Is anyone else freaked out by the current Kay Jewelers commercial....attractive woman alone in a cabin in the woods with a serial killer? (Ok...so I don't know if he's a serial killer or not but if I was a betting woman my money would be on death.)
The weather is bad. In fact according to the boyfriend, it's the worst storm in years. The woman is scared. A boulder careens into the window which miraculously doesn't break. (I'm not sure how--- possibly it was launched by a remote controlled catapult for dramatic effect by said boyfriend.)
The woman jumps and then is grabbed by Captain Wet Hair who is wearing a sweater and holding a box (which to me is a far scarier combination than the storm with the flying foam boulders). "Don't worry, I'm here." he says in a soothing voice while pulling her closer.
Then enter the voice change...think Jack Nicholson in The Shining OR (no no no this is better ) in Silence of the Lambs when he says "Clarice"----yea, that's it...as you hear him end the commercial with "and I always will be."
AAAAUUUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HOld on. Let me say that again...AAAAAUUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!
Don't take the ring lady! DON'T TAKE THE RING!!!!
For crying out loud haven't you ever seen a horror movie? Where did you spend your teenage years? Under a rock? Watching the Sound of Music? This night will not end well. Do you hear me? THIS NIGHT WILL NOT END WELL!!!!
Ok, liz...calm down. It was just a commercial. No search parties will be formed in the morning. You can sleep easy. Just try not to think about the cabin with the man who will always be there.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I Can't Believe I Said It Again
This blog is named after an incident where I found myself yelling at Simon in my mother's entry way as he was opening a can of whoop on her giant poinsettia plants.
In fact that scene was the catalyst for the creation of the blog. I started thinking about all the insane things I say, do, and have happen to me everyday and I thought I better write this stuff down because when I tell my kids these stories later they'll never believe me.
Who knows, maybe they won't believe me even having them written down. Heck, I don't believe half of them myself and I'm the one they happened to.....
...like this one:
I said it again...
This afternoon I found myself walking into the kitchen and yelling "Gracie!!! Don't Punch the Poinsettia's!!!"
Who knew that would happen twice?
Not me.
(How was I supposed to know that my children have been genetically altered to hate poinsettias?)
But there she was, standing on the kitchen table going mid-evil on my brand new poinsettia plant. Fists flying. Leaves dropping. Me yelling.
Don't believe it when they tell you that lightening doesn't strike twice.
I'm just praying I don't start reliving all the incidents from this blog...the working at Hooters (which I never did), the cat getting stuck on my head, the mating of plastic horses (if you didn't read about it...don't ask), and, well, pretty much every other story I've ever chronicled....I just don't think I can take it again.
Oh and kids just wait...One day when you're grown, you'll find me in your home during the holidays and what will I be doing? I'll be giving your poinsettias the beat down of their lives. And that will be a story you can believe.
In fact that scene was the catalyst for the creation of the blog. I started thinking about all the insane things I say, do, and have happen to me everyday and I thought I better write this stuff down because when I tell my kids these stories later they'll never believe me.
Who knows, maybe they won't believe me even having them written down. Heck, I don't believe half of them myself and I'm the one they happened to.....
...like this one:
I said it again...
This afternoon I found myself walking into the kitchen and yelling "Gracie!!! Don't Punch the Poinsettia's!!!"
Who knew that would happen twice?
Not me.
(How was I supposed to know that my children have been genetically altered to hate poinsettias?)
But there she was, standing on the kitchen table going mid-evil on my brand new poinsettia plant. Fists flying. Leaves dropping. Me yelling.
Don't believe it when they tell you that lightening doesn't strike twice.
I'm just praying I don't start reliving all the incidents from this blog...the working at Hooters (which I never did), the cat getting stuck on my head, the mating of plastic horses (if you didn't read about it...don't ask), and, well, pretty much every other story I've ever chronicled....I just don't think I can take it again.
Oh and kids just wait...One day when you're grown, you'll find me in your home during the holidays and what will I be doing? I'll be giving your poinsettias the beat down of their lives. And that will be a story you can believe.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Fushigi!
So, I just bought Simon a Fushigi for Christmas. That's right, a Fushigi. "The As Seen on TV Magic Anti-Gravity Ball!" FUSHIGI!!!!
It was just sitting there at Wal-Mart next to the Sponge-Bob-Square-Pants-Made-For-Adults-Snuggies. (No, I'm not kidding. I can't make crap like this up.) And I bought it.
I had to.
It was either that or let Simon buy it himself.
You see, he is completly taken by the advertisments with the floating metal ball and the nerd-a-rific tricks it can do. He's been saving up all his chore money and counting it everyday to see if he has "only $19.99 plus shipping and handling" so he can "order one today!" And I don't want him spending his hard earned, base board scrubbing money on a lousy piece of shanaynay.
So I bought the lousy piece of shanaynay...
And it was kind of embarrassing....at the Wal-Mart in my pajamas next to the Snuggies buying a Fushigi on my way to the gas station to get a soda...
...I bet people were wondering how many snot nosed brats I had waiting for me back at my mo-beel home...
Oh well, Merry Christmas Simon....I hope your Fushigi is everything you dream it will be.
It was just sitting there at Wal-Mart next to the Sponge-Bob-Square-Pants-Made-For-Adults-Snuggies. (No, I'm not kidding. I can't make crap like this up.) And I bought it.
I had to.
It was either that or let Simon buy it himself.
You see, he is completly taken by the advertisments with the floating metal ball and the nerd-a-rific tricks it can do. He's been saving up all his chore money and counting it everyday to see if he has "only $19.99 plus shipping and handling" so he can "order one today!" And I don't want him spending his hard earned, base board scrubbing money on a lousy piece of shanaynay.
So I bought the lousy piece of shanaynay...
And it was kind of embarrassing....at the Wal-Mart in my pajamas next to the Snuggies buying a Fushigi on my way to the gas station to get a soda...
