Monday, April 30, 2007

The Bully

While I know this may SHOCK you, my faithful readers (all seven of you- now that someone googled the word 'herpes' and landed on my glitter post. See Comments... She included her picture-Hi Angela!) my highstrung, overly sensitive, delicate, show tune loving son is occassionally picked on. Sometimes it's a matter of: "MOM-SHE'S LOOKING AT ME, MAKE HER STOP LOOKING AT ME." Othertimes it involves a certain child whom we will refer to as "Elliott" so that if he googles himself years from now this post will not exist in cyberspace as an eternal moment of shame for someone to blow up life size and post on a wall at his engagement party.

We have known Elliott a loooooooooong time. We were there when he ate his first bag of gumballs (yes, they make BAGS of gumballs--apparently the things are like potato chips if you are into swallowing the gum) at the age of two. (The same year I was teaching Jesse to say "No thanks; choke hazard" to a variety of hard candies.) Elliott grew a long rat tail of hair from the back of his mullet at age three, was the first to begin jumping off the top of the playground equipment at four, and had a perpetual stream of neon colored mucus oozing from his nose for the entire fifth year of his life. He is feisty and often dirty and is quick to punch or kick or hit, always moving- rarely listening... if you spot a cloud of dust and bodies he will be at the center of it; and usually will have started the altercation by wiping boogers on another child's shirt. He has taught my son words like "weiner" and "suckah."

Elliott and Jesse have had a love-hate relationship for years. Kip and I often pictured Elliott as a little devil perched on Jesse's shoulder, intoning: "GO AHEAD-LET'S KICK THAT SAND IN YOUR SISTER'S FACE AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!" or "WOULDN"T IT BE SUPER FUN TO SNEAK OUT OF THE PARK AND RUN FAR AWAY AND WATCH THE BABYSITTERS FREAK OUT???" There were many incidents that involved hitting or punching or shoving. We stopped having playdates when I received a phone call at work from Jesse that went like this:

ME: Jesse? What's wrong honey?
ME: So, how was your playdate with Elliott, honey?

At which point I told Kip that if this kid was going to infllict bodily injury on my kid in a way that couldn't be easily addressed with a little Bactine and a bandaid I was OUT. And Jesse was relieved because the pressure had been keeping him up at night, causing bad dreams in which Eliott appeared and BROKE HIS PENIS.

And while we stopped having playdates and encouraged Jesse to develop other friendships ("Can't you play more with that nice Martin? He has a collection of bow ties!") there was still THE PARK which meant they still had contact admist the sand and black top and playground equipment. And many a day there would be tears, and a story, and some injury that would become a scab to be picked again and again and again.

As bruise after bruise appeared, my anger grew. And so I wrote Elliott's Mommy. A sweet little Email about how we could all work together to help the boys learn to deal with conflict, and grow and flourish etc, etc. etc. Elliott's Mommy wrote me back and told me the problems were due to "lack of supervision" which was code for "my nanny sucks". Which is bull, because MY NANNY COULD KICK HER NANNY'S ASS.

Fast forward to today-when I am back at work. A phone call from Jesse:

ME: Hi Honey-how is your day going?
ME: What's the matter honey?
(ok-so he didn't really say "help me mommy" but I knew THAT WAS WHAT HE MEANT.)

And like a character in a LIfetime movie-I just snapped. I just lost all reason and became all Mommy Lion.

So I called Kip and I said
(ok-that's not really what I said, but is kind of the general gist of it)

And together WE WENT TO THE PLAYGROUND.And I had had enough, and I was gonna fix things right then and there and I was gonna cook Elliott's goose with the steam that was coming out of my ears. And I marched in there, and I had red circles on both of my cheeks, and I marched right up to that little snot nosed Elliott and I said "ELLIOTT!!" in my ubermommy voice which is wayyyyyyy scary--and he left his posse and came over, brown eyes aimed at the ground and I said "ELLIOTT! I HEARD THAT YOU SAID YOU WOULD KICK JESSE IN HIS JEWELS AND I AM HERE TO TELL YOU MISTER..."

