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Humor | Mary Biever | One Writing Mother
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If You Give a Mom a Shirt

If you give a mom your credit card 3 days before Christmas and tell her to treat herself, she might go shopping.

If she goes shopping, she might find a shirt she likes on the clearance rack.

If she finds a shirt she likes, she might buy it.

If she buys it, she might give it back to you, with the credit card and a suggestion that it would be nice if it were wrapped.

If it’s wrapped, it might go under the Christmas tree.

If it goes under the Christmas tree, she’ll probably open it.

If she opens it and Christmas Day is a  Sunday, she might wear it to church.

If she wears her new shirt to church, she will probably feel happy that she’s wearing her new Christmas present, she likes it, and it fits.

If she feels happy she’s wearing it, she will most likely keep wearing it after church for Christmas dinner.

If she’s still wearing it while she preps Christmas dinner, her husband might notice a problem.

If he notices a problem and says so, she may ask what it is.

If she asks what it is, he could tell her there is still a sticker on the shirt.

If he tells her there is still a sticker on the shirt, she could look down to see it.

If she looks down to see it, she could gasp in dismay.

When she gasps in dismay, she most definitely will yank the sticker off the shirt. A small, round sticker. On the left side of the shirt. She just wore to church in front of God and everybody.

After she yanks off the sticker, she may think but will not say that her Christmas treat ended up being a booby prize.

If she thinks it’s a booby prize, she still will not say whether it was small, medium, large, or extra large.

Though she will not say the size, she will say laughter is always a Christmas treat.

Tis the season!

The Un Christmas Letter

Today’s blog is a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Letters Past in my Family Parenting Adventures….

1998 - I took my kids alone to Disney on Ice in a strange city.  I bought my son, age 2, a harness. He was a running escape artist of locks and carseats.  When we went to the bathroom at intermission, I hooked his harness to the bathroom stall’s coat hook while I went to the bathroom. He unlocked the bathroom door, grabbed his sister, body slammed the door, and tried to escape. The harness hook caught him, while the bathroom line of women stared, wondering what I was doing with my children. An hour later, he broke the harness.

2000 - My neighbors laid a new concrete driveway. All the neighborhood kids played in my yard, and I took them all to watch the cement mixer, admonishing them not to walk in the wet concrete. All the kids behaved until it was time to leave. My son tried to run through the concrete for a shortcut and got 3 steps in before realizing he was ankle deep in concrete. A cement worker picked him up, hosed off his shoes, and redid the driveway.

2001 - My son, age 5, played an actor playing Batman by tying a jump rope to our slide to do the Bat Climb. The rope got loose, he fell, and he broke his arm.

2002 - My daughter, age 8, walked into Borders, angry because I told her I didn’t have enough money to buy her a new book. So she went to the children’s area clerk and loudly said, “My parents don’t allow me to have books and won’t buy me any.”

2004 - My kids sat with a Congressman at a fundraiser while I worked the kitchen. My son, age 8, won a lemonade chugging contest with a friend while he sat there – he drank 20 glasses, while his friend only drank 18. That year, at a banquet, kids shared what they were thankful for. Other kids were thankful for animals, flowers, and family. My son? “Thankful for my guns.”

2006 - My son, age 10 handcuffed himself and a friend to a sculpture at a college art exhibit and sat to see how long it would take me to notice. (half an hour)

My Christmas letters are the story of our family – not just the accomplishments, but the full picture. They remind me why my hair might have turned grey if I didn’t color it.

And why I have laugh lines – I wouldn’t trade a single moment.

RosenKlout & GuildInfluence Are Dead

RosenKlout and GuildInfluence discovered the power of Klout on their Social Media footprints and decided they needed to raise their Klout to show just how influential they really were.

G: Happy birthday!

R: Thanks. Did you Tweet that?

G: Yes. Then I got my 3 month old daughter to Retweet it.

R: I’ll Retweet it and thank you.

G: Then I’ll thank you back.

R: I’ll get my pet dog’s Twitter account to retweet you and post Bark! Bark! at the end of it.

