You know it's time to dye your hair when....

...the neighbor of your sister (the sister who is only 2 years younger than you) sees you holding your cute niece and says, "And this must be your mother..."

Time froze. I kind of stared at her in shock, fighting back the tears, as my sister said, "this is my sister" and the neighbor continued the conversation without an "Oh, I'm sorry" or "it's awfully bright out here so I didn't get a good look" or anything.

Because apparently getting mistaken for being in your fifties (at a minimum) when you're only 35 isn't a big deal to some people. I have a kiddo only a year older than my niece, for goodness sake. So yes, I'll be breaking out the hair dye and covering the gray this weekend. And trying not to cry while I do it.

I know telemarketers are just doing their job... but I kind of hate their job.

We recently dropped caller ID (I know, how 1990s of us!) in order to save a few bucks. Which means I have to blindly answer our home phone. Which means I've had the, uh, pleasure of speaking with many telemarketers lately.

I immediately know I'm talking to a telemarketer when they butcher our last name. Which, to be fair, it's not the easiest name, BUT, they manage to make a very French-looking name sound Italian-- now that's talent. While that's not a big deal, not taking no for an answer and being snotty to me is what gets my goat.

Last week, we got a call from the cable company we already use. They were basically trying to upgrade our service (i.e. increase their revenue) and tried to make it sound like the deal of the century. In a bored voice, the guy described how he was calling to generously offer three free months of extra movie channels.

"No thanks," I said.

"But you get blah blah blah for only blah blah a month and at the end of three months, you get a rebate of blah blah," he said.

"No thank you, we don't want any more channels," I said.

"But these are basically free," he whined.

"No. No thank you. We're not interested," I said firmly.

And he had the guts to sound hurt. You make me say no three times before you'll give up and I'm supposed to feel bad about hurting your feelings? I don't think so.

A few hours later, we got a call from a breast cancer organization (I had never heard of) asking for a donation. The woman not only called me by the Italian version of my name, but told me I sound beautiful (that's flattering, but doesn't work with me... plus, how does someone sound attractive?) As she went through her spiel and tried to get me to pledge a donation over the phone, I politely asked if she had any literature she could send me to look at.

"You're not going to send it back. Can you just make a pledge now?" she asked.

"Uh, no. I don't choose where I make donations over the phone. Do you have a Website?" I replied.

It took me asking twice more for her to give up getting my credit card info over the phone and actually give me the Website. Which, it turns out, didn't actually exist.

I might start letting FunnyKid answer the phone. He says "hi" and "no" perfectly and when dealing with telemarketers, that's pretty much all you need to know anyway.

We should have named him "Jeeves"

FunnyKid is going through an awesome phase right now where he wants to help in any way he can. It started with him wanting to help feed the dogs in the morning so we began with him helping us carry their bowls from the counter to their mats. We're now at the point where he gets the cup of food out of the pantry and brings it to me at the counter. Then he gets the dogs' bowls from opposite ends of the kitchen and brings them to me. I fill the bowls and give him the cup back, which he takes back to the pantry. Then he carries each bowl to the dogs' mat and "places" it down (which sometimes meaning lowering it slowly and sometimes means dropping it from chest height). I give it another two weeks before he's the one doling the dog food into the bowls while I sit comfortably on the couch giving directions.

As if that wasn't enough help, I pulled out the coffeepot this morning and when FunnyKid pointed to it, I said, "Mommy's making coffee." The little smarty immediately walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a can of coffee, which he walked over to me! I just need to buy a step stool so he can climb up and finish the job.

Lastly, this morning, I casually mentioned, "We need to clean up the family room so Mom can vacuum" and realized a few seconds later that FunnyKid had disappeared. I found him in the hallway, where he had opened the closet door and pulled out the vacuum. He was in the process of rolling it to the family room when I got to him.

People told me I would love having kids, but not because they would do all my work for me! I'm loving this. Now, if I can just nurture this work ethic into his teen years... I may never have to lift a finger.

Toddler!

FunnyKid is a toddler! through and through (if this is 16 months, I'm scared about what two and three are going to look like). And that exclamation point isn't a typo-- because toddlers! don't do anything quietly or calmly or with precision. Toddlers! are loud and they're fast and they leave messes.

