for a nap, then sew some more. Then, I planned to pick up Drama Queen and have her entertain Screech while I sewed even more.

In my mind's eye I could just see that shapeless pile of ordinary fabric transforming into a billowy, pink masterpiece!

Because Simplicity had not called me back yet, when we got to Master's to drop off Drama Queen I showed my pattern to several people to see if they could help. While the other moms were taking turns telling me, "I have no idea" and "I don't sew," someone came to tell me that a nit was found in Drama Queen's hair.

This was not on my agenda.

My choices were to: a) take her home, or b) remove all the nits right then and there.

Did I mention that her thick, ropy hair goes almost all the way to her tushie?

New agenda:

- Throw fit. (Actually, I skipped this one. I'm quite proud of myself.)

- Cry. A lot. (Did I mention that I had been up until 3am for three nights in a row, trying to work on that dress?)

- Drive to a good friend's house. Pick up fancy schmancy $25 nit comb. Cry some more.

- Drive home. On the way, tell Drama Queen and Pete that they are not allowed to speak to each other until further notice because their fighting is driving me looney. Cry some more.

- On the way, tell a shrieking Screech repeatedly that I'm sorry, but she may NOT play with a certain loud, obnoxious toy because it needs new batteries.

- Make mental note NOT to change said batteries. Ever.

- Fix lunch.

- Put Screech down for nap.

- Put self down for nap.

- Deal with nits later.

A sweet, helpful mom told me about a great article by Dr. Sears that dealt with how to get rid of lice. It was great because it gave clear, sensible information, even listing all the medicated shampoos in order from least toxic to most toxic. It also mentioned many homegrown remedies. Best yet, it saved me from the hours of research I usually log when I am facing a crisis.

I chose Nix because it kills lice AND their eggs (Rid only kills the lice), plus it keeps working for two weeks so it doesn't require retreatment.

I thought every one looked pretty cute in their disposable caps. Good thing about Screech, she's a real sport when it comes to things like this. She only screamed when it was time to take it off.

As I rubbed the Nix into the hair and scalp of each member of the family, the texture and slight odor reminded me disturbingly of a flea shampoo I had once used on my cat before Advantage flea treatments were available. Which made me wonder: Why can't I just open a little tube, squirt a little on each person's neck and be done with this mess? (There's a wide open business opportunity for all you enterprising moms out there!)

Speaking of messes, here's my new (not necessarily improved) agenda for tomorrow:


This doesn't even include the 4 loads I already did. (Sigh.) I don't think I'll be getting much sewing done tomorrow, either. Hubby suggested that I just take it all to the laundromat, but I don't have the time to sit there for hours and wait and fight people for the triple loaders. I might add that some of my most horrible childhood memories took place in laundromats. Oh, the agony! The torture! (And that was just from the cigarette smoke and country music!)

P.S. If you didn't get a chance to check out LTDCHix.com for the t-shirt giveaway, there's still time! We've extended the contest to Friday, April 11th! Click here to see how to enter.

Public Service Announcement

These look like Cheetos.


They do not, in fact,
TASTE like Cheetos.

This has been a public service announcement.
We now return to our regularly scheduled post.

Here is the latest example of Screech's handiwork:

I just might make good on my promise
to sell her on Ebay.

When NOT to Save Money!

As many previous bloggers have posted to Works for Me Wednesday, duct tape works GREAT for keeping curious toddlers from yanking off diapers!

Y'all, spend the extra 2 bucks and get REAL Duck Tape. Don't buy Mainstays, the Wal-Mart store brand. Here's why:

At least I caught her before she wet (or worse)!
(Don't worry, the diaper was completely dry!)

Wite-Out Woes

If you're looking for ways to remove Wite-Out, you've come to the right place!

Keep reading or scroll down . . .

Listed in Category: Everything Else > Preschool-Kindergarten > Other




Toddler Girl Blonde Hair Blue Eyes L@@K!
From a smoke free home! Cute and very entertaining!

Current Bid: US $ .99

Your maximum bid:

(Enter US $.99 or more)

Price: US $100.00







You are bidding on an ADORABLE 2-year-old girl. She comes with her own wardrobe, including the outfit you see here (minus most of the Wite-Out stains). Pickup only, please.