At which point Jesse says; "uhhh, Mom? It wasn't him" and points at anther kid who is grinning over on the swingset and I say "ALLRIGHT THEN. I AM GLAD WE UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER." And I take Kip's arm, and we tell Jesse he can have an Italian Ice, and he smiles from ear to ear, and we leave the park.

Because after all, children have to learn to fight their own battles.

Friday, April 27, 2007


We are driving in a car.

ME: THis has been the best vacation so far. And my favorite part has been being with you all! I love Daddy and Jesse and Annie!

KIP: And I love Mommy and Jesse and Annie!

JESSE: And I love Daddy and Mommy and Annie!

ANNIE: And I love bacon and sausage and make up!

Monday, April 23, 2007

Vacation-all I ever Wanted, Vacation Happy to Get Away

So, since Jesse has a gazillion absences--enough to possibly keep him back next year and force him to repeat Kindergarten, we are taking a few more "mental health days" and going on vacation. How bad can truancy really be if it has the word TRU in it--for me--that means if I TELL them we are taking a vacation then those nice women in the office really aren't going to do anything bad. (Ok-so I lied about Disney in September and God punished me by smiting the children with coxackie which caused them to miss an additional week of school but WE HAVE THE MEMORIES). At the end of the day, I'll be proud to split a beer with my high school dropouts and regale them with "The Time Mommy told the Principal you had Strep Throat but we Really Went to Charleston Because Mommy Said if she didn't go Someplace with a Pool she wasn't going to be Responsible for What she did to Daddy."

I am looking forward to the trip. I kind of know the routine by now:

-I will spend five days packing but will forget something essential. One year it was bottles. The next it was underwear for everyone. The highlight of every vacation is when Kip turns to me and says: "You didn't forget to pack the (fill in essential here) did you?" And I will shoot him a look that says "I'll show you something REALLY ESSENTIAL if you continue looking at me that way- as if I am not perfect- and if you thought the kids needed bathing suits to swim then maybe you should have helped with the packing Mister" and then we both load the kids into the car and go find a TARGET anywhere we happen to be. We will spend an obscene amount of money on a bunch of stuff we obviously need and a bunch more that we needed but didn't know we needed. Everyone leaves happy-with VACATION MEMORIES. And stuff. Lots of stuff.

- I will look at my children with adoration for the first few hours after we arrive at our destination. Then I will start looking for the playdates that will keep them from tugging at my skirted swimsuit bottom and asking me to do stuff, like pretend to be Boots on an Adventure with Dora. If I can't find a strange child in the vicinity to play with my children, I start looking for people to pay. If I can't find either, I hit the sauce hard. I'm told I do a mean Spongebob when I'm half in the bag-and the children look so nice when they are a bit fuzzy around the edges.

- The spray on tan which looks SO GREAT four hours after I get it at the salon will start to fade within hours of arrival at our destination. I will attempt to prolong its life by refusing to swim, bath or shower for as long as possible. This will make family members avoid me. Except the children, still tugging at the bottom of my skirted swimsuit...

-I will be relieved to be away from the office for about 12 hours. After that, I will have Kip set up the lap top. I will keep my Email open and every half hour walk by it and if nothing new appears, will keep desperately clicking the "mail" icon--as if all it needs is to be refreshed and the missives will pour in. I will devour spam. Then I will start drunk Emailing people and Googeling odd aquaintances. I will hit bottom when I actually Google myself.

- Did I actually say that I spent 5 days packing? Because in reality--it will be that I spent 5 days THINKING ABOUT packing. Over a chilled glass of pinot. I have aplan for vacation, oh yes, I do.

Off to CHARLESTON tomorrow.

