humor

Don’t Bother Reaching for Your Umbrella, It’s Probably Broken!

Baby group Kids small

Top pic:  Me and the kids in baby’s first days.  Notice how I don’t appear to know how to manage.  A picture is worth a thousand words.

Bottom Pic: Children about six months later

The baby was tiny. I hadn’t seen anything but tonsils, poop, and Sesame Street in three weeks. My three-year-old-jabbered non-stop. My ears were sore. Naturally, with the clear-thinking of a woman with near terminal post-partum depression, I took full responsibility everything that went wrong.

I don’t know if Bud was a good father or not, since he was rarely home. Just days just before the baby came, he’d been lucky enough to land a job where he worked six days on, three days off. We were ecstatic! For the first time since we got married, we were rich! Miraculously, we didn’t have to worry about getting the utilities cut off each month. There was no way either of us was about to complain about the demands of his job as long as he could stagger to work.

This time out, Bud been gone two days. The baby cried incessantly, with the exception of frequent poop breaks. Of course, I used cloth diapers since this was more than forty years ago. My son was happy as a clam, jabbering merrily behind me every step I took. All was going well till I foolishly left a poopy diaper to soak in the toilet. Of course, I knew what might happen.  Bud had pointed it out to me repeatedly when he left me to do all the rinsing! Though my son had no interest in toilet-training, toilet-flushing was high drama. The toilet plugged.

Our budget had only recently stretched to include regular utility payments. There was no way it would include a plumber. I did not look forward telling Bud what had happened when he got back.  Thank goodness, I was able to hook it with an unraveled wire coat-hanger, saving the day.

Apparently, the gods of Mayhem weren’t through with me yet! On the pre-rinse cycle, with the diapers still dirty, the washer threw a belt,  halting the first load of the morning. Still on a high from the joy of retrieving the diaper from the toilet, I thought. That’s not so bad, I can probably find enough change in the piggy bank to take a couple of loads to the laundromat. Bud would be paid in a couple of days. At least we have plenty of groceries, a roof over our heads, and all the bills paid.

Pulling the sodden, stinking mess from the washer, I wrung them out enough to get them in a plastic basket, heaving the heavy wad into the trunk of my car, along with a load of my toddler son’s essentials. Even though I put them in a plastic trash bag first, it leaked, leaving a malodorous, disgusting stream on my clean floors. I mopped the mess up with disinfectant, a pretty hefty job.

It was as cold as it gets in Louisiana, probably in the low teens. I dressed the kids warmly and strapped them in the car, dreading the trip to the laundromat. I needn’t have worried. The car wouldn’t start! I tried two or three times, hoping for magic since I’d been so blessed with the diaper in the toilet miracle. My luck was done for the day. I had also stunk up the trunk of the car for nothing.

I dragged the kids back in. By now, the baby was squawling and my son was disappointed. He’d been promised a treat! He hadn’t been out of the house in two days. I knew just how he felt! I got them settled. Brought the stinky diapers back in, did them in the bathtub, and cleaned up the floor again while they dried! Take it from me, diapers not spun in the washer take a long, long, long time to dry. So do toddler clothes.

Since my hard floors were freshly mopped and sweet-smelling, while the laundry was still drying, I reasoned it would be best to go ahead and vacuum the living-room and my bedroom, so the whole house would be clean at once! I could at least enjoy a clean house if I was stuck at home. Getting the vacuum out of the closet, I plugged it into an outlet in the living-room. Pop!! Sizzle!! Smoke and a sickening electrical smell arose as it snapped off. That was enough. I started boo-hooing then and there. Not to be outdone, both children joined in. We shared quality family time.

Finally, things settled down. I got the kids to bed. I didn’t fight the nightly battle to get my son to sleep in his own bed. I’d had enough! The baby awoke, crying for a bottle around midnight. I got up to feed her and felt a stabbing pain in my side. Oh darn it! I must have pulled a muscle dragging the sodden laundry around. Maybe it wouldn’t get too sore. My son padded in behind me to help as I fed the baby, jabbering non-stop and dragging his bunny. I sent him back to bed. I settled her and got back to bed. Later, I woke up sweltering and sweating. I felt like I was in a sweatbox and had difficulty getting a breath! I tried to sit straight up and felt an excruciating pain in my back. Was I dying alone here in the house with two helpless children? Bud wouldn’t be back for three more days! They could die, too. I had to try to save them! Only the courage of a dying mother explains what happens next. I forced myself to breathe slowly and deeply, rolling on my side. The pain was agonizing, but for the sake of my children, I pushed on. By now, I was on my stomach, slipping on my knees on the floor. I breathed shallowly through my pain, drawing in a little each time, making an effort to fill my lungs for maximum strength, not knowing what would happen when I tried to stand. My face was burning! The baby was three-weeks old. Did I have some kind of late-developing child-bed fever?

As I marshalled my strength to reach for the bed-side phone, it rang. Had Bud somehow psychically sensed my distress and called home to check on us? Gratefully, I croaked, “Thank God you called!”

It took the caller a moment to recover from the warm reception. “I’m beatin’ my meat!”