...I bet people were wondering how many snot nosed brats I had waiting for me back at my mo-beel home...
Oh well, Merry Christmas Simon....I hope your Fushigi is everything you dream it will be.
Friday, October 29, 2010
What the Hack?
About a month ago someone hacked into my dad's email account and sent everyone a very long very detailed testimonial about the benefits of using Viagra. Knowing my very conservative father and the ultra conservative cooperation he works for I found the situation hilarious.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
This week someone hacked into my email account and sent everyone on my contact list a very long very detailed testimonial about the benefits of using Viagra.
People who received said information include Simon's school teacher, members of my church, and of course my dad...who laughed and laughed laughed.
I laughed and laughed and laughed.
This week someone hacked into my email account and sent everyone on my contact list a very long very detailed testimonial about the benefits of using Viagra.
People who received said information include Simon's school teacher, members of my church, and of course my dad...who laughed and laughed laughed.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Nobody Else Will Because I'm the Beast
Sunday was my last day as the children's chorister at my church. It was a hard position for me to fill. I can't sing, play an instrument, or even read music. I've never taken music lessons or been in choir. But, I like kids. They are horrendously entertaining. Hopefully my love for them helped balance out my lack of musical skill.
So, as I was saying Sunday was my last day and I was all emotional. (Just thinking about their crazy voices singing about our Savior gets me all choked up.) At the end of singing time I bore my testimony and told them goodbye. I was very sad.
Later that day I was blessed with little visitors, notes, etc. It cheered me immensely as did a card I received the next day. It read, in part: "I will miss you as our primary choruster. Even if nobody else does."
It reminded me of another note I received. This one was in my yearbook, written by one of my 8th graders, the last year I taught public school. It said, "Miss Evens, I will miss you. You are the beast."
Yes. I am the beast.
(Maybe that is why nobody else will miss me.)
So, as I was saying Sunday was my last day and I was all emotional. (Just thinking about their crazy voices singing about our Savior gets me all choked up.) At the end of singing time I bore my testimony and told them goodbye. I was very sad.
Later that day I was blessed with little visitors, notes, etc. It cheered me immensely as did a card I received the next day. It read, in part: "I will miss you as our primary choruster. Even if nobody else does."
It reminded me of another note I received. This one was in my yearbook, written by one of my 8th graders, the last year I taught public school. It said, "Miss Evens, I will miss you. You are the beast."
Yes. I am the beast.
(Maybe that is why nobody else will miss me.)
Friday, September 24, 2010
A Clarification but NOT an Apology
My husband has requested that I clarify a little something from an earlier post. It seems I may have been wrong (and I use that term loosely because as we all know I am never wrong) about what our stolen money was spent on.
You see it went like this...I find out our account is frozen. Jon goes to the bank and starts wading through the mess. He calls me and starts reading off a list of charges made from somewhere that the US dollar needed to be exchanged for foreign currency. I am freaking out. How did someone overseas get our into our debit account?!? Meanwhile the kids are running around needing me (Can I play outside? Grace spilled her milk. Where is Fifi? Wipe my bum....etc...). And all through the chaos Jon is still reading the list.
So, I'm sure you'll understand that when he got to a patch of charges for some DVD's (I think?) that were called blah blah something ruther "4 Pay" blobbidy blah that I thought Jon said they were some movies entitled something like yadda yadda "fore play" somethin' somethin'.
Ok! So maybe you don't understand but that's what I heard and that's how it happened. But, come on now, give me a break! Some jerk wad just stole all the money that we had in our bank account and then racked up piles of over charge fees. And because he's a jerk I knew that the movies weren't going to be about golfing. He had to be some sort of weaselly sleaze ball. Right?
You better believe that's right.
Even if he didn't buy porn.
Which he didn't.
At least not with my money.
So now that I've got that cleared up I will now put an official done stamp on this subject and end this post by saying that: The guy may be a thief but he isn't a pornographer or a golfer. (That I know of.) However, if he is either one, I sincerely hope that my money didn't help improve his swing.
There. Clarification complete.
PS---To my neighbor out there who read the earlier post and talked to Jon about it...this may explain his confusion during your conversation and is actually what sparked this new post.
You see it went like this...I find out our account is frozen. Jon goes to the bank and starts wading through the mess. He calls me and starts reading off a list of charges made from somewhere that the US dollar needed to be exchanged for foreign currency. I am freaking out. How did someone overseas get our into our debit account?!? Meanwhile the kids are running around needing me (Can I play outside? Grace spilled her milk. Where is Fifi? Wipe my bum....etc...). And all through the chaos Jon is still reading the list.
So, I'm sure you'll understand that when he got to a patch of charges for some DVD's (I think?) that were called blah blah something ruther "4 Pay" blobbidy blah that I thought Jon said they were some movies entitled something like yadda yadda "fore play" somethin' somethin'.
Ok! So maybe you don't understand but that's what I heard and that's how it happened. But, come on now, give me a break! Some jerk wad just stole all the money that we had in our bank account and then racked up piles of over charge fees. And because he's a jerk I knew that the movies weren't going to be about golfing. He had to be some sort of weaselly sleaze ball. Right?
You better believe that's right.
Even if he didn't buy porn.
Which he didn't.
At least not with my money.
So now that I've got that cleared up I will now put an official done stamp on this subject and end this post by saying that: The guy may be a thief but he isn't a pornographer or a golfer. (That I know of.) However, if he is either one, I sincerely hope that my money didn't help improve his swing.
There. Clarification complete.
PS---To my neighbor out there who read the earlier post and talked to Jon about it...this may explain his confusion during your conversation and is actually what sparked this new post.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tis the Season for Explanations
It's that time of year again...Autumn. Which means Simon's birthday party and Halloween. Which means the season for explanations is upon us.
I have big feelings about letting my kids choose what kind of costumes they want to wear for Halloween and what kind of birthday parties they have. I love giving them that freedom and helping them turn what they see in their minds into realities. The only problem is that while the kids love it, it leaves pretty much everyone else confused, and then the explanations begin.