When the Pretend Husband got home last night, he walked in the door and stopped in shock. There were toys scattered all over the family room among the coupons I had been cutting before my toddler! got hold of them. In the kitchen, there were pots, pans, towels and other cooking implements all over the floor. In the living room, Cheerios on the rug (I blame our dogs for not getting those cleaned up more quickly). In the hallway, an abandoned Cozy Coupe, the vacuum cleaner that had been pulled out of the closet and some random kid socks.

And the worst part? I cleaned yesterday. Actually, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned, putting toys away as my toddler! followed behind and took them out again. I finally gave up and figured I would let the toddler! wear himself out and I could pick everything up once he went to bed.

This morning I couldn't find my car keys and didn't know if I had misplaced them or if my toddler! had taken possession of them. If I had misplaced them, I could have looked in the usual places of in my bag, in my coat pockets and under the driver's seat. But if the toddler! had a hand in their disappearance? Well, that's a whole different search. One that found me digging through the garbage can (FunnyKid likes to throw things away whether they are trash or not) and going through the kitchen cabinets (he doesn't only like to take things out of the cupboards and drawers).

It turns out the missing keys were in my coat pocket, but the search for them made me realize just how on my toes I have to be when my toddler! is awake. Wish me luck...

The body in my front yard and other events in my life

I don't have enough for a full post right now, so you get snippets of what life in the FunnyGal household is like these days.

First, there's this guy....
This movie star of a son who continues to amaze me with his words (you try not smiling when he yells "Cah" like he's a lifelong Bostonite talking about the traffic or points to my coffee in the morning and calls it "ca-ca.") And he amazes me with his abilities and his kindness and the fact that he barely speaks and yet had two different people point out how funny he is today at story hour. Life is good with FunnyKid.

***

Christmas was perfect. That's all I really need to say (although have you ever known me to stop at one sentence? Yeah, me neither.) It involved grandparents so excited about watching the kiddos open their gifts that they got up early and other relatives who spent part of Christmas Day pushing a Cozy Coupe filled with cousins around the house and good food and laughter and really, what more could you ask for?

***

While I'm amazed at each of the skills FunnyKid has learned in his 16 months, I'm still surprised each time he picks up a new one. Last night, while I was making cookies, he came over and wanted to be part of the action. I put him on a stool and handed him a spoon and I'll be darned if the little guy didn't understand enough to scrape the sides of the bowl down with the spoon and not go near the mixer when it was running. He also knows where the cookies are stored and how to convince Mom he needs to eat one for breakfast, but that's another story...

***

I guess that's about it. Oh, the body in the yard? You want to hear that story? Yeah, I guess I would too. I'm still not clear on exactly what happened, but I think I've pieced together most of it. See, our house is along the route the local high school cross country team runs (I guess? Does cross country practice in January?) Yesterday, I walked out of the garage to take FunnyKid for a walk, looked up and saw a girl lying face down under a bush by the road. Startled, I stepped closer and saw... five more kids laying behind a rock wall in our yard. They didn't say anything to me (but I saw them move so my initial thought of a dead body in my yard was quickly erased) and I didn't say anything to them because it looked they were lying in wait and I didn't want to ruin their game. About a minute later, as I was getting FunnyKid in his stroller, the group of kids jumped up and started running. I didn't see it clearly, but I think someone had run by and they were surprising her? I heard one of the kids say, "Best hiding place ever" as they ran off, so perhaps it will become the norm for me to have a bunch of bodies scattered around my yard.

***

The other day, I received an email from someone I met for the second time and she complimented my personality. She said she hadn't realized from our first meeting how funny and sarcastic I am, but had enjoyed it during our second meeting. I read the email to the Pretend Husband, who proceeded to tell me I'm not funny! Like, at all. (I may have told him he's bad at his job as an illustration of how important my sense of humor is to me). He later said he was kidding, but it was too late. I had already filed for divorce by then. (Ok, I'm kidding. I'll keep the PH around-- but only if he starts laughing at my humor real quick).