Tag Archives: family

D is for Devastated. We lost Bowls the Cat

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C

                                     D

I intended a post yesterday titled “Crumbsnatcher Tales Book Coming Soon”, but before I could write the post, Bowls the Cat ditched us.  Sweet Pea and Boyfriend2.0 took him to Sonic last night?  Yes, there is a question mark after that sentence.  I know cats like milk, but don’t ya think a Snickers Blizzard is going a little overboard?

They opened the car door to chat with some friends, and Bowls darted out and under the car next to them.  Boyfriend2.0 received kitty-claw lacerations while attempting to coax him from the undercarriage of the vehicle next to them.  Somehow, someone got him and placed him in the driver side of the car and he promptly darted out the passenger side before Boyfriend2.0 could close it.

Bowls2

Now D is for “Devastated.”  But we’re hopeful, and by that I mean I hope I’m not going to be still looking for him by the time we reach H.  I’d prefer to write about him when we get to F for “Found.”   Or maybe a nice G for “Got Him.”

So forgive me if I’m off my funny game today.  I’ll leave you with part of what I intended to post yesterday.  A teaser to “Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom.”  Coming this summer.

“Crumbsnatcher Tales – A Family One Talking Dog Away From a Sitcom” takes a humorous look at life in a blended family of five teenagers, three dogs, a cat, and a fish. Mama Bread Baker works to find a recipe for harmony for this family that will produce a blend resembling something other than baby diaper pooh. Mama Bread Baker is old school parenting adapted for today’s blended families. For example, when called an evil stepmother, she gently reminds The Eldest that she’s his biological mother! Her Tennexas wit(her self-dubbed style of writing named such to honor her Texas adolescence and Tennessee living) will have you repeating one of her favorite phrases. “If you can’t beat ‘em…then how the hell am I supposed to learn ‘em?” 

Qualify for a chance to win a free signed copy.  Ten lucky new subscribers in the month of April will receive a copy when released.  Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right to be qualified for a free book when released.

Also if you subscribe, or comment on this blog posting, you may have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”  

 

If I’d Drowned The Crumbsnatchers at Birth, I’d Be Out of Prison By Now!

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The teen years are traumatic.  There’s the crying, the mood swings, the feelings of insecurity, the desire to permanently check out of Lifebook.

And that’s when I’m having a good day.

The stress is enough to make even Freud go mad.  Take this  for example:  Sweet Pea’s a teenaged girl.

And by that I mean she’s crazy.

She asked me last week to bring Boyfriend2.0 to her softball game.  Then she sent a text ten minutes after I should have left telling me what time I should leave.  Then she sent another text telling me to come early.  Half-way en route to Boyfriend2.0’s house, she sent another text.

“Don’t come.” 

I called Boyfriend2.0, gave him the scoop, did a U-turn and headed to the house.  Once home, I poured a glass of wine, left it on the counter for Chief Money Maker, grabbed the rest of the bottle and settled down in the recliner just as my phone went off again.

“NVM.  Come.”

I resisted the urge to reply, “Can you chill Sybil?” only because I knew she’d respond with a confused Emoji.

Dazed and Confused

Not an Emoji but sill Dazed and Confused (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Instead I retreated to my favorite hiding spot.  The washing machine.  Trust me, they never look there.

Split Sweet Pea personality aside, we’ve also got another newly-licensed teenaged driver in the house.  And by that I mean our insurance rates have just surpassed the national deficit.

It’s a good thing we live on a corner lot because the streets around our abode look like Harry’s Honda Hacienda, only with less reliable vehicles.

1951 Buick

1951 Buick (Photo credit: Hugo90)

The upside is that with two teen crumbsnatchers out and about on weekend nights, I don’t have to fabricate ways to push Sweet Pea’s curfew up so I can go to bed at 8:30 pm.  Now I feign a headache—instead of admitting my right knee feels like a grenade sporadically exploding because I know CMM will make me go back to Dr. Frankenstein—and leave the watch to him.

