Dear Ellen: Open mouth, insert foot.

I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

I suffer from open-mouth-insert-foot syndrome. It’s caused because my mouth works faster than my brain. I work really hard to keep my foot out of my mouth but on days like today, that’s easier said than done.

Early this afternoon, I heard someone opening my storm door. Then the door shut. I waited thinking maybe it was my husband. When I didn’t hear the door unlock, I went to the peephole. No one was outside. So, I opened the door and found a package from UPS marked urgent. The problem was, it wasn’t for my household. It was for the neighbor down the street.

After dropping off my son at school, I drove to my neighbor’s house to return the package. A very nice man opened the door. I held up the package. “Is this your mail?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. It’s for the previous owners.”

“Oh,” I said. “UPS brought it to my house just down the street.”

The skin on his forehead crumpled. “Huh. Well now I’m confused. They delivered this package to me yesterday and I took it back to UPS with “Return to Sender” marked on it.

“Well,” I began, “That doesn’t surprise me. We had this problem with them last year. They kept delivering a package to our house that was for our previous tenants. I took it back to UPS twice and they still kept delivering it. Lazy people. How hard is it to match the street address with the number on the package. My four year old could do that.”

He reached for the package. “I work for UPS.”

“I’ll take it to work tomorrow and give it to my supervisor,” he said.

“Thanks.” I croaked. I felt like a complete idiot. I walked back to the car shaking my head the entire way. Of all the neighbors we have, leave it to me to make a snarky comment like that to the one neighbor who works for UPS.

He seemed like a really nice guy, Ellen. I just hope he has a forgiving sense of humor. Otherwise I might not see another package delivered by UPS again.

Sincerely,

A. Marie

Calling all fellow readers. Tell me about one of your open-mouth-insert-foot moments. Please! I don’t want to be the only one who suffers from this.

 

 

 

Dear Ellen: My 3 year old has been giving language lessons

I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

My three-year-old daughter has been giving language lessons to her four-year-old brother.  He’s a little behind the rest of his class and she wanted to make sure he was caught up before kindergarten. Take a look at one of her most recent lessons.

Baby girl: Now, Bobo, if you were to spill water all over the coffee table, what would the correct response be?

Baby boy: Very simple.  My response would be ‘Momma, Uh oh, I made a mess. I spilled water.’

Baby girl: Very good, Bobo, but you forgot one word in your sentence.

Baby boy: What’s that, Sissy?

Baby girl: The response in it’s entirety should be ‘Fuck! Momma, I made a mess.’

Baby boy: Duly noted. But what would my response be if I spilled fruit punch?

Baby girl: That all depends on where you spill it.  If you spill it anywhere in the kitchen, your sentence would begin with ‘Fuck.’ If you spill it on carpeting, your sentence would begin with ‘God Dammit!’ 

Baby girl: Now let’s review some ‘Yes or No’ questions. (walking over toward a chair.) If someone asked you if this was a blue chair how would you respond?

              Photo courtesy of Toys R Us

Baby boy: Quite simply, I would advise the inquiring individual that this was a child’s folding chair with a recommended weight capacity of no more than 50 pounds.

Baby girl: That’s all well and good but the question was ‘is this a blue chair?’ What would you say to that?

Baby boy: I’d describe the chair as turquoise with a hexidecimal code of #40E0D0 for anyone interested in knowing that information.

Baby girl: (scratching her head) I fear you’re missing the point.  The answer to the question is quite simply ‘Yes, the chair is blue.’

Baby boy: That can’t be.  It’s far too simple of an answer.  My mind can’t process simplistic responses such as that.

Baby girl: I understand your dilemma. That’s why we’ll practice until you’re able to do so.

Well, Ellen, I think it’s great that she wants to help her big brother.  I just wish she’d pick other words to teach him.

Sincerely,

A. Marie

 

Dear Marvel Comics

Dear Marvel Comics,

I writing to inform you that your Spiderman inventory lacks underpants for toddler girls. My three year old LOVES Spiderman and desperately wants Spiderman underpants. She’s promised me that if I get her the underpants, she’ll never have another accident and let me tell you something, this child doesn’t lie. Well, except for the time when I heard her in the kitchen and asked her what she was doing.

