Every once in a while I’ll insist that we sit down as a family and play games.  I have visions of family fun, wonderful cozy memories for our children,  a fabulous night punctuated with laughter and popcorn.

What we get is more along the lines of a Jerry Springer episode.

Turns out that we’re ALL horribly competitive and my dh, who will insist he doesn’t care if he wins or not, is usually the first to commence shouting when the game doesn’t go his way.

“Stop hollering.  This is Family Fun Night.”

Daughter snorts.  “More like Family Fued Night.  Momma, you know this never works.   Everybody always ends up mad.”

True, but I am firmly in denial.  I grit my teeth and smile.  “We’re gonna have fun.  Like normal familes.”  I point to the happy people on the box.  “Like them.”

Son rolls his eyes.  “You know that’s not a real family.  They’re just people they paid to put on the box.”

“They could be a real family,” I insist.

“No,” he says, “’cause if they were a real family they’d be fighting like us.”

I cling to that as I ponder the sad state of our Family Fun Night.  In the end, we did play Imaginiff and it was a wonderful game.  We also played Scene It, which was also very fun, but I have to admit that’s where most of the fueding came in.  Both dh and son wanted to be the DVD Master, daughter got ticked because she’d set up a lovely “game play” area and no one wanted to sit there.  Ultimately, we set it to “party play” and ended up enjoying it more.

So what about ya’ll?  Does your family like to play games?  Do ya’ll fight?  If not, please lie.  I’m clinging to the faint hope that we’re normal.

UPDATE:  Got a lot done today!  Woot! 

 I always make grandiose plans after finishing a book about all the things that I am going to accomplish when I am finished.  I thought I would share this with you, and then let you know what I *actually* get done. 

1.) Clean house

2.) Take down all light fixture globes and wash them.

3.) Move fridge and stove and clean behind them.

4.) Remove clothes from the kids’ closets that no longer fit. (Acutally did that last night–have oodles and free hangers and three hefty bags for goodwill, eBay and my neice.)

5.) Organize all my pictures, which are currently stuffed into drawers in the china cabinet. (Which doesn’t hold china, btw)

6.) Paint my front door a different color.

7.) Buy mums and pansies and redo all of my flower pots outside in the anticipation of a real fall (91 here yesterday, but… )

8.) Clean out my fridge.

9.) Clean baseboards.

10.) Read Susan Carroll’s THE HUNTRESS (Am almost halfway through this and it’s so lush and fabulous.  Beautifully written!)

So what about you?  Are you a list-maker? 

Last night I’d gone to bed early, but hadn’t quite fallen asleep when I heard my youngest asking her father if she could come sleep with me.  I couldn’t make out what he’d said, but a few seconds later I heard her feet padding down the hall, then click of the doorknob turning.  I laid perfectly still, could tell that she was waiting to see if I was asleep or not, before trying to sneak into bed with me.  I waited until she’d just lifted the covers and then–

“Boo!”

She screamed bloody murder and because I am, as I point out in the subject of this post, EVIL, I laughed until I cried.

“Mommy!  How could you do that to me?”

“It was easy.  I said, ‘Boo!!!!!!’” and would you believe the kid screamed again?

What can I say?  A Mom’s got to get her entertainment in anywhere she can.

I happened to catch the last thirty minutes of Steele Magnolias a few nights ago and had forgotten just how much I’d enjoyed that movie.  When the dh walked into the bedroom he took one look at my tear-stained face and stopped dead in his tracts.

“What’s wrong?  Why have you been crying?”

I gestured to the TV.  “I’ve been watching Steel Magnolias.  That was such a good movie.”

Husband stares at me as though I have grown another head. “You realize it’s a movie.”

“And you realize that the baseball game you just watched is just a game, right?”

“That’s different.”

“Do you really think those ball players can hear you screaming at them?”

DH smiles.  “At least I don’t cry.”

“You’re right.”  *innocent look*  “Alabama hasn’t played Auburn yet, have they?”  