Don’t mistake my words for complaining—despite the truth that I am complaining.  Having teenaged crumbsnatchers isn’t all that bad.  As parents of these communication-challenged Cretans, we get fun experiences like debating their anemic critical thinking processes.

“Wolfy, can you run to the grocery store and pick up some milk?”

“Sure, if you give me gas money.”

“You want ME to give YOU gas money to compensate YOU for driving to the store to get milk, which I don’t even drink, in MY VEHICLE?”

“Uhhhhhh, yeah.”

Thank goodness The Eldest has matured to the point that we can hold productive intelligent conversations.  Just the other night he offered great feedback on the cover for my short story, “The Butterfly Wish.”  I felt proud, optimistic, and hopeful.

Right up until he said, “Oh, and you should consider a pen name.  Who names an adult Cheri?”

“Well, I wasn’t an adult when my mother named me!”

“Think about it, Mom.  Would you want to read a book written by Strawberry Johnson?”

“That’s not my name!”

“Ok, so would you want to read a book written by Fruity Thacker?”

“That’s still not my name…but I get it!”

The Crumbsnatchers might not be the brightest baubles on Pinterest, but sometimes…they do make good points.

© 2013 CThacker

What Are The Chances I Could Mistake a Cookie for a Healthy Snack?

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I’m a little late jumping on the 2013 “Get Fit and Trim” train.  It passes by every year on January 1st, but Chief and I decided to board after the Super Bowl.

Chief Money Maker and I could stand (although we mostly sit) to lose a few pounds.  Karla Telega over at Telega Tales & Tart Cookies featured me on her blog today.  I wasn’t offered a cookie though, maybe because of the whole diet thing.

Check out my post Diets, Derailments, and Dudes and check back on Sunday for a post from Karla.  Maybe she’ll bring cookies.

English: Half a dozen home-made cookies. Ingre...

I could easily mistake this for a reduced fat mozzarella stick wrapped in an iceberg wedge, right? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Adam & Eve – The First Argument

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I don’t know why I’m a perfectionist.  Possibly because I’m the first-born? Maybe because I’m a woman? It could even be a DNA type thing—that obviously didn’t mutate to my teenage crumbsnatchers.  Whatever the reason, somewhere inside lives an evil voice that is never happy with anything I do.

I sometimes wonder if Eve was a perfectionist.  Do you think conversations like this could be overheard in the Garden of Eden?

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden

Chatting with God after dinner. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

*************************************************************

Adam (In from a hard day’s work):  Hey honey, I’m home!

Eve:  Don’t track your feet through the beach sand!  I spent all day combing it with palm leaves!

Adam (Scratching his head as he sets his briefcase down):  Are we having company?

Eve:  Adam!  I reminded you this morning before we rolled out of the lush green meadow that God was coming over for dinner tonight!

Adam:  Oh yeah.  I forgot.  That explains why you’re all stressed out.

Eve:  <through gritted teeth>  What did you say?  I’m—not—stressed.  I just want everything to be perfect when He gets here.

Adam:  We live in the Garden of Eden, honey.  I think that is the definition of perfection.  Well, except for that one apple that we can’t have.

Eve:  That’s right, Adam.  We do live in the Garden of Eden and who put us here?  Huh, huh?  Who gave us this?  Huh?

Adam:  There you go throwing that up in my face again.  You don’t think I work hard all day having dominion over all this stuff?  You don’t think that’s some pressure?  Just once I’d like to come home to a peaceful house.

Eve (crying):  sniff…sniff…It’s never enough for you.  I keep myself fit running with the cheetahs every day.  I take care of the meadow, sometimes hand-separating each flowing blade of grass.  I make sure you have fresh coconut milk waiting for you after work, and not once…well there was that time when I had a headache…do I deny you the pleasures of my body.

Adam:  Please don’t cry…you’re right honey.  I know, I know.  You are a perfect woman.  I mean, let’s be honest here.  God made me first.  I was just a test model and when He got the kinks all out, He made the beautiful, perfect woman who you are.