Teach the children well

I received this Email today. I have deleted the names from it even though I felt pretty certain that if I blogged about it-the senders would not be aware. Perhaps it was the spelling of my name as "Laurie Vefferey" whatever; I knew if it wasn't on My Space they most likely wouldn't read it--so here it is:

Dear Laurie Vefferey,

During the Fall of 2005, we, (name deleted) and (name deleted), worked as
interns at the ?Our Name is Mud? warehouse on 29th street in
Manhattan. It was through our high school, School of the Future, that
we acquired the internship. We loved the work we did there and felt
that we really helped out, even without professional training( what
you taught us was enough to produce quality results). The work
environment, was just as pleasant. Both of us would very much like to
work during this coming summer starting in late May. We would also
love to include our good friend, (name deleted), who graduated with us
last June from School of the Future. Please e-mail us back or call us
at (cell phone number with my humps ringtone deleted) to let us know whether there will be any work
opportunities this summer.
Thank you very much and we look forward to your response,
(three names deleted).

Dear Darling Interns,

I don't fault you for forgetting my name after spending eight months with me. Frankly, when I try to recall your names, an image of a thong appearing everytime you sat down is all that comes to mind. Perhaps we should both start taking some ginko balobao or St. John's Wort. So forgive me if the facts of our association are a bit hazy. Did you say I had you work in the warehouse? Because usually we just move our stolen merchandise through the warehouse. Or hang sides of beef to cure. I'm surprised I put interns into the warehouse--perhaps I meant to sell you on ebay at some point and just forgot.

I'm glad that you realize what I had to offer over the course of eight months was not "professional training"! Most of the time people don't realize that I am just pulling stuff out of my butt--so kudos to you, dear interns, for seeing through the smoke and mirrors and realizing that I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I AM DOING! But man-that "quality results" thing--it gets me every time. People are so dern gullible. Just throw some of that clay stuff onto that round thing and paint it with some of those glazey things then throw it into that oven thing and presto--people are impressed. And to think I honed all of my skills on a playdough fuzzy pumper.

About the work environment: an image of you all comes to mind--throwing your hands over your ears and begging me not to play the Fiddler on the Roof soundtrack for the third time. Did you really mean to use the word "pleasant?" Or did you really mean "peasant"-- because I also have a memory of where I called you all indentured servants and made you call me Lord Lorrie and we discussed the fact that you were serfs--which you thought meant surfs--and you thought we were going to the beach-- so I had to lock you up in the warehouse again.

I guess my biggest question is-who drew the short straw? Did it go something like this:
"You Email her."
"No-YOU Email her."
"I'm not gonna Email her. YOU Email her."
"Bitch-I will beat your ass if you don't Email her."
"Listen Bitch-Road Rules 15 is on right now. You Email her."
"Fine, I will Email her, but since you are making me do all the work I'm gonna include (name deleted) because he is fine."

Because what I really, really want is a POTTERY POSSE!! It's true girls! Can I just tell you that when I advertize and collect applications for an actual vacancy, and some of you come along with your friend and I say "Who's this" and you say "It's my friend, he just wanted to come while I apply" and then later he asks if he can borrow a pen because what the heck he's here so why not fill in an application-I AM ALL OVER THAT GIRLS. And later, when I look and see that he has placed his gum underneath the table at which you were sitting, I think; hmmm. I can see this person in my WAREHOUSE. But I digress...

You are our future, gals. I believe that children are our future. ( I also believe Whitney is better off without Bobby and she will make a great COME BACK.) Sadly, I do not think I will ask the two of you plus your friend to COME BACK. Nothing personal: we had some great times and all. You were awesome. I mean, from what I can remember.

Yours truly,
Laurie Veffery.

Get your blog on

I know that all 5 of you---well 6, now that Diamond Diva lady reads me regularly too-----have come to be entertained.

I got................nuttin for you today. While I go seek out my mojo, please cut and paste this into your browser and remember: glitter is the herpes of the craft world.

Friday, April 20, 2007

Jesse art

"Last time she came to my house for a playdate, she cried when her Mother dropped her off. It made me think maybe we shouldn't have any more playdates."

Jesse Veasey 2007
Marker on paper.

