Showing posts with label childhood trauma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label childhood trauma. Show all posts

Monday, August 8, 2011

Head Case

Dear Baby Stewzie,

I'll probably take some flack for what I'm about to say to you.  I may even offend some people.  Wouldn't be the first time.  Probably won't be the last.  But there is something I feel pretty strongly about, so I'm just going to go ahead and say it to you.

I promise I will never, EVER make you wear anything like this:


If your head gets chilly, I will outfit you in a warm hat.  If your hair gets in your eyes, I will get you a haircut.  However, call me crazy, but I'm 100% certain that you will be adorable and will not require the application of any type of restricting, hubcap-sized, faux floral headgear to enhance that adorableness. 

You'll thank me one day.

Love,
Mama



Thursday, April 22, 2010

Rock of Ages

Ahhh, my brother Jeremy (a.k.a. Brotherford B. Hayes), (Hi Jeremy!) Where do I begin? Let's start here. In the 1980s...

Being the oldest child in the family, I often used my wisdom and power to torture manipulate my younger brothers. Specifically the red-headed stepchild middle child - Jeremy. Since I practically invented the whole "work smarter, not harder" way of thinking, I developed quite a few INGENIOUS techniques along the way.

For instance: To get my little bros to perform miscellaneous household chores that otherwise would have been my responsibility, I invented what I like to call "The Point System". In actuality, it was more of a scheme than a system, but whatever. IT WORKED. Whenever I needed my bed made, the trash taken out, etc., I'd con the little sheep into doing said chores by promising that I'd give them POINTS! Vacuum my bedroom? 500 points. Bathe the cat? 1,200 points. Take the blame for spilling a whole glass of Caffeine-free Pepsi behind the sofa? 13,752 points. And guess what? They fell for my evil little plan, because, let's face it. Who doesn't love POINTS!? After months of me shelling out hundreds of thousands of meaningless points, Jeremy finally wised up and inquired as to whether or not these points would ever add up to any sort of tangible reward. Crap, now I had to come up with a prize on the fly. So I offered him the choice of either a rock (that I found in the driveway), or a Hot Wheels car (which was already his to begin with), because I'm generous and resourceful like that.

He chose the rock. Which he proceeded to shove up his nose. And could not be removed via home remedies such as picking, blowing and/or shoving a pair of kitchen tongs up there. This was followed by a trip to the ER. Which was followed by precise medical extraction of the rock. Which was followed by (I assume) ridiculous medical bills for my parents to pay. Well Mom & Dad, in lieu of payment, you should have offered the health insurance company POINTS! Problem solved.

Fast forward to 2010. Jeremy and I were going through a rather large box of mementos (not to be confused with Mentos-The Freshmaker!) that my mother had saved for each of her children over the course of our childhood. We browsed through old kindergarten photos, finger paintings, sports medals and the like. That's when we stumbled upon what looked like, well, MEDICAL WASTE, and we were all "Mom, why does Jeremy's box have a shriveled up bag of MEDICAL WASTE?" My dear mother, sharp as a tack, took one look at that bag of MEDICAL WASTE and was all "That's the rock! THE rock!

And folks, here it is, in all its post-nasal glory. Behold, THE rock:






Warning: The stunts described above were performed by Jeremy Mohr, who has extensive experience of doing dumb stuff that lands him in the ER. Jeremy is practically a trained professional. Do not attempt to try this stunt at home.