For example this year Simon will be having a "moon" birthday party where we will be fighting aliens (aka---my husband dressed up in a costume while the kids pelt him with wire scouring balls we bought at the dollar store). Try delivering invitations for a "moon party". The only way it could sound weirder is if Simon called it a "mooning party". But I digress, so back to the subject...
Could he possibly choose something a little more traditional like a Buzz Lightyear or a Star Wars Party? No. So, it's a moon party with aliens and moon rocks and astro gloves.
And when I think about it, it really is a little more traditional than years past. For instance, last year we held the "Bad Guy Birthday Party" and the year before that it was an "Olympic Birthday Party" and the year before that we had a "Tiki Room Birthday". So in our party history this is the most "normal".
Simon's birthday party is the end all event of the year for him and he's so excited again this year. In fact, he so excited you could say he's "over the moon" about it. I hope it's all that he's imagined. Wish me luck. I've never made an alien costume before. (Let's just hope I don't have to explain what that is to.)
Oh---and with Halloween on the horizon I'm bound to be found in the yard with Simon working on the Homemade Robot Costume of Doom Part 2.
I have big feelings about letting my kids choose what kind of costumes they want to wear for Halloween and what kind of birthday parties they have. I love giving them that freedom and helping them turn what they see in their minds into realities. The only problem is that while the kids love it, it leaves pretty much everyone else confused, and then the explanations begin.
For example this year Simon will be having a "moon" birthday party where we will be fighting aliens (aka---my husband dressed up in a costume while the kids pelt him with wire scouring balls we bought at the dollar store). Try delivering invitations for a "moon party". The only way it could sound weirder is if Simon called it a "mooning party". But I digress, so back to the subject...
Could he possibly choose something a little more traditional like a Buzz Lightyear or a Star Wars Party? No. So, it's a moon party with aliens and moon rocks and astro gloves.
And when I think about it, it really is a little more traditional than years past. For instance, last year we held the "Bad Guy Birthday Party" and the year before that it was an "Olympic Birthday Party" and the year before that we had a "Tiki Room Birthday". So in our party history this is the most "normal".
Simon's birthday party is the end all event of the year for him and he's so excited again this year. In fact, he so excited you could say he's "over the moon" about it. I hope it's all that he's imagined. Wish me luck. I've never made an alien costume before. (Let's just hope I don't have to explain what that is to.)
Oh---and with Halloween on the horizon I'm bound to be found in the yard with Simon working on the Homemade Robot Costume of Doom Part 2.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Pardon the Silence
It's been almost a month since my last post.
Would that be because I have run out embarrassing stories or things to complain about?
Not hardly.
It would be because:
#1. I've been ridiculously busy. AND
#2. Some creep stole our debit card number and drained our account. Before we even knew the money was gone our bills were bouncing rebouncing and our account became "frozen".
Our Internet provider put our payment through several times, it wouldn't go, so they turned off our service.
Today, after some headaches, we finally got everything straightened out. What a mess.
And at the end of it all I only have one thing to say: If you're going to steal my money at least spend it on something your going to use because, buddy, if you have to lift money from a middle class mom's bank account to buy a $40 How-to-Get-Past-Fore-Play DVD then that's just a waste of both of our money, because, quite frankly, you're never going to get the chance to use the information from that DVD. Seriously. Never.
And dude, here's some advice that you don't need to steal in order to get (and it will be far more beneficial than anything you bought with my money)...stand up, turn off your computer, and go take a shower. I'm serious about that to you smelly freak show.
Would that be because I have run out embarrassing stories or things to complain about?
Not hardly.
It would be because:
#1. I've been ridiculously busy. AND
#2. Some creep stole our debit card number and drained our account. Before we even knew the money was gone our bills were bouncing rebouncing and our account became "frozen".
Our Internet provider put our payment through several times, it wouldn't go, so they turned off our service.
Today, after some headaches, we finally got everything straightened out. What a mess.
And at the end of it all I only have one thing to say: If you're going to steal my money at least spend it on something your going to use because, buddy, if you have to lift money from a middle class mom's bank account to buy a $40 How-to-Get-Past-Fore-Play DVD then that's just a waste of both of our money, because, quite frankly, you're never going to get the chance to use the information from that DVD. Seriously. Never.
And dude, here's some advice that you don't need to steal in order to get (and it will be far more beneficial than anything you bought with my money)...stand up, turn off your computer, and go take a shower. I'm serious about that to you smelly freak show.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Still Don't Like Her
Went running at the gym Saturday night. My IPOD was dead so I plugged my headphones into the treadmill's T.V. when who should appear?
None, other that Julia Roberts herself.
Then and there it was confirmed that I still don't like her. (She' even more annoying while running, if that's possible.)
None, other that Julia Roberts herself.
Then and there it was confirmed that I still don't like her. (She' even more annoying while running, if that's possible.)
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
A Shocking Discovery
The other day I realized...I'm UnAmerican.
I discovered this as I was going through photos of our recent trip to Yellowstone National Park. You, know our nation's most beloved national park. And anyways, I finally admitted it. I hate Yellowstone.
While we were there it was a million degrees and crowded. Like Disneyland in June crowded. Like Times Square on New Years Eve crowded. No matter where we went there were hoards of people and absolutely no place to park.
And then the people....stopped and out of their cars in the middle of the road hooting and hollering at the wildlife, walking off the trails, ignoring posted signs, littering. It was crazy. It made me crazy.
Combine that with the over powering sulfur smells and the knowledge that if your children take a wrong step they'll fall through the earth's crust and be boiled alive. Not my idea of a good time.
Like I said, I'm admitting it---I don't like Yellowstone and that my friends is, in and of itself, enough to make me a bad American. However, I also hate clowns, hot dogs, Wal-Mart, and Julia Roberts. So, looking at myself in the grand scheme of things I can now see that I am clearly UnAmerican...
