My mom likes it when I re-post my old Twitter posts on my blog, so this is for you, Mom. (Whenever it says “@OtherTweeter,” that’s a pseudonym for whoever I was Tweeting at. The letters RT mean “re-tweet,” and are followed by something someone else said that I was responding to.)
There’s lots more where this comes from that I’ll probably share another day, so–brace yourself, Mom.
A guy came up with a treatment for the varicella zoster rash, and he needed a way to advertise. So he put up a shingle.
[@OtherTweeter] You Spring cleaned in your pajamas? I’m thinking pajama’d Spring cleaning is even more impressive than the regular kind. Nobler.
Ha. My kids always tell me if something is “blogworthy.” RT@[OtherTweeter]: “I made my Lego figures kiss…You can put that on Twitter.”
[@OtherTweeter] I’m sure you were right, because whenever *I* fight with *my* husband over something like strawberry mango sorbet, I’m right.
Before I sew, I look at trendy retailers for inspiration, so my clothes can be just as shoddy, ill-fitting, and ugly as store-bought.
Ugly is the new black.
Help me finish this joke: The difference between a DUI and an IUD is . . .
I think the biggest problem with any Chipmunk movie is that it has Chipmunks in it.
[@OtherTweeter] I’d have spelled it “mumblety-peg” so I’m happy Wikipedia agrees w/ me. (Also, w/out looking I think it involves throwing knives
into the ground, trying to get as close to feet as possible without stabbing them. Right? #knowitall #ofuselessinfo
My 3yo said of our [church Primary activity]: “Mommy, we got food!” 10yo said, “It wasn’t a big spiritual thing that changed my life, but it was fun.”
A federal regulatory overreach I’d support: standardized sizing for board game boxes.(Not just b/c my I’m bruised from Boggle falling on me.)
Yes. It could be a puppy or a kitten, for example. Or pink. RT @[OtherTweeter]: could a baby platypus be cuter? http://post.ly/W6LU
Don’t ever try to eat a huge pot of thin porridge–it’s grueling.
You can be a cute chick, a spring chicken, or a tough old bird. You can strut like a rooster, have something to crow about, and be cocky.
You can establish a pecking order. You can have ruffled feathers. You can be chicken. You can feel cooped up.
You can run around like a chicken with its head cut off. You can be naked as a plucked bird. You can be hen-pecked.
In spite of all this, I don’t really think people are like chickens.
(BTW, it turns out the British slang “peckish” for “hungry” comes from the unit of measurement “peck” (as in I love you a bushel and one).
Let it not be said that I Tweet without doing my research. Also, apparently I need this book: http://tinyurl.com/y93bqps )
I got all 3 of my little ones to nap at the same time today and I got to nap, too. This is going on my resume. (But I’m still tired.)
My grandma once got my lost cousin to come running by wrinkling a candy wrapper. My husband says
that candy wrapper crinkles are mini sonic booms. No wonder it was hard to eat candy discretely in college classes.
Uh, discreetly, I mean. It’s hard to eat discretely, too, though-I want to put it all in my mouth at once.
I ignored my popcorn craving so long it went away–who knew that could happen? (I’ve never tried it.) Then I Tweeted and the craving’s back.
From the 6yo: “Mom, M. always thinks that when I break things . . . um, everything I ruin, she thinks that I’m the one that ruined it!”
My sister called me and we talked for an hour, then hung up because she was trying to sew Easter dresses and was getting a crick in her neck
She called back to remind me she’d called me by mistake-meant to call someone else. It’s like we played an April Fool’s joke on ourselves.
I make a basket to share with my husband and I put in really good chocolate. No gifts, just candy.
Also I asked the Easter bunny to let me do the baskets. (Santa also lets me do the stockings.) It’s just easier for me that way.