“Nothing,” she replied.

When I walked in there I found her sitting in a pile of flour that she’d poured all over herself. She looked up at me and smiled. “Uh oh. I made a mess.”

And then there was the time I followed a trail of fruit punch into our living room. I found my daughter with red, joker-stained lips.

I asked her who spilled the fruit punch and she pointed to the cat. “Little Miss made mess.”

Now, if she’d pointed to my other cat, Gwennie, I would’ve believed her because Gwennie is the devil incarnate.

Photo by A. Marie Silver

Little Miss, however, is a four-legged saint complete with a halo and wings.

This is not Little Miss. Unfortunately, all of the photos I have of Little Miss make her look nasty and unforgiving. So I’m submitting this picture of a goat instead.

Anyway, aside from those two instances, she’s a very honest child. So, please, start making Spiderman underpants for girls and don’t worry about changing the color scheme around. I assure you, my child wants red, white and blue Spiderman underpants just like her big brother.

Thank you for your time.

A. Marie Silver.

P.S.

She currently wears a size 4T

Dear Ellen: It started with the Dinotrux

I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

This discussion began over a couple of Dinotrux figures my son has.  The yellow and green one was a Christmas gift from Santa.  My husband Santa played with it extensively before choosing this particular toy for our four-year-old son.  A few days ago, my son acquired a second Dinotrux character which inspired this conversation between him and his three-year-old sister.

Baby boy: (Scratching his head) It’s bewildering.

Baby girl:  Quite right, Bobo. It doesn’t seem to have any of the features of your other one.

Baby boy: Excellent observation, Sissy.  Revvit (pictured below)

Revvit

talks when you pull the tape measure out of his mouth and when you pull his tail, the drill bit in his head spins around. This one doesn’t have any of those features.

Ty Rex

Baby girl: I concur with your observations.  He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have any tools protruding from his body parts. How does momma propose we play with him.

Baby boy: She suggested I use my imagine and pretend that he talks and has moving tools.

Baby girl: Momma’s recent behavior has been rather alarming.  Just the other day she told me the most outrageous story.

Baby boy: Do tell, Sissy.

Baby girl: It was most amusing.  She told me that she had a baby girl growing inside of her belly.

Baby boy: You’re pulling my leg.

Baby girl: Not at all.  She insisted that there was a baby girl inside of her belly and then suggested I kiss it.

Baby boy:  Kiss it?  Why?

Baby girl: I have no idea.

Baby boy: Most fascinating.  Of course, you have to admit that Momma’s belly has grown in size over the last few months.

Baby girl: Quite true.  However, I assumed it was from eating three months worth of Christmas cookies.

Baby boy: Your hypothesis of her size increase is far more plausible than her insistence that she has a baby growing in her belly.

Baby girl: Oh! I forgot the most entertaining part of her story.

Baby boy: What?

Baby girl: Momma told me that you and I were both babies inside of her belly at one time.

Baby boy: That’s just ridiculous!  We’d never fit inside of her belly. We’re far too large.

Baby girl: Quite right.

Well, Ellen, I think it’s safe to say that come the end of May, my kids are gonna be in serious shock.

Coming Soon!

Sincerely,

A. Marie

P.S.

I’m excited to report that the first of my three New Year’s resolutions came true this afternoon.  We took down the Christmas tree before Valentine’s Day.

Dear Ellen: Sometimes I talk to my cat

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres.  No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

Sometimes my cat and I talk to each other…..well….sort of.  You’re about to see what I mean.  Here’s a conversation we had just the other day.

I walked into our newly renovated bathroom to conduct some very important bathroom business and found my cat lying on the rug.

Me:  Hi Gwennie.

Gwennie: Meow! (Translation: Who the hell invited you?)

Me:  Were you taking a nap? It’s a hard life, isn’t kitty?

Gwennie: Meow! Meow! Meow! Meow, meow , meow! (Translation: Can’t you see I’m trying to take a nap? I’ve only slept 15 hours today. I need my beauty sleep. Go poop in some other litter box!  This bathroom is MINE.)

Me: So how was your day? Chase any mice? Cough up any hairballs?