G: Loved the birthday photo on Facebook.

R: Thank you. Did you see I tagged you?

G: Yes. Told you thanks under the picture and then shared it on my wall.

R: Good! Did you see the status I wrote of how much I appreciated everyone’s birthday wishes?

G: Yes. Last I saw, there were 10 comments under it.

R: I liked the first 5. Top News for sure.

G: Top News is good. Should double the number of comments.

R: Next month, I’ll hold a birthday contest and choose one of my friends who wishes me happy birthday and give them a gift card.

G: But your birthday is today.

R: I’ll change it tomorrow. A monthly birthday will increase my Klout 12X the rate of a birthday only once a year.

G: More influence, more Klout.

R: More Klout, more influence.

G: Amazing how our Klout scores are always the same.

R: Our Klout scores ARE nearly the same. Amazing, isn’t it?

G: Time to check in to buy your birthday cake. 4square and Facebook Places.

R: If you have a birthday and don’t Tweet/Facebook it, you have no social media life.

G: Or Klout.

R: Influence matters.

G: Stop moving so I can take a picture of your picking up your birthday cake. Then it’s time for the party.

R: I already blogged 5 Steps to the Perfect Birthday Party.

G: Funny. I blogged Excellent Parties in 5 Easy Steps and linked yours.

Unfortunately, as RosenKlout and GuildInfluence were discussing their social media strategy to maximize facetime from RosenKlout’s monthly birthday party, they walked through a red light and directly into the path of a truck.

If someone had taken a photo of the accident and Tweeted/Facebooked it, their Klout would have skyrocketed.

Unfortunately, no one did. If it isn’t on Facebook, it isn’t official.

So no one knows what happened.  Though blogs have been written….

From the Diary of Noah's Wife

Hello God?

You were talking to Noah this afternoon.  Well, this is Noah’s wife, and now I want to talk to you.

You told him to build a boat?  Don’t you know that man can’t catch a fish to save his life?

Don’t you know our plans for our farm? We’re growing it so it can support not only us but each of our son’s families as well.  Just getting the garden in and harvested, and taking care of the animals is a full time job.

I don’t even know the last time we had time to sit down.  Sometimes we’re so busy building the homestead we barely have time to have family time alone together.

Don’t you know how mean our neighbors are? What are they going to say when he starts building a boat? The closest water in walking distance is a creek, and we don’t need a boat to cross it.

And he says you want a big boat? With animals? Just where are those animals going to come from? He says the boys are going to help him build that boat too?

I don’t get it. Build a boat, you say. If he and the boys are building the boat, who will take care of the animals we do have – not just those you say we’re going to get?

When I asked him questions, he told me I needed a little faith.

If you didn’t tell him to build that boat and he’s gone crazy, would you stop him now before he turns our world upside down? Maybe give ME a hint so I know if it’s real or not?

If you did tell him to build that boat, would you tell me what to do and how to handle this?

Pitch? You said get some pitch? I’m not sure how that can help, but I’ll try.

Lord, if you called him to build a boat, show him what to do when he makes a leap of faith.

And if he makes that leap of faith, would you show me how to handle it so I can make a leap of trust?

Thanks for listening, God. After dinner, I’ll see if I can find something big to mix some pitch. Maybe that would be a good olive branch after I spouted off when he told me about the boat.

The Chicken Text

If hens could text, this is what they would say. Written to the tune of the Chicken Dance.

Our eggs are laid. Our eggs are laid. (They wave their beaks)

Come get them now. Come get them now. (They flap their wings.)

Our eggs are laid. Our eggs are laid. (They shake their tails.)

Come get them now. Come get them now. (They clap their beaks.)

Oh girls, let’s beware the rooster. He is prowling about.

We can outsmart him.  We’ll run faster, escape, and wear him out. (During the chorus, the hens race to outrun the rooster before he catches them.)

Repeat the song all morning. Then all afternoon. The hens win some and lose some. Until it’s evening and time for the chickens to come home to roost.

[For real time updates on this song, check the Tweeting Hen’s Twitter.]

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