I bought my daughter a cell phone and chose the number so she would be able to tell her friends:
“Call me - 449 BamD” (her first name and the inital of her surname). She loved it - mum is cool. Two days later she’s telling me it’s also 449 FUCK and that she’s fed up of the prank calls. :smack:
Share your blunders and make me feel not quite so alone.
Yesterday, my kids were kinda sour looking. Finally, a cranky looking DS said "You know… usually in the past… on Easter… the Easter Bunny brought us an Easter basket. "
Me: “Yes, but Easter is on Sunday. Today is Saturday.”
Him: “No. Today is Sunday.”
Me: (Thinking)…“Yikes. Ooops. Wait here…”
The thing is, I was totally aware that it was my birthday, and my birthday fell on Easter this year… etc. I just spazzed.
Anyway, they were happy when their baskets materialized, but I have a feeling I’ll be hearing about the year Mom forgot the Easter baskets for some time.
Let’s just say that the Tooth Fairy assigned to our home should have been sacked after the first tooth. And she never got any better.
449-BamD = 449-2263
449-FUCK = 449-3825
Do you have a different keypad layout than the US or was BamD not really her name?
I think “BamD” here signifies “Bam Boo’s Daughter,” not the real name.
I hope the 449 is fake too, or it might be easy for anyone who knows where BBD lives to figure out the daughter’s number. :eek:
His daughter’s named FU… ? …awww, never mind. 
I left a hotel room door slightly ajar and my then-2 yo son was wandering the halls for a few minutes. Geez, I gotta million of 'em lemme tell ya…
My grandpa made a really cute pantry for my sister for playing house. It was passed down to me and when TheKid was little it was in her room.
I woke up one night to a loud cry and TheKid leaping into my bed seemingly sweating hot. She always did sweat quite a bit while sleeping to the point of always having to wash her hair every morning, and she often came running into my room at night, so I didn’t think too much of it. I blurrily comforted her and she slept the rest of the night alongside of me.
When I opened my eyes in the morning I freaked out. My hands were bloody, the pillows were bloody, and TheKid’s face swollen and bloody.
In the middle of the night she was flopping around in her bed and had fallen off. A corner of the pantry got her right between the eyes.
I felt SO bad. To this day when people ask about her scar she tells them I was a slacker mom who allowed her to sleep in her own blood.
(Oddly enough, her dad and I also have scars quite similar to hers between our eyes. It’s a family thing, I guess)
Off topic I know, but my Mom’s birthday is the same as yours then. Happy birthday!
Names and numbers changed to protect the innocent. 
Also - we didn’t keep the number - so it’s up for grabs if any of ya want it!
[quote=“MissTake, post:8, topic:492955”]
… snip slacker mom who allowed her to sleep in her own blood.
QUOTE]
I don’t remember this, but my mom tells me when I was in 2nd grade or so, she made me breakfast while she was half-asleep and grumpy after a night of insomnia. I complained about some “black things” in my cereal. Mom grouched at me “It’s Raisin Bran. They’re raisins. Eat your breakfast.” I finished the bowl and went to school. Later my mom poured herself a bowl, and it was full of little black beetles.
I learned the hard way that my mom could not be trusted not to have food that had gone bad in the fridge, and that I needed to check expiration dates before eating anything.
My mom used to get on my case about my clothes, hair, and that sort of thing. She got some perspective on how I could be worse when some of my friends got pregnant in high school or college. After that, she stopped giving me a hard time about my taste in clothes and hair styles being different from hers, and we started getting along better. I still make life choices, big and small, that aren’t what she’d choose, but now I think she figures I am at least a productive member of society, so I could be worse.
My mother made us finish a half gallon of milk that had gone a bit off. She claimed it tasted different because it was Spring and the cows had switched from grain to grass.
We would put our daughter in bed with us while we were reading. One night, we forgot she was to the stage where she could start to move around. She wriggled to the foot of the bed and, not understanding edges all that well, fell off, face first.
The first we realized it was when we heard the thump. We picked her up and she was red and, for a moment, I thought she stopped breathing, but then she let out a powerful wail (she had been gathering breath to do it). She was OK, but she did have a bruised nose for awhile.
We kept a closer eye on her after that.