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I Do Love You, Spud, Honest

11 Feb

Wednesday 15 January, 2014

Where’s my birthday post?

I’m not blogging at the moment!

You don’t love me.

Spud turned eighteen while I was on a break.  I didn’t write a happy birthday post – because I was on a break.  I did take him tea in an eighteenth birthday mug, buy him banners and balloons and not say a word about the girl in his bed on a school day; but, no, all he can see is no birthday post.

Apparently, I didn’t write him a birthday post last year when he turned seventeen.  I wrote one for his brother and his father, a hundred readers and even myself – but not one for him.  My argument, ‘But you don’t read my blog!’ didn’t cut it, because, apparently, he does.

I have been ordered to write a make-up post and not to make this make-up post all about his brother, which is what I appeared to have done in last year’s make-up post, saying how great his brother was and how he spoiled Spud on his birthday blah blah blah.

I’m a terrible mother.

But I can’t say that, because this post is all about Spud.

Spud was the biggest baby in the hospital, the week he was born – about ten pounds.  I have mentioned before that he looked like the V alien baby when he came out all blue and crinkly.  And absolutely gorgeous – which is how he’s stayed:

DSCN1860_IGP5708DSCN1770

Spud is now a man, and he has a learner’s driving licence to prove it.  He has done a lot of thinking this past year about what he wants to do with his life; but the decision was really made in the summer, the moment a sweaty Macbeth spat on him during the performance at the Globe: Spud wants to act.

This past year he has played Greek tragedy, Shakespeare and farce.  At the moment he’s rehearsing Judas in Godspell.  He doesn’t want to be rich and famous; he wants to work in theatre.  He is deadly serious: he wants to pretend to be other people for the rest of his life.  I couldn’t be prouder; or more scared.

Happy birthday, my darling boy.  Whatever you do in life, I know you’ll obsess about it until it’s right.

I love you.

Happy Birthday, Hub!

10 Oct

The Hub is 49 today.  As he is no longer two years younger than me (which he is for ten days every year, and you can bet he makes the most of it…), he is no longer my Toy Boy (you can’t have it both ways, Hub).

As it’s his birthday, I intend to spoil him: I will refrain from snarky comments; and give him the biggest portion of dinner.  

Happy birthday, my darling.

Here’s what you have to look forward to:

Don't be afraid, my dear...

Don’t be afraid, my dear…

 

Happy Birthday, Tory Boy!

18 Apr

My beloved eldest child is 23 today.  From 12:41 p.m., Wednesday 18th April 1990, Tory Boy was my ylem.  The moment I saw him, I loved.

I might even have cried a little (probably thinking about the pregnancy fat I was never going to shake off).

‘Bonding’ had come into fashion when I was carrying TB; I asked my gynea if I would be able to hold the baby as soon as it was born.  He told me that bonding takes a life time, not a moment.  He was right.

What he failed to mention, however, is that as soon as you’ve bonded, you have to start preparing yourself to let go of them.  Tory Boy works; he has a lovely girlfriend; he lives away from home; he calls and visits (occasionally; usually when he needs something); he sends me poems that make me laugh and weep.  I did my job.  His father helped, when I let him.

But how I miss those moments, early in the morning, when it was just him and me.  When I would soothe and feed him and he would fall asleep in my arms.

Our bonding began on the Saturday after he was born, when the Hub was given permission not to visit until the evening (after the match).  I fed Tory Boy; he fell asleep; and I simply could not bear to let go of him.  I sat in a chair with my beautiful baby in my arms and we stayed there for many hours.  My demanding body, which needs a toilet break every hour and a food break every half hour, knew not to mess with me that day.

I looked at my baby and I loved him; and that has never changed.

 

Happy Birthday, Aquatom

13 Mar

The Laughing Housewife Goes To Tellyland is taking a short season break and will be back tomorrow.

In the meantime, it’s somebody’s birthday…you may remember this banner:

TillyOne

Aquatom created it for me; now it’s my turn to create something for him.