Eve:  Thank you for acknowledging that fact.  (Hugging Adam) And I guess it could be worse.  I could have to deal with a mother-in-law!

******************************************************

I’m sure that dinner party went well after Adam & Eve made up.  Until the next week when Eve made Apple Cobbler for desert.

I am Eve! (Not really, I’m Cheri.) I am Woman! (That parts true.)  And I make my own Garden of Eden where everything is perfectly imperfect.

© 2013 CThacker

We’re Not Racists. Our Cat is Black

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I joke.  I kid.  I make my pennies-a-day salary writing humor.  But there is one topic I won’t joke about because I just can’t find anything funny about it.

Ok.  Maybe I find it funny when comedians poke fun, but they are more skilled than I.  I’m not gonna touch it.  Yet still, I couldn’t help but chuckle a little when Chief tossed out some ridiculous things people could say about their own beliefs:

“We’re not racists.  We’re just really slow runners.”

Maybe it was because we’d recently seen Django Unchained.  I don’t know what led to the topic, but we tossed a few more out for fun:

“We’re not racists.  Our cat is black.”

“We’re not racists.  We just think the SEC is better than everybody.”

Ok.  That’s about as far as we got ‘cause like I said, I don’t find much funny about racism.  And for all my fine “Yankee” readers, if you think prejudice is extinct in 2013’s New South, you’ve got some mighty fine rose-colored glasses to shield you from the scorching truth.

There has never been another subject that stirs me up as a writer more than this one does.  I don’t know why.  Oh, hell, yes I do.  I lived in Mississippi, the fire of racism that boils the cauldron of hatred and imagined superiority.  The Eldest and Sweet Pea lived in the coals of this ignorance when they lived with their father.

Consider this:

*****************************************************

It’s a humid July Saturday night in Panola County, Mississippi.  Three teenagers party all night.

It’s Sunday morning, 6:30 a.m. Hot, because it always is in July in the south.  Johnny Lee Butts set out for his 4-mile morning walk.

Later, his body was found lying in the road 172 feet from where, according to statements, Matthew Whitten “Whit” Darby ran over him with his white Monte Carlo at an estimated speed of 55 mph to 70 mph.

Johnny Lee Butts was African-American.  The driver and two passengers were Caucasian.

Source WPTV.CM – News Channel 5

*****************************************************

I spilled eleven years of my life in the county where this heinous murder happened.  Officer D.A.R. is a police officer in Batesville, ONE of the two county seats.  Fitting, for an area where as recently as 2008, when The Eldest attended high school there, they still held separate proms disguised as “private parties”  where the attendees were rather bland.  I’ve met John Champion, the District Attorney.  I’ve driven past David M. Bryan Sheriff’s Complex more times than I have fingers, toes, and extra fat on my hips.  I served a year on Panola County’s Grand Jury, voting for indictments of Panola County’s alleged criminals.

I could make your toes curl with recitations of the experiences of racism I’ve witnessed first-hand in that Mississippi county.  But I won’t.  CNN already did that for me.  I could give you my thoughts on whether or not this senseless murder was a hate crime.  But I won’t do that either.

Because my Mama taught me, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right, comment on this blog posting, like it on Facebook, or Follow @MamaBreadBaker on Twitter and you will be qualified for a chance to have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”

© 2012 CThacker

Bunco – The Divinely Appointed

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Bunco Group Member – the coveted suburban title to which every soccer mom aspires.  In a lost scroll found, archaeologists learned that on the eighth day God created Bunco groups consisting of twelve women.  After these first divinely-appointed women, the only way into a Bunco group was/is by death.  It’s like Supreme Court Justice Appointments for Mini-van Moms.

I think this is the most absurd thing I can imagine.

And I hope someone dies soon so I can get an appointment to the group in which I’ve served as a sub the last two months.

It takes networking, politicking, and a current member with dangerously high cholesterol to get an appointment to a Bunco group.  You could always start your own, but it wouldn’t be recognized as “Original Lineage” by the Garden of Eden Bunco Association—whose motto is “Bringing you the gossip since Eve bit the Apple”—or Southern Baptists.

