Dani Stone

I Hear Laugh Tracks


2 Comments

I Crapped My Pants, But It’s Okay, and Other Monday Mantras

Remember when Charlotte "Poughkeepsied" her pants?

Remember when Charlotte “Poughkeepsied” her pants?

Today the world conspired against me. For 25 minutes, the world stacked a series of obstacles in my path causing a major embarrassment. When it was over, I could have shouted and snarled, but in the end, all I could do was laugh.

In life, sometimes you’re the mom who has her shit together. Other times, you’re the mom who finds it running down her leg on her own front porch.

A few weeks ago, I was diagnosed with cellulitis of the abdominal wall, which is a fancy term for, “infection of the innards.” It was painful and annoying, but the hydrocodone was delicious. If you can get your hands on some, I highly recommend it. I’m kidding. Don’t do that. You can’t share. It’s illegal. But if you have some left over from a toothache and it’s just laying around in the bathroom cabinet , you should really treat yourself.

AnyWHO, the first round of antibiotics looked at my infection, yawned, turned three tight circles on the rug, and went to sleep. Worthless. When my doctor gave me the second round, he warned they were very strong and I might experience diarrhea. “Great,” I remember thinking. “I’m already walking around with a painful gut goiter. Why not add a runny backside to the mix. Splendid times.”

After a few days, my pain diminished and the redness subsided. I was ecstatic. AND lucky me, I even avoided the not-so-sexy side effects of the stronger medication. I found myself smiling, laughing, cleaning house, and even running on the beach wearing white linen like I was the star in my very own Summer’s Eve commercial. Okay, so the beach was actually the grocery store and the white linen was black stretchy yoga pants, but the point is, I was feeling on top of the world. Then, Monday came along and said, “YOU. HAVE. HAD. ENOUGH. JOY.”

Continue reading

Advertisements


Leave a comment

Worst. Air Freshener. Ever. Taco Bell’s 20 Year Assault On My Senses

WHY DOES MY CAR SMELL LIKE A TRASH DUMPSTER, is something I may have asked in my outside voice this morning when I slid into the van to take the kids to school.

To clarify, I would describe the status of my housekeeping skills as, “comfortably lived-in, but never a pig stye.” We keep our cars the same way. You might find a stray backpack or gum wrapper, but that’s about it. Trust me, The Colonel wouldn’t have it any other way.

Immediately I turned to my son, because unless I had mistakenly purchased milk, tuna, eggs and meat from the store, then unwrapped them and left them in the back cargo bay of the van under a grow light for three days, I had a feeling the smell could be traced back to him.

He’s 13. He’s a slob. God love him. He’s always on my smells-radar.

Me –  Jacob – Why does my van smell like death?

Jacob – *looks around wildly* *mumbles* It’s probably the taco wrapper in my bag.

Me – What? Seriously? Get it. Now. *eyes of irritation*

Jacob – *Opens his backpack, retrieves wrapper without commentary, gets out of car, proceeds to trash can*

Jacob – *Starts to put on seat belt, stops* – Oh, wait. I think I have one in my other bag too. And I don’t think I finished that one.

Me – Tacos? From where?

Continue reading


2 Comments

I’d Rather Talk About the Cardigan-Wearing Chicken

jake headshot 2

There are two times during the day I can count on having the undivided attention of my children, and they can have mine, those would be at the dinner table and on the drive to school. Sure, there are other mealtimes and drive times but on average, these are the two occasions where the most chatter occurs.

Conversations run the gamut from current events to homework, chores and family matters. Nothing is off-limits, which my son reminds me is not always a good thing. Of course he’s referring to the day I broached the subject of artificial insemination over lunch. I don’t even remember the segue but it was knowledge I felt I needed to drop at that moment while he was simply trying to enjoy a mindless TV program, and eat his Chicken Jalapeno Lean Pocket.

AnyHOO –

Continue reading


1 Comment

Minecraft and the Not-So-Busy Bummer Summer

j k ducks crop  resize “Summertime. . . and the livin’ is easy. . . “

If you immediately started singing the lyrics to that song you’re either a George Gershwin fan, over the age of 50 or a fan of every reality singing competition ever made. Countless hopeful starlets have destroyed this classic tune in the hopes of becoming the winner of America’s Next Top Voice Talent X Factor Idol.

Much to my chagrin, this has also become the theme song to my son’s 12th summer. While I’m in favor of letting my children relax and enjoy the fruits of their educational labor, there’s got to be some balance. Unfortunately, we’re having trouble finding that right now.

Continue reading


5 Comments

Pushing the Gosh Ham Limits

Blatant blackmail photo

Blatant blackmail photo

My son Jacob is eleven. He started middle school this year. Not long ago, friends with older boys warned me this would be the year of hormone fluctuation, anxiety resulting from big changes at school and boundary-pushing. I have wise friends. Over the past six months he has refused to get his hair cut, his grades have dropped to the basement a few times and boundary-pushing is in full-swing.

There have been times when his bursts of independence have resulted in grounding, like the time I found out he was getting a D in Science stemming from three missing assignments. When I asked why he hadn’t completed them he performed an exaggerated shoulder-shrug and said, “I guess I just wasn’t feelin’ it.” BUZZER! Wrong answer, mister man.

Since he’s my firstborn, I’m often left wondering, “Well, how the hell do I handle these shenanigans?” I usually call my mother. Then go with my gut. Then call my mother again. Not knowing how tight to pull the apron strings is a constant internal struggle for me.

Then there are times when his offbeat humor catches me completely off-guard and I’m left wondering whether I should laugh or say, “Jacob that’s inappropriate.” I have a fairly juvenile sense of humor so even though I feel it’s my duty. . . *snicker*. . . I said doody. . . sorry.

So even though I feel it’s my du–responsibility to react in the proper parental way, sometimes my child just cracks me up and I lose all resolve.

Continue reading