...which is really a shame, because I love my country (except for the clowny, hotdogish, Wal-Martified Yellowstone parts).
I discovered this as I was going through photos of our recent trip to Yellowstone National Park. You, know our nation's most beloved national park. And anyways, I finally admitted it. I hate Yellowstone.
While we were there it was a million degrees and crowded. Like Disneyland in June crowded. Like Times Square on New Years Eve crowded. No matter where we went there were hoards of people and absolutely no place to park.
And then the people....stopped and out of their cars in the middle of the road hooting and hollering at the wildlife, walking off the trails, ignoring posted signs, littering. It was crazy. It made me crazy.
Combine that with the over powering sulfur smells and the knowledge that if your children take a wrong step they'll fall through the earth's crust and be boiled alive. Not my idea of a good time.
Like I said, I'm admitting it---I don't like Yellowstone and that my friends is, in and of itself, enough to make me a bad American. However, I also hate clowns, hot dogs, Wal-Mart, and Julia Roberts. So, looking at myself in the grand scheme of things I can now see that I am clearly UnAmerican...
...which is really a shame, because I love my country (except for the clowny, hotdogish, Wal-Martified Yellowstone parts).
Monday, July 19, 2010
White Trash
A little while ago I was pondering my progress down the slippery slope to White Trashhood. In fact it was the day after the rodeo as I was driving down to the gas station in my pajamas with my 48 oz. refillable mug. Which, looking back on the situation, should have all by itself cinched the deal for me but it didn't.
You see, I was thinking about the night before how we had attended a rodeo where we had snuck in treats, hooped and hollered at the cowboys, enjoyed a motor cross exhibition at half-time, and then let our kids fall asleep to a movie while we played games with my siblings. What have I become I wondered...
..white trash. Yes, white trash. It was confirmed this weekend in the Targee National Forest in Idaho.
Here are the facts:
me in my pajamas
driving a 4 wheeler
from the cabin to a gas station
to buy a giant soda.
me + pajamas + Idaho + 4wheeler + giant soda = White Trash.
There's nothing left to say.
You see, I was thinking about the night before how we had attended a rodeo where we had snuck in treats, hooped and hollered at the cowboys, enjoyed a motor cross exhibition at half-time, and then let our kids fall asleep to a movie while we played games with my siblings. What have I become I wondered...
..white trash. Yes, white trash. It was confirmed this weekend in the Targee National Forest in Idaho.
Here are the facts:
me in my pajamas
driving a 4 wheeler
from the cabin to a gas station
to buy a giant soda.
me + pajamas + Idaho + 4wheeler + giant soda = White Trash.
There's nothing left to say.
Monday, July 12, 2010
A Tiger I am NOT!
So last week I got to be the director for a local art show. It was a lot more work than I anticipated but it was also a lot more fun.
The night of the artist's reception and awards ceremony I arrived early to set up chairs. As I carried chairs out of the library and over to the ceremony area I noticed a couple of teenage boys hanging out. But, this wasn't strange. The annual carnival was going on in the park next to the library and the entire area was literally swarming with teens.
Soon the boys started following me in and out as I carried chairs. They didn't seem like the kind of boys I'd want my daughter to date but still harmless enough. I started chatting with them a bit since they were there...are you here for the art show?...no?...the carnival?...it's starting to finally cool off...Pointless conversation.
I was just trying to be nice and besides I'd rather have weird teenage boys like me than try to mug me later when I'm walking to my car that night.
Then, as I turn the corner I over hear one of the boys (who by now have started to follow me inside the library while I'm moving the million chairs) say:
"OH YEA...she's a tiger!"
Then the other one says:
"It's called a cougar."
Then icky boy giggles ensue.
What the heck!?! I'm furious..for so many reasons. Not to mention creeped out. Tiger? Cougar? Whatever. I'll show them cougar. After I rip their limbs off and chuck their bloody corpses over into the cotton candy stands they'll think cougar. But before I get back to them they have been kicked out by a grumpy old art counsel volunteer. Lucky for them.
Cougar? Honestly. Did I look more available than one of the 15 year old carnies next door? Come on people! I wasn't wearing a tube top and my butt cheeks were tucked safely inside my old teacher lady pants. I was clearly dressed as to send off the vibes of suburban mom, community volunteer not freaky deaky middle age beast out on the prowl.
I'm still mad.
What's wrong with the youth of America? Resorting to harassing 30 somethings rather than the pool of ready and waiting carnival teens. It's shameful. Next time a teen age boy talks to me outside a carnival I'm just going to kick them in the gutt and point them in the direction of the Circle of Fire surrounded by a pack of scantily clad girls. And if that doesn't work I'll just bash them with my diaper bag and make a run for it.
The night of the artist's reception and awards ceremony I arrived early to set up chairs. As I carried chairs out of the library and over to the ceremony area I noticed a couple of teenage boys hanging out. But, this wasn't strange. The annual carnival was going on in the park next to the library and the entire area was literally swarming with teens.
Soon the boys started following me in and out as I carried chairs. They didn't seem like the kind of boys I'd want my daughter to date but still harmless enough. I started chatting with them a bit since they were there...are you here for the art show?...no?...the carnival?...it's starting to finally cool off...Pointless conversation.
I was just trying to be nice and besides I'd rather have weird teenage boys like me than try to mug me later when I'm walking to my car that night.
Then, as I turn the corner I over hear one of the boys (who by now have started to follow me inside the library while I'm moving the million chairs) say:
"OH YEA...she's a tiger!"
Then the other one says:
"It's called a cougar."
Then icky boy giggles ensue.
What the heck!?! I'm furious..for so many reasons. Not to mention creeped out. Tiger? Cougar? Whatever. I'll show them cougar. After I rip their limbs off and chuck their bloody corpses over into the cotton candy stands they'll think cougar. But before I get back to them they have been kicked out by a grumpy old art counsel volunteer. Lucky for them.
