fishducky, finally!: March 2016

Thursday, March 31, 2016

IT'S WONDERFUL WHEN CHILDREN LEARN TO TALK, BUT HOW DO YOU GET THEM TO SHUT UP?

This was Nameless' avatar on Facebook until a while ago:

(A little bit of this is from older posts--most of it is new.)

Thank you, Blogger, for giving me this opportunity to ~~brag~~ tell you about my daughter, Nameless. I can do that without fear of criticism since this is my post.

She was my parents’ first grandchild. We called them around 1:00am when I went into labor & they met us at the hospital along with Bud’s folks. She was born at 4:10am & I guess everyone was pretty tired, excited & punchy by that time. My obstetrician, Dr. Weinberg, was a very large, stern-looking (but funny) man who spoke with a thick German accent. He came into the waiting room & announced that I had had a beautiful baby girl. My mom excitedly asked him who the baby looked like. He thought for a minute, said, “She looks like ME!” & turned & left the room.

Nameless almost had her own career in show biz, like her mother. She was a month or two old when she was selected to portray a baby (I know--type casting) in “Bonanza” but she was too young to be covered by their insurance. In the 1935 movie “Carnival” I was the adorable baby that Lucille Ball (in the uncredited role of a nurse) held in her arms while everybody went “AAWWW!” That was my entire career. I believe Lucille Ball went further.

First, I should tell you what (I believe) made Nameless the genius that she is today. When she was a few months old, I accidentally dropped her on her head. (TRUE!!) I believe this shook her brains into proper alignment. She is at MENSA level as an adult & do you know, she hasn’t thanked me to this day!!

Although Nameless was close to a year old, she hadn't started walking yet. One day I was babysitting my friend's daughter who is 10 days older than her. Alison was walking & Nameless was sitting for a long time just watching her. I guess she finally analyzed the art of walking because she got up & walked over to me.

She began talking very early--& hasn’t stopped yet. When she was 13 months old, my husband took her to a family Thanksgiving dinner while I stayed home sick in bed. I was watching a TV show about children learning to talk & I started making a list of all the words Nameless knew. (Google says that an 18 month old knows 20-50 words.) I got to 100 when I realized I could probably double that. True, she couldn’t pronounce all of them correctly--chicken noodle soup was “hickey noonoo hoop”--but she was quite verbal.

Words were like toys to her--she loved them. We had this routine--I would ask her these questions & she’d answer. When she was 2, we went to the pediatrician & did our routine for the nurse: “What do you call a doctor who takes care of children?” “Pediatrician.” “Who’s the doctor that takes care of animals?” “Veterinarian.” “Who’s the scientist who knows all about fish?” “Ichthyologist.” When the doctor came in, the nurse asked Nameless the questions so he could hear her answers. He grabbed her up & ran out of the room. When he returned I asked him where he had taken her--& why. He told me that his friend--another pediatrician--was waiting in his office to go to lunch with him. He took Nameless through her routine & then said to the other doctor, “See what my patients can do!!”

A story about her toilet training days is next. (She is 56 now & completely trained. This incident happened a while back.) I tried very hard to stop swearing when she started to talk & was reasonably successful. Unfortunately, I cut my finger badly while I was preparing dinner. I reflexively said, “Shit!” I guess she heard me. She then went to use the potty by herself. She tried to urinate standing up. After all, if her daddy could do it, why couldn’t she? Then she found out why. Her little legs were all wet. She said “Shit!” just as her daddy was getting home from work & walking by the open bathroom door. He told her that we don’t talk that way in our house. She said, “Mommy does!”

She was about 3 1/2 when she insisted I teach her to read. I had no idea how to do that & besides, I had two younger children & very little extra time so we called UCLA & hired a student to tutor her. She loved it & caught on very quickly. She became a voracious reader.

In the olden days, when parents felt safe in letting their very young children walk to school & back alone, my parents were babysitting our 7 or 8 year old daughter while we were on a trip. They became quite worried when one day she was over a half hour late in getting home from school. When she finally got home, they asked her why she was so late. Our daughter always had a very logical brain. She told them she had taken a “long” cut.