“What?” I wasn’t prepared for this, as I was expecting salvation.

“I’m beatin’ my meat!”

I hung up.  The diversion did get my mind off my troubles for a moment, till I remembered the agony of a pulled muscle. My son woke up and said, “Mommy, I’m hot!” Surely he didn’t have child-bed fever, too! Making my way down the hall to check the thermostat, I found his bunny hanging where he’d pushed the thermostat to max before heading off to bed. That explained my fever.

Some aspirin and a few miserable days took care of the pulled muscle. A new car battery and washer belt fixed things right up when Bud got back in three days later. The vacuum was toast. I had plenty to tell Bud when he asked, “What went on while I was gone?”

The Rumbles of Our Appalachian School Bus Journey

Mr. Holliman, our schoolbus driver was deaf as a post. He couldn’t have heard a cannon fired directly behind him which probably made driving a schoolbus much more pleasant. Unless he was hit in the head by a flying object, he never acknowledged the mayhem in progress behind him. When he could no longer ignore aggressive behavior, he looked in the rearview mirror, took off his dirty old cap, and swatted his knee. He’d mumble “rumble, grumble, mumble,” in the manner of old deaf men. A time or two he became overwrought enough to look in the mirror and shake his finger at anyone who was interested. Of course his own three boys were the worst of the lot, in close competition with his many nieces and nephews. It was up to older riders to ensure their younger siblings survived the ride.

My family was the first to board at six forty-five and last dropped off at four fifteen giving us plenty of time to critique Mr. Holliman’s techniques. We took a long rambling route through the woods and hills to the tiny rural school deep in the Appalachian hills.

Though Mr. Holliman was able to overlook agressive behavior among his riders, he did notice buxom young ladies, a habit which didn’t enhance his driving skills. One day, lovely Mabel Barton wore a highwater, button-popping dress which should have already been handed down to her Irish twin Bessie. She sat next to the aisle in the third seat on the left.

Like us, Mabel had a long ride. Exhausted, she leaned back and sprawled out. Her legs splayed and arms opened wide, her nubile charm was on display for all. She certainly caught Mr. Holliman’s attention. He ran the bus off on the muddy shoulder as we approached the narrow bridge crossing Revar Lake. The shrieks of terrified kids changed tenor and caught his attention just in time for him to jerk the wheel and right the bus.

“I just did that to scare ‘y’all and make you behave.” He grunted.

We all knew better.

The Hilarious Truth Behind My Brother’s School Picture

 

My brother Bill realized he was a comedian just as he had his school picture made.  All his friends loved it, but Mother had no sense of humor.  “I’m not buying those ridiculous pictures!” She fumed.

”Oh yes we are!”  Daddy put his foot down.  His family had never been able to buy school pictures, so he was rewriting his childhood. He would not be shamed.

Daddy ruled the roost, so Mother seethed as she sent a check to school on the last possible day.   Billy wasn’t worried.  He’d already impressed his friends.  He had endured an impressive lecture and threat of grave repercussions should he pull that stunt again, but that was a condition he’d learned to live with, so it wasn’t a problem.  All his buddies wanted a picture.  He was flushed with pride.

It wasn’t long till the class picture came out.  His teacher opened her copy before she passed the envelopes out to the students.  She was livid, landing on him like an old wet hen.  He’d enjoyed so much success with his individual school pictures, that he’d repeated his trick in the class picture.  There he sat, sat prominently in the front row with his tongue out and crossed eyes. This picture would be in the yearbook!

The teacher was mad.  Mamas were mad.  I’m sure the photographer was mad since he wouldn’t  have sold many prints with a clown in the front row.  Needless to say, my parents didn’t buy one. I am sorry I couldn’t find one for this post.

 

 

 

 

Good Monday

Homemade Banana Pudding

  • 2 ⅔ cups white sugar
  • 1 ⅓ cups all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 12 large eggs, beaten
  • 8 cups milk
  • 8 tablespoons butter, softened
  • 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
  • 8 -10 bananas, peeled and sliced
  • 2 (12 ounce) package vanilla wafer cookies

Whipped Cream for topping

Layer a large dish with alternating layers of vanilla wafers and thinly sliced bananas.

Whip twelve eggs till well beaten.

Add to all other ingredients except vanilla to large kettle and mix well. Cook on low to medium heat stirring CONSTANTLY to avoid sticking. Frequently scrape bottom of pan to avoid scorching till you bring to full boil. When it starts to thicken, remove from heat and whip in vanilla. Pour pudding mixture over cookie and banana layers. Chill and garnish with whipped cream.

Alternative old-fashioned meringue topping: Separate egg whites and yellows. Use yellows in pudding. Whip whites till stiff. Whip in 1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar and 1/2 cup granulated sugar. Should form stiff peaks when layered on pudding. Toast under broiler 1-2 minutes watching constantly to brown. Do not walk away. It will burn! Chill

One of my aunts used to make a huge banana pudding in a dishpan when we had a family gathering. I can’t image what her recipe was. One of Bud’s cousins pulled a funny when they hosted a meal at their home. His wife put him in charge of desserts. He asked every woman in the crowd to bring banana pudding. We had plenty!