English: Stacked pink lady apples. Français : ...

Which must, by decree of Moses, be served at every Bunco meeting–with marshmallow dip! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

And don’t get fooled by one of those impostor groups either.  If you get invited to a “BunKo” group, steer clear.  Every tried and true member of the society knows that it’s BunCo with a big fat “C” and it’s derived from the Latin words “bunimus cominus” which means, “Girrrrrrls, get your biscuit buns over to my house so I can tell you what that tramp down at blah blah blah blah.”

I subbed for a group for two years.  My own mother was a member.  I still couldn’t get an appointment.  One time, Old Miss Louise had a heart attack and my Mom immediately called to let me know it looked like a spot would open.  Then her call waiting beeped.

“Hold on and I’ll get rid of them,” she said.

While I waited, I planned the menu for the first night I’d host my new Bunco group.  I think Old Miss Louise had June.  The cinnamon tortilla chips and pumpkin dip would be refreshing.  Or maybe it was January.  Those would still work.  Pumpkin is holiday-ish.

I heard the familiar click that everyone in the Back to the Future Era knew meant the person was back on the line and my Mom said, “Are you still there?”

It was required when you click back from call waiting to ask that question.

I said, “Yeah.”

“False alarm.  Old Miss Louise just had gas from eating down at the Horseshoe Corral.”

And that’s the closest I’ve come so far to getting in.

The last two months, I’ve subbed for another Bunco group.  I’d like to say that these ladies are lovely; that they are some of the classiest women in the area.  I’d like to, but these are some kind of craaaazzzy ladies.

And exactly the kind of Bunco group I want to join!

I’ve got my target locked and loaded and now all I have to do is sit back and wait for someone to die, or transfer.  But even transfers can get tricky.  I understand waiting lists are long, and many a man wears on his back the footprints of corporate ladder-climbers all because their wife refused to move for his promotion until a suitable Bunco group could be secured.

It’s that kind of serious!

Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right, or comment on this blog posting, and you will be qualified for a chance to have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”

© 2013 CThacker

Dr. Phil Asks “How’s That Working for Ya?”

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You’ve got to wonder about the kind of life someone lives when they’ve emailed the Dr. Phil Show only twice in their lifetime, and both times a producer has called to request they appear on the program.

Well, I can tell you it is pretty normal—except for those two things I emailed the Dr. Phil show about.

English: Phil McGraw photographed for the cove...

English: Phil McGraw photographed for the cover of Newsweek magazine by Jerry Avenaim (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my defense, Dr. Phil has some misleading web forms.  He has an “Ask Dr. Phil” section where, by nature of its name, I thought it to be exactly that.  So back in 2005 I emailed Dr. Phil a question about a pressing life situation.  I expected an email response from a psychology intern on the “Ask Dr. Phil” staff that would offer up some sage Texas advice like, “When you walk a mile in someone else’s boots, you’re a mile farther down the road than you were before.”

Instead, I came home from work one afternoon to find the message “Call Dr. Phil” written on our family message board.  That’ll put dinner on hold for just about anyone, I betcha!

I called the number which put me through to an assistant producer.  She explained they had an upcoming show on the topic I’d emailed about.  “Do you think your ex-husband would be willing to come on the show as well?”

Officer D.A.R. barely tolerates existing on the same planet with me.  I knew there was no way he would agree to sit on a stage with me. Besides, he hates doctors.  Especially ones that might tell him what an idiot he can be at times.

So recently, I had another pressing life situation and, because I suffer from the inability to learn from my previous mistakes, I shot another question off on the “Ask Dr. Phil” section of the website.  A couple of days later, while I sat waiting for my minivan to be cleaned, my cellphone screen announced a call from area code 323, Los Angeles, CA.

I immediately thought, “This must be the Dr. Phil Show calling about my Ask Dr. Phil question.”

Ok, not really.

I thought it more likely to be a skip tracer—calling the wrong number, of course—and sent the call to voice mail.

