It happens in most families, I’m sure: When my kids rub their noses on mine, they shout, “Eskimo kiss!” When they tickle me with their eyelashes, they shout, “Butterfly kiss!” When they suck their cheeks in and move their lips up and down, they shout, “Fish kiss!”
But unlike in most families– and owing to the strange imagination of my 7-year old– when my kids poke their pointer fingers on the outside corners of my mouth, they shout, “Pickle kiss!”
Ahem.
When playing "monster" goes south.
Tagged awkward, children, double entendre, family, humor, inappropriate, IYKWIM, life, parenthood, TWSS
Whether owing to some seasonal allergy or to the change in weather, it was clear that my sinuses had bested me. By midday Saturday my voice was rapidly wearing out; by early evening it was nearly gone.
Lost most of my voice; am clicking at people to get their attention. Realizing I wouldn't make a cute bushman.—
Tamara Lunardo (@tamaraoutloud) November 05, 2011
And while it’s never convenient for a mother to lose her voice, in this instance the threat was particularly untimely: I was supposed to help lead the singing in our church service the next morning. So I went into emergency mode to conserve what was left, making various clicks, snaps, and claps at my family members to get their attention, writing messages on a white board, and whispering when I absolutely had to speak. The children were immensely amused.
And then their father added to the merriment with his devilish wit: “Tamara, don’t say anything if you want to give me a foot rub.”
The children took notice as I shook my head in amused silence.
Tagged children, family, games, humor, life, motherhood, parenthood
I chased five boys at recess today. –Mia, first week of first grade
My 7-year old, Mia, frequently gets told how much she reminds people of her mom, and while I’m not sure it’s a compliment for her, it’s definitely one for me. She’s smart, spunky, and beautiful, and she has what can really only be called a Mind Of Her Own.
But I’m guessing people mean the dark, curly hair. And maaaybe the hot blood.
It was her handwritten note that stole the scene on this popular post, and today my feisty little lady is doing her thing at Stuff Kids Write, curated by the hilarious duo Leanne Shirtliffe and Chase McFadden.
So please stop by and let Mia know you were there– it’ll make her day, and maybe yours too.
Posted in humor, life, Uncategorized
Tagged Chase McFadden, children, humor, Leanne Shirtliffe, life, Stuff Kids Write
Having a total of eight tattoos and children combined (with plans for several more of the former and absolutely no more of the latter), I’ve picked up on some compelling similarities.
My 1st tattoo. Call it a "tramp stamp" and we're through. I mean it.
On Deciding To Go For It:
My 2nd tattoo. If you're too young to know what it is, I'm not going to tell you.
On The Pain Factor:
My 3rd tattoo. I'm done at 5 kids-- it's in ink.
On Living With Your New Creations:
How else are tattoos like kids? How many do you have of each?
I showed you mine– now show me yours! If you haven’t already “liked” my Facebook page, go do it now, and then post your photos on my wall!
Posted in humor, life, Uncategorized
Bryan and I are now on our 12th of 30 days of vegetarianism, and things are mostly going swimmingly, with only the occasional flailing of willpower. For him, the biggest temptation has been the fried chicken he’s so often confronted with (north-central Florida is very much the South); for me, it’s not so much been the bacon as it’s been the seafood (Florida is very much a peninsula). But really, the biggest obstacle hasn’t been the mild temptations or even the dining out– it’s the kids.
Our 12-year-old son is a real meat-and-potatoes guy. When he was in preschool, he so loved his Michelina’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes frozen dinners (lay off– we were young parents) that he composed a song: Meatloaf and meatloaf and MAAAAASHED potatoes! So that coupled with the fact that he’s a wretchedly hormonal tween means he’s taken our 30-day veg-out with all the grace of a cat in a rain shower.