Why am I selling this precious girl on Ebay, do you ask? Well, yesterday I left the room for exactly 40 seconds (I later retraced my steps and timed it) and returned to find this:

No, this is not a Jackson Pollock original.

It is Wite-Out.

Not the water-based kind.

All over the hardwood floor in the homeschool room.

When I left the room, Drama Queen was working in the homeschool room. Screech was happily playing Starfall with Pete on the computer. In that mere sliver of time, Drama Queen got up to see what they were doing (anything to get out of math for a moment) while Screech got up, grabbed the Wite-Out, and slung it all over the floor.

I didn't yell. I didn't scream. I didn't say any bad words. (Well, they may have crossed my mind. But I didn't let them out.) I did what any good Mom would do.

I got my camera.

For this week's Works for Me Wednesday, here are my step-by-step instructions for removing Wite-Out (and probably Liquid Paper or any other correction fluid) from skin, clothing, and finished hardwood flooring:

Removing Wite-Out from Skin:

This one was the easiest (thank goodness!). Just rub a little baby oil or even plain mineral oil over the skin. It rubs right off!

(Be sure to keep the oil out of reach! I saw on Oprah that if children aspirate the oil it coats their lungs and can be deadly.)

Removing Wite-Out from a Finished Hardwood Floor:

(Note: My floor is a hardwood veneer with a high-gloss finish. I don't know how this method would work on unfinished wood. I would test in an inconspicuous area to be sure.)

1) I let the Wite-Out dry completely, but if I had it to do over I would have wiped up as many of the big blobs as I could before it dried. After it had dried I scraped as much of it away as I could. (I used a razor scraper, but I had to be VERY careful. I think a better tool would have been a putty knife, but I didn't have one. I didn't think about this until now but a credit card or even an ice scraper might work - anything with a sharp enough blade to scrape but not so sharp as to risk gouging the wood.)

2) I tried several products to dissolve the remaining Wite-Out (which was a lot; there was so much of it that the scraping was tedious). All of them worked, but some were better than others. (I review them below.) Once you've chosen your remover:

Spray the remover over a large area, let it work for a minute, then wipe a small section with a cloth or paper towel. As the product works, the dissolved Wite-Out mixes with the remover and turns it into a milky white liquid which can get rather smeary. The trick is to work in a small area, rubbing in small circles. Thicker areas will require multiple applications. These areas also required using the scraper again after softening with the remover. Be patient; it will come off! Keep spraying, waiting, rubbing (and more scraping, if necessary) and repeating until it's gone. The only parts that didn't do well were the cracks in between the planks. I worked as much remover into the cracks with a toothbrush as I could to dilute it and make it less noticeable.

Here are the products I tried, all of which were effective:

Tied for first place:

Motsenbocker's Lift Off #2

and

Oops! Multi-Purpose Remover.

2nd Place (close):

WD-40

3rd Place:

Goo Gone

Other products I didn't try but which probably would have worked (be sure to test in an inconspicuous area):

Goof Off
mineral spirits
lighter fluid

The Motsenbockers Lift-Off #2 was AWESOME. It started dissolving the Wite-Out the instant I sprayed it on. Be sure to use this in a well-ventilated area. It's an amazing product, though. I just found out that it's water-based, biodegradable, and has no VOC's. Check out the testimonials on the website for stories such as removing marks left by gel pens which were left in a jeans pocket that went through a washer and dryer! www.liftoffinc.com

Oops! Multi-Purpose Remover also worked just as well.

WD-40 worked well, but just a smidge less quickly than the above products.

Goo Gone worked, but slower than the others. It also required a good bit more elbow grease. The good thing about it, though, is that it is non-toxic. It is citrus-based and smells like overripe oranges.

Here is my "after" picture. (The chip in the veneer was already there.) Ta-daaa!!!

Removing Wite-Out from Clothing:

This was the hardest part, but I did it! Motsenbockers Lift-Off #2 had many uses listed on the label, one of which was for stain removal of clothing. This I had to see! I never would have dreamed that anything would remove Wite-Out from fabric. (I sure could have used it it after a face painting fiasco at a fall festival awhile back. A whole bottle of red acrylic paint was spilled on my lap. (Although I shouldn't lose any sleep over this, because: a) it was a windsuit, for Pete's sake, and b) even if windsuits were in style, there's no way this momma's tushie is ever going to fit into that size again!)