No subject was ever off limits at our dinner table. Once Nameless asked what a homosexual was. We weren’t sure how to explain this to an 8 year old. We told her that while most men love women, there were some men who loved other men. We said this was the way God made them & it was fine. We asked her if she understood & she said, “Yeah—you mean like a lesbian, only a man!”

Nameless was probably in the 3rd grade when California schools went from mid-year to full year classes. Children caught in the middle, like Nameless, either had to skip 6 months or be put back for the same period of time. We decided to let her skip when she told us that if she were bored she wouldn't be able to learn properly. (Side note: Even Nameless thought it was funny when one of her teachers wrote on her report card, "Nameless has been a wonderful chalenge to teach this year.")

Her adult years: Nameless was living in Italy with her cousin Tracy after she graduated college. She got a job teaching English to Italian airline pilots. I told her the most important thing for them to learn was the difference between "up" & "down"!! During this time they both became vegetarians--sort of. They still ate fish. Neither one of them was willing to give up anchovies on their pizza!!

Two more pediatrician stories:

When our pediatrician was checking our second child, right after his birth, he was looking at his fingers & toes & I heard him counting softly--1,2,3,4,5--1,2,3,4,5, etc. I asked him why he was doing that. He said that a few months before he was checking another newborn & counted 1,2,3,4,5--1,2,3,4,5--1,2,3,4,5--1,2,3,4,5,6! He counted again; no mistake. The child had 6 toes on his left foot. He hesitantly told the mother, who laughed & said, “Isn’t that cute--just like his daddy!”

I took my kids to the pediatrician for a checkup. (Where else was I going to take them--a singles bar?) The nurse was laughing & I asked her what was so funny. She said she had just been talking to another patient--a 5 year old boy who had recently gotten over chicken pox. She had asked him how he had caught it. He told her, “I dunno. I musta got hold of a bad chicken!”

If there's reincarnation, next time I want to come back as the mommy!!----fishducky

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

A POST COMPRISED OF OTHER PEOPLE'S POSTS

If you don't follow these blogs, you're missing something good!!

From Carol Wyer (http://facing50withhumour.com/), posted 2/28/16:

"THINGS MY PARENTS TAUGHT ME"

Even though you did not realize it at the time, most of the 50+ generation were home schooled.

1. My mother taught me TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE.
“If you’re going to kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning.”

2. My mother taught me RELIGION.
“You’d better pray that will come out of the carpet.”

3. My father taught me about TIME TRAVEL.
“If you don’t straighten up, I’m going to knock you into the middle of next week!”

4. My father taught me LOGIC.
“Because I said so, that’s why.”

5. My mother taught me MORE LOGIC.
“If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you’re not going to the shop with me.”

6. My mother taught me FORESIGHT.
“Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you’re in an accident.”

7. My father taught me IRONY.
“Keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about.”

8. My mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.
“Shut your mouth and eat your supper.”

9. My mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM.
“Just you look at that dirt on the back of your neck!”

10. My mother taught me about STAMINA.
“You’ll sit there until all that spinach is gone.”

11. My mother taught me about WEATHER.
“This room of yours looks as if a tornado went through it.”

12. My mother taught me about HYPOCRISY.
“If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times, don’t exaggerate!”

13. My father taught me the CIRCLE OF LIFE.
“I brought you into this world, and I can take you out…”

14. My mother taught me about BEHAVIOR MODIFICATION.
“Stop acting like your father!”

15. My mother taught me about ENVY.
“There are millions of less fortunate children in this world who don’t have wonderful parents like you do.”

16. My mother taught me about ANTICIPATION.
“Just wait until we get home.”

17. My mother taught me about RECEIVING.
“You are going to get it from your father when you get home!”

18. My mother taught me MEDICAL SCIENCE.
“If you don’t stop crossing your eyes, they are going to get stuck that way.”

19. My mother taught me ESP.
“Put your sweater on; don’t you think I know when you are cold?”

20. My father taught me HUMOR.
“When that lawn mower cuts off your toes, don’t come running to me.”

21. My mother taught me HOW TO BECOME AN ADULT.

“If you don’t eat your vegetables, you’ll never grow up.”