His birthday poem has chops and changes in the rhythm: that’s my homage to his ever-changing blog look and not an indication that I might have struggled writing this one.  

  • Read it out loud to a rapping rhythm
  • Take a breath after the first stanza, to allow for the change in rhythm
  • Rush through ‘dotwordpress’ on the last line, or it won’t sound right.

Well, here goes:

For You!You!You! youyou!

His name is Tom with the prefix ‘Aqua’
Read his blog; you’ll enjoy some laughter
You won’t need gin or wine or vodka

He’s a really nice bloke
And he likes to make a joke
But he also does bespoke

Christmas headers for this Tilly
In return I give this silly
Rhyme from a grateful filly

His name is Aqua with the suffix ‘Tom’
If you’d like to give him a birthday balm
See wellheregoesdotwordpressdotcom

Happy Birthday, Tom!

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If you would like a nonsense birthday poem, leave your details in the comments section or email me at thelaughinghousewife@gmail.com

A Belated Happy Birthday, Janet!

14 Dec

I feel terrible.*  Janet’s birthday was on 12/12/12.  She mentioned it on her blog and in my comments but I didn’t read either in time to respond.

I am quite literal: because Janet is too polite to say, Oi!  I want a poem! I didn’t write a poem for her birthday.  Remember, if you want a nonsense birthday poem, you must tell me in the comments or via email.  Maybe I need to set up a separate page.

Fortunately, Janet got over her politeness to demand, Oi!  Where’s my poem?

I first met Janet when she emailed me out of the blue to tell me that my gravatar was not linked to my blog.  We’ve been firm friends ever since.

Janet’s first language is Chinese but you’d think it was English.  She has a lovely, clever son of twelve, called Ben, who has his own rather impressive blog.  He could teach us all a thing or two about history.  Janet is sweet and kind and well worth a visit.

Happy Birthday Janet

Happy Birthday JANET (Photo credit: ali eminov) You can find anything on the internet – even virtual cakes for friends!

A Birthday Apology To Janet Williams

Not elated
I’m belated
She’s deflated

On her birthday that’s not good
I’d time travel if I could
I know she’d understood

Battling with my tenses
This poem is nonsens-
ical’s my consensus

The kindest girl on the planet
is my dear, sweet Janet
whose name rhymes with ‘pomegranate’  

Umm, one more thing, chum:
you are a great mum
I mean it, by gum!

Happy birthday, Janet.  You have the honour of receiving my most nonsensical poem yet. :D

*Don’t worry: I can assure you that Janet will assure me that I have nothing to feel terrible about.  She’s that kind of person: kind.

Happy Birthday, Tinman!

13 Dec

Here’s a quirky thing: a Tinman with a great big heart.

According to Oz Wiki,

With or without a heart, [Tinman] was all along the most tender and emotional of Dorothy’s companions.  

Judging by my favourite Tinman‘s posts about his beloved family, that’s still true.

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Tinman has a heart so free
It’s filled with love for all to see
So proud of Tinkids 1,2,3
His posts are always full of glee
He’s also married, happily

The funniest man in the blogosphere
I really find him rather dear
But funnier than me, I fear
Hence this greeting (insincere)
Shame he can’t rejoice with beer*

*That’s the luck of the Irish

happy birthday, dad!

happy birthday, dad! (Photo credit: macwagen) I found this photo just for you.  Now you have to change your name to Rick.

Happy birthday, Tinman!

Dear readers, if you like laughing, visit Tinman.  Though it kills me to say it, he’s hilarious and I’m not a bit jealous.  Not one bit.  Not at all. Really.

Happy Birthday, Janie Jones!

5 Dec

There sure are a lot of birthdays in December.   I guess we know what bloggers’ parents like to do in March.

 

 

This is Rosie the Riveter.  In America, she’s a famous World War II icon.

