Why I Will Be Celebrating This Labor Day

I Am Not In Labor

I Don't Like White Shoes

The First Day

OK, we're here!

Yeah.

This is Miss Thompson's room. See?

Uh-huh.

It looks like a lot of kids are already in there.

Yep.

You know, Kindergarten is nothing to be scared about.

I know that.

There are lots of new kids to meet and the teacher is really nice.

I guess.

And you know we'll see each other after school, right?

Right.

Are you crying?

Noooo.

Do you want a hug?

Yeah.

Here you go. Now you need to let go of me. Come on, let go.

Alright.

Mommy, are you going to be OK?

Yeah, Sam. I'll be fine.

Well, then, goodbye!

Goodbye, Sam. Goodbye, my baby.

A Hypothetical Question

Suppose that one day a very good-looking woman has to get into her Volvo to drive home from the mall. (Not that it matters, but the woman was only at the mall because Estee Lauder had a "free gift with purchase" and, even though most of their make-up smells like old lady hair, she still likes their More Than Mascara because it doesn't clump up and make her look like an East Texas tranny on holiday. Plus, the patented Lash-Defining Wand is, of course, magical.)

Unfortunately for the woman, the Volvo that she now has to get into has been sitting in the 95 degree sun for over an hour. This is not bueno, thinks the woman, for she has put her amazing 8th grade knowledge of Science to use and brilliantly deduced that it is probably even hotter inside the car than outside the car. (The woman thinks this is called Freud's Theory of Naivety.)

The woman is now very worried because it is extremely hot outside the car and the woman is already sweating like a whore in church. Also, someone just spontaneously combusted over by the Sears Tire Center.

Alas, the woman has no choice but to get into her car because a babysitter is watching her kids and, if she is late again, the babysitter will not come back and then the woman will have to use Tasha The Skanky Teenager to babysit the next time there is a "free gift with purchase" and then she'll have to put parental locks on her computer so Tasha doesn't invite over another 40 year-old alcoholic carnival worker she met on MySpace. Oh, poor, poor very good-looking woman.

But then, as the brave and really quite youthful woman opens the door of the car and prepares to step into the blast furnace on wheels, she stops because she has thought of a hypothetical question and hypothetical questions always need hypothetical answers. Hypothetically, anyway.

What the woman wants to know is, if the inside of a woman's car is heated to an oven temperature of 350 degrees and the woman sits inside the car for 20-25 minutes and, while sitting inside the car, the woman somehow develops a yeast infection, when she finally gets out of the car, will her pants be full of biscuits?

Discuss.

What Not To Say When You Meet A Woman With A Kid Named "Maverick"

So I'm guessing your baby's name is Goose?

The Play's The Thing

Last Friday was the boys' final day of camp. They've been going to a half-day "Creative Kids" program run by one of the local arts groups. This summer they've participated in three two-week sessions, each with its own prevailing theme. The first session was “Dinosaurs”, which they liked because they made cave paintings, the second, "South of the Border", which they liked because they made maracas and the third, "Great Masters", which they liked because they learned that in the art world, throwing tantrums and spilling paint on the floor doesn’t make you a bad boy. It makes you Jackson Pollock.

Although the boys would have much preferred something like “Lightsaber Camp” or “Eat at McDonald's For Every Meal Camp”, I signed them up for “Creative Kids” because I’m worried they don’t experience enough art and drama at home. Well, art, anyway. It’s just that I really want to see them grow creatively. Artistically. And although I’ve tried to draw and paint with them myself, most of the time our art sessions quickly escalate into them chasing the cat with a glue stick or launching crayons off of the dining room table. It’s sort of like bad performance art underwritten by Crayola and Pepperidge Farm. Add in two hours of cleaning up and you can see why I now pay someone else to expand their right brains.

Besides the artistic merits, there are two other reasons I love taking the kids to this camp. First, I get three hours of freedom each morning in which to do the Lord's work. And by the Lord's work, I mean skulking around the mall, drinking my weight in Diet Coke and searching for the Proactiv kiosk. (Because clear skin is the holiest of the holy grails.) And second, the camp gives me a good dose of Austin city folk. By that, I mean that since kids from all over the city attend, there’s a little more diversity than I usually see in my own neighborhood. After months of nothing but parents with SUVs, good jewelry and mom jeans, it’s kind of nice to meet parents with tattoos, piercings and kids named Lightin’ Bug. Plus, for once I’m not the only adult wearing a wrinkled, tie-dyed t-shirt. (Although I’m probably the only one who got it from Nordstrom’s “Individualist” department.)

After two weeks of getting messy and learning about painters like Moonay, each camp session ends in an Open House where the kids perform a show for the parents. I was really excited about this because, up until now, the only thing I’d ever see my boys perform was half-assed amateur surgery on dead worms. And now, now they were going to be actors. No, stars! Celebrities! They were one measly talent scout away from their own show on Nick Jr. and hangin’ with Lindsay at Promises Malibu. OMG! This was awesome!