Cougar? Honestly. Did I look more available than one of the 15 year old carnies next door? Come on people! I wasn't wearing a tube top and my butt cheeks were tucked safely inside my old teacher lady pants. I was clearly dressed as to send off the vibes of suburban mom, community volunteer not freaky deaky middle age beast out on the prowl.
I'm still mad.
What's wrong with the youth of America? Resorting to harassing 30 somethings rather than the pool of ready and waiting carnival teens. It's shameful. Next time a teen age boy talks to me outside a carnival I'm just going to kick them in the gutt and point them in the direction of the Circle of Fire surrounded by a pack of scantily clad girls. And if that doesn't work I'll just bash them with my diaper bag and make a run for it.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Trapped in a Port a Potty
So there I am, all alone, trapped in a port-a potty unable to pull up my own pants.
What could have brought me to this lowly state? I've been in some ridiculous situations but seriously...how did this happen?
Well, remember that marathon I ran....
The morning of the marathon was cold, dark, and wet. After arriving in a pasture up a canyon at 3:45 in the morning and waiting in a freezing drizzle the race began. And 30 minutes later so did the rain, which lasted almost 2 hours. Then there was the wind. It lasted longer than that.
With water squishing out of my shoes and my jacket heavy laden with moisture I stopped at the half marathon point for a bathroom break. I was numb, cold, and shivering. Even my teeth chattered. (Even though it was June the temperature at that time was in the 40's.)
I staggered into the port-a-potty and with effort uncurled my frozen lobster claw hands enough to pull down my pants and make it to the bathroom. That's when the trouble began.
As I stood up I realized my hands were far more frozen than I had anticipated and far too frozen to grasp my soaking stretchy pants or the underwear clinging to my knees. Try as I might the paralyzed fingers were no match for wet clothing. Then to make matters worse as I'm bending over working on my problem my soaking hair keeps dripping into my eyes and freezing rain water pours out of the jacket and down my bare legs.
I'm cold, tired, partially naked and trapped in a plastic container full of other people's pee. What cold I do? I leaned my head against the door and cried. A more pathetic image of myself I can't imagine.
After a minute I pulled it together. This was not where I intended to stay. I let my pants drop completely to the floor of that filthy place and with gestures I can't even explain I pulled up those soggy stretchy pants and exited the potty.
I had overcome! I was victorious! Sure my pants were on crooked but who cares? I didn't have to finish the race with only Jon's jacket to cover my frozen rear end.
So, that's that. And this is my official marathon report post. In case you're wondering I did finish the race. And, I finished it fully clothed although later someone had to take my jacket off for me because my fingers were too numb.
The marathon was a funny thing. Horrible and wonderful and humiliating all at the same time. Here's to the St. George marathon coming up in a few months and here's to me wearing suspenders on my pants in case of inclimate weather.
What could have brought me to this lowly state? I've been in some ridiculous situations but seriously...how did this happen?
Well, remember that marathon I ran....
The morning of the marathon was cold, dark, and wet. After arriving in a pasture up a canyon at 3:45 in the morning and waiting in a freezing drizzle the race began. And 30 minutes later so did the rain, which lasted almost 2 hours. Then there was the wind. It lasted longer than that.
With water squishing out of my shoes and my jacket heavy laden with moisture I stopped at the half marathon point for a bathroom break. I was numb, cold, and shivering. Even my teeth chattered. (Even though it was June the temperature at that time was in the 40's.)
I staggered into the port-a-potty and with effort uncurled my frozen lobster claw hands enough to pull down my pants and make it to the bathroom. That's when the trouble began.
As I stood up I realized my hands were far more frozen than I had anticipated and far too frozen to grasp my soaking stretchy pants or the underwear clinging to my knees. Try as I might the paralyzed fingers were no match for wet clothing. Then to make matters worse as I'm bending over working on my problem my soaking hair keeps dripping into my eyes and freezing rain water pours out of the jacket and down my bare legs.
I'm cold, tired, partially naked and trapped in a plastic container full of other people's pee. What cold I do? I leaned my head against the door and cried. A more pathetic image of myself I can't imagine.
After a minute I pulled it together. This was not where I intended to stay. I let my pants drop completely to the floor of that filthy place and with gestures I can't even explain I pulled up those soggy stretchy pants and exited the potty.
I had overcome! I was victorious! Sure my pants were on crooked but who cares? I didn't have to finish the race with only Jon's jacket to cover my frozen rear end.
So, that's that. And this is my official marathon report post. In case you're wondering I did finish the race. And, I finished it fully clothed although later someone had to take my jacket off for me because my fingers were too numb.
The marathon was a funny thing. Horrible and wonderful and humiliating all at the same time. Here's to the St. George marathon coming up in a few months and here's to me wearing suspenders on my pants in case of inclimate weather.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Will Work For Rice Cooker
I just ruined like my 20th batch of rice. In row.
It's sitting on the kitchen counter. A giant ball of slimy goo stewed to gloppy perfection. Just the way I hate it---clumpy, bloated, squishy, wet, pasty---you know the kind.
I've made rice with out error just fine for the past 15 years and now I find it utterly impossible to brew edible rice.
So, goodbye lunch. I wish we'd have gotten to know each other better before I have to go back to sewing.
Possibly I'll use the money from this upcoming boutique to buy a rice cooker. Meanwhile I'll stitch away, stomach growling, wondering how this cooking anomaly has happened and why it has happened to me.
It's sitting on the kitchen counter. A giant ball of slimy goo stewed to gloppy perfection. Just the way I hate it---clumpy, bloated, squishy, wet, pasty---you know the kind.
I've made rice with out error just fine for the past 15 years and now I find it utterly impossible to brew edible rice.
So, goodbye lunch. I wish we'd have gotten to know each other better before I have to go back to sewing.
