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Here Comes Monkey Claus, Here Comes Monkey Claus

Looking through old photographs last night the ghost of Christmas past visited me in the form of a monkey…Ricky the Santa Monkey to be exact.

It was Christmas 2004. I was 5 months pregnant. I had a 2-year-old. Those last two factors alone pretty much guaranteed a very hormonal holiday, wrapped up in a neat little package.

The hubby and I got in an argument over something, which I’m sure was exacerbated by my knocked-up condition.

He offered to escape my wrath take Miss C to the mall and when they returned he handed me this picture:

Yes for a small fee you too could have received this classy keepsake photo, complete with digital date stamp imprinted on the side. This is a family heirloom moment just waiting to be airbrushed on a t-shirt.

I laughed for hours over this picture…hours.

I cried I laughed so hard.

Well played hubby, well played.

Our local mall shut down not long thereafter, so let this be a lesson for you. If your mall is so broke they hire a monkey Santa, they probably won’t make it much longer. Our mall finally closed four years later. I’m sure the Santa monkey was a tipping point.

The real moral of this story, though, is for the husbands out there. Get thee to a mall with a Santa monkey if your wife is ticked off at you this holiday season. She’ll never remember why she was mad at you once you’ve made the pilgrimage to see a primate in a Santa suit.

Close Encounters Of The Bird Kind

I felt like Tippi Hedren in The Birds and then remembered it’s 2010, Alfred Hitchcock is dead, and we have HD Tv.

Monday evening the thunder rolled and dark storm clouds moved in while we were out after Miss C’s last indoor soccer game of the summer. We were eating at a little sports bar when I saw the tornado warnings for our county via e-mail on my iPhone.

We headed home, toward the tornado warnings (awesome), but by the time we got to our house the warnings had expired and it had just started to lightly rain. I decided to take down our hanging ferns from the front porch and place them on our front walk for a little watering session courtesy of Mother Nature.

We have a family of birds that always makes a nest in the right side fern each spring. The baby birds have long grown up, learned to fly, and headed elsewhere so I no longer proceed with caution when I unhook that fern.

Big mistake.

I started to take the fern down when a freaked out sparrow, no doubt hiding out from the threat of the summer storm, flew full speed DIRECTLY INTO MY FACE. OMG!

That’s right. A bird flew smack dab into my left jawline, right below my ear. I’m not sure who was more scarred from this episode, the bird or me, but I’m just glad it didn’t bruise my cheek or die slowly at my feet. I would love to explain that to my kids. Never mind the dead bird on the porch girls. Mommy killed it accidentally! WITH HER HEAD.

We won’t talk about the snake hiding in the bush by our mailbox a few weeks ago or the dead squirrel on our front lawn that greeted me as I went for a walk last night.

I think the universe is telling me to stay indoors.

Here Comes Monkey Claus, Here Comes Monkey Claus

Close Encounters Of The Bird Kind

Howdy!

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