Our nine-year-old daughter has secretly been enjoying the switch-up, but she makes a good show of disgust and defiance because she will go to great lengths to be contrary to me. I resorted to soy crumbles far earlier in the game than I’d intended, and my admission of this fact brought on a delightful torrent of “that’s what she said” and “if you know what I mean”:
Made it exactly 3 days without using fake meat. Morningstar, you temptress, you. #30daysofvegetarianism—
Tamara Lunardo (@tamaraoutloud) July 27, 2011
I didn’t tell the children they were eating spaghetti with meat sauce; if they made assumptions, that would be their problem. But I also didn’t tell them they were eating spaghetti with soy-crumble sauce. They ate their dinner and even thanked me for and complimented me on it. I was so pleased– and then hubris ruined the whole event. I let them know that what they’d just so genuinely enjoyed was not meat but veggie. The nine-year-old led a chorus of “Eeeew!” and “Groooss!”
A few days later, after observing her dad pass up not only fried chicken but also crock pot meatballs at a party, our seven-year-old daughter suspected that perhaps he was under duress and snuck him this note of encouragement:
Even the little ones have it in for us. The leader of our two-and-a-half-year-old identical duo began offering Bryan fake food, to which he responded within the confines of his new identity:
“Want hot dog?”
“No, thanks. I’m vegetarian.”
“Want chicken?”
“No, thanks. I’m vegetarian.”
“You freakatarian?”
And, as the follower twin is wont to do, she began imitating her sister so that over the course of several days Bryan became bombarded with precocious toddler accusations and taunts. Soon the word had morphed into “freakin’ ‘tarian” with an audible pause between the fragments that perfectly echoed the derision with which they were spoken. I managed to avoid association with the term for a while, but Bryan soon tired of being the twins’ only object of contempt and tipped them off.
I’ll get to escape the taunts and tantrums in less than a week when I go to a conference in Maryland with some fellow church members. But I’ve already made plans to be thoroughly pissed off at any of my travel companions who dine on the state’s famous crab cakes without me.
Freakin’ ‘tarian.
_________________________________________________________
Thanks to everyone who voted on the series’ name last week. I’m pleased to announce that 63% of you share my brand of humor– “30 Days to Beat the Meat” was the winner. I’ll probably use “The 30-Day Veg-Out” if this bad boy becomes an article, but we can all have a good laugh with the other title right here on the blog.
So tell me, how badly am I going to be missing out on those Maryland crab cakes?
And– please, it’ll make me feel better– what awful names do your kids call you?
Posted in humor, life, Uncategorized
Tagged 30 Days to Beat the Meat, children, family, food, health, humor, life, lifestyle, parenthood, vegetarianism
I hope you’ll enjoy last year’s post while I work on plans for this year’s VBS, perhaps with fewer celebrity characters and corkscrew spins but hopefully with just as much fun.
_____________________________________________________
It all started with a simple email. My friend Stacey was rounding up volunteers for our church’s summer vacation bible school, and since my gaggle of children makes up an overwhelming percentage of the attendees, I felt compelled to put in some time. She asked me how I’d like to help, and this was my ever-so-eloquent reply:
I’m fine with leading if it’s something I’m good at. So, like, no physical sports or teaching of important doctrine. I’m fine with music/drama. Maybe hospitality depending on how outgoing with adults that would require me to be; and maybe crafts if they involve little to no artistic ability. My lord, I just re-read that and I am not fit to do anything. I don’t know– tell me what these things involve. I want to help; I just suck.
You might think that was enough to let me off the hook, but our church, for all its lovely and generous members, never, ever has enough children’s ministry volunteers, and so Stacey zeroed in on that short little sentence about being “fine” with music/drama and my job was cemented: I was going to be the turtle in the tortoise-and-hare-type skits.
It was my job for the week to dress in athletic wear and a giant handmade turtle shell and belly, act out short scenes that demonstrated the day’s lesson, and then go from class to class helping and visiting the vacation bible schoolers. Sounds simple enough, but you have to get into the mindset of a character-loving five-year-old to really appreciate what this means: I was a celebrity, the kind who gets manhandled by adoring fans, screamed at in passing, and grilled by the press. Was I really a turtle? Was my shell real? What was under my turtle belly? Why did I have human hands? The questions and the fascination were unrelenting, and so I began to really stick to my turtle-identity story, even referring to myself in adult conversation as the Turtle.