Lo and behold, when I checked my voice mail, it was Julie from the Dr. Phil show with a request that I call her back as soon as possible.  So I did.  This time it seems I’d caught their attention with a situation they’d never heard of before.

“Not even Dr. Phil?” I asked.

“Not even Dr. Phil.  And we’re very interested in having you on the show so he can help your family.  Do you think your husband would be willing to come on the show as well?”

In that moment I realized I was 2 for 2 in “Ask Dr. Phil” situations, neither time resulting in a solution because it required the presence of a man, past or present, from my life.  There was no way Chief Money Maker was going to sit on stage and publicly discuss family matters on television.  Besides, he hates doctors.  Especially one’s he thinks are a discredit to people everywhere bearing the name “Phil.”

“Well why did you write us?” asked Julie.

“Because your website says ‘Ask Dr. Phil’” I exclaimed.

“And how’s that working for ya?” she shot back.

Touché.

Subscribe to Crumbsnatcher Tales by entering your email in the box on the right, or comment on this blog posting, and you will be qualified for a chance to have your blog showcased Sunday in Mama Bread Baker’s “The Spotlight’s on You!”

The Spotlight’s On You! Vol 1:1

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As part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things”, I promised to showcase a blog posting from one of the previous week’s new subscribers, or someone who left a comment on my blog.  Subscribe to my blog, or stop back by and comment on new blog postings, and one of your blog posts could be featured next week!

Spotlight

The blog I chose for this week was posted by Liz Rosema over at “Seize the Absurd.”  She dropped by and commented on a couple of my blog postings.  The post I chose caught my eye because The Eldest turned 23 this week.  I’ve often wondered why my children don’t throw ME a party on their birthday.  I did all the work!

Please go over and check out this funny post.

Thanks Liz!

“Sorry Mom” Day

Introducing a brand new holiday invented by Seize the Absurd….”Sorry Mom, Day”.
The day after you party yourself into unconsciousness in celebration of your birth, stop and reflect on your state of being. If at this point you have nothing to apologize to your mother for…
you are deceiving yourself.First of all:
Every single one of us enters this world like an absolute cuss.
We begin as incredibly needy things that don’t let anyone else sleep. If your boss kept you up all night working, you would be furious, but babies get away with that kind of behavior all the time. Jerks.
Your first action was to be a total douche.
Sorry Mom, that you had to put up with our weepy infant-selves.In celebration of this special holiday I have some apologies:  Read the rest of this post by clicking here:

Lucky 13 Here I Come

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It’s 2013 and I’m excited about the potential!  I saw my blog grow in 2012, got Freshly Pressed, and made some great new friends.

Call it a resolution, theme, goal, or whatever gives you the warm-and-fuzzies, but I’ve decided that:

2013 Means Bigger Better Things!

Happy new year

Happy new year (Photo credit: Amodiovalerio Verde)

I thank my loyal readers, supporters, friends and family for taking this journey along with me.  I’ve come a long way since that first post. I’m excited–but probably not as excited as Tim Tebow was to join the Jets–about upcoming changes to my blog this year.

If you are new to my blog, thank you for stopping by.  I’m just a simple storyteller telling the story of a family one talking dog away from a sitcom, irreverently speaking of my husband and children, and raising teenagers as I wonder daily…If I’d drowned them at birth, would I be out of prison by now?

So what Bigger Better Things can you expect in 2013?  You can expect a weekly dose of the giggles delivered fresh off the fingertips and straight to your email.

You can also look forward to these new features:

  • Crumbsnatcher cartoon
  • Mama Bread Baker Answers Reader Mail (send your questions now to MamaBreadBaker at comcast dot net.  Relationship advice, parenting advice, tax advice if you are looking to be audited, etc)
  • Top 10 Lists
  • Video Blog

But wait….there’s more!  I want YOU to be a part of “2013 Means Bigger Better Things!”

