Wieners In Your Face

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Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Humor, Mothering, Parenting | Posted on 29-08-2016

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Shit!

That was the first word uttered in Sausage Party. And that was my first reaction bringing my eleven-year-old and thirteen-year-old to this raunchy, totally-not-VeggieTales matinee.

When I watched the trailer, I thought what could be funnier than talking wieners?

We live in a family with three males, four if you count our dog–and two females. We women are outnumbered. Silly talk. Crudeness. Butt jokes. Wiener humor. We value openness and humor. It’s part of our family. My daughter and I are not phased. In fact, we join in with the comments. That what she said… This drawing is of a friendly penis, drawn years ago. Its artist shall remain unnamed. I keep it thumbtacked to my bulletin board for a giggle.

I was expecting Sausage Party to be full of wiener-dick-balls-buns jokes. It didn’t disappoint. However, we definitely were not the target audience. Ooops. Bad judgement on my part. Swing and a miss!

The movie had some good messages: how everyone has a purpose in life (including bagels and juice boxes). And everyone deserves to be loved. Except. Imagine animated horny hot dogs getting it on with sexy hot dog buns. Food porn. The final scene was an all-out food orgy on aisle 3.

I goofed taking my kids to this movie. All in a day of parenting, I guess, where there are hits and misses. Earlier that day, I took them to lunch at the Thai restaurant (hit), we shopped for school supplies (miss), and my youngest had his first guitar lesson (hit). Then, weenies in your face (miss).

I talk openly with my kids about anatomy. Anatomy is a part of life. I also admit when I’m wrong and I try to make things right. Mistakes are also part of life.

When we left the movie theater, I apologized to my kids that I made a mistake taking them to an inappropriate movie. I relish the fact that they forgave me.

A photo posted by PeskyPippi (@peskypippi) on

Terri Wore Pajamas to School

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Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Adolescence, High School, Life | Posted on 18-11-2013

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I recently saw a movie called Terri, featured at Sundance a few years ago, about an overweight teen boy who wore pajamas to school every day. He was labeled a misfit and his classmates teased him. I felt sorry for him.

Terri reminded me of a guy back in high school named Murray. Murray was an overweight teen boy who wore an army jacket to school every day. He was labeled a misfit and his classmates teased him. I felt sorry for him.

His jacket was baggy. His hair was shaggy. His cheeks were ruddy. And Murray was bullied. He would sit on the ground, leaning against the building, eating his sandwich. And the boys would go up and slug him. For no reason. Murray would just sit there and slump. Sometimes he would try to fight back, looking enraged–swinging his shoulder bag that he always carried with him–trying to hit the boys with it. These actions made the boys laugh and taunt him even more. It was a mean, bully cycle.

Thinking back, I’m not sure why I didn’t try to help Murray. I was sad for him. Why didn’t I intervene and take action? Why didn’t I tell the vice principal?

Bullying in schools has changed somewhat. Schools take bullying a lot more seriously. I wrote about how my son was bullied in Kindergarten. Read here for that.

Except I know that people will always labeled “misfits.” And I know there will always be people who like to think they are better than others. Unlike the clouds, some things never change.

A photo posted by PeskyPippi (@peskypippi) on

When it Comes To Star Wars, I am Retarded

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Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Kids, Memories, Mother, Movies, Parenting, Pop Culture | Posted on 02-07-2012

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When it comes to Star Wars trivia, I am not the the brightest star in the galaxy. In fact, I am sort of retarded. If there were CliffsNotes, I would get them. Just to keep up with my seven-year-old son.

I first saw Star Wars at the movie theater when I was eight years old. When I tell my son that I know about the first Star Wars, my young son will correct me and say, “No, MOM, it’s not the FIRST Star Wars, it’s episode IV: A New Hope.”

WTH?

When you start messing with chronology and prequels, you lose me. You had me at Clone Troopers, Boba Fett, Jango Fett, General Grievous, Count Dooku. And Anakin. Who IS this kid?

If I had to write an essay on the Star Wars storyline and how these characters interact, I would pee my Jedi briefs. I just don’t get it. And I’m a pretty smart cookie.

I mean, I know Chewbacca C-3PO, R2-D2, Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader, Jabba the Hut, Princess Leia, Storm Troopers, Yoda. You could quiz me. I even know the Millenium Falcon and the Death Star.

Dude! When I was a kid, C-3PO and R2-D2 did a Public Service Announcement about immunize-your-children-against-Whooping-Cough. Whooping Cough?! Yeah that. Now I sound as if I’m as old as Yoda.

Then there’s the Wookies, Ewoks, even Jar Jar Binks (doesn’t he sound like Dobby in Harry Potter?) I know them!

I am the mother to three children who happen to love this sextiology. My youngest son will talk for hours straight about Boba and Jango. I nod and smile as if I totally get it. (I don’t have a clue.)

But I’ll buy the Lego Star Wars game on Xbox 360, light sabers, the Clone Trooper Halloween costume, the Lego sets, the Yoda jammies, toothbrushes. Regardless of my Star Wars retardation, I DO have a clue about consumerism and merchandising. I get that.

Set “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away


Snakes On a Plane…Hell No

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Posted by peskypippi | Posted in Adolescence, Boys, Celebrations, Connections, Family, Humor, Life Lessons, Mothering, Mothers and Sons, Parenting | Posted on 08-05-2012

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Ophidiophobia = the fear of snakes. Yeah, I got that.

If my kids ever ask me, “Mom, can I get a pet snake?”

“Hell, no.”

Snakes at museums? I can handle that. Because there are padlocks on the lids. But snakes on the loose? Indiana Jones and I. We both hate snakes.

So, the movie selection with my newly-minted-13-year-old son? Snakes on a Plane. OMG.

  • A snake peeping out of the overhead storage bin? Hell no.
  • A snake striking out of the toilet? Hell no.
  • A snake slithering up your leg when you have nodded off? Hell no.
  • A snake sneaking into your purse and then–surprise–you find it while rummaging around for some gum. Hell no.
  • A snake attacking the co-pilot? Hell no.

But I wanted to be cool Mom. So we watched, side by side, as the snakes peeped and struck and slithered and snuck and attacked.

Here’s a teensy little clip that made us bust up laughing (don’t proceed if you don’t like swearing…me? #sailormouth):

You and me both, SLJ, you and me both.