"When I Grow Up I want to Wear Sunglasses Indoors and At Night"
By Jesse Veasey 2007
Marker on Paper.

Art by Jesse

"Give Peace a Chance or I will Kick Your Ass."
By Jesse Veasey 2007
Marker on paper

Monday, April 16, 2007


JESSE: Check it out Dad. This is how I'm gonna pose for my rap album cover.

KIP: Cough-cough--I am too worn out from trying to recover from my trachea infection and your Mother's complete insensitivity to my illness to ask you to step back in line with the rest of the boys. It's all I can do to proudly hold up this banner and let the world know that it's my first gig as Coach--and that our team is sponsored by an OB-GYN. association. But that doesn't mean we are pussies, Jesse.

JESSE: Do you think this color blue suits me?

KIP: I have always dreamed of this day. Me, my son, and a team. The five of you that bother to show up any given Sunday--we are going to kick some t-ball ass.

JESSE: I'm thinking these pants make my butt look big.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

The Bad Wife

I am trapped in a never ending episode of Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman and I am Jane Seymour except without her good looks and English accent. And a plague has come to River City and we got Trouble-oh yes Trouble, right here in River City.

I can take the poor chilluns being sick--have learned to medicate them heavily with doses of bubble gum flavored pink stuff, then medicate myself heavily with pinot grigio flavored wine stuff. I have learned how to cope with various childhood illnesses, mastering such phrases as: "Yes, you can watch your 100th video" and "If you feel like you are going to throw up, remember DAD is your go-to guy." I have accepted that my life can at some points seem to go from cough to flu to sore throat to odd itchy rash to ear infection to I ate a piece of gum off the street because my brother dared me to and now my tummy doesn't feel too good Mommy. I have spent many a sleepless night in a cloud of Vicks Vapor and all my tissues are ANTI FREEKING VIRAL. I am no wuss.

But one thing brings me to my knees, makes me long to hop aboard the Magic Schoolbus and just drive off with Miss Frizzle and the gang and never come back. Except I know the Frizz would have planned a field trip into the mucus membranes of my dearly beloved.

Kip is sick. Oh wait, did I say sick? I meant to say ON HIS DEATH BED gasping for breath literally-sounding very much like what I imagine the moans of a menstruating whale might sound like. And I want to be the Better Half that makes him a hot toddy and brings him his slippers, but 85% of me for some reason wants to KICK HIS ASS every time he starts a coughing fit because it HURTS it HURTS SO MUCH and I HAVE A FEVER and COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH. Shush honey, I'm trying to watch American Idol here. Can you go have your pneumonia in the bedroom please???

I am surely going to hell, where I am sure I will meet Satan himself and he will have a touch of the flu and ask me to feel his forehead because he feels like he is burning up.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

des formations imaginares

I received this Email from Victoria today and thought I would share it with you all.

I received this resume and letter from a guy in Cameroon who is interested in our accounting internship.

I double-clicked on the attachment thinking that it would be a resume, but it was another email, with a note, and the resume inside that. Obviously the guy had forwarded his resume after he'd had someone look at it. Since I speak French, I quickly read the note (with a couple of word assists from Charline) and had to laugh (and laugh and laugh!). Here's how it translates:

Salut Frero!

j'ai fini de traiter ton resume; Il y a des choses que j'ai ajoutees pour qu'il soit efficace. Essayes de le parcourir et dit moi si
quelque chose cloche. Concemant ton computer skills, renseigne toi sur les nouveaux logiciels que j'ai ajoute. Moi meme je ne
les maitrise pas. Mais en tant que comptable, ils doivent figurer dans ton resume. J'y ai aussi mis des formations imaginares,
car il le fallait pour que ta candidature soit credible.


Hello, Brother!

I finished working over your resume; there are some things that I added so that it would be more effective. Try to run with it, and tell me if you see anything odd . Concerning your computer skills, learn a little bit about the new programs that I've added. Even I haven't mastered them. But if you want to get a job in accounting, they'll have to be included in your resume. I also put in some imaginary schooling - which has to be in there so that your candidacy seems credible.



