Years ago, we were out to dinner with friends and with some folks we had never met before, and the topic of conversation turned to TV shows.  We all have Netflix and we were comparing notes about our favorite shows.

“There’s a great show called ‘Hung’ on HBO”, one of the new guys offered.  And then he lowered his voice a little and said, “And ‘Hung’ is exactly what you think it’s about”.

I’m thinking to myself…a show about people swinging from nooses? Geez…doesn’t sound like something I’d hang around for…no pun intended…but I said, “Oh thanks for the recommendation.  We’ll check it out”.  Then he told us about the show ‘Dexter’…which is apparently about a serial killer.  While he was trying to think of other shows to recommend… I was frantically trying to remember if I had already mentioned my last name or where I lived to him!

Another guy entered the discussion and our new friend said, “You really have to watch ‘Hung’!  And, once more, he lowers his voice and says,  “And it’s exactly what you think it’s about!”  Again, I’m envisioning the gallows.

Someone volunteered, “Oh yeah. ‘Hung”.  That’s the show about the gigolo.  It’s hilarious!!”

And then I got it.  HUNG.   Talk about an Aaaahaaa moment!

Now they were all on a roll and started raving about another show ‘Weeds’.  I’m thinking…those pesky green things in the soil that you spray Weed B Gone on?

And then…

I had another Aaaahaaa moment!!!

Being the mother of four children was an adventure every day. Being the mother of four BOYS was an adventure every minute. The boys always found something to amuse themselves with whenever they were left to their own devices. Most times the outcome was fine…other times, not so much.

There’s a product called Fun Tak that’s advertised as:  “a removable, long lasting, no mess, stain resistant and non-toxic blue adhesive for hanging posters, photos and drawings on the wall”

A fantastic product…until a child mashes it into his hair and for good measure, squishes it into a sibling’s tresses as well. “Removable” and “No Mess”?  I beg to differ.  I will, however, attest to its “Long Lasting” claim since 19 shampoos did not budge it. After a frantic call to the manufacturer for suggestions on how to get the stuff out of hair, the two culprits went to school for a week looking like 50’s Greasers.  It seems the recommended remedy of mineral oil was “long lasting” as well.

Another “hair” raising adventure was the day one child decided to rev up a “Rev ‘Em Up Racer” and while the wheels were frantically spinning…place it on his head. The wheels spun around his hair, resulting in the car being cemented to his scalp.  I tried to carefully free the car from his pate using scissors and razor, but he still wound up going to school for a week looking like Howie Mandel.

The folks at Poison Control were almost like family. I called them almost as much as I called my mother. One child swallowed Afrin pediatric nose drops resulting in the administration of two doses of Ipecac and a whoops pot. (Hours later, the same child confessed he really hadn’t swallowed them after all; he had poured them down the drain.)  One son swallowed Mr. Clean while another feasted on a box of chalk. We called Poison Control so much I worried I might have to start using an alias so DHS wouldn’t arrive at the front door to cart my kids away.

One day, a son was getting antsy because lunch wasn’t appearing on the table fast enough, and heard me mutter “I need help” . Imagine my surprise when an elderly neighbor who I hardly knew tottered up to my door and said “Is everything okay? Your son told me to come over because you needed help”.  And if truth be told, I would have put him to work making peanut butter sandwiches if it wasn’t for the fact the poor man could hardly stand erect.

A frog, a baby squirrel, numerous goldfish (one of which I had to feed with a tweezers because he was on his last fins and couldn’t get to the food), four white mice, a guinea pig, a Golden Retriever and a stray calico cat…all who found their way into our home – mainly because mom couldn’t resist those famous words “Mom, please. Can’t we keep it?” (And by the way…that half dead goldfish went on to live another two years. Go figure.)

And, I kind of miss those Mother’s Day breakfasts, when, after waking me at 5:30 am, the boys would insist I remain in bed while they prepared a morning feast in the kitchen. It was a sure bet I would eventually hear one brother hissing to another “Now look what you’ve done. You’ve sneezed all over Mom’s cereal” or ” Just pick it up and put it back on the plate”.  And how can I forget those 16 oz glasses of milk that accompanied the breakfasts?  (I still can’t forget them!!)

Yes, those escapades have given me my gray hair, but I wouldn’t have changed a single moment over the years. Mother’s Day for me was every day…and even though my boys are all grown up now…it still is.

I have a Kindle Paperwhite…and I do love it.   I’ve been amassing books to read on it from the Digital Libary and also from Amazon for my upcoming trips.  Reading books on it is a pleasure:  You tap the screen with your finger and the pages magically turn. Very convenient…particularly when I’m on the treadmill working out and reading at the same time.  But the other day I went to my local library to borrow AN ACTUAL BOOK!  It’s been awhile since I’ve held a real book in my hands so I was savoring the memories it held for me while I began reading.

Comes time to turn the page.

I tapped the page.

Nothing.

So I tapped it again.

Nothing.

Sometimes, I really wonder about myself!

