I look forward to April Fools' Day every year, but there's a lot of pressure to come up with the perfect prank. I gave up on trying to "get" my husband years ago. Most of my friends too. They claim they can see it coming from a mile away. Really Sharon? Remember this epic prank? Thank you for not calling the police by the way. So I'm just left with my kids now. At ages ten and seven I figure I only have a few years left before they're onto me.
I don't like messy tricks because I just end up having to clean up after them. Scaring the bejesus outta my children isn't fun for me either. Okay, yes it is, but they won't forgive me for months. Mean-spirited tricks that hurt or embarrass people are never funny—with the exception of a handful on You Tube. (I'm going to hell for laughing at those.) I don't do wasteful gags either. Like the toothpaste filled Oreos. It's funny, but hello, that's a waste of a perfectly delicious snack! And pranks that take a lot of planning or props or forethought or effort don't work for me either. I'm lazy.
So here are five SIMPLE gags to play on kids. Feel free to add suggestions to the comment section (please!) so we can all act like silly fools together next week. (Which is unlike any other day, how exactly?)
1. Pack a silly school lunch. Bonus points for being gross.
2. Bed Switch. When your kids are sleeping soundly, carry them into each other's beds. When they wake up, they'll wonder whose bed they're in. (Been there, done that. Hello 1990s. Just kidding-ish.)
3. Baking soda in the toilet. Why? Urine + Baking Soda = Foamy Fun In A Bowl
4. Try this cute Butter Fingers gag
5. Fake Milk Splatter! Make this portable spill (Easy to make — Directions here). Put it on your keyboard beside an empty kids' cup. Freak out and ask for the guilty party to fess up. Heh heh.
If you're looking for some other ways to be foolish, here are forty more.
*Rubber Chicken Image Source: www.stupid.com which is the exact name I'd have chosen if I had my own website.
My house isn’t spotless, *steps over tumbleweed of dog hair* nor is it a showplace decorated to the nines. My house is a home; enthusiastically lived in and comfortable. It’s my favourite place to be. Though I enjoy a spirited night out now and then, I’m more of a homebody. And despite last weekend's gluttonous inhalation of a Costco sized bag of potato chips, I don’t mean to infer that my rear is the size of a house…though a few thousand miles on the treadmill couldn’t hurt. I mean to say, I prefer to entertain at home.
Our house is open concept and the kitchen is the epicentre. I spend about 82% of my time there. I chat with dinner guests while I toss a salad, help my children with their homework as I take a homemade casserole (frozen pizza) out of the oven, or follow the story line of a cerebral documentary (Gossip Girl) in the den while making the kids’ lunches for the next day. The kitchen is my happy place.
I’m a former work-outside-the-home mom who, due to circumstances I never imagined, now works from home. We recently turned my upstairs office into a guest room and moved my office to the kitchen. I can now wheel my office chair directly to the fridge without ever having to stand up. This doesn't bode well for my homebody.
I’m learning to embrace my inner Helen Homemaker, while raising two wonderful children and one hilarious husband. I cook whole-heartedly, bake optimistically, and clean sporadically — while silently cursing my neighbour (the one with the weekly maid service).
I try to run a tight ship over here; some days it’s a breeze and we sail right along. While admittedly, there are other days… well, it’s sink or swim basically. Despite all that, I love being at home. A little too much. I live at home (obviously...where else would I live?), I work at home and I play at home. I fear I'm becoming a hermit crab.
Do you feel so cozy at home that you find yourself opting to stay in more often than you used to? Is this necessarily a bad thing? Is this a common effect of working from home? Should I fight it or just go with it? We crustaceans have a lot of questions...
If you're lazy, or crabby or lying face down on the living room rug from exhaustion, you might also relate to these:
I may be allergic to hay, but I don't let that prevent me from mounting my high horse every chance I get. "Did you see that fight break out on Twitter last night? People need to get a life!" I'll say to a friend in a disgusted tone. Or, "Why would she leave such a nasty blog comment? Doesn't she have anything better to do?" I'll ask while rolling my eyes so dramatically that it leaves me feeling dizzy.
I try to stay clear of people who judge first, then ask questions later. And this makes me awesome. I'm open-minded and gracious. I'm gentle and I hold my tongue. I'm basically an agnostic Mother Theresa. I'm so much better than all that negative online nonsense and cattiness.
But am I?
I may not fan the flames of online negativity, but it seems I do my fair share of judging from a distance, and I'm wondering—is this normal? As in, is this an innate component of human nature? Or am I just finding out now that I'm actually a straight-up bitch?
So, I've developed this highly scientific exercise to determine if you're awesome or awful.
Simply choose a group of peers who are currently involved in your life (neighbours, colleagues, book club members, etc.). Go down the list in your head and think about each person carefully. Is there anything that comes to mind for each one that's in any way judgmental on your part?
For example, here's my list (for the sake of not getting beaten at our next gathering, I'm not naming the source of this group, and I've changed names to protect the innocent—me!).
Kate—rude and aloof
Amanda—totally crazy and, frankly, a pretty awful parent
Suzanne—full of herself
Kerry—slob with hoarding tendencies
Lisa—a bit of a judgy jerk who needs to check herself . . . yikes.
Final thought: I'm a reasonably nice person, so if I'm judging, what are other people doing and more importantly, what are they thinking/saying about ME? Eep.
Hey, have you read this? The Almighty Twitter: Saints and Sinners of Social Media