Thursday Throwbacks

 Because this will always crack me up! Six years ago. Good gracious! It's crazy.

Michelle's oldest daughter is almost the age that William was when this movie was made. 

Prank Calls

Ring, Ring, Ring!

(snickersnickersnicker)

Click:

" Hello.  Piggly Wiggly." (A southeastern U.S. grocery chain.)

(Pause; the sound of breathing and muffled laughter...)

"Do you have Prince Edward?  In a can?"

"Let me check."  (Pause, pause, pause) "Yes, we do."

"Well, you better let him out before he suffocates!"  BWAHAHAHAHA!

Click.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That one is a 1950s prank my mother tells us they pulled a few times before all the stores got wise to it.  But the following is a classic that we tried in the seventies:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ring, Ring, Ring!
Click:
"Hello"
"Hello?"

"Yes?"
 "How may I help you, Sir?"



"Excuse me, you're the one who just called me!'
"Sorry sir, but you just called me."
"No, you are the one who called me."
 "Who is this?"
"Who is that??"

Etc.,etc.,
The person may hang up or you might do so first.
You can call the same person up after some time and say...
"It's you again! I'm going to report you to the cops!"
Click.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And then, there are these examples ~ every one a classic:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ring, Ring, Ring! 
 Click:
"Hi! Is your refigerator running?"
 If they say "Yes," tell them they'd better run and catch it. 
 But, if they've heard the joke before and say "No," reply:  Oh, well, this is Sears Home Repair Service, we'll be right over!"
Click.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ring, Ring, Ring!
Click:
"Hello, this is Denver International Airport's complimentary paging service.  Please speak clearly the name of the party you would like paged, followed by its spelling..."
"Yes, hello.  We're hoping to locate a Mr. Tabooger: T-A-B-O-O-G-E-R. Mr. Ollie Tabooger."

Or, alternatively: "Miss Huggenkiss: H-U-G-G-E-N-K-I-S-S.  Amanda Huggenkiss."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ring, Ring, Ring!
Click: 
"The Library Bar and Grill, Mike speaking."

"Yes. Hi.  I'm looking for someone I think is there, my buddy, Al...  Can you page him?  His name is  Mr. Coholic... Al Coholic."
Mike, overheard, saying to the people at the bar: "Is there an Al Coholic here?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Backstory:  A young man (a senior in high school) who is a dear family friend let slip on FB that he and oldest daughter, Michelle, had indulged in a little prank calling over the summer when we were all together.  Sheesh!  Like I wasn't going to see that, kids?  Seriously!  See what happens when  you friend a Mom on FB -- and then brag about prank calling?

Not only does she gets to reminiscing about all the prank calling she did as a youth, but she blogs about it.

Ha!
 But no worries, kids.  Though I cannot condone this behaviour and keep my parent-in-good-standing license, I have to say that prank calls are truly a right of passage.  They're the natural progeny of our pre-telephone ancestor's pranks.

 You know the sorts of things they did, don't you?  Back in my grandparent's day, bands of teenagers would switch cow herds from one farm to another in the middle of the night to see how long it took the farmers to notice.  Or they'd disassemble tractors and re-assemble them on the roofs of barns.  Or knock over outhouses.  Or city kids would completely block the entrances to storefronts or grease the front steps of apartment buildings... Yikes!  Can you imagine?

All things being relative, I'd say crank calls were a perfectly fine alternative.

But, don't call me, 'cause I just might turn the tables on you, kids.

Hugs and a Shout Out to Omar and his partners in crime.  You're over this stage, right? 
Warning to all Davis children and friends of Davis children under 16:  I never said any of the above. And I'm gonna be really annoyed if I hear you've tried any of these pranks.  Let it be known!

Table Talk

 Over Chicken soup and garlic bread this evening...
We break in on the following conversation just as the family has been informed by an, um, informer that our kindergartener, William, has been cutting up in class...

Mommy: William, don't I tell you every morning not to be silly at school?

William: But school is seeeeven hours...

And there I was for a half second, thinking, "Poor little guy; I guess that is a long time to hold back something that comes so naturally to him...." That's what I was thinking, mind you, until he added:

 And I forget as soon as I go in the door.

And there ya have it, folks. At least he tells it like it is.

And, yes, we laughed. 
Which is why he continues to be the class clown everywhere he goes.

Here's William, five years old.  Thirty seconds of him:

What's not to laugh at?

Filed Under:

Things That Tickle My Funny Bone

Spotted in a parking lot somewhere in Denver



Mr. Taylor is the little boys' new hero.  The girls think that,  considering his second
 reason for good health, he probably never had a chance to try out the first reason...



 

Oh, and here, incidentally, is Charlie's water wheel, just outside Idaho Springs, Colorado



Just inside the gates at Heritage Square Amusement Park near Golden, Colorado...
If it were outside the gates, they might have fewer patrons, I'm thinking.
(But ya gotta love the sense of humor... and the cautionary hint!)

At Heritage Square -- lots of great photo ops like these:

And where all the children got to take a couple of turns on the Alpine Slide -- the first time any of them had been on the slide, or on a ski lift chair...

Here's William:

And here's the view looking back:

Were they scared? 

Are you kidding?

They didn't want the rides to end!

Above pictured are Anna and Cathy -- Cathy in a sling because she hyper-extended her elbow doing acrobatics off a swing a couple weeks ago (=sigh=) -- but that's not enough to stop our Cathy, heaven knows.
William rode down with me or Dan, and thought we went to slow.  Everyone had a wonderful time -- even Theresa, who took a spill half way down the mountain... (only a half dozen more sessions with the chiropractor to see the end of the Alpine Slide now...).  And her middle aged mother  had a blast, too, but she had not expected to be engaging in such activities that morning when she got dressed and wore a long green gypsy skirt that caught the wind and flew up over her head half way down the mountain while racing Michelle... (Now, seriously; don't even try to imagine that picture! ) No worries, though -- there was not a soul in sight as I rounded a hidden corner  -- and you can imagine I whipped that skirt back down and tucked it under me faster than a wink!  But, alas, the kafoffle caused me to lose time, and Michelle beat me down the mountain.  Drat.  There will be a rematch eventually.

Then there was Michelle's Surprise Sweet Sixteen Party.

We scheduled it almost a month ahead of her birthdate to make sure...

                ...she was clueless.

               

And she was.

But also Thrilled as only she can be... 

But Speechless??

Never!

And the following photos are just random goofiness.



William just loves  our friend, Sarah -- she's so durn cute (and he'll tell you that!), but she's also a nice sharer and a wonderful influence.  All afternoon at the volleyball park one Sunday in Denver William "shared" this little critter -- apparently called a "Twonkie" --  back and forth with Sarah, in an unprecedented-for-William attempt to outdo someone else in niceness.  They were so nice, they were almost disgusting.  It was lovely.

I have no idea where this photo came from on my camera.I'm wondering if the little ants that have been invading us through the porch door borrowed my camera early one morning and took this shot...   I think that's the corner of our back porch you see there.



Classic Silly.  What can I say?

 

And this one? A little dear caught in the headlights.

 

Dreams

So, last night -- or rather, this morning right before William came in and woke me up, I had a pip of a dream.  I usually don't remember my dreams, but this one stuck with me.  And since I woke up and told it to William, I remember it still.  (Isn't it weird the way we forget dreams most of the time, just the instant we open our eyes and take in the real world?) 

Anyway, here it is:

The field between our church and the rectory had been plowed and there were big piles of dirt and deep creases in the ground.  My friend, Mary H., from our Denver parish, was visiting and I was showing her around the property.   She was a few steps ahead of me, picking her way through the dirt piles to go see the beautiful grotto at the edge of our church property and I was walking a few steps behind her when a skunk appeared from behind a hill just behind Mary.  I went, "Psst!  Psst! Mary!  Mary!"  in as loud a whisper as I could manage. 

"Slowly, quietly walk toward the rectory," I said  "There's a skunk behind you!" 

I don't know whether she actually heard me or not, though, because as soon as the words escaped my lips,  the skunk turned around and started walking toward me!  I literally spun on my heels in panic (doing exactly what I didn't want Mary to do) and started to run away from the skunk.  But the next thing I knew, I was lying on my face in the dirt.  AGH!  I didn't know where the skunk was and I was afraid to get up, afraid to say anything to Mary to ask her.  So, I just lie (lie,lay, laid, lain...) lay there silently, quivering.  Until...

I felt the barest weight and soft little feet, padding up and over my legs: one, two, three, four.  I wanted to scream, but knew I couldn't...

Ayeeeeeek! (I shrieked silently)  And then I woke up.  In practically a cold sweat.  With William having crawled into bed beside me.

Little stinker.

Pigtails

When I was a little girl, my mother struggled to make sense out of my sister's and my hair.  We both had thick, curly tangles that were both the pride and the bane of her existence.  Oh, my goodness, how well I remember the torture of getting our hair done in the morning! Mom had a silver metal comb she used to murder her way throught the knots.  Nina and I still talk about that comb.  My Mom says it was the only thing she could use that wouldn't break in our hair -- so you can imagine the knotty messes she had to go through -- and how we felt about it.  And, to make matters worse, the style du jour of the late sixties was pigtails. Back in the days of Buffy and Jody, they were thee thing for little girls. Poor us... pigtails were as good a way as any to corral our curly locks, and my mother was a brave Navy wife, so we were in for it...  

Until my Mom couldn't take it any more and took my little sis and me to the "pooty parlour" where she had those curly locks snipped right off, to the protestations of the beauticians who said it was a crime to cut off our beautiful hair.  To which my mother responded, "Well, then, you come over to our house every morning and comb out the knots!"  Which, of course they weren't going to do.  So they cut our curls and taped a couple of them to their mirrors, and we went home with bouncy little bobs and said goodbye to the silver comb of torture, thus ending the days of the pigtails.

For Nina and me.

Though they really aren't the thing anymore, we still do the "do"  here at our house occasionally.  And let me say this about them -- from the other side of the comb: Pigtails are not just a hairdo, they are art.  

I spent a good ten minutes this morning making Anna some before school and we're both still recovering from the stress. It's a job requiring the skill of a watch maker, the eye of an artist, and the patience of a saint.  First, you have to find something to make the part straight, which in our house is a challenge in itself. As there are never combs to be found, we have to be creative.  It was a pencil we resorted to this morning. After four daughters and many years of doing this, we've discovered that pencil lead doesn't leave a mark on the scalp. A mechanical pencil with the lead stuck in is our parter of choice, generally, but we couldn't find one, so a yellow number two had to do. 

Once you've found a parting instrument, the real work begins, though.  It's all about dividing the hair evenly into halves with as straight a line as possible from the bangs to the hairline at the neck.  Considering a fairly artistic eye and a steady hand, this would be easy-peasy if  I didn't have to factor in the wiggling little girl who belongs to the head I'm working on -- who turns her head just when I'm drawing the part and whines at every knot the brush finds. But, with perserverence, after two or three attempts, I get the part down the actual middle of her head and, with a little tweaking with the pencil, I manage a fairly straight line.   Then I grab my brush and smooth out the first section over her left ear, and gathering it into my left hand, I take the pony-tail holder from between my teeth  and wrap it around the pigtail several times, nice and tight up against her head.  But, you know those funny, messy little hair-bumps you get when all the hair's not quite brushed smooth?  Yeah, well, can't have that. We do it over, and, successfully rebrushed and refastened, Anna wriggles and sighs and rolls her eyes.  But  we aren't done yet.  There's still the second pigtail to capture and secure and it's the problem of getting that second pigtail even and symmetrical that ends many a pigtail quest...

But, in the end, it's worth the trouble.

Have you seen that greeting card?  It's right when it says:

                                                                         Pigtails

They're like a party for your hair.

Yep.  Because we all know how much behind-the-scenes work goes into a party.

Does The Couch Look Like A Trampoline To You?

Stupid question.

