If Animals Could Talk…

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Today I was sweeping the driveway and a bird hopped about 5 feet away from me with a worm hanging from its mouth. Without thinking I said: “Hi birdie!” (For the record, I know he wasn’t going to talk back.)

He looked over at me and stared while the worm was desperately trying to wriggle out of his mouth, hopped a few more inches towards me, then a truck drove by scaring him, and he flew away.

Boring story, I know. But what if it happened like this:

Me: (Sweeping, sees bird) “Hey, Johnny! How are you doing today?”

Johnny: (speaks English just because) “Cwwie!” Turns, spits out worm on the ground. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk with my mouth full! Carrie, I’m doing great! Just found me a big old breakfast, gonna surprise the Missus with it in a few.”

(Worm wriggling away at -45mph)

Me: “Well, don’t let me keep you! By the way, could you tell Adam to stop pooping on the kids’ swingset?”

Johnny: “Oh man, that kid is gross, and he refuses to eat anything that isn’t blue.”

Me: “Um, yeah, I noticed.”

Johnny: “I’ll have a chat with him, feather – to – feather. Bye now!” Spies the worm that made it 3 centimeters away, scoops it up, flies away.


The other day there was something going on in my woods. There was an epic amount of birds flying around that would have made Alfred Hitchcock nervous. They were squawking and flying and screeching and I was sure there were zombies out there.

I would have loved to be able to go out there and say: “HEY! What the heck is going on out here?”

Then Johnny would come down and say: “Oh-Em-Gee, Carrie, Cindy’s eggs just hatched. Two of the babies are red, and one is blue. The blue one is from another birdy daddy…it’s gonna be on like Donkey Kong.”

Better than zombies any day!


“The Last of Us” is an Oscar Worthy video game

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I lucked out with Mr. Who in the TV watching and video game department. We like all the same shows, mostly the same movies (although I like mine a little more Blood Light), and he rarely ever channel surfs. On the rare occasions when he does, it’s almost guaranteed he will stop to watch “Cops”. He also only plays video games when I suggest it.

Not in the :”I, CarrieLouWho, grant thee, thine peasant, permission to playeth yon game” kind of way. More of a: “Sorry, babe, I can’t watch TV tonight, I have to work. It’s a video game night for you”.  He will then sigh a deep, sad, fake sigh, kick an empty pop can across the floor, and with his manly shoulders hanging dejectedly will say “okay, I guess so”, then run to find the controller.

While working from home has its perks, I need more hours to do it.  The 3 hours a morning the kids are in preschool are helpful, but not enough to get everything accomplished.  On top of work, I’m taking a graduate class to renew my teaching license. While at this moment in time, thanks to the twins’…er…energy… I cannot imagine going back into a classroom full of MORE kids, but I’m renewing just in case. So I have to continue work after the kids go to bed, which is probably not productive as I am extremely tired, and very stupid by then.

But still, I get to sit close to my Mr. Who on the couch and write stuff while he kills stuff. He usually plays epic games like Final Fantasy or Skyrim, but has lately been playing “The Last of Us”. This game is a Walking Dead kind of game, but there is a girl who could possibly cure the contagion that has spread around the world. It’s Mr. Who’s job to escort her across the country, while fighting awful not-infected people, cannibals, and zombies.

While I sit there listening, I’m struck by how awesome the script is. The voice acting is really good, and it seems more realistic than other games we have seen. At one point, a man had to kill his own infected brother, then kills himself from grief (and possibly a brother bite, not sure). The music swells, the characters scream, it’s so sad, and very intense. I know intense. I was once at the very, very, very last level of Sonic the Hedgehog on Sega Genesis with only 1 life left when Teen Who, who was about 3 at the time, tripped over the cord and unplugged the game from the wall.

This was before memory cards. But I’m not bitter. I just like to remind Teen Who about it once a week or so. (For the last 14 years).

As far as the Last of Us, Mr. Who might not know it, but a few times I watched, I MIGHT have had a few tears well up from the story. I don’t want to CRY at a video game, dangit. I’m more of a God of War girl. I want weapons, and I want to kill stuff. I want to kill bad guys quickly, and with fire whips. That’s how I roll.

The Last of Us, should definitely be made into a movie, it’s that good to watch. Hopefully Mr. Who won’t beat it too quickly, so I can watch more of it.

And yes, you read that right, no memory cards! How did we live???

Time to Stop Shaving for the Impending Ice Age

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I don’t ever remember it being this cold in my lifetime. There are places that freeze on me when I’m outside that I didn’t know I owned.

In NE Ohio, it’s -9 degrees with the wind chill making it feel like (and how it feels is very important) -36 degrees.

-36. Negative. Thirty. Six.

That’s 68 degrees below freezing point.  There should be a name for that…like “OMGIC!” (Oh My God, It’s Cold!).

I’m sure there are many people who scoff at my idea of cold as they run naked through -50 below wintry woods to dive into an ice hole to swim. And yes, I know my grandma walked uphill 27 miles in the snow one way to school every day, but to this Who, it’s terrible.

Before I drove Mr. Who home from the hospital last night, as he has a nasty flu but got Vicodin at the ER, so it was worth the trip, we held our breath and bravely strode the whole 10 feet to my car in the biting cold. It felt like a victory to jump into that icy minivan. We would have fist bumped had we not been afraid our knuckles would chip into ice pieces.