 

My friend Janie Jones, who has a birthday today, is not really called Janie Jones; it’s a pseudonym.  She uses Rosie the Riveter’s picture, sort of: it’s a facsimile she drew to make sure the nasty SOPA people (remember them?) can’t lock her up:

 

 

I can see her building planes and munitions because she’s tough, after the things life has thrown at her; though she’d rather tell a joke – usually dreadful, and therefore hilarious to me.

 

I have always liked her blog but I liked it even more way back when I was awarding Cowabungers (remember them?) for the blogger who left the best comment of the week in here.  To stay clear of the SOPA police (you must remember them), she didn’t use the image that was her award which I had stolen from elsewhere on the internet; instead, she drew another facsimile:

 

 

Janie put it in her sidebar and gave it the title:

 

Winner of the Coveted CoWAbunger Award, October 10, 2011

 

See that?  COVETED.

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.

 

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I Like Janie Jones A Lot: A Birthday Poem

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.
Of plenty she’s not got.
She works real hard
though it be ard
uous to raise alone a tot.
Dedicated parents are scarce
in this selfish universe,
but selfish she is not.

 

I like Janie Jones a bunch.
One day I’ll buy her lunch.
I might even tease her
with a single Malteser
she won’t be allowed to munch.
Dedicated poems can be ard
uous to write but not hard
this time.  This line is the punch.

 

Sorry for the weak ending, Janie.
I know it’s kind of lamey.

 

Happy birthday, Janie Jones.  I hope the future’s rosy.

 

Happy Birthday Single 7"

Happy Birthday Single 7″ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Happy Birthday, Benzeknees!

4 Dec

Benzeknees left this comment a while back:

Since hubby forgot my birthday last year, maybe I can at least get a birthday poem. December 4 is my birthday.

To ensure he doesn’t forget again, I have written a cautionary tale. 

Candles spell out the traditional English birt...

Candles spell out the traditional English birthday greeting (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A poem sung to the tune of, When Santa got stuck up the chimney

When hubby forgot her birthday she began to shout:
You naughty boy won’t get any toys when your day comes about!
My birthday’s flat
My mood is black
My fist is itching, too
Because you forgot my birthday:
Yes you, yes you, yes you!

It was on the night of her Big Day
When Benzeknees began to sway
Into the chimney she pushed her bloke
He felt smothered, began to choke
Oh, what a terrible plight, no joke
She left him there all day

Her hubby she pushed up the chimney
He began to yell
I’m so sorry
But don’t you worry
I promise I’ll behave well!
My head was up there in the other where
I know it made you blue
I’ll no more forget your birthday
Love you, Love you, Love you!

Happy birthday, Benzeknees!  Hope it does the trick.

Santa in chimney emoticon (Christmas Emoticons)

If you would like a nonsense poem for your birthday, leave a comment with some details.

Happy Birthday, Viv!

1 Dec

Our lovely Viv is 75 today!

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Viv is still in hospital but on the mend and desperate to access the internet.

To celebrate her birthday, I have written a simple senryu, to complement the one she wrote yesterday, in her hospital bed, on the spot and over the phone to her daughter, who posted it on Viv’s blog.

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Viv has been alive
for seventy-five years.  I
am glad she is here.

Visit her blog and
push her numbers up to
80k.  Make her day.

*

Happy Birthday, Viv!  We miss you.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

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Happy Birthday, Miss Whiplash

23 Nov

 

Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Happy Birthday To A Many Named Woman

Miss Whiplash made a splash the first time she crossed my blogosphere.
She was not the naughty madam of the news, as I had feared.
A lovely lass of 72 who was sweet and always here,
liking every post of mine but without the help of beer.

Her real name is Patrecia
with the spelling most peculiar.
Her honesty is refreshing;
if I’m not being too familiar.

There is one thing I need to ask;
I hope she won’t take me to task -
I really need to know
for this poem has nowhere else to go:

Miss Dubya
are the women hairier
in Bulgaria?

A picture of a birthday cake

Happy 73rd Birthday dear, sweet Patrecia.

May your kitchen be new, your animals be many and your husband called Neville.

Love,

Tilly

Dear readers, visit Patrecia at her blog.  You won’t be sorry.

If you would like a nonsense poem for your birthday, leave your details in the comments.  Payment is a visit to Patrecia’s blog.

Happy Birthday, Bluebee

13 Oct
English: A Blue-banded bee (Amegilla sp.) coll...

English: A Blue-banded bee (Amegilla sp.) collecting nectar from a Lantana camara flower.  (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bluebee lives Down Under.  I’m not smart enough to be able to turn this text upside down so she’ll have to make do with being backwards instead:

Eebeulb ,Yadhtrib Yppah

Or this:

Bluebee, Birthday Happies

Maybe this:

H
a
p
p
y

B
i
r
t
h
d
a
y
,

B
l
u
e
b
e
e

That last one came out like this at first:

H

a

p

p

y

B

i

r

t

h

d

a

y

,

B

l

u

e

b

e

e

It was an easy mistake to make – there are a lot of open spaces in the outback…

Australian Blue Banded Bee

Australian Blue Banded Bee (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bluebee matches interesting photos to interesting poetry.  She is always worth a look.

Happy Birthday, Bluebee.  Here’s your Birthday Poem

Happy Birthday to you
Bluebee don’t be blue
Be Smilebee, be Laughbee,
Be Grinbee, not sad
You’re older, you’ll moulder,
Be bolder, be glad.
Happy Birthday to you
Dear Bluebee, woo-hoo!

(Hey, if you want great poetry, you’ll have to write your own)

PS I couldn’t use your image because you are obviously an evil genius who won’t allow anyone to lift your picture.  

Kudos.

If you would like a birthday poem written in your honour, leave your date in the comment section.  Please write the month because different countries have different ways of writing dates (are you listening, America?).

 

Happy Birthday Patti!

6 Oct

 

pat-a-cake pat-a-cake camping gal
take me a-trekking as fast as you can

climb up a mountain, live in a tent
write all about where you were and you went

chuck in a baby gap 15 years long
a teenage girl runner, tall-limbed and strong

throw in a pic of a mad man’s part-y
then follow instructions: sit down and read me

Patti writes a lovely, gentle blog so I have written her a lovely, gentle poem to match.
:
What she actually envisioned this post would be was something with small circles of ground meat involved, therefore, I have made a point of not calling her a hamburger.  
:
Today.
:
Have a wonderful day, Patti!
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If you would like a nonsense poem on your birthday, leave the date in the comments.
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My Son Is Home. Is It My Birthday?

3 Oct
birthday cake

birthday cake (Photo credit: freakgirl)

Of course it is!  Or was, on Sunday. As Patti commented, however, The birthday just keeps on going.

It started last week, but that’s a post for another day (tomorrow) (now I have to write it, as I’ve committed to it) (at least I know what I’ll be writing about tomorrow) (I don’t always) (do you?).

Actual celebrations started on Saturday afternoon, when Spud insisted we walk the dogs at a specific time, instead of dragging the start time out as long as possible, in the hope that it would rain and the dogs would refuse to put their pure bred little backsides out the front door.

I suspected nothing.

We always walk for a minimum of thirty minutes; Spud tries to pare it down to as little as possible.   He dragged it out to forty-five minutes: I want to go on the swings/Let’s go the long way home for a change/I’m interested in what you’re saying.

I should have suspected something with that last one.

We arrived home.  I could hear Hub talking.  An unexpected guest?  I walked into the living room – there was Tory Boy in all his curly-haired glory!  I wasn’t expecting him for another week.  If I ever doubted my love for my son (as you do) (you don’t?) (oh, it’s just me, then?), I could tell by the way I threw my arms around him until he turned blue and screamed like a Saturday night TV audience that I was glad to see him.