Possibly I'll use the money from this upcoming boutique to buy a rice cooker. Meanwhile I'll stitch away, stomach growling, wondering how this cooking anomaly has happened and why it has happened to me.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Tupperware Bins
Simon was driving Grace around in giant Tupperware bins today. (It's a favorite game. Grace gets in and then Simon pushes her at top speed up and down the hall.)
I was working on a project when I heard Simon giving Grace some instructions.
Simon: "Keep your arms and hands inside the car at all times and be sure to watch your kids."
*sigh*
It's raining outside...
I want to be at Disneyland or at least have the imagination of my kids so I can at least pretend to be.
I was working on a project when I heard Simon giving Grace some instructions.
Simon: "Keep your arms and hands inside the car at all times and be sure to watch your kids."
*sigh*
It's raining outside...
I want to be at Disneyland or at least have the imagination of my kids so I can at least pretend to be.
The Dark
Last night I went in to check on Simon one last time before I went to bed.
When I leaned over to kiss him he said, "Mom, is that you?"
"Yes, Simon."
"Oh, I couldn't tell. It's hard to see with your eyes closed. Everything is so dark."
When I leaned over to kiss him he said, "Mom, is that you?"
"Yes, Simon."
"Oh, I couldn't tell. It's hard to see with your eyes closed. Everything is so dark."
Friday, June 11, 2010
Tomorrow is the Big Day
Tomorrow is the marathon.
Besides the fact that I'm a miserable runner there will be some added goodness to the event like...
1. I'm coming down with a cold.
2. My right foot is covered in swollen and obnoxious mosquito bites from an outing a few nights back.
3. The temperature at the location and start time of the race will be under 40 degrees. (I HATE the cold.)
4. The weather during the race is supposed to be rainy with thunder and lightening storms. (I'm a scared, yes a scared---that's worse than afraid---of thunder and lightening.)
5. The race begins before the sun. I will leave home at 2:30 to make the bus that will take me to the starting line where I will start running at the unholy hour of 5:30 am. (I'm a scared of the dark as well.)
6. And lastly, well, I won't say what's last. But I will say that this isn't the ideal week for me to be running.
So there you have it. Tomorrow is sure to be AWESOME!
Then next time my brother gets any big ideas for family activities I'm just going to give him the double deuce and walk away. (You hear that Jake? THE DOUBLE DEUCE. I may not have used it since highschool but I haven't forgotten it. Oh, no. I haven't forgotten it.)
Besides the fact that I'm a miserable runner there will be some added goodness to the event like...
1. I'm coming down with a cold.
2. My right foot is covered in swollen and obnoxious mosquito bites from an outing a few nights back.
3. The temperature at the location and start time of the race will be under 40 degrees. (I HATE the cold.)
4. The weather during the race is supposed to be rainy with thunder and lightening storms. (I'm a scared, yes a scared---that's worse than afraid---of thunder and lightening.)
5. The race begins before the sun. I will leave home at 2:30 to make the bus that will take me to the starting line where I will start running at the unholy hour of 5:30 am. (I'm a scared of the dark as well.)
6. And lastly, well, I won't say what's last. But I will say that this isn't the ideal week for me to be running.
So there you have it. Tomorrow is sure to be AWESOME!
Then next time my brother gets any big ideas for family activities I'm just going to give him the double deuce and walk away. (You hear that Jake? THE DOUBLE DEUCE. I may not have used it since highschool but I haven't forgotten it. Oh, no. I haven't forgotten it.)
Who That?
Today Grace found a little card from who knows what with a pirate on it. It is a crazy girl pirate with her hair whipping around, climbing a rope, and swinging a sword.
"Who that?" she asked.
"A pirate." I say.
"NO! It mom." she says.
"No, it's not mom, it's a pirate."
"NOOOO! IT MOM!!!"
Wonderful. Now I'm a pirate.
"Who that?" she asked.
"A pirate." I say.
"NO! It mom." she says.
"No, it's not mom, it's a pirate."
"NOOOO! IT MOM!!!"
Wonderful. Now I'm a pirate.
Monday, June 7, 2010
It's Going To Be One Of Those Days
So far today...
We got up late and made it to soccer practice just as it was ending.
Then we drove to a car wash where I unloaded the 8 thousand pounds of crap in the van so I could vacuum it out. Unfortunately the vacuums were out of order. I reloaded the van and drove to the gas station.
There I unloaded the strollers, travel computers, DVD players, camping chairs, etc. onto the parking lot and began to vacuum out the van bus. That is when the screaming began. Grace screamed the ENTIRE time the vacuum was on which was a long time because....
...the dang vacuum hose wasn't long enough to reach the entire length of the van! So with all the doors and trunk open, the hose running, and my kids screaming I'm driving the van back and forth in front of the vacuum to get the hose to reach all the places that need to be vacuumed.
Yes, I did say kids screaming and not kid. During an episode of climbing around the van dragging the stupid hose it attached it self to my thigh and I couldn't get it off (luckily for me I chose to use the "Super Sucker" vacuum with the power of a jet engine). That's when Simon freaked. He thought the vacuum was going to eat me or at least my pants. So he spent the rest of the time yelling out his location so I wouldn't get too close with the man eating machine.
Vacuuming finished I pulled over for a drink. As I unload my kids I see I'm wet. No, Grace is wet. ALL WET. She has peed through her clothes and is a wash of smelly pee. (My heart sinks, I never want my kids stewing in their own juice--ever.)
We go in anyways. We get our drinks. Simon gets a Sprite. They are out of lids. Simon goes up front to ask if they have more lids. He spills his drink all over the front counter, himself, and the Hostess display case.
We pay for our drinks and go home where I throw Grace in the tub where she poops. Full on nuggets are floating around in the water. I get her out. I rinse her off. I get her dressed.
Right now both of my kids are on the couch watching Bug's Life and I'm going to go clean out the tub. I can't take any more disasters.