(Cathy is only allowed to do this when nobody else is around -- and nobody in this house under the age of twelve is allowed to look at this blog post today.  I would have a three-ring circus of tumbling monkeys all over my furniture otherwise, as you might imagine... )

(Oh, and I guess you can chalk up the leniency to the weakness of a former gymnast who would have given her eye teeth to flip off the family hassock herself when she was a child...  If I had better health insurance, I might be tempted to try it even now.)

Theresa and I got to go on our girls' day out on Wednesday.  We got in some school shopping and some thrifting -- a favorite hobby of mine. This Mama's gotten so many play-days off lately going out with each of the kids that one might think she was taking advantage of having ten children to goof off or something...  It's just one of the perks.  One I recommend all Big Family Moms take advanatage of!

So, anyway, it was Theresa's turn for a day out, and she had a short list for shopping, but we also popped into a walk-in salon and had our hair styled, the two of us.  Theresa's hair is very thick and wavy and hard for an eleven-year-old to take care of, so we wanted to thin it out a bit and add some shape.  We love how it turned out:

My hair had reached perennial-pony-tail stage and I just needed a change, so I had it layered and shortened.  This is my new grandma-to-be do:

Without the weight to hold 'em down, the curls have escaped and are having a party.  I'm not sure how I like it, but my husband gave it the thumbs up so I guess it's ok.  (He's taken to remarking when a curl fluff goes completely off the reservation -- which is lovely, actually, because I never thought  before that he noticed that I had hair...)

But, I digress...  After our shopping and salon time, Theresa and I had planned to go on a hike, but, of course some afternoon thunder showers rolled in, so we made the drive to town to see The Sorcerer's Apprentice, instead.  You might remember I took Dominic to see it on his day out a couple weeks ago,  and when Michelle's turn came she had to see it, so, of course when Theresa's day came, she had to see it, too... So, I've seen this movie three times now within two and a half weeks.   

The sorcer, the apprentice and I are getting sick of the sight of each other. 

And I stll have four kids to go.

 But it is a rare, relatively clean movie: only one definitely distinguishable Lord's name in vain and only one character in the end with objectionable attire (and we didn't have to see much of her).  The story line is an action-packed old-fashioned tale of good versus evil where the good are obviously good and work hard and honorably to eventually defeat the obviously evil bad guys.  And they did an admirable job of working in the iconic scene from Fantasia.  Truly, I don't really mind trotting the children out one by one to see this movie.  But, heavens above!  Hand me my hair clippers! Maybe Nicolas Cage's long messy locks were just being in character, but I have to tell you, if I were a sorceress, I'd wave my wand -- or magic ring -- and whisk a comb and clippers through his hair. Forget the brooms and mops!
On that subject (and no,  there couldn't  possibly be a more trivial subject matter, I agree...), I present to you:  

 Nicolas (no "h")
Through The Years
(Or Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow; Back Again)

(1)

Young Nick. There's the forehead, big sideburns, goatee
(So young and green here he's not even in focus yet)

(2)

Nick with lotsa hair!
(Speculative scowl)

(3)

Practically hairless, all forehead
(Meditative, suave -- scowl ready to use in his shirt pocket)

(4)

Nick a little older:  lots of forehead, no sideburns, long fringe in back
(Thoughtful scowl)

(5)

Nick sporting cool shades under big forehead, no sideburns,  short fluff
(Bewildered scowl)

(6)

NIck with more fluff, but still not touching collar,
sprouting distinguished grey facial hair
(Either chipper or snide scowl here, I can't decide)

The newest Nick look from Sorcerer's Apprentice
(The old man version of shot #2, getting ready to scowl)

So, what do you think?

 I like hair #2, but it wouldn't be bad with a version of facial hair #6/7...

And, not that it matters, but...  I guess I like Nick, especially in movies I can go see with my children, like Sorcerer. He has nice eyes and bold screen presence.  And he's dependable.  He's one of those actors you can always depend upon to play himself, always the same (somewhat flat) inflection accompanying some variation of the Nicolas scowl -- but with different wardrobe and ever-changing hair.  He's no Dan, but for a movie actor, he's passable.