Most of the kids sincerely and deeply loved the Turtle, but one little girl just seemed to be there for the express purpose of debunking the whole thing. Her questions were filled not with hope and curiosity but with derision and contempt. She would stand at my hips’ height, squinchy eyes full of condescension, and flip up my turtle belly with a tiny hand of fury. She caught my shirt with it a couple of times, threatening to bare my baby-worn stomach, and it was all I could do not to say to her, “Listen, kid. Jesus loves you. But the Turtle just wants you to leave her alone.”
Between the demands of my enthusiastic fans and the torture sessions with the miniature terrorist, I was exhausted. By Thursday it had already been a long week, and the last thing the Turtle felt like doing was pole dancing. But I had already paid for the lessons and committed to going with a friend, so I dragged my slow turtle ass into the studio.
In the daily skits, the Turtle was kind of a goody-goody. I’ve been called plenty of things in my life, but I have no recollection of “goody-goody” ever being one of them. But the Turtle had a message I could get behind, a message of staying on the path laid out for us and trusting the One who laid it to bring us back to Him, so goody-goody or not, I liked her and I liked being her. I also happened to like learning how to spin with one leg around a pole and hang upside down.
Before you go calling up my pastors demanding I receive some sort of swift and terrible church discipline for my harlotry, let me assure you: I was taking the lessons because they were fun and they were good exercise. I have no intention of ever trying out my new skills by wearing lingerie in public and dancing for dollar bills. Even if there exists in the world a small set of men who might actually be tantalized by the pole pirouettes of a flabby thirty-year-old mother, they will receive no such satisfaction from me. The Turtle does not give performances.
And it might surprise you, but I think there’s room for pole dancing on the path the Turtle talked about. The path of life that leads to God isn’t about rules and appearances and technicalities– it’s about forgiveness and love and grace. They say the path is narrow because it’s built on just one Person, but once you’re on it, you see how full of freedom it is. You might even see a Turtle free to pole dance.
Posted in humor, life, Uncategorized
Tagged children, Christianity, dance, forgiveness, freedom, God, grace, Jesus, love, narrow path, pole dancing, TOL Treasure, Uncategorized, vacation bible school, VBS, women
You and me, back then
This is your story, Baby Boy.
I sometimes wish I could re-write your beginning, start it farther in the future, when your mama wasn’t a scared girl and your daddy wasn’t just a kid trying to do the right thing. But life doesn’t give you re-writes; it only lets you keep telling the stories you’ve got and offering fresh pages. And if you read through the eyes of grace, you’ll get to see that it’s not just the fresh pages that are the gift.
This is the story I’ve got.
***
Please visit A Deeper Story to continue reading.
Posted in faith, life, Uncategorized
Tagged abortion, adoption, children, Christianity, faith, family, God, grace, life, love, motherhood, parenting, pregnancy, pro-choice, pro-life, teen pregnancy, unplanned pregnancy
I appreciate modern technology; of course I do. But sometimes it is just perfectly poised to screw you over.
For weeks now a certain situation has been absolutely dogging my husband. I can tell when it’s overtaking his thoughts because his dark eyes get intense and his jaw muscles flex. Granted, this is not a bad look on him, but I hate to see him so stressed.
So today when he began telling me about the latest installment of monumental bullshit, I was inspired to offer relief.
“Next time it comes up,” I suggested, swiveling from my desk, “just imagine me…” and then I quickly found an available space to type a couple of words that I preferred my nearby 8-year old not hear for another 22-or-so years.
Out of sheer habit, I hit “enter.”
I realized immediately the mistake I’d just made– on the computer my kids use, no less– but my reflexes were no match for Google’s damned efficiency. All I can say is, Thank God for “clear search history.”
But as much as my technological foible freaked me out, I have to be grateful: If I’d have had only ink and paper, those words would’ve been indelible.
And that would really blow.
Posted in humor, life, Uncategorized
Tagged children, clear search history, computers, family, Google, humor, inappropriate, life, marriage, parenthood, search engines, sex, stress, stress relief, technology
 | Mom on We Sing Hope |
| Pocket Guide to the… on Pocket-Sized Garage Sale | |
| Blogger Gives Me Lin… on Why I Wear a Cross: An Embodie… | |
 | Joy on Be Warned! |
 | Rodger on Be Warned! |