It's only noon and I'm already exhausted. I can tell it's just going to be one of those days.
ps--During the vacuuming my pants incident I had a flashback to a day several years ago when Simon was Gracie's age and I was cleaning out the car. We were at the same gas station using the same vacuum. I had climbed over the seat to do something and had left the vacuum on the seat where it flipped up and attached it self to my crotch. (Not a pretty image...if there are younger viewers please ask them to leave the room....)
I was freaking out and Simon was freaking out and I COULD NOT get that thing off of my pants. People at the pumps were staring. Finally there was a sound like a burp then like an aluminum can being crushed and the vacuum stopped and the side panel fell off of the main machine and some smoke and a burning smell came out. I just stood there for a minute then got back in my car and drove away.
True Story.
Maybe what I should learn from this morning is just to never clean out my vehicles. Ever.
We got up late and made it to soccer practice just as it was ending.
Then we drove to a car wash where I unloaded the 8 thousand pounds of crap in the van so I could vacuum it out. Unfortunately the vacuums were out of order. I reloaded the van and drove to the gas station.
There I unloaded the strollers, travel computers, DVD players, camping chairs, etc. onto the parking lot and began to vacuum out the van bus. That is when the screaming began. Grace screamed the ENTIRE time the vacuum was on which was a long time because....
...the dang vacuum hose wasn't long enough to reach the entire length of the van! So with all the doors and trunk open, the hose running, and my kids screaming I'm driving the van back and forth in front of the vacuum to get the hose to reach all the places that need to be vacuumed.
Yes, I did say kids screaming and not kid. During an episode of climbing around the van dragging the stupid hose it attached it self to my thigh and I couldn't get it off (luckily for me I chose to use the "Super Sucker" vacuum with the power of a jet engine). That's when Simon freaked. He thought the vacuum was going to eat me or at least my pants. So he spent the rest of the time yelling out his location so I wouldn't get too close with the man eating machine.
Vacuuming finished I pulled over for a drink. As I unload my kids I see I'm wet. No, Grace is wet. ALL WET. She has peed through her clothes and is a wash of smelly pee. (My heart sinks, I never want my kids stewing in their own juice--ever.)
We go in anyways. We get our drinks. Simon gets a Sprite. They are out of lids. Simon goes up front to ask if they have more lids. He spills his drink all over the front counter, himself, and the Hostess display case.
We pay for our drinks and go home where I throw Grace in the tub where she poops. Full on nuggets are floating around in the water. I get her out. I rinse her off. I get her dressed.
Right now both of my kids are on the couch watching Bug's Life and I'm going to go clean out the tub. I can't take any more disasters.
It's only noon and I'm already exhausted. I can tell it's just going to be one of those days.
ps--During the vacuuming my pants incident I had a flashback to a day several years ago when Simon was Gracie's age and I was cleaning out the car. We were at the same gas station using the same vacuum. I had climbed over the seat to do something and had left the vacuum on the seat where it flipped up and attached it self to my crotch. (Not a pretty image...if there are younger viewers please ask them to leave the room....)
I was freaking out and Simon was freaking out and I COULD NOT get that thing off of my pants. People at the pumps were staring. Finally there was a sound like a burp then like an aluminum can being crushed and the vacuum stopped and the side panel fell off of the main machine and some smoke and a burning smell came out. I just stood there for a minute then got back in my car and drove away.
True Story.
Maybe what I should learn from this morning is just to never clean out my vehicles. Ever.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Timing is Everything
Yesterday Simon and I were pulling into the gas station just as a heavy set older gentleman was leaving. He was bald on top with white fringe around the ears and back. Then he had a bushy grayish white beard and a sizable beer belly accentuated by a tight fitting bright red T-shirt.
"Mom!" says Simon, "Is that Santa Claus?"
"No," I say, "it's probably just his brother."
Had we been even 30 seconds earlier I would have had to deal with that comment in front of the Santa man look a like who wouldn't have been so jolly because as I discovered moments later from the gas attendant the poor guy had just hit a deer. (Isn't that an ironic twist of events?)
Thank goodness for sound proof van-buses and my taking forever to load the kids into them.
"Mom!" says Simon, "Is that Santa Claus?"
"No," I say, "it's probably just his brother."
Had we been even 30 seconds earlier I would have had to deal with that comment in front of the Santa man look a like who wouldn't have been so jolly because as I discovered moments later from the gas attendant the poor guy had just hit a deer. (Isn't that an ironic twist of events?)
Thank goodness for sound proof van-buses and my taking forever to load the kids into them.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
...and I've corrupted my children too...
In case you haven't heard the muffled laughter or felt the waves of awkwardness emanating from the chapel every Sunday then I'll just tell you what my current church calling is---primary chorister.
No,I'm not kidding.
Although I wish I were.
And while the image of me conducting music is ridiculous enough to be a post in and of itself I'll continue with my story...
Like I said, I'm the chorister and I'm supposed to be teaching a new song this week that I've never even heard before. So, in an effort to learn this thing I popped the primary CD featuring the song into the van as we drove down the road tonight and pressed repeat.
I listened and listened and listened.
It sounded so familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on where I had heard it before.
Until... THAT"S IT!!! It sounded just like something that would play during a montage of loneliness in a movie where Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore have gotten into a fight and are no longer on speaking terms. (Seriously, it does.)
Just as I'm picturing said montage (Pooh sitting dejected on his porch. Eeyore watching his reflection in the river as a tear rolls down his cheek....) I hear Simon in the backseat, "Mom, why does this song sound like people are sad at each other?"
I wanted to ask him if he thought those people were really a stuffed bear and a clinically depressed donkey but figured that I've already done enough damage through the years if he's already beginning to think like me at age 5.
No,I'm not kidding.
Although I wish I were.
And while the image of me conducting music is ridiculous enough to be a post in and of itself I'll continue with my story...