Back to the remedy: Don't forget to use in a well-ventilated area! The directions said to spray, wait 60 seconds, then rinse with warm water, then launder as usual. I tweaked this a bit due to the thickness of a few of the spots. As I rinsed it under warm water I scrubbed with a soft toothbrush. Admittedly, I got carried away and darn near scoured a hole through the outfit. If I had it to do over, I would still use the toothbrush, but much more gently. I would also wear rubber gloves, as my hands are dry as toast right now. Anyway, it took about 7-8 applications to remove all traces of Wite-Out from the largest spot. As with the floor, the dissolving Wite-Out got smeary and ran all over the fabric. The rinsing step is critical.

It's amazing how it worked, because I seemed to have little success with the stain on the turtleneck. I finally gave up, squirted some Shout on the remaining residue, and threw it in the washer. It came out clean!

Note: I don't know if this helped, but I washed the outfit in hot water. Also, the clothes came out smelling like the remover, so next time I would rewash them or add lots more Downy.

Here are my before and after pics:

Well, I've changed my mind about selling Screech on Ebay. As I was looking for pictures, I ran across this one. How can I resist this precious face?


And besides, where else will I get such great blog material?

Here are some links to previous WFMW posts and others of interest:

Uses for Leftover Bread

Leaky Diaper Fix

Snack Mix Recipe (at the end of the post)

Awesome Stain Recipe

"FUN"damentals of Family Life

How (and How NOT) to Handle a Kitchen Oil Fire

For more great tips, visit Shannon's blog!

Browse Categories Help with bidding & buying Buyer Tools Reviews & Guides

Easter Fun

Screech's Easter egg coloring method:

1) Dip.
2) Lick.
3) Repeat as many times as possible until
Mommy takes it away.
4) Scream. Loudly.

Our Easter was spent in Pigeon Forge this year. We went mainly for a Bible Conference but managed to do a lot of fun touristy things as well. Everyone had so much fun!

Drama Queen laughing at The Comedy Barn. She got to go on stage!

Pete enjoyed squirting Drama Queen (and many unsuspecting spectators)!

Seriously Silly

Being silly is serious business in our family. Whether modeling the latest fashion in mopheads or baring our lower teeth and grunting like bears, we are always goofing around. It is such a wonderful release and keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously. (Although there's little risk of THAT in this house!) This, along with great communication, is the lifeblood of our marriage. How can I stay mad at someone who lovingly calls me "Horsebreath"? (My name for him is "Moosebreath"!)

Being able to let down our hair (or mop strings, as the case may be) has made our home a safe place. Humor is helping us to model healthy ways to handle the many stresses caused by cohabiting with humans who share our last name and/or DNA. Through (and sometimes in spite of) all our craziness, our children are learning:

- that it's not the end of the world when they mess up;

- to laugh at themselves; and

- how to laugh with others instead of at them.

And humor benefits more than the kids. Sometimes, laughing is the only way to stay sane when your toddler does this. Or your school-aged kids do this.

e.e. cummings said it well:

"The most wasted of all days
is one without laughter."

Egg on Her Face

Well, IN is more like it. Screech was getting bored of just squishing her deviled egg in her hand, so she tried smashing it in her nose. Her "snarsils" (nostrils) were completely plugged up and she couldn't breathe. The funniest part was hearing her talk. ("Bobby, I 'ave egg id by dose!") Look for us on America's Funniest Home videos! (I'm going to send it in and hope for the best!)

Chibes, Anyone? Cheap!

Drama Queen is quite the entrepreneur. She harvests "chibes" from the front yard (wild onions, for all you city folk) and sells them. As you can see, her price is pretty steep. (Must be organic.) That's quite a bit higher than last week, when they were going for $1.08/bunch. Daddy told her that the latest crop was worth more because the bulbs are still intact.

You'd think he'd keep this to himself. He's her only customer.

If I were responsible for teaching Cubby economics at this age, I would be a miserable failure as a teacher. (Can't get more customers? Raise the price dramatically!)


Here are some pics from a recent family outing to Watson Mill Bridge State Park. It was beautiful! This wooden, covered bridge was built in the 1800's. We drove over it! It sounded creaky and had the neatest old smell.

Screech seemed to enjoy holding hands as she hiked with Daddy. A rare occurrence!

Pete burying his "treasures".

Drama Queen loves to find shells.