Or not so much. My strange flare of stage mothering quickly burned out as painful memories of my own theatrical career came to mind. There was the time I was the purple flower with no lines. The time I was the green plant with no lines. The time I was the apple with no lines. Of course I never became a TV star--I was typecast as mute vegetation by the age of 10. Finally, there was the incident that has forever kept me from ever again stepping foot on stage. I suppose I should have been happy I was the lead in the play, even though the only reason I got the part of Abraham Lincoln was because I was the tallest kid in the third grade, but come on. Even Meryl Streep would have bombed trying to recite the “Emancipation Proclamation” with a black, felt beard covering half her face. I was like Honest Abe as a Wookiee.

And so it was with some apprehension that I watched the boys’ first show at the end of the Dinosaur session. I knew Sam, the oldest, would be fine since he’s pretty outgoing, but I was a little worried about Jack as I suspect that, like me, he was born without the performing gene. If he and I were in “High School Musical”, we’d be the ones hiding in a locker singing through the air vents.

The show began with the older kids tromping into the room dressed in cardboard pterodactyl costumes, including paper plate masks that must have obscured their vision because they kept bumping into each other and loudly yelling “Hey!” They stood in formation and began a choreographed dance, complete with high-pitched pterodactyl screeches, and then, in what can only be described as avant-garde theater at its finest, they took the stage two at a time and proceeded to tell self-written knock-knock jokes. The whole thing was very Off-Off-Off-Good-God-Are-We-Off Broadway. Totally genius.

Next came Jack’s group--the 3 year-olds. Jack marched right in, stood in front of the audience, then froze for a good two minutes while the rest of the kids danced. I kept waiting for the tears to come, but he then managed to get up on stage to tell the first knock-knock joke. Here’s the joke: “Knock, knock. Who’s there? Banana. Banana who? Banana hospital.” Yeah, not exactly Chris Rock caliber, but kind of cute in its own way. Unfortunately, the rest of the kids thought it was high-larious, so we then had to sit through nine more tellings of it. I actually found myself wishing I was at a Gallagher show being splashed by watermelon.

The next Open House was at the end of “South of the Border” week. The kids sang a song in what sounded like Swahili but was most likely Spanish, then waved around the brightly colored flags they’d made. Again, Sam did fine. Jack? Jack held a flag and stood frozen like a statue for five minutes. Kind of like Sylvester Stallone, only with a hint more emotion.

Then the final camp session began and surprisingly, one day Jack came home singing “It’s A Hard Knock Life” and proudly showing off the dance moves he was learning for the performance. He loved it. Finally, I thought. He’s finally getting into it and enjoying himself. Maybe he was destined to meet Lindsay after all. Maybe I should start contacting talent agents. Maybe I should even start subscribing to "Variety". I just knew this show was going to be a hit.

Sam’s group went first, singing “There’s No Business Like Show Business”. He did great, but unfortunately was drowned out by the 5 year-old Nathan Lane next to him. Then it was Jack’s turn. He looked at me, gave me a huge smile, then climbed onstage with his group. I got my camera ready and waited. The song began, the kids started belting it out and Jack…stared at his shoes and looked like he was being punished. Oh, well, I thought. So he’s probably not ever going to like being an actor. That’s OK. Not everyone’s cut out for performing. Not everyone needs to stand in front of an audience. In fact, isn’t that why they become... directors? I wonder if there's a camp for that.

A Collection Of Some of My Recent Failed Attempts At Humor

#1:

Realistic Yo Mama Jokes

Yo mama so fat, she use your college fund to pay for her gastric bypass operation and now you gots to work at Circle K to pay for your tuition.

Yo mama so tired, she got big dark circles under her eyes and now the other mothers think she a mini-van driving heroin addict.

Yo mama so mean, she make you brush your teeth with toothpaste from China.

#2:

From The New Line of Attitude T's For Moms

Will Vacuum for Wine!

One Hot Housewife!

I Don't Know Who Their Father Is Either!

Two Beers Away From Showing You My C-Section Scar!

#3:

How Hot Was It?

It was so hot, I walked on some hot coals to cool off my feet.

It was so hot, I saw a menopausal woman spontaneously combust at Michael's Craft Store and set the yarn balls on fire.

It was so hot, my landscaping died, which is actually really sad because I spent a lot of time and money on it and you know, death isn't really a laughing matter even if it's just a hibiscus plant we're talking about, right?

#4:

Names of the Seven Dwarfs If They Lived in Austin in the Summer

Surly, Smelly, Rancid, Rashy, Homicidaly, Sticky and Doc.

What's for Dinner Tonight?

Whatever falls on my foot when I open the freezer.

Things That Go Bump

Did you hear that?

Hear what?

That noise.

No. Go back to sleep.

There! Do you hear it now?

If I say yes, will you stop talking?

Oh, my God! There it is again! I think you should go check it out.

Calm down, it's nothing.

It's not nothing! It's most definitely something. Like...oh, no! Do you think it's...it's...devil worshipers?

Yeah, that's exactly what I think it is. And since they're probably looking for virgin blood, I also think you're the safest person in the neighborhood right now. Go to sleep.

What if it's robbers? Do you think it's robbers? Are they going to steal my jewelry collection?

Only if they're fans of Claire's Boutique and QVC.

Stop kidding around! This is serious! You know, after the man who's prowling around our house abducts me in order to sell me into the white slavery trade in Stockholm, where my body type goes for big bucks, by the way, when that guy puts me into the back of his Prius, but forgets to lock the doors so that when I later fight him off using my mad Billy Blanks Tae-Bo moves, the door flies open, propelling me right onto I-35 and right into the path of a speeding lumber truck and then you have to leave a business meeting to come identify me like I'm some kind of roadkill, only with a good haircut and blond highlights, when that happens, you won't be laughing.

I wouldn't be so sure about that.

OOO! There it is again! The noise! Hey, where are you going?

To the kitchen.

But...but...you need a weapon! Here, take this!

You want me to fight off The Manson Family with a Sharper Image white noise machine? What, am I going to "ocean waves" them to death?

Hold on...should I call 911?!

Sure. Tell them you've just made a citizen's arrest of our ice maker.

The...ice maker? Oh, yeah...that makes perfect sense. Ha! Guess I was being kind of silly, huh?

That's not the word I would use.

(yawn) Well, everything's fine now. Sorry I woke you up. Good night.

Good night. Get some sleep. And try not to think about whatever's scratching on the bathroom window.

OK. Wait---scratching?!

How Many Days Until School Starts?

Would you please stop arguing with your brother?
I'm not arguing with him.
Yes, you are.
No, I'm not.
Yes, you are.
No, I'm not.
(sigh) OK, see what you did there? You just started another argument.
No, I didn't.
Yes, you did.
No, I didn't.
Yes, you...Ohhhh, you're good. But I am SO not going to take your bait, man.
Yes, you are.
No, I'm not.
Yes, you are.
No, I'm...STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW! YOU'RE DRIVING ME INSANE!!
No, I'm not.
Oh, my God. Listen, if I wanted to argue with a crazy person all day I'd call my freak college roommate and tell her I believe in the theory of evolution.
No, you wouldn't.
Yes, I...AUGH!!! KNOCK IT OFF! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE!
Yes, you can.
Listen to me closely, mister. From this point on, you will no longer argue with anyone. I want you to act like a big boy. In fact, I want you to act like the most important guys in the world do. These are the guys who never, ever argue.
Who are they?
They're called "Yes Men". And they work at every major corporation and government agency in America.
(Long, thoughtful pause.)
No, they don't.

For Sale: Two Cats, Slightly Used

Attention cat lovers! The opportunity of a lifetime has finally arrived! You, yes YOU, can now own two of the WORLD'S FINEST FELINES! Yes, friends, it's true. For a limited time only, the dashing duo known to their current owners as "the Jackass Twins" is FOR SALE! Unbelievable! Yes, they're cute, they're cuddly, they're incontinent and now they can be YOURS! Oh, for the love of God, somebody pinch me!

You see, people, due to a rather unfortunate incident involving a king size mattress, brand new 500-thread count sheets and various odoriferous substances currently being tested in a downtown forensic lab, these amazing cats must now look for a "NEW GODDAMN PLACE TO LIVE"! Heartwrenching! But fear not, fur fans, because their loss is your gain!

Just think for a moment, friends---is there anything more fun and rewarding than living with two 15 year-old cats? Oh, hell to the no! Why, just imagine the joy you'll have with these furballs during the 20 minutes a day they're awake. Watch them track pee-filled litter clumps all over your newly washed floors! Listen to them start whining for food at 5:30 a.m.! Whack yourself out on four different medications for your now debilitating cat allergies! And shake your head in wonder when their daily pukefests on your off-white carpet create permanent stains that greatly reduce the value of your home! Oh, Lawdy! Calls up the doctah 'cause I gots me sum dat Cat Scratch Fevah! Meeee-owww!

How much does a deal like this cost, you ask? $100? $200? $300? NO WAY! For a limited time only, both cats are available for WHATEVER THE HELL YOU WANT TO PAY! Cash, credit, Chuck E. Cheese tokens, we'll take it! Yowza! Plus, if you order in the next hour, we'll throw in a Boodaloo litter box, non-melamine tainted cat food and a case of carpet cleaner! Wow! We must be CRA-ZAY-ZEE! So call and order your cats today before they once again do something kind of cute and redeem themselves! These babies won't last! ORDER NOW!

Offer not valid in the continental U.S. Shipping and handling not included. No C.O.D.'s. Actual cats may be more annoying than advertised.