(To be fair he doesn’t really cry.  It’s more of an agonized moan of despair. )

This morning my kids were arguing over who was going to get to hold their new cousin first–when she arrives, which could be any day now–and here’s how I decided to handle the solution.  Both kids have guessed the baby’s birth weight and whoever is closer to the actual weight wins the honor.

“I think the baby is going to weigh 7 pounds 4 ounces because Aunt Brooke is HUGE,” my daughter says. (Lessons in tact are clearly in order.)

“I’m guessing 6 pounds 2 ounces,” says my son.  “She’s not that big.  She’s pregnant, idiot.  She’s supposed to be big.”  (I just love how they call eachother names.  It warms a mother’s heart, I can tell you.) ”And if you go over, then you lose.”

“That’s not how we’re playing.  It’s whoever is closer, remember?”

Son puffs up and shoots me a look in which I know my intellect is being called into question.  “Well, that’s not how they do it on The Price is Right.  If you go over, then you LOSE.”

Alrighty then.  That’s good to know.

Last night me and my dh were getting ready to go out–without kids, believe it or not–and the following conversation took place.

“I’m proud of myself,” I say.  “I’ve been going to the gym every day.  Every. Single. Day.”  I shoot him a look.  “Have you been lately?”

dh smiles, flexes his arm muscles at me in a he-man pose and says, “Gym?  Gym?  With a body like this?  That would be like Shakespeare signing up for writing classes.”

And that, dear friends, is another priceless quote from my husband.   I loves me a man with a sense of humor.

I have a new phone.  It’s not nearly as pretty as my Razr, but for what it lacks in style it makes up for with coolness.    It’s an MP3 Player–as though I’ll ever use that–but the neat thing about is I can set specific ringtones for friends and family.  In no particular order, here’s how it’s shaping up so far.

Mom–Every Move You Make, The Police (She dedicated this to me through our local radio station on my sixteenth birthday)

Home–Sweet Home Alabama, Lynryd Skynrd

Kids Line–You’ll Always Be My Baby, Sara Evans

Hubby–Urgent, Foreigner  (I downloaded Beast of Burden, but it won’t let me set that as a ringtone.  )

Son–Bad To the Bone,  George Thorogood

Jen–Glamorous, Fergie

Precious–Born to Be Wild, Steppenwolf

I like the whole lemons to lemonade outlook!  And I love this new phone!  Because I am easily entertained…

Recently my husband and I have been discussing selling his truck and getting something a little better on gas.  He drives almost 60 miles roundtrip to work each day–sometimes twice a day–and the beautiful Titan Quad cab he has is lovely, but it’s a gas-sucker of the first order.  In short, while he-man wonderful, it isn’t practical.   With my son just a couple of short years away from driving, we’ve been talking about cars a lot lately and my daughter, who loves the truck, was worried about what we would buy to replace it.

“So we might sell Daddy’s truck?” she asks.

“We’re thinking about it.  We need something that gets better gas mileage.”

She frowned sort of fearfully.  “We aren’t getting a Mento are we?”

“A Mento?”  I am completely baffled.  We’ve talked about several different options, but a breath mint hasn’t been one of them.

“You know,” she prodded.  “A Mento.  Like your first car.”

At this point I absolutely dissolved into a fit of laughter.  My first car was a bright green 1978 Ford Pinto–which had been hit by a deer–and it was far from lovely.  But *I* loved it because it was my first car, my first key to freedom, and what it lacked in style, it made up for in reliability.  I recently googled the Pinto so my kids could see what it looked like.

Needless to say, they weren’t impressed.

“No, daughter,” I tell her, still snickering.  “We won’t be getting a Mento.” 

A few days ago I bought a paper shredder.  Since then I have been a shredding fool. 

Junk mail? Check. 

Out of date credit cards?  Check. 

M&M wrappers?  Check. 

Business cards with the wrong web address which could just as easily be tossed into the trash without being shredded?  Check. 

There is something so satisfying about hearing that baby chew through the paper and the whole while, I sit and grin like a fool.  Then I start looking for other stuff to shred.

Clearly I need help, or some other new form of enterainment.

Rhonda, off to join Shredders Anonymous…