Yellow Rose's Garden

I realized last night that I haven't posted much lately. I promised myself a week off after the wedding and I took it!

I have a to do list a mile long. Yesterday, I got most of my laundry caught up and cleaned out the master bedroom and bath. I haven't gotten to the heavy duty projects like closet cleaning, yet.

Today, more laundry ... living room and kitchen. Fun!

6:23 PM

Laundry still rolling, LR done and kitchen mostly done.

10:33 PM

I still have lots of things that need doing around the house, but other than the second bathroom and a few things in the kitchen I'm not worried about them.

Here's my to do list for the next few days.
Kitchen - fridge
Main bathroom - the works
Still more laundry (Took Tom's suit and my gown to the cleaners already)
Clean my office  (clear out crap)
Mail out bills
Post wedding photos (make CDs and mail them)
Catch up on e-mail and other correspondence
Find orange bowl for Halloween treats. Know where it is, need to get it out.
Return library materials to post and drop off gift books to hospital
Drop off Goodwill contributions.
Find out what Tom did with the gift cards for the boys.
Have Gabe's handheld game ready to give back to him.
Writing, writing, and MORE Writing!

So... here's a bit of silliness.


THE NEXT SURVIVOR SERIES

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes. 
There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of "pretend" bills with not enough money.

In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time. Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment. He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care (weekend, evening, on a holiday or right when they're about to leave for vacation). He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.

The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.

There is only one TV between them, and a remote with dead batteries.

Each father will be required to know all of the words to every stupid song that comes on TV and the name of each and every character on cartoons.

The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, which they will apply to themselves either while driving or making three lunches.

Each man will have to make an Indian hut model with six toothpicks, a tortilla and one marker; and get a 4 year old to eat a serving of peas.

Each man must adorn himself with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep their nails polished and eyebrows groomed. The men must try to get through each day without snot, spit-up or barf on their clothing.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties. They must try to explain what a tampon is for when the 6-yr old boy finds it in the purse.

They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.

He will need to read a book and then pray with the children each night without falling asleep, and then feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair each morning by 7:00. They must leave the home with no food on their face or clothes.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctors, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.

They must clean up after their sick children at 2:00 a.m. and then spend the remainder of the day tending to that child and waiting on them hand and foot until they are better. They must have a loving age appropriate reply to, "You're not the boss of me."

The kids vote them off the island based on performance.

The last man wins only if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.

If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years...eventually earning the right to be called Mother!

After you get done laughing, send this to as many females as you think will get a kick out of it and as many men as you think can handle it.

10. You get winded from knocking on the door.
9.  You have to have another kid chew the candy for you.
8.  You ask for high fiber candy only.
7.  When someone drops a candy bar in your bag, you lose your balance and fall over.
6.  People say: "Great Boris Karloff Mask," and you're not wearing a mask.
5.  When the door opens you yell, "Trick or ." And can't remember the rest.
4.  By the end of the night, you have a bag full of restraining orders.
3.  You have to carefully choose a costume that won't dislodge your hairpiece.
2.  You're the only Power Ranger in the neighborhood with a walker.
And the number one reason Seniors should not go Trick Or Treating...

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1.  You keep having to go home to pee.

After the plane was airborne, drink orders were taken.

The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was promptly brought and placed before him.

The flight attendant then asked the Mormon if he would like a drink.

He replied in disgust, "I'd rather be savagely raped by a dozen whores than let liquor touch my lips."

The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said,  "Me, too, I didn't know we had a choice." 

If you have raised kids (or been one), and gone through the pet syndrome, including toilet flush burials for dead goldfish, the story below will have you laughing out LOUD!

Overview: I had to take my son's lizard to the vet.

Here's what happened:

Just after dinner one night, my son came up to tell me there was "something wrong" with one of the two lizards he holds prisoner in his room.

"He's just lying there looking sick," he told me. "I'm serious, Dad. Can you help?"

I put my best lizard-healer expression on my face and followed him into his bedroom. One of the little lizards was indeed lying on his back, looking stressed. I immediately knew what to do.

"Honey," I called, "come look at the lizard!"

"Oh, my gosh!" my wife exclaimed. "She's having babies."

"What? " my son demanded. "But their names are Bert and Ernie, Mom!"

I was equally outraged.

"Hey, how can that be? I thought we said we didn't want them to reproduce," I said accusingly to my wife.

"Well, what do you want me to do, post a sign in their cage?" she inquired (I think she actually said this sarcastically!)

"No, but you were supposed to get two boys!" I reminded her, (in my most loving, calm, sweet voice, while gritting my teeth).

"Yeah, Bert and Ernie!" my son agreed.

"Well, it's just a little hard to tell on some guys, you know," she informed me (Again with the sarcasm!).

By now the rest of the family had gathered to see what was going on.  I shrugged, deciding to make the best of it.

"Kids, this is going to be a wondrous experience,"  I announced. "We're about to witness the miracle of birth."

"Oh, gross!" they shrieked

"Well, isn't THAT just great? What are we going to do with a litter of tiny little lizard babies?" my wife wanted to know.

We peered at the patient. After much struggling, what looked like a tiny foot would appear briefly, vanishing a scant second later.

"We don't appear to be making much progress," I noted.

"It's breech," my wife whispered, horrified.

"Do something, Dad!" my son urged.

"Okay, okay." Squeamishly, I reached in and grabbed the foot when it next appeared, giving it a gentle tug. It disappeared. I tried several more times with the same results.

"Should I call 911?" my eldest daughter wanted to know.

"Maybe they could talk us through the trauma." (You see a pattern here with the females in my house?)

"Let's get Ernie to the vet," I said grimly. We drove to the vet with my son holding the cage in his lap.

"Breathe, Ernie, breathe," he urged.

"I don't think lizards do Lamaze," his mother noted to him.  (Women can be so cruel to their own young. I mean what she does to me is one thing, but this boy is of her womb, for G~d's sake.).

The vet took Ernie back to the examining room and peered at the little animal through a magnifying glass.

"What do you think, Doc, a C-section?" I suggested scientifically.

"Oh, very interesting," he murmured. "Mr. and Mrs. Cameron, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

I gulped, nodding for my son to step outside.

"Is Ernie going to be okay?" my wife asked.

"Oh, perfectly," the vet assured us. "This lizard is not in labor. In fact, that isn't EVER going to happen. . ..
Ernie is a boy. You see, Ernie is a young male. And occasionally, as they come into maturity, like most male species, they um .. . um . . . masturbate. Just the way he  did, lying on his back." He blushed, glancing at my wife.

We were silent, absorbing this. "So, Ernie's just . just . . . excited," my wife offered.

"Exactly," the vet replied , relieved that we understood.

More silence. Then my vicious, cruel wife started to giggle. And giggle. And then even laugh loudly.

"What's so funny?" I demanded, knowing, but not believing that the woman I married would commit the upcoming affront to my flawless manliness.

Tears were now running down her face. "It's just ..that . . I'm picturing you pulling on its . . . its. . . teeny little . . " She gasped for more air to bellow in laughter once more.

"That's enough," I warned. We thanked the vet and hurriedly bundled the lizard and our son back into the car.. He was glad everything was going to be okay.

"I know Ernie's really thankful for what you did, Dad,"  he told me.

"Oh, you have NO idea," my wife agreed, collapsing with laughter.

Two lizards: $140.

One cage: $50.

Trip to the vet: $30.

Memory of your husband pulling on a lizard's winkie:

Priceless!

Moral of the story: Pay attention in biology class.

Lizards lay eggs!