Years ago, thieves made off with over $75 million worth of pharmaceutical drugs from the Eli Lilly pharmaceutical company in Enfield, Connecticut. It was quite a heist…straight from the annals of Hollywood. The robbers apparently cut through the roof, rappelled down ropes to get to the drugs, and loaded up a waiting van with the loot.

The robbers absconded with antidepressants, antipsychotic drugs, as well as an array of other pharmaceuticals that were not identified. Eli Lilly makes Cialis…a drug similar to Viagra, but the article didn’t mention whether Cialis was among the stolen booty. Allan said he thought that if it was, at least the robbers would be easy to identify in a police lineup.

Come the Christmas season, there’s always a hot item that every kid in America is clamoring for. This year,apparently it was anything that had to do with Paw Patrol, Chase being the most coveted.

We fell into the trap years ago when the Cabbage Patch Kids were in vogue. Even though we had boys, they all wanted one of those dolls that was all the rage. (Ken was given a Cabbage Patch preemie, who wound up sporting a metallic blue mustache and goatee – the result of a bored little kid on a rainy day with access to permanent magic markers.)

When Tim was six years old, the most sought-after gift that had to be under the tree on Christmas morning was the Millennium Falcon from the Star Wars movie. It was on his list for Santa, but the toy was not to be found anywhere. Allan and I scoured the stores early on but to no avail.

I knew that some of my friends, who apparently were more sophisticated in their buying prowess than I was, had already procured the prized spaceship and had it wrapped and festooned in ribbons, awaiting the shrieks of joy from their cherubs on Christmas morn.

I decided I needed to prepare Tim for the worst, as I knew no Millennium Falcon would be gracing the branches under our tree. I started out by telling him all the wonderful things that Santa would no doubt be leaving in his stocking. “Candy canes, puzzles, books, pears in your stocking…” I began to enumerate. At that point Tim interrupted me and said “Oh…I love pears!”. Then I gently queried “What would you do if Santa wasn’t able to bring something that you were really hoping for?” The child thought for a moment and then seriously said, “Well, I guess I’d eat pears!”

And that dear friends is how it came to be, that a little fluffy Bunny started bringing candy AND toys – a Millennium Falcon to be precise – to good little children on EASTER morn.

Allan and I will soon be leaving for Japan, and as we prepare for our adventure, it reminded me of another Asian trip we took years ago to China on a Wendy Wu tour, spending a month touring the country and seeing the sights. We had folks from the U.S. on the tour, as well as a few from England and Australia. Our guide, Candy, was excellent, and she spoke English fairly well.

During our orientation meeting after the welcome dinner, Candy laid out the itinerary and told us what we should expect weather-wise as we traversed from one side of China to the other, what the amazing sights we would be visiting were, what the food would be like, etc. She gave us the lowdown on the beds in the hotels (which were like sleeping on cement), and also on the “happy house”, (which were not too happy since they were merely a hole in the ground sans toilet paper).

Everyone was listening very carefully, and when Candy mentioned that some of the happy houses were a bit dark inside, one of the Brits on our tour exclaimed cheerfully, “Oh, no problem. We have our torches with us.”

Well, the look on Candy’s face was priceless. Her eyes opened wide in panic, and she began to shake her head rapidly. “No fire! No allowed! No safe!” she emphatically stated. We all started to laugh and then we reassured her that there’d be no blazing bonfires being started in the happy houses, since most of us knew the Brits were referring to their flashlights.

The next evening, we were chatting over glasses of beer with those same Brits, and one guy mentioned the pastas in their village. I said, “Oh, we love eating pastas. We try all different shapes and sizes. Allan favors the thin pastas, and I love the broad pastas. We eat them quite often!”

When we started talking about eating pastas, our English friends’ faces resembled Candy’s shocked expression when they had mentioned torches.

“What do you mean you eat pastas?” one Brit nervously queried while taking a step backward.

And then another Brit lowered his voice, also taking a step backward, and said in disbelief, “You eat the people who preside over the church services?”

And I swear, they all nonchalantly started looking for the exits.

It took me a minute to comprehend, and then I said, “You mean PASTORS?”

“What? No!” they emphatically said. “PASTAS!”

And then we all laughed.

But I’m sure for a nanosecond before the laughter, the Brits were surmising we might be cannibals. And in that same nanosecond, they were probably regretting the fact that their flashlights weren’t tiki torches, since those flames on a stick could have come in handy to fend us off had we started boiling water in a huge black cauldron and gotten out the salt and pepper.

Did you ever notice how the catcher suggests to the pitcher what pitch he should throw and the pitcher stands on the mound and shakes his head ‘No’ for maybe three or four times until he finally agrees with the pitch the catcher suggests?

It reminds me of that Seinfeld scene when Kramer pretends to be the MoviePhone recording. Kramer finally out of sheer frustration finally says “Why don’t you just TELL me what movie you want to see!” since he has no idea what buttons the caller is pressing.

Mark my words. One of these days…a catcher is going to go ballistic, throw down his catcher’s mask, storm the mound and grab the bat out of the batter’s hand  shouting