22. My mother taught me GENETICS.
“You’re just like your father.”

23. My mother taught me about my ROOTS.
“Shut that door behind you. Do you think you were born in a cave?”

24. My mother taught me WISDOM.
“When you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”

25. My father taught me about JUSTICE.
“One day you’ll have kids, and I hope they turn out just like you!”

From River (river-driftingthroughlife.blogspot.com), posted 2/29/16

"BECOMING AN ADULT IS THE DUMBEST THING I EVER DID"

Like most young people, I couldn't wait to come of age, become free to make my own choices and decisions about my life, and be a real, certified grownup.
I wanted, wished, and waited with anticipation for my birthday,
so I could declare to the world I was officially an adult.
But you know what? Becoming an adult is the dumbest thing I ever did.

Now I wonder why I was in such a hurry.
Why did I think being responsible for everyone and everything in the known universe was something I needed to do?
Why did I think that leaving behind the carefree days of my youth in exchange for having to act like an adult was going to be so fabulous?
I know that growing old is mandatory but growing up is not...

in fact I think it's a trap to be avoided at all costs!

After giving it a lot of thought, I've decided that being an adult is just not working for me.
But maybe, just maybe, it's not too late!
Here's my plan. From now on I'm going to stop ignoring my inner child and embrace all things "kid."
I'm going to live, love, and play with the vibrant
passion, spunk, spontaneity we all once had.
So be warned - the kid in me is coming out!
And if you feel the urge to give me milk and cookies, wipe my face, and put me down for a nap, go ahead.

'Cause when it comes to childhood, I'm hitting the do-over button!

Wanna play?

From Man Martin (manmatrin.blogspot.com), posted 10/17/15

Once the tortoise and the hare decided to have a race. At the beginning of the race, the hare ran very fast and soon left the tortoise far behind. When he looked back and saw the tortoise had barely left the starting line, the hare said to himself, "Ho-hum, that silly tortoise will never beat me!" and he lay down and took a nap. While the hare slept, the tortoise kept on going, slowly, steadily, slowly, steadily, towards the finish line. When the hare woke up, he discovered that the tortoise was still far behind him, so he got up and finished the race in a walk. The tortoise wasn't even close.

Moral: Hares are a hell of a lot faster than tortoises.

Once there was a carefree grasshopper and a hard-working ant. The grasshopper fiddled and played all day during the summer, while the ant laboriously gathered food and put it in his cellar. "Why are you working so hard, Brother Ant?" asked the grasshopper. "It's a beautiful day, and there's plenty to eat." "I'm storing food for the winter," the ant explained, not pausing in his labors. "When the leaves fall from the trees, and food is scarce, you'll wish you'd been more industrious." But the carefree grasshopper paid him no heed, and continued to play and sing the summer away. But when summer ended, and the leaves fell from the trees, the weather began to turn colder. The first frosty morning, the grasshopper died so it didn't matter that he'd been lazy all summer, because food wasn't an issue anyway.

Moral: Grasshoppers almost never starve to death. They freeze.

Once there was a hungry fox who saw some grapes growing high on the wall. He jumped and tried to get the grapes, but failed. So he tried again. He failed again. He jumped and jumped, but the grapes were always out of his reach. Finally when he was tired and panting, he said to himself, "Ah, I don't want those grapes anyway. They're sour!" Just then, though, a crow flew down to eat the grapes and a few fell on the ground where the fox could get them. He tasted one, and you know what? It really was sour.

Moral: Foxes don't like grapes. Crows do.

Also from Man Martin (manmatrin.blogspot.com), posted 9/25/2015

How Do You Come Up with These Ideas?

"How do you come up with all your ideas?” is what concerned Americans want to know. Another thing they want to know is why I keep coming up with them.

When you consider my busy schedule - bon vivant, crime fighter, adored idol of millions - one is astounded that I'm able on top of all this to write a daily blog of such sparkle and effervescence. "Don't you ever just want to stay and bed and sleep?" people ask, "And wouldn't we all be better off?"

