overheard on my telephone:

thomas: she’s out in the living room, and he’s watching television
me: who died?
thomas: nobody died
me: then who’s funeral did she go to?
thomas: mommy, have you lost it?
me: what do you mean?
thomas: nobody went to a funeral
me: you said that’s where kathy’s gone off to
thomas: no. i said she’s out in the living room. i never said anybody’d gone to no funeral.


Overheard on my telephone on June 4th:

Tayler yelling across Kathy’s house: Yes, I drink Mt Dew, but it lowers your sperm count!!
Kathy yelling back: Drink more!


:spew warning: put down all food and drink

So last night I was talking to Thomas on the phone, and he was doing his best to get me to tell him what Kathy had sent him and Tayler for Christmas. He was doing the whole 20 questions thing, most of which I refused to answer. 😉 I just kept telling him, “I want it if you don’t like it.” Then he asked, “But what does it do? Is it a toy?” I said, “Well, some people might consider it a toy. But it’s a very fragile toy.” “What is it?” “Thomas.” “[short string of questions]” “Well, it’s something you can use.” He got quiet. Then he giggled and said, “It’s not a vibrator is it?” :warped:


Overheard in my living room:

me: I keep telling you. There’s a huge difference between “climax” and “closure” in movies and stories.

he: And all I heard when you said that was, “You can have a climax without closure.”

:lmao: :lmao: :lmao: :scratch: :warped:


Overheard in my dining room:

me: Lord, that’s an old IBM Selectric. Raise your hand if that’s what you learned how to type on.
he: Raise your hand if you learned to type on a computer like regular people. Because oxygen allowed the computers to run, and like it was cool and stuff.

amazing grace

So the other night we were getting ready for bed. Preston was in the bedroom, and I was in the bathroom, and we were talking back and forth, which since the two rooms share a wall is difficult. Well, we were tired, and the slapstick set in. Preston was more going through one of the junk drawers in the spare chest of drawers than getting ready to bed. I wish I could remember what I said at one point, but I said it, and left the room. Seconds later, I hear harmonica strains, Amazing Grace slow and peaceful floating through the upstairs. I flew back into the bedroom. Preston started giggling and hardly couldn’t play because of it. And then I said, “Don’t do that! I thought you’d done gone home!” Have you ever heard someone laugh while playing harmonica?