I want to reward my followers, so look forward to these opportunities for me to extend my thanks to you:

  • Promotional give-aways
  • Mama Bread Baker’s Favorite Blog of the Week (I’ll be checking the blogs of everyone who leaves a comment, as well as those of new subscribers.  Every Sunday I will post my favorite blog posting from the week.  Will it be yours?)

So we’re off and running for the new year.  Come back tomorrow to hear how my year got off to a crappy start…literally.

Tomorrow’s Blog

An Asterisk to Dave Barry’s Colonoscopy Essay

Light a Candle for Newtown

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candle

Light a candle for Newtown (Photo credit: jamingray)

I recently complained that the crumb snatchers have reached the age where they aren’t fun to buy Christmas for anymore. You know how teenagers are—I need the latest, greatest. Which, for our household, means that’s about all you get. But after Friday, I’m thankful that I still have them to buy for.

I recently complained that the crumb snatchers keep dragging all their friends over to mess up my nice clean floors and eat up all our groceries. Really…ALL of them. But after Friday, I’m thankful that the crumb snatchers still have their friends.

Chief Money Maker just complained when he cosigned a note for a 2006 Honda Accord for Sweet Pea because she batted her eyes and he just couldn’t say no. But after Friday, he’s thankful he had the experience of helping a child fulfill their dream of purchasing their first car.

I just complained that my health insurance is making me go through hoops to get tests that I need. But after Friday, I’m thankful I’m not arguing with a life insurance company.

I always complain that Jumper barks at the elementary school children waiting for the bus in the morning. But after Friday, I patted his head and waved to the children as they walked by.

I almost complained that Chief Money Maker is working when he is supposed to be on vacation…and then I remembered Friday.

In loving memory of:

Names and ages of the Newtown shooting victims:

Charlotte Bacon, 6

Daniel Barden, 7

Rachel Davino, 29

Olivia Engel, 6

Josephine Gay, 7

Ana Marquez-Greene, 6

Dylan Hockley, 6

Dawn Hochsprung, 47

Madeleine Hsu, 6

Catherine Hubbard, 6

Chase Kowalski, 7

Jesse Lewis, 6

James Mattioli, 6

Grace McDonnell, 7

Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Emilie Parker, 6

Jack Pinto, 6

Noah Pozner, 6

Caroline Previdi, 6

Jessica Rekos, 6

Avielle Richman, 6

Lauren Rousseau, 30

Mary Sherlach, 56

Victoria Soto, 27

Benjamin Wheeler, 6

Allison Wyatt, 6

Source: Connecticut State Police

© 2012 CThacker

As the World Ends

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Wikipedia dubbed the date’s descriptive marker as the “2012 Phenomenon” but I can guarantee that those Wiki guys wouldn’t know a phenomenon if it walked up and talked in that Allstate insurance guy’s voice.

“You’re in good hands with Allstate.”

American actor Dennis Haysbert

You totally just read that line in his voice, admit it! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Big deal if the Mayan calendar abruptly ends on December 21, 2012 and the Mayans can’t flip the page to a snow covered Mesoamerican January view?  I’ve got stronger phenomenal proof the world is ending.

None of the crumb snatchers have Christmas lists.

This holiday hitch has me completely dumbfounded.  I have no idea what to do with the time I normally spend scurrying from trunk vendor to trunk vendor seeking economic relief on the latest and greatest requests—otherwise known as “ridiculously priced” items—from the crumb snatchers wish lists.  Could this be the year they’ve all at once realized it’s better to give than to receive?

Sometimes I crack myself up with the questions I ask.

With all the extra time on my hands, I began preparing for the end of the world—just in case.  I spent three weeks deep-cleaning, organizing, and uncluttering our home.  I’m sure that seems a little odd considering most people probably scheduled their holiday cleaning help to come on December 22nd.  No point in paying for something you might not get to use, right?  Right.

I’m a teensy-weensy bit obsessive-compulsive about my cleaning.  I just wouldn’t feel right leaving this world with a dirty house.  Someone pat me on the back for my courteous consideration of the aliens, zombies, or Kardashians that plan to take over the world on December 21st.