Gwennie: Meow! Meow! MEEEOOOOWWW! HISS! (Translation: Are you kidding me?  Quit talking to me like we’re girlfriends. Do you not understand English? Fine! Let’s try this in Spanish.  El bano esta ocupado, asshole!)

I finished by bathroom business and washed my hands.

Me:  See you later, pretty kitty.  Kiss. Kiss.

Gwennie: Meow, meow, meow! (Translation: Suck my tail, human!)

We may not understand each other’s language, Ellen, but I know we get along great.

Photo courtesy of Imgur.com

Sincerely,

A. Marie

Dear Ellen: Not your typical New Year’s Resolution

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason.  Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

Our New Year’s was fairly low key.  My husband I celebrated by having takeout Thai for dinner while we watched our kids throw their pizza rolls all over the floor.

During one trip back to the kitchen to fetch this or that, my three-year-old daughter came running after me.

“Spilled water,” she said.

“Okay.” I grabbed a towel and followed her into the living room where, sure enough she spilled her water all over the little folding table she was seated at.

My husband worked to clean up the water on the table while I dabbed at the water on the carpeting.  As we were cleaning, I heard her sweet little voice sing out, “Goddamnit!”

“No,” my husband began. “We don’t say that. That’s a bad word.”

“At least the context was right,” I said.

Then, not two seconds later, her sweet little voice sang out again. “Fuck!”

She wore a very proud smile the whole time.

In honor of this glorious parenting fail, I’ve come up with a list of resolutions to ring in the new year.

  1. Take the Christmas tree down before Valentine’s day.
  2. Blog every Wednesday & Saturday.
  3. Stop cursing around my kids. (I’d say stop cursing completely, but everyone who knows me knows that’s a big fat lie.)

Anyway, Ellen, I said it last year and I’ll say it again:

But who knows. Maybe this year, I’ll get it right.

Sincerely,

A. Marie

Dear Ellen: The joys of potty training

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

0410161117
Poor-quality photo taken by A. Marie Silver because that’s what she does. She takes poor-quality photos and posts them on the internet. Sometimes she capitalizes Internet. Other times she doesn’t. She’s not sure who decided Internet should be capitalized, but she believes it’s a silly rule.

Dear Ellen,

The other night, my son had an accident in his diaper.  I guess that’s not really an accident considering he was in his nighttime diaper and we put him in it for that very reason.  But, the next morning I overheard my kids discussing that accident and a few other things.

Baby Girl: Brother, what was all the ruckus about last night?

Baby Boy: I inadvertently produced a bowel movement in my diaper. Upon realizing it, I contacted Momma, requesting her assistance.

Baby Girl:  You produced a bowel movement in your diaper?  Momma’s been making me sit on the potty for weeks now.  I didn’t know we still had the option of putting bowel movements in our diapers.

Baby Boy: I believe, Sister, that Momma and Dadda would prefer if we did not urinate or put bowel movements in our diaper.  I think they would prefer if did all of our potty business on the potty.

Baby Girl: Good to know, Brother. Here I am, feeling the need to produce a bowel movement.  Now I know I should seek out Momma’s assistance in using the potty.

Baby Boy: My goodness, no.  There’s no need to tell Momma you need to use the potty.  Just wait. Momma’s internal clock will alert her to your needs.

Baby Girl: Really?  That’s odd hypothesis considering that Momma is always telling me that I should tell her when I need to use the potty.

Baby Boy:  She’s just trying to make us feel independent.  But really, it’s unnecessary. I feel quite independent. After all, I’m able to urinate and poop without Momma’s assistance. I’ve been doing it my entire life.

Momma:  Okay, Baby Girl, it’s time for you to use the potty.

Baby Boy: See, Sister, I was right. 

Baby Girl: Indeed you were, Brother. 

Sincerely,

A. Marie

Dear Ellen: It’s time they learn!

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Duplo Police Officer
Duplo Police Officer

Dear Ellen,

My children spend a lot of time watching me fold their laundry and put it away.  One evening, I told my two-year old that in the very near future it would be up to her and her brother to put their own clothes away.

The next day, I overheard them having the following the conversation about this topic.

Baby Girl: It was most disturbing, Brother.  Momma actually wants us to organize our own belongings.