First thing I do is get up and turn on the computer. This is essential, and I cannot stress this enough. You can type and type all day, but if your computer isn't turned on, you're just living in a fool's paradise. Then, once the computer is on, I usually play a few games of computer solitaire. Some people shilly-shally before getting down to computer solitaire, but not me. "A shirker never wins," is my motto. "And potatoes planted in May are au gratin by June." So when it comes to playing solitaire, I get right down to business.

But finally I open up my blog and hit the little pencil icon that shows I want to write a new post. This is very odd because you don't write blogs with a pencil, and if you did, it wouldn't work very well. The icon might as well be a pair of hedge-clippers or a crescent wrench. But I digress. Once I am looking at the snowy expanse of unwritten blog space on my computer screen, then begins, as Shakespeare puts it, the tempest to my soul. There are a few things on this earth that truly terrify me: those big black cockroaches that scoot out from under something and run straight at you, global warming, and white space waiting to be written on.

At this point I usually do some cussing. Then I visit all the other blogs I know, and see what they're writing about. If I don't find anything I can stea... Ahem, I mean, if I'm still not inspired, I go back to cussing. If that doesn't work, I play some more computer solitaire. Sooner or later, I come up with something, and with a feeling of relief and creeping self-loathing, I write it.

I hope this answers your questions.
Now I'm going to play some computer solitaire.

This post is by Robyn (hollowtreeventures.com) posted 3/28/16:

03/28/16

WHAT IF MOMS HAD AN AUTOMATED DIAL-IN LINE TO FIELD REQUESTS FROM THEIR KIDS?

As much as I hate getting stuck on the phone with a robotic voice every time I try to call the cable company, I understand why it’s a necessary evil. I mean, they can’t possibly have a real person field millions of random requests and complaints 24 hours a day!

Hmmm…. who else does that? Oh right! Moms.

Wouldn’t it be nice if moms could set up our own automated menu to sort through the constant demands from our kids? To decide which ones are legitimate requests in need of real live help and which ones can be answered just as easily by a robot?

HERE’S WHAT IT WOULD SOUND LIKE:

Ring, ring, ring…

Thank you for calling your mother. Your call is very important to me…unless I haven’t had coffee yet, in which case back away slowly and try your call again later. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, but considering I’m probably busy cleaning your pee off the bathroom floor or washing the laundry you crammed between your bed and the wall, I’m doing the best I can. Please listen carefully to the following menu; your issue will be resolved in the order in which it was received, provided no one drops the phone in the toilet before then.

If you want mac and cheese, press 1.

If you want mac and cheese but I’ve basically ruined your life by serving it to you in the wrong bowl, please press 1 really hard and hold it down until I get you a new bowl or go insane, whichever comes first.

Press 2 if you’re going to ask me to do something you are perfectly capable of doing yourself, but you just don’t want to get up.

If we’re leaving the house and you insist on wearing a Halloween costume, the same outfit you’ve worn the previous 364 days in a row, please press 3 and then just get in the car anyway, because I don’t even care anymore.

For a complete list of reasons why Yes, you are going to school today, so hurry up and find your shoes, press 4.

Press 5 if you think your sibling got more dessert, attention, or screen time than you and life isn’t fair.

If your socks are uncomfortable, please press 6 repeatedly while emitting a long series of whining noises.

If you just saw a commercial for a toy you can’t live without, please hang up and look in your toy chest to see all the other toys you barely play with that you also once thought you HAD TO HAVE.

Please press 7 if you want to take a bath but only to splash around and play with toys and then get mad at me when I try to actually clean your body with soap or wash your hair.

Press 8 if it is after bedtime and you need a drink, think you heard a noise, forgot to do your homework, or just remembered something really, really super duper important you need to tell me which is actually just 47 “ums” followed by “I forget.”

For all cartoon and video game-related monologues over 20 minutes, please leave a message after the tone, which I will pretend to listen to while daydreaming about taking a bubble bath behind a locked door.