Plus, the new medication Doctor Do Very Little, M.D. gave me for my menopause symptoms turned me into a freak cleaning machine.  I stopped taking the pills so I could slip them into the crumb snatchers dinner plates.  Why should I do the work if I can turn them into freak cleaning machines?

It’s a good thing I did too, because The Colonel and Mrs. Colonel—my in-laws—are coming for a visit.  Now I can stop worrying that a dust bunny might hop out from behind the TV and kidnap them for ransom.  Grandma and Uncle Kablong—my mother and brother—are coming for a visit this month too.  Which leads me to the additional proof the world is ending; Grandma said she was looking forward to the visit.

Speaking of phenomenal, the crumb snatchers pulled a fast one on Chief Money Maker on Thanksgiving Day.  As a result, he will dress as Santa to deliver gifts to a family at St. Jude’s this year.  Not to be out-witted by the witless, he managed to coral some elves to assist.

While I was busy laughing at the mess each one had gotten themselves into, they all turned to me and said:

“What’s so funny?  YOU have to make everyone’s costume!”

Elf Costume 001

At least seeing the male crumb snatchers in red tights should be fun! (Photo credit: roger_mommaerts)

Any chance the world might end before December 21st?

© 2012 CThacker

Are You There God? It’s Me–Mama Bread Baker!

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Are you there God?  It’s me—Mama Bread Baker—and I’ve got some questions for you. 

Question the Moment - Which Famous Person Do Y...

I’m a woman of faith.  I don’t do “religion.”  I opt for “relationship” in my spiritual life, so I talk to God.  And now I talk to our cat.  Which I think God sent because He was tired of me constantly bugging Him when He has more important things to do like (hopefully) help director Peter Jackson get “The Hobbit” right.

So being a woman with a genetic DNA strain that causes me to perpetually draft lists—sometimes in Excel workbooks so they can be color-coded, sorted, and hidden when I don’t want to do/see/purchase whatever is on the list—I’ve started compiling a list of questions to ask God when I reach the hereafter.

1)       Why do we call it “the hereafter?”  Is it going to be here? ‘Cause I’m really hoping it’s there even though Chief Money Maker wants it here so he can get more use out of the swimming pool he put in last summer.  Just between You and me, I say if Chief thinks he’s going to need the swimming pool to cool off in the hereafter, he’s headed in a different direction than I.

2)      Seriously…there’s a human soul inside my cat, right?  I’ve never owned a cat until this summer when I figured out that no one has ever owned a cat.  (If a cat has ever moved into your home, then there is no explanation needed for my desire to have an answer to this question.)

3)       Menopause was the REAL punishment for Eve’s apple pie making disobedience, right?   What’s that God?  What do I think is the answer?  Well, obviously it’s menopause since the symptoms can last for years and the partner of ANY woman going through menopause also suffers through picking tiny shards of shattered kitchen dishes from their forehead for saying, “Good morning, Honey.  Is coffee ready?”  What’s that?  Oh……the tiny shards of glass thing only happened to Chief?  My bad.

4)       Why did You make teenagers hungry all the time?  I promise I’m not questioning Your infinite wisdom and awesomeness, but couldn’t You have designed that portion of the life cycle to occur at a less financially pressing time?  Instead of when we have to purchase athletic equipment, prom dresses, class rings, yearbooks, graduation invitations, etc.?  Maybe like when they move out and have to buy their OWN groceries?

5)      If you gifted me with creative talent, an awesome sense of humor, and a witty way with words, why wouldn’t you send an agent or publisher to discover me, offering up a fabulous book deal so I can flaunt it before those mean girls from high school that read my column and say things like “isn’t that soooooo cute”?  Yes, I realize I’m being whiney and ungrateful, but I picked the habit up from the crumb snatchers!

I’m sure I’ll add more to my list before I permanently log out of Lifebook, so feel free to ask your questions in the comment section and I’ll tack them on.  Meanwhile…I’ll just chat with the cat.

© 2012 CThacker