You can’t get a better present than that, though some of these came pretty close:

  • The Hunger Games DVD.  I enjoyed it much more, second time around, because I’m over the horror of watching it the first time.  The first time I watch a film version of a beloved book, I always hate it.  Then I learn to love it, because I know what’s in, what’s out, what’s added to make it make sense.  It’s a rough journey but I persevere.
  • The Hunger Games trilogy of books.  I have them on my Kindle but I wanted hard copies (in paperback, so they are soft hard copies, not hardback hard copies) for when society breaks down.  When that happens – it’s closer than you think; remember what they’re doing to our food – I won’t have any electricity to re-charge the Kindle and the Hub will insist on using the generator we must get around to buying, for lights and stuff; he’s not a reader, you see.  So this gift was an absolute essential.
  • Toiletries.  A fair bit of.  Apparently, I smell.  
  • Some fun stuff, the subject of tomorrow’s post.
  • A poetry book.  Big and inclusive with pretty pictures.  I love it.
  • A rap.  That was from Spud.  He wrote it the night before and performed it on Sunday morning while half asleep.  I love it, particularly the part where his mother is not crap.
  • A housework-free day.  The boys did everything, including cooking, dishes, and every cup of tea.  Be sure I took advantage.
  • A promise.  I’ll tell you more when the promiser makes good on the promise he made to the promisee (me).
  • A beautiful jumper that arrived yesterday.  I like birthdays that go on all week.  I got another card this morning.
  • Maltesers.  Without which, what’s the point of birthdays?

    Happy Birthday

    Happy Birthday (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Thank you, everyone  for your good wishes.  I promise not to talk about my birthday again until next year.  Apart from tomorrow, of course.  And if I remember anything I might have forgotten to share today.  To paraphrase Patti: the birthday that won’t go away.

You think you’ve had it hard this year?

Next year, I’m fifty.

McGuffy Stuff

26 May

Happy Birthday to Ann over at McGuffy’s Reader.

I liked her blog from the moment I heard the name, because I was heavily into The Little House on the Prairie at the time, where they use McGuffy’s Reader to teach Nineteenth Century children (hey, I’ve followed blogs for dafter reasons than that).

Ann blogs about cats, a lot – another reason to make me a fan.  Like that mad dictator of one of the Russian ‘Stans who dedicated a public holiday to water melons, Ann has Cat Thursday – my favourite day for her posts.  Check out her latest pic:

Ann also blogs about books, promoting new releases.  Treble fandom.  She has just reviewed a book by Kellie Meister called Crazy Critter Lady.  Make of that what you will…

Ann tells me that she is ‘extremely casual…been married 30 years’…make of that what you will.

Here is her birthday poem:

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A Birthday Poem For Ann

Happy birthday, Ann,
of whom I am a fan.
Married to Bill
(make of that what you will)

for thirty years.
She endears
herself to her readers
with cat pics that get weirder

by the Thursday. 
I can’t stay away:
McGuffy likes fluffy
like I like McGuffy.

Of folk she never speaks ill;
make of that what you will.
She likes to distil goodwill;
make of that what you will.
This poem’s going downhill -
make of that what you will.

No need to be my mind reader:
I like McGuffy: read her.

Bday2

Bday2 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 ***If you would like your own nonsense birthday post, leave your details in the comments section.

70 Scribblings

11 May
Go 70

Go 70 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dianne over at Schmidley’s Scribblings is 70 today.  Many happies, Dianne!

 

First, a joke for you:

John is shopping when he meets his friend Paul outside a jeweller’s shop.  Paul is holding a small, gift-wrapped box.

‘Hi Paul!  What have you got there?’ John asked.

‘It’s the wife’s seventieth birthday tomorrow.  I asked her what she wanted and she said, “Something with lots of diamonds in it,” so I bought her two packs of playing cards.’

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Next, a picture.  I Google Imaged ‘Schmidley’ and this is what came up:

It seemed apt.

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Finally, a poem:

Dianne is seventy today
She made her years go a long way
She has several degrees
Two gardening knees
A parrot, and husband for play

*

 

Happy birthday, Dianne! 

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Dear readers, if you would like your own birthday post, please leave your details and a few personal facts in the comments section.

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