If you are a parent wishing to schedule a play date, please press 9.

If you are a parent wishing to schedule a play date and you’re bringing a bottle of wine, please come straight over immediately.

If you are calling from my child’s school to inform me about a current lice outbreak, please hang up and never call this number again.

Thank you again for your call. For all other matters. please press # and you will be automatically connected to your father.

I found these cartoons myself

on the internet:

If you steal from one person, that's plagiarism; if you steal from a lot of people, that's research----fishducky (& several other people)

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

COME BACK, LITTLE SHEBA—I MEAN, PERINO’S!!*

(Reworked from a July, 2013 post with all new cartoons.)

Many years ago (in the early 60's) there was (alas, it is no more) an excellent restaurant on Wilshire Boulevard in Los Angeles. It was called Perino’s. It was the epitome of fine dining. It was very near my husband’s law office. He was a regular there. They knew him by name & the parking lot attendants never bothered to give him a parking ticket—they recognized Mr. F------ & his Buick. This was back when Cadillac’s had tail fins. The attendants would line up all the fins in a row, visible from the street, & next to them would be Bud’s Buick. I would join him there whenever it was possible.

Eating there was not cheap. My mother-in-law was arranging a luncheon for a coworker who was about to retire. She called Perino’s & asked if they could give her an approximate cost for about 30 people. She was told, “Madam, we are not interested in people who are interested in price. Goodbye.” (I thought that was totally out of character. They were always very nice to me.)

The food was always first rate--& very fresh. I don’t believe they had a freezer. If some food wasn’t available at the produce market in the morning, they simply didn’t offer it that day. One evening we were there for dinner. I was reading the menu & couldn’t decide what I wanted. Harvey, the maître d’, said, “Mrs. F------, just tell me what you’d like. I’ll have the chef make it for you.” I told him I’d like Veal Oscar. (That’s a veal cutlet with shelled crab legs & asparagus on top, with a dab of béarnaise sauce. Yummy!!) Harvey went in the kitchen & came back to our table. He said that the chef didn’t know what Veal Oscar was, but that it would be no problem to prepare if I could explain it to him. I did, & it was the best I ever had—made to my exact specifications!!

Bud’s clients would often take him to lunch there. I asked one why & was told that it was the only way he knew how to get Bud’s uninterrupted time & a fantastic meal for less than my husband’s hourly fees. One day Bud called me & he couldn’t stop laughing. He told me he had just had lunch at Perino’s with some clients. One of them was saying that it just wasn’t fair. HE always got a ticket from the parking attendants. HE always picked up the check. The maître d’ didn’t know HIS name. Harvey then came to their table, telephone in hand. He said he was sorry to interrupt, but there was an urgent call for Mr. F------. Bud answered the phone, laughed & handed it to his complaining client. It was for him. It seems the caller wanted to be sure he would be able to reach him, so he had asked to speak to “the gentleman at Mr. F------’s table.”

Talk about class: My friends picked me up & we drove to Perino’s to meet Bud for dinner. By the time we got there I had developed a headache, so I discretely asked Harvey if he had any aspirin. He said he did & brought me an aspirin bottle wrapped in a linen napkin. He peeled back the napkin to show me the label on the bottle, as if it were Dom Perignon. I could visualize Harvey saying, “Bayer, ‘61. Will that be satisfactory?”

We weren’t always able to live on that lovely scale. When we got married Bud had about $200.00 & I had the huge sum of about $500.00. (I think he might have married me for my money.) We lived in a TINY one bedroom apartment & I worked while Bud was in law school. Our “dining room” table (in the living room—there was no dining room) was a small drop-leaf that my handy husband made from an old bedboard. When fully opened, it seated 4. We had a brown & white tweed sofa, which he sat on while he studied. He spilled a bottle of ink on it (this was before ballpoint pens) & cleaned it with soap & water. This left a clean spot in the middle of the sofa & made the rest of it look very dirty. No way could we afford to have it cleaned, so we did the next best thing. Each evening when we got home, we would wipe our shoes on the “clean spot” until it blended in & the whole sofa looked like new again.

Something like this: