Pick-Up Lines My 6 Year-Old Son Uses To Impress Much Older Waitresses

Did you know that I'm 6 years-old? I need to use two hands to show you that many fingers.

Look, I can write my whole name...with lowercase letters.

Thanks for the chips, Lindsey. Did you see what a good eater I was?

Yeah, I'm in Kindergarten. It's pretty cool, I guess.

Look! I finished my spaghetti!

Him? That's my brother. He's only in preschool. He's still just learning his colors. By the way, I like your RED shirt and BLACK pants.

So, think you'd like to see my lightsaber some time?

What I Learned When I Spoke To The Second Graders About A Career In Screenwriting

1. I don't actually have a career in screenwriting

2. The script I wrote was never made into a movie

3. I should be really, really sad my script was never made into a movie

4. Seriously, aren't I really, really sad my script was never made into a movie?

5. Maybe if my script had better writing, it'd be made into a movie

6. Maybe if I put wrestlers in my script, it'd be made into a movie

7. Wrestlers are stupid. Don't listen to Hunter.

8. Maybe if I put a singer/model in my script, it'd be made into a movie

9. Singer/models are more stupider, Madison. And they can't jump.

10. My hair looks like Hannah Montana's, only not as shiny

How To Make Gingerbread Men

Step 1: Mix together flour, ginger, baking soda, cinnamon, shortening, butter, sugar and molasses. If out of an ingredient, OK to substitute packets of Splenda stolen from Starbucks.

Step 2: While dough refrigerates for 1 hour, clean kitchen and/or watch "The Real Housewives of Orange County" to see what that cougar Tami is up to this week. Wonder what it's like to have an immobile top lip.

Step 3: Roll out dough on lightly floured surface. After 20 minutes, finally understand why hillbilly women hit people with rolling pins.

Step 4: Press rolled dough into non-stick gingerman cookie pan bought at Williams-Sonoma for large amount of money. Quickly realize money would have been better spent on prepackaged cookies. Or six-pack. Say something nasty about Rachel Ray.

Step 5: Place Gingermen in oven and set timer for 8 minutes. Remove from oven as soon as timer dings or kids ask, "Why is there a black cloud in the kitchen, mommy?"

Step 6: While Gingerpeople cool, scoop store-bought frosting into five different bowls. Pour in food coloring and mix. Frosting is now every color of the rainbow. So are fingertips and cashmere socks.

Step 7: Call boys into kitchen and set them loose on decorating Gingermen. Smile at the lovely Christmas memory in the making and hope cookies will be cute enough to bring to the Preschool Mother's Holiday social tomorrow.

Step 8: Take a look at finished Gingerbread Men.



Lose all hope.

Step 9: Tell boys that after 3 hours of baking, they've made the freakiest batch of Gingerbread Men you've ever seen. But also the best. Sit down in front of fire and bite off heads 'til bedtime.

No More With The Decor

I don’t do holiday decorations. Lighted trees, animated nativity scenes, herds of lit-up reindeer loitering on the lawn like they’re waiting for a 5 o’clock bus…you won’t see any of that in my front yard. Actually, come mid-December, you won’t see my front yard at all. That’s because compared to the rest of the flashing, blinking houses lighting up our neighborhood, we look like the one casino on the strip who forgot to pay their light bill. The Caesar’s Palace of Deadbeats.

It’s not that I dislike Christmas. Or Santa. Or electricity. I just don’t feel the need to combine them. I’d rather spend my December weekends curled up on the couch reading a book than perched atop a 10 foot ladder stringing bubble lights over the garage. And while most people say they decorate for their children’s sake, I’m sure my kids aren’t suffering any. At least not as much as they would be if we had to cash in their savings bonds to pay for the use of 50,000 kilowatts. Besides, if the boys want to see a thousand strings of light, all they have to do is put on their sunglasses and look at the neighbor’s house. That damn thing’s so covered with holiday cheer, it’s the only thing on our planet visible from space besides the Great Wall of China. Plus, it blinks.

There’s another reason I’m not decorating my house this Christmas and that’s the sad fact that our street has been hit by a rather nasty crime wave this year. Over the past month, my neighbors have awakened only to find their yards littered with the lifeless bodies of poor, helpless, innocent victims. Yes, there, motionless on their lawns, lie stabbed inflatable Snowmen, decapitated Santas and, perhaps the worst offense of all, wire reindeer that, sometime during the night, were repositioned into acts I’m pretty sure are still illegal in Texas. They definitely give new meaning to the phrase “On Dasher!”, anyway. So the point is, even if I did put up an inflatable snow globe filled with ice skating penguins and hockey playing polar bears, I’d then have to surround my yard with inflatable Rottweilers, inflatable security guards and an inflatable alarm system and honestly, who wants the hassle of that? I get winded blowing up a balloon.

This December, I’m going to just relax. Take it easy. Maybe if I get caught up in the season, I’ll suck it up and buy a couple of poinsettias for the front porch. Or hang up a wreath. But really, isn't the holiday spirit that’s inside of us what really counts? Isn't the way we treat other people what really spreads the message of the season? Or at least that's what I'll be telling myself in January--when I'm curled up on the couch watching my neighbors take down the bubble lights from their garage.

For Some Reason, "Parenting" Magazine Keeps Rejecting My Submissions

FUN CHILDREN'S BIRTHDAY PARTY THEMES
By Wendi Aarons


Extreme Toddler Makeover

Everybody Waterboard!

Tarts & Vicars, Vicars & Tarts

Don't Invite the Losers

El Lice Check Fiesta

Homeschooling Hoedown

Let's Dress-Up Daddy!

Lead Paint Lickfest

GAP Sweatshop: Make Your Own T-Shirt!

Mommy's Prescription Painkiller Scavenger Hunt

Vegans Rock!

Watch Your Wasted Mommy Sing Karaoke

Housecleaning Adventure

Who Wants a Flu Shot?

Survivor: The Weird Neighbor's Garage

Telemarketer Princesses

Meth Cookin' With Uncle Mike

So Totally Taliban!