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Hollow Tree Ventures parenting humor
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Tuesday, August 21, 2012

One ringy dingy - Swimming Telephone


Have you ever played the game Telephone?  Stupid question - if you had a childhood, chances are you've played this game, in which a story is passed from person to person in a line to see how it changes and becomes increasingly ridiculous, which goes on and on until Snack Time or someone falls asleep on their carpet square, whichever comes first.

Well, the clever Marian of Just keep Swimming has come up with an Innerwebz version in which bloggers tag each other to tell the story of one fictional mother's extremely horrendous (but frighteningly relatable) day.

just keep swimming

In case you need to catch up, Marian her ownself started the story, followed by the illustrious Nicole of Ninja Mom fame, who passed the baton to the always clever Kristina at There's No Time For Pants, who has tagged me.  In a nutshell, our heroine was awoken by her children at an ungodly hour, exposed her lower cheeks to a neighbor while rescuing one kid from certain death, and was disappointed that her children weren't experimenting with gateway drugs.  I'll lead you in with the latest installment, Seriously?,  from Kristina; my addition to the series begins at You must be kidding.

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Seriously?

Once I had corralled the escapee back into the house, and adjusted my massive wedgie, I was suddenly struck by how quiet it was. A churning started deep in my gut, as this kind of extreme silence usually meant that something somewhere was on fire. Even though I had no evidence to support my hypothesis, I made a beeline for my oldest child's room. As I made my way down the hall, my mommy-powers were validated. The girl's door was closed, but I could still smell the overwhelming scent of permanent markers.

The desperate and slightly insane part of me began chanting to herself, "Please be sniffing sharpies. Please be sniffing sharpies."

But, alas, as I flung open the bedroom door, I was faced with irrefutable evidence that my young children had not taken up huffing as a hobby. My middle child was covered with black permanent marker. The girl paused mid-stroke, and squeaked out, "Oh, hi, Mommy! Look, brother's a tiger!"

A second glance at the child revealed that he did appear to be covered in stripes that were vaguely tiger-like. Unfortunately, a third glance (more like a double take, really) showed something even more interesting. Emblazoned on my son's forearm was a word. And not a very nice one. Some, like Ralphie from "A Christmas Story," would even call it the Queen Mother of Dirty Words. And, I'm not talking about fudge, either.

I knew that the boy didn't write it on himself. He couldn't even spell his own name, much less master the elusive "ck" letter combination. As I opened my mouth to begin screaming obscenities (I wonder where she gets it?) the doorbell rang. A quick peek out the window revealed my mother-in-law. Awesome. Maybe she could entertain the children with stories of how the Democrats want to take all our Bibles and guns, while I did the laundry. And she could also get a good look at her grandson's sweet, sweet new ink.

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You must be kidding.

I decided to let my walking obscenity billboard answer the door, hoping his grandma wouldn't ask too many questions about why I'd hastily thrown a long sleeved shirt on him in the middle of August.  Maybe she'd believe I just liked the way it looked paired with the swim trunks he was wearing as pajama bottoms.
 
I watched as he and his sister marched toward the front door.  When my son passed by, a pungent odor reminiscent of industrial solvent still wafting off his skin, I noticed the tag on his collar - his shirt was inside-out.  Great.  I knew my mother-in-law would want to fix it, thus revealing his new vocabulary word.  But before I could decide on a course of action, my daughter crossed my field of vision.
 
She trotted by, eager to greet her grandma, her beautiful curls bouncing and dancing on the sides of her head with each step.
 
But the bouncing and dancing was only happening on the sides, because the center  section of hair on the back of her head was... gone.  Just... gone.
 
It took a moment for my brain to process the horror.  Was I seeing pig tails?  A trick of light?  Had the marker fumes affected my brain?  But it was undeniable.
 
I shrieked something that was supposed to be, "What have you done?" but probably sounded more like a pterodactyl swallowing a wheelbarrow full of bagpipes.  She cheerfully offered some explanation that involved scissors and playing Beauty Shop with brother, but I couldn't hear the details because my head was busy exploding.
 
Laundry would have to wait - school was starting in less than 24 hours, and I couldn't exactly show up in the drop-off lane with Profane Tiger-Boy and a daughter sporting a reverse mohawk.  I started to herd them toward the car, hoping for a last-minute pixie haircut and wondering where I could get my son professionally sandblasted, when the doorbell rang again.  Oh yeah, I forgot we had company.
 
 
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Okay, that's probably enough damage to the poor woman's day for one post.  What else could possibly go wrong?  That's up to the super-funny JD at Honest Mom, who I'm tagging to continue the story.  Stay tuned - I can't wait to see what happens next!


Please click the banner to vote, and then confess - have your kids ever given each other impromptu beauty treatments?  Were they worse than the time Zoe spent two hours putting Barbie make-up on me because (as she said) I wasn't quite pretty yet?
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15 comments:

  1. I am cry laughing for this poor mom. A reverse Mohawk the day before school starts? We will have to give her an award at the end of this because at least all of her kids are alive. Hilarious addition. Thanks for playing along!

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    1. Thanks! We're really putting her through her paces, aren't we?

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  2. Marian - They are alive at least for now. We still haven't gotten to the PCPPP installment yet.

    I'm just kidding, we aren't going to kill off any kids.

    Unless of course the dynamics of the protagonist and antagonist's relationship drives the story arch in such a way that the plot requires it to succeed. But at that point you can't blame us. These things tend to write themselves you know.

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    1. Touché Christian.

      It is sad that it's only like 7:00 in the morning.

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    2. I almost have to insist that you kill off some kids after all that.

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  3. Super duper day to begin with a great big BRAVO FOR ALL THE TALENTED LADIES so cool :]

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    1. Glad you like it - stay tuned to find out where the story goes in the capable hands of the next bloggers up to bat!

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  4. How did these other bloggers know what happened here last week? Have you been tweeting again?

    Interesting side note: the first bagpipes were actually made out of pterodactyl innards. That's where they got the name.

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    1. I know, the story does seem eerily familiar, doesn't it? And thank you for sharing your incredibly helpful made-up pterodactyl trivia.

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  5. Love it! My son actually gave himself a reverse mohawk with his daddy's trimmers a few months ago. Oh, and if you ever do find someone who will sandblast kids, please pass that info on to me.

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    1. Uh oh! Well, at least a boy's haircut is a little easier to fix (?). I kinda wish my son would accidentally get a reverse mohawk so I could shave his whole head - this thing where I told him he could do whatever he wants with his hair is driving me craaaaaazy - it's sooo looooong!

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  6. This is so awesome! It just flows seemlessly. I'm riveted. I can't wait to read what JD comes up with!

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    1. I can't wait, either! It reminds me of a game my brother and I used to play on long car trips, Fortunately/Unfortunately, where you take turns adding to a story. One person tries to kill off the person in the story and then the other person tries to save them. Except so far, nobody's saving this poor lady. ;)

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  7. Ooooh, the pressure! Working on my installment now!!!

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  8. Your segment was great! This story is really gettin' good :)

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