Thursday, April 05, 2007


I received this lovely letter from a fan today:

The following message was sent from by (name withheld by request proving I am really not such a bad person after all)
Hi. I love your products and stopped by the Grand Central Station store today, but was really taken aback to see "Jesus Juice" goblets displayed in the store window.
I asked the sales rep what Jesus Juice goblets were for, and he told me they were for wine.
Please tell me that this was just a dreadful mistake in judgement on the part of your buyers. If you are a Christian, there is nothing funny about Jesus Juice wine goblets. The wine offered the sacrament of the Holy Communion represents the Blood of Christ. If you are a believer, in taking the communion wine, you accept that you are drinking the blood of Christ. I don't think I've ever heard our Priest refer to the blood of Christ as "Jesus Juice". You would be doing millions of Christians in the region a service if you would remove this horrifingly offensive product from your store offerings.
Many thanks, (name removed)

So I wrote back:

Dear (name removed),

First-let me tell you a little joke: A Rabbi, a Priest, and a duck walk into a bar and....ok, maybe I'll save that one for later.

I am very sorry that our JESUS JUICE goblets offended you. Last month the "Mom, Dad, I'm Gaelic" mug had the Irish community up in arms. If we only made pottery that never danced up to the south side of edgy, well-that would make us Hallmark.

I don't know if any of the following products were still left in the window, or if a mass of Christians (Get it? That's a Catholic pun) gobbled them up, but we did also offer "Jesus Loves Me" mugs, Faith crosses, and a platter that read "This is the day the Lord hath made, Rejoice and be glad in it." The agnostics and atheists raised a rucus (damn them), I told them we are an equal opportunity offender.

Let me go on to say that I am a card carrying member of the "Millions of Christians" you refer to above. (My card happens to say "Jesus is Coming...Look Busy!"), but nonetheless, I have accepted Christ as my personal Savior and I have to disagree with you and say that JESUS JUICE is a tiny bit funny. A tiny bit. I know you say you haven't heard your Priest use the term, but let me just suggest that you don't look to Father Bob for lessons in humor--unless the title of his last sermon was "Have Faith even if you are slipping on Bananna Peels."

I know when I take communion that the grape juice in the cup is not ACTUALLY Christ's blood, or Mark Anthony and JLo would be up at the pulpit every week. Perhaps you may not have noticed that the words "JESUS JUICE" do not literally mean "THE BLOOD OF CHRIST." Last year I made a goblet that said "THE HOLY GRAIL"--for some reason readers of the DaVinci Code knew that it was NOT ACTUALLY the Holy Grail. Smart people, them. Even the ones that only saw the movie.

A common thread among all religions is love. And love can often be expressed through humor. To shut yourself off from humor and become Judy Judger is not what God wants for us all. He wants us to sit down at a table together, share a few laughs and drink some Jesus Juice.

Tonight, I will pray for forgiveness for being a Smartass, like I do everynight. And I will ask that the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, shows you the way to put the wonderful energy and intelligence you obviously posses and direct it towards making change in this word by railing against things that are ABSOLUTELY NOT FUNNY--like racism, bigotry, hate and war.

Now I need to go offend some serious Jewish people.

Love in Christ,


When I was four years old I colored in this bunny picture and won the Citizen's Easter Coloring Contest. That's me with the blonde hairstyle (THAT I STILL HAVE TO THIS DAY) bottom row, to the left. I also won ADDITIONAL PRIZES and that's a picture of me on the bottom taking a check from the man.

I got an Easy Bake oven and a twenty five dollar check. And that, ladies and gentleman is how a commercial artist is born.

Sunday, April 01, 2007


Jesse: Mommy, how come Uncle Jeff doesn't want to play with us so much in the morning?

Me: Because Uncle Jeff stays out very late with his friends, so he needs to catch up on his sleep during the day.

Jesse: Oh. You mean he's nocturnal.