Baby Boy: I couldn’t disagree with you more, Sissy.  I actually believe it would be in our best interest to put our own belongings away.  That way, we’ll put them where we think they should go. Did you know that for nearly two years, Momma put my socks and pajamas in the wrong drawer?  It nearly drove me nuts.

Baby Girl: She did? Where were they supposed to go?

Baby Boy: The socks were supposed to go inside of the right drawer and the pajamas were supposed to go inside of the left drawer.  Momma had everything all reversed.

Baby Girl: How did you correct her behavior?

Baby Boy: One day, as I watched  – with great aggravation – Momma putting my clothes away, I reached up and pointed to the right drawer and said, “Socks!” Momma then understood and immediately switched the contents of the drawers, rectifying the situation. So you see, Sissy, putting our own items away might be for the best.

Baby Girl: It’s certainly something to ponder. However, I must say I do foresee a problem with this.

Baby Boy: What?

Baby Girl: For the past several months I’ve been trying to store my Duplo people inside of the refrigerator.  Momma continuously relocates them to the toy box in the living room despite my protests.

Baby Boy: Try placing them inside the cupboard with the cleaning supplies.  She only goes in there when company is coming over so she isn’t likely to notice them.

Baby Girl: A most excellent suggestion, Brother. I shall try that.

For the record, Ellen, I resent that last comment. I go into that cupboard more often than they realize. It’s just that – well – by the time I get done putting away the toys they shove in there, I forget why I was in there to begin with and move on with something else.

Sincerely,

A. Marie

 

Dear Ellen: I have a strong homicidal urge

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

The two year old - before the coffee table attacked her.
The two-year old – before the coffee table attacked her.

Dear Ellen,

Last Friday, there was an unfortunate incident in my house.  My coffee table violently assaulted my two-year old, cutting her eye.  I told my husband about it when he returned from his guy’s night out. Concerned he asked, “Did you give her lots of hugs and kisses?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head.  “I tossed a towel at her and said clean yourself up and shake it off, kid! There’s no crying in baseball.”

Seriously!  He should know better to ask a silly question like that. Of course I gave her lots of hugs and kisses.  I gave her hugs and kisses right after it happened. I gave her hugs and kisses as I cleaned up her eye and then while I was giving her Tylenol.  She got more hugs and kisses after the Tylenol and then while I was putting her to bed about an hour after the incident.

“Of course I gave her hugs and kisses! And now,” I continued, “if you’ll excuse me, I have a strong urge to assassinate our coffee table.” I grabbed the keys off the wall hook. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the grocery store to buy an axe.” I started out the door but stopped.  “What aisle would I find that in?”

“An axe? At the grocery store?” He looked puzzled.

“Yes,” I said, tapping my foot. “Would it be in the same aisle as that bag of black chunky stuff that you use to cook with on that thingy that’s in our backyard?”

He scratched his head. “Are you talking about charcoal for the grill?”

“That’s it,” I said, snapping my fingers.  “How come we never buy that stuff anymore?”

“Because our grill uses propane,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Honey,” he began, “why don’t you go upstairs and take a shower and leave murdering the coffee table to me?”

“Okay. Just make sure you give it a few extra whacks for me.”

The problem is, Ellen, that my husband never followed through with his promise.  I regret to inform you that the coffee table is still alive and sitting in our living room.  But don’t worry, I have a hit list and that coffee table is on it…along with the filing cabinet that assaulted the four-year old, the kitchen chairs that knocked both the kids of off them and the toaster…..for looking at me funny.

Sincerely,

A. Marie

 

Dear Ellen: A cure for the case of the Mondays!

Sometimes I write letters to Ellen DeGeneres. No particular reason. Just because I can.

Dear Ellen,

Have you ever had a really awful day? One of those days where you wish you’d stayed in bed?  Did your four-year-old forget to tell you that he needed to use the potty for four days straight? Did your two-year-old decide that eating out of the trash can would be fun?  Did your cat ever give you strange looks like she was planning your untimely death? Did all of the plugins in your website mysteriously uninstall and forget to tell you, rendering your website useless?

If so, you might be having a case of the Mondays.  Don’t worry, Ellen, I have the perfect cure. Check out this video. I guarantee you it will make you smile.

 

Sincerely,

A. Marie

P.S.

I have no idea what she was growling at.