Beat the Competition

SYLVIA: Hi! Wanda.

WANDA: Hi! Sylvia. How’d you die?

SYLVIA: I froze to death.

WANDA: How horrible!

SYLVIA: It wasn’t so bad. After Iquit shaking from the cold, I began to get warm & sleepy, and finally died a peaceful death. What about you?

WANDA: I died of a massive heart attack. I suspected that my husband was cheating, so I came home early to catch him in the act. But instead, I found him all by himself in the den watching TV.

SYLVIA: So, what happened?

WANDA: I was so sure there was another woman there somewhere that I started running all over the house looking. I ran up into the attic and searched, and down into the basement. Then I went through every closet and checked under all the beds. I kept this up until I had looked everywhere, and finally I became so exhausted that I just keeled over with a heart attack and died.

SYLVIA: Too bad you didn’t look in the freezer -we’d both still be alive!

A friend was in front of me coming out of church one day, and the preacher was standing at the door as he always is to shake hands. He grabbed my friend by the hand and pulled him aside.

The Pastor said to him, “You need to join the Army of the Lord!”

My friend replied, “I’m already in the Army of the Lord, Pastor.”

Pastor questioned, “How come I don’t see you except at Christmas and Easter?”

He whispered back, “I’m in the secret service.”

What’s Your Religion?

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. I immediately ran over and said “Stop! Don’t do it!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” he said.

I said, “Well, there’s so much to live for!”

“Like what?”

“Well … are you religious or atheist?”

“Religious.”

“Me too! Are you Christian or Jewish?”

“Christian.”

“Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant?”

“Protestant.”

“Me too! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?”

“Baptist.”

“Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist Church of the Lord?”

“Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God.”

“Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?”

“Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915!”

To which I said, “Die, heretic scum!” and pushed him off”

Banana Pudding Bowl Blasphemy

imageSee this innocuous-looking dish.  It doesn’t look like it could break up a marriage, but you just wait. Bud chose this dish when he and his sisters divided his mother’s belongings shortly after her death.  He brought it home, showed it to me, and told it was what she’d always made banana pudding in.  Not realizing the significance of that statement, I callously baked a chicken in it less than a week later..  He came in, was delighted to see “The Banana Pudding Bowl” sitting on the stove.  He attempted to lift the lid to admire the pudding and burned his fingers.  I never heard such howling and deprecations before or since. I came to understand that bowl was only for banana pudding

The Bear, the Princess, and the Hearing Aid

Papa Bear doted on his only daughter, Princess Bear, who was not only beautiful, but sweet, gentle, and wise.  He adored her, trying hard to give her all she needed for a good life.  He rocked her, ran behind her on her bicycle to catch her, lest she fall, dried her tears, and brushed her long, curly fur, never tugging at tangles.  He tucked her in at night, dreading the day she’d leave his cave.

One day, his lovely Princess Bear ventured out into the wood.  Young bears started to coming to pay court to her.  Papa Bear asked, “Please bring your friends home to meet me.”  Of course, she didn’t really care for the idea, but since she loved Papa Bear, and he was so kind, she did as he asked.

One evening, she brought yet another young bear to the cave to meet Papa Bear.  “Pleased to meet you, Sir.  I’ll have her home by eleven.”  He said in an extraordinarily nicey, nice bear voice.

“Grrrrr.”  said Papa Bear.  “I’ll be waiting for you at nine-thirty.” They were home at nine-twenty eight.

“I didn’t really like him,” said the Princess Bear the next morning.  “Something about him was a unbearable.”

“Oh, well,” said Papa Bear.  “Sometimes that just happens.”

In a few minutes, there was a knock at the cave door.  “I don’t want to see you again.  Don’t call on me anymore.”  Princess Bear closed the door.

Seconds later, a second knock sounded.  “I told you.  I don’t want to see you again!”  Papa Bear was right behind his little Princess, not the sound of any of it.

He asked her, “Is that young bear bothering you?  At her nod, he stepped from behind her, speaking to the pushy young bear, quite gruffly.  “Princess Bear doesn’t ever want to see you or speak to you again.  Now, if you’re having trouble understanding that, I’ll be happy to meet you in the woods and explain it!”

The young bear understood Papa Bear perfectly.   He had just needed a hearing aid.

Old is When/Joke of the Day

OLD” IS WHEN… Your sweetie says, “Let’s go upstairs and make love,” and you answer, “Pick one, I can’t do both!”

“OLD” IS WHEN.. Your friends compliment you on your new alligator shoes and you’re barefoot.

“OLD” IS WHEN…. A sexy babe catches your eye and your pacemaker opens the garage door.

“OLD” IS WHEN… Going bra-less pulls all the wrinkles out of your face.

“OLD” IS WHEN. You don’t care where your spouse goes, just as long as you don’t have to go along.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of by the police.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. “Getting a little action” means I don’t need to take any fiber today.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. “Getting lucky” means you find your car in the parking lot.

“OLD” IS WHEN….. An “all-nighter” means not getting up to pee.