MARTHA SPEAKS—YOUR KIDS SHOULD LISTEN. THEY’LL SOUND WICKED SMART.

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Uncategorized | Posted on 13-06-2014

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Haven’t we all wanted a talking dog at one point or another? Wait. Don’t answer that. Would they still be man’s best friend if they could tell all our secrets?!

Either way! Martha Speaks is kicking off a fun week of new episodes and games highlighting awesome vocabulary, starting this Monday, June 16th on PBS KIDS. Martha Speaks is perfect show to hold your kids’ attention and let you have a guilt free break because it works to enhance their vocabulary by using a chatty dog, Martha. Win, win! Help your kid become the smartest talker on the playground and tune in to one of the new episodes, like Thou Callest Me a Dog—it’s all about Shakespeare! Frankly, PBS KIDS, I could have used that episode junior year in college when I was trudging through The Complete Works of Shakespeare! 876 episodes of 90210 got me nothing but Peach Pit envy.

Some of the words covered in the Shakespeare episode are soliloquy, dialogue,  and producer.  Watch out world—we’re over seeing Spot run! Other episodes will introduce integrity, digress, tangent, convey, punctuation…..my heart is skipping a beat and I’m geeking out. I’m not going to lie. Why did I not think of this show? Probably because I was dreaming of dating Dylan instead of reading more Shakespeare. But I digress……(sorry, I can’t help it. Really. I know. I’ll stop now.)

I WANT TO CONVEY I KNOW BIG WORDS, MAMA!

I WANT TO CONVEY I KNOW BIG WORDS, MAMA!

 

Be sure to visit PBS KIDS on the Martha Speaks page to play the new Martha Steaks game! Kids learn new vocabulary as they help Martha’s friends tumble through a dream land for Martha—of steaks and falling hamburgers!

Now I’m hungry! If only it could rain Michelob Ultra in here. Ahhh….

So put your feet up mama, get your kid schooled in some awesome vocab words, and when they sound wicked smaht on the playground, it will be our secret! Cheers!

MY SON AND HIS BUDDY GETTING A JUMP START ON BEING WICKED SMAHT WITH A SNEAK PREVIEW OF SOME NEW EPISODES!

MY SON AND HIS BUDDY GETTING A JUMP START ON BEING WICKED SMAHT WITH A SNEAK PREVIEW OF SOME NEW EPISODES!

*I received a Martha Speaks Kit containing books, DVDs, and items from sponsors in order to facilitate this review. As always, all opinions art thou my own. OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT! I probably messed that up. It’s all Brandon Walsh’s fault.*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BUT OFFICER, I WASN’T AWARE I HAD ARSE PROBLEMS, TOO!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Awesomeness, OH &^%$!!, Random Rage, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Suburban Madness, Yo! It's a girl thing! | Posted on 20-06-2012

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So last week I’m cruising along right near my house with two of my boys when I drive by a police officer running a speed trap.

“Ah ha!” I thought to myself as I slurped my Dunks, “Some suckah’s gettin’ bus-ted.”

I knew it wasn’t me because I was not speeding much at all.

Two seconds later, his lights went on right behind me.

Being smug: not working out well for me since 1973!

 

NO SUCH LUCK. THEY WERE OFF DUTY ASSISTING SOME LADIES AT DISCO KARAOKE NIGHT. SIGH.

I didn’t even have a chance to get nervous about what I did, because all of a sudden from the way back, five year old started hollering as I lowered my window, “OH no! Mom, are you going to go to jail?? Oh no!” No, I am not, son. I’m drinking coffee, not Jack Daniels! Shame on me for forgetting to leave the evening news on that ONE time! 

I grabbed for my stylin’ license of which I’m so proud (and by that I mean, I hope the DMV photographer comes down with a temporary, yet debilitating, disease next time my license is due) and looked in my side view mirror to see the corner of the police officer’s mouth turning into a smile.

He turned out to be a super cool guy, and we both assured 5 year old I was not going to the slammer. That day. (For all I know, the kid was hoping I hit the clink for a while. How do I really know why he was asking? He might have had visions of swinging from the curtain rods and eating cookies in bed for all I know!)  He was kind enough to joke with the boys for a while and told me to get my burnt out taillight fixed–which was my grand transgression. (After he ran my license to make sure I wasn’t the sketchiest person ever to cruise around with two pint sized accomplices in a pink Land’s End nerd herd polo shirt. You never know.)

Had he not been so cool, I was totally prepared to bring my high school debate team (shut up) skillz to the sitch.  Because really, how would I know the light was busted? Why didn’t anyone tell me I had rear end problems? (Here I thought my muffin top middle was my problem area. Badum, dum.)

Getting a taillight fixed is kind of more annoying than you’d think, by the way. I thought it would be bad form to call the police officer back and tell him that. But there was no way I was bringing the brood with me–so I knew it had to wait a few days. I waited to go when the hubs got home from work one night–while I chanced a second encounter with Officer Friendly that I can only imagine wouldn’t have gone so well if he caught me schlumping about town with ass trouble still.

I tried to be good citizen and patronize a local gas station. But when I called and politely asked when they could take me/how long it would take, I got hollered at in half English/half another language I am not well versed in from school or PBS Kids. “You comah in and it fazukababa take sumpagowlaboo how long it take, la-deeeee! Growl! Exclamation/growly mystery language!”

“Ummmm? I’ll be right down as soon as you…”  DIAL TONE. Oh shoot, I disconnected our call. My bad.

I only wanted to know because the grubby, independent gas station front for mean old men who want to yell at innocent tail light victims has no waiting room and I would’ve been standing on a curb inhaling stale butt smoke and gasoline while they fixed my tail light shotgunned motor oil. I mean, I’m not opposed to a little second hand fumes in the name of supporting the little guy, but I didn’t want to be mistaken for a middle aged chubby hausfrau street walker. That’s all. So, I chose to take my biz to the conglomerate dealership with the coffee and comfy chairs, and I watched Ellen in blissful, fume free silence while I waited for my car. They smiled, called me ma’am (which I used to hate, but let’s face it, it’s a big step up from la-deeeee!), and I was in and out of the place for $20 in half an hour.

On second thought, maybe I should write the officer a thank you note. Most peaceful half hour I’ve had in a while!