I told him I don’t think I could survive an Ice Age. He agreed. I’m that fragile and delicate.  Plus, I don’t remember seeing any wooly mammoths at the pet store. Everyone needs one of those to survive an Ice Age.

Or a tauntaun.

If you got that, you’re a huge nerd, and I love you.

One of my favorite movies is “The Day After Tomorrow” with the dashing Jake Gillen…Jake Gylan…Jellin’…gah…Brokeback Mountain/Prince of Persia guy.  The LA tornado scene was awesome, and I used that in my classroom a few times for weather examples, while scaring the crap out of my students.  But it was about another Ice Age.

How would anyone survive? It’s bad enough to think about a world with no power like “Revolution”, or a world with no power and Zombies, like “The Walking Dead”. Imagine if we added ice to that. We would have walking popsicles trying to eat us.

I don’t want to go like that.

I also don’t want to die from a Sharknado, but I’m safe from that for now.

I told Mr. Who I am going to stop shaving my legs so I can start to build up a nice pelt.  His mouth said: “ok” but his eyes said: “oh, lord, please don’t let that quarter Italian wife of mine stop shaving”.

That whole quarter is going to keep me warm.

‘Twas the Carnage After Christmas…

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’twas Christmas Day night,

And my humble abode,

Looked like a toy store had almost explode (ed).

The day started off, all shiny and new,

With kisses, and hugs, between all the Whos.

How fun! Santa came! Who would ever have known?

Since the anger and the fighting between Twins had grown.

The Elf on the Shelf helped so much, and how!

I weep to myself, for what do I do now?

There are too many days until Christmas comes here,

I wish there was an elf for all months of the year.

Still, the morning starts off great, paper thrown in the air,

As Santa got the credit for everything there.

But then it went bad, all so very bad,

Twin A’s Iron Man costume fit better, more rad!

Twin’s B’s mom, (I mean, Santa) had thought he was smaller,

When the costume was bought, but he had grown so much taller.

The arms were too tight, the legs came to his knee,

Little Who looked  like a teeny, tiny Ed Grimley.

We hurriedly sought another gift to appease,

While Twin B ripped off the costume, quickly with ease.

With a smile on his face, we sighed in relief,

Until he jumped A, grabbing his costume, that thief!

The rest of the day drug on and got worse,

As the twins made bets to who would break us first.

We did not break, we kept to our station,

While secretly longing for an extended vacation.

Finally the twins were chained, oops, I mean tucked in their beds,

With visions of their mean parents ingrained in their heads.

We stare at the carnage, while hopped up on caffeine,

As we rock, paper, scissors, which Who gets to clean.

I begged off the cleaning, as that would behoove me,

And popped in a zombie apocalypse movie.

Next year, I thought, reaching for the popcorn bowl,

I’m giving them nothing, nothing but coal.

I’d never last an episode of Walking Dead…

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Here’s how my real life Walking Dead episode would go:

“Oh, no! The zombies are here, we’re supposed to remember cardio, the doubletap, and something else, but I can’t remember!” I wail.

“Take the kids to the basement and keep them quiet,” whispers Mr. Who tersely, tense with fear. Gripping the fireplace poker in his manly hands, he gestures us to the door. “Go, go, go!”

Teen Who at this moment will do one of two things. He will start to extrapolate on the misconceptions concerning zombies versus the infected, which he is completely right about, or he will be foraging around the kitchen for macaroni and cheese to take down with him.

I grab the 3 year olds, and Twin A fights me off: “No, don’ wanna go downsairs, I’m HONGRY.”

Near tears, I whisper: “Twin A, Mommy will get you some food, we just need to go downstairs for a minute. We need to be really, really quiet right now.” He nods, and starts walking quietly down the stairs.

We go downstairs in silence. Then spying his favorite thing across the room, Twin B says: “We go play drums!” Then runs over to the drum set, starts banging a rather rocking tune, calling attention to the house, and we’re all ate up by zombies within minutes.

This is why there are no zombie babies, toddlers, or elementary school kids in the Walking Dead. They have all been eaten because they. are. noisy.

And delicious. Like veal.

So remember folks, it is never too early to start teaching the “Quiet Game” and “Indoor Zombie Voices”; you don’t know when you might need it.


The Good Things Black People Do, Give and Receive All Over The World

Humanity Death Watch

The Future Is Funny


I Have No Filter!

Dear Crazy Kids,

(A note from Mom)

Greg Gotti

The writings of an American somebody


prattles on the pathos of parenting

Jenny Kanevsky


Pick Any Two

Because moms can do anything, but not everything.

Love Marriage Worms

and other absurdities

Storytime with John

Pull up and listen...I've got a funny one for ya...

From diapers and tutus to meetings and boardrooms

Trying to keep my sanity one blog post at a time

Perpetually Irritated

Barely Containing My Inner Indignance

Sparkly Shoes and Sweat Drops

Motherhood, Mental Health, Moving Your Body

Overthinking my teaching

The mathematics I encounter in classrooms

established 1975

stories to read while pooping


"I don't know so well what I think until I see what I say; then I have to say it again." -Flannery O'Connor

Journeys of the Fabulist

Adventures With Family. (Making it up as I go along.)

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