Like I said, I'm the chorister and I'm supposed to be teaching a new song this week that I've never even heard before. So, in an effort to learn this thing I popped the primary CD featuring the song into the van as we drove down the road tonight and pressed repeat.
I listened and listened and listened.
It sounded so familiar. I couldn't quite put my finger on where I had heard it before.
Until... THAT"S IT!!! It sounded just like something that would play during a montage of loneliness in a movie where Winnie the Pooh and Eeyore have gotten into a fight and are no longer on speaking terms. (Seriously, it does.)
Just as I'm picturing said montage (Pooh sitting dejected on his porch. Eeyore watching his reflection in the river as a tear rolls down his cheek....) I hear Simon in the backseat, "Mom, why does this song sound like people are sad at each other?"
I wanted to ask him if he thought those people were really a stuffed bear and a clinically depressed donkey but figured that I've already done enough damage through the years if he's already beginning to think like me at age 5.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Some Real Advice
If you ask a real runner for advice they may talk to you about how to avoid chaffing, when to eat gu, or how to achieve that elusive negative split. But, not me. No sir. (That's probably because I'm not a real runner but let us proceed...)
If you ask me for advice I'd tell you this: Never and I mean NEVER eat an entire order of onion rings and a large Dr. Pepper right before running 14 miles. Never.
Unless of course you'd like to see them again somewhere between mile 9 and 10...in a high school parking lot...while the tennis team is out playing...and some rising generation stoners are chillin' by the fence...then by all means, eat on my friends, eat on.
If you ask me for advice I'd tell you this: Never and I mean NEVER eat an entire order of onion rings and a large Dr. Pepper right before running 14 miles. Never.
Unless of course you'd like to see them again somewhere between mile 9 and 10...in a high school parking lot...while the tennis team is out playing...and some rising generation stoners are chillin' by the fence...then by all means, eat on my friends, eat on.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Lukewarm
I just ate some lukewarm leftovers for lunch. I couldn't wait that extra 30 seconds for the microwave to make them nice and piping hot.
Seriously, what's wrong with me?
Seriously, what's wrong with me?
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Raging Hormones
I was so grumpy yesterday. Everything seemed to tick me off. The weather. Our broken furnace. My hair. The laundry. Stray cats. Rubber place mats. You name it. I hated it.
Then I had to go running. Blah. At the gym, on the treadmill. Triple blah.
At the gym the treadmills are neatly lined up facing out the West windows. This means two things #1. It gets stinking hot right there in the evenings as the sun is going down. and #2. As the sun sets you can see your reflection in those windows as you run.
By the time I get there it's evening. The sun is setting and it's hot. Super. I'm mad and running and am mad about running. I want to be home with my family. I want to be lying on the couch eating nachos. I want not to be covered in sweat. Not even my usual running play list can cheer me up. (When Burl Ives can't even snap me out of it you know it's bad.) So I start skipping through songs. I land on Queen.
The next thing I know I'm sobbing. I'm running and crying and watching myself in the window. I'm still no athlete but I see that now I move different and I look different and it's still so hard but what a different girl I am than I was 6 months ago. And suddenly I'm overwhelmed and grateful at the same time by who I am and the fact that I can do hard things.
Yes, indeed, I am a champion my friends.
Then something funny happens outside (something for my next post) and I laugh so hard I snort. A booger hits the treadmill monitor. What is going on?!? I'm listening to Queen for crying out loud (which is excatly what I was doing). I reprimand myself for not recognizing my hormonalness sooner, wipe my eyes, finish my run, and clean off the treadmill.
In an effort to stabilize my mood swings before heading home I stop off at the gas station for a Dr. Pepper. Pulling into the parking lot I almost run over a teenage couple so wrapped up in an effort to make out as they walked that they didn't even see my silver mini van barreling straight towards them!
I swerve. I miss. I park. I smile. I go get my soda. I may be moody but at least my hormones don't drive me to make out with an acne ridden emo in women's jeans during a wind storm at the gas station. Thank goodness.
Oh but did I mention, that we are the champions my friends?
And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!
No time for losers.
We are the champions.....
...of the world....
Then I had to go running. Blah. At the gym, on the treadmill. Triple blah.
At the gym the treadmills are neatly lined up facing out the West windows. This means two things #1. It gets stinking hot right there in the evenings as the sun is going down. and #2. As the sun sets you can see your reflection in those windows as you run.
By the time I get there it's evening. The sun is setting and it's hot. Super. I'm mad and running and am mad about running. I want to be home with my family. I want to be lying on the couch eating nachos. I want not to be covered in sweat. Not even my usual running play list can cheer me up. (When Burl Ives can't even snap me out of it you know it's bad.) So I start skipping through songs. I land on Queen.
The next thing I know I'm sobbing. I'm running and crying and watching myself in the window. I'm still no athlete but I see that now I move different and I look different and it's still so hard but what a different girl I am than I was 6 months ago. And suddenly I'm overwhelmed and grateful at the same time by who I am and the fact that I can do hard things.
Yes, indeed, I am a champion my friends.
Then something funny happens outside (something for my next post) and I laugh so hard I snort. A booger hits the treadmill monitor. What is going on?!? I'm listening to Queen for crying out loud (which is excatly what I was doing). I reprimand myself for not recognizing my hormonalness sooner, wipe my eyes, finish my run, and clean off the treadmill.
In an effort to stabilize my mood swings before heading home I stop off at the gas station for a Dr. Pepper. Pulling into the parking lot I almost run over a teenage couple so wrapped up in an effort to make out as they walked that they didn't even see my silver mini van barreling straight towards them!
I swerve. I miss. I park. I smile. I go get my soda. I may be moody but at least my hormones don't drive me to make out with an acne ridden emo in women's jeans during a wind storm at the gas station. Thank goodness.
Oh but did I mention, that we are the champions my friends?
And we'll keep on fighting 'till the end. We are the champions.
WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!!!
No time for losers.
We are the champions.....
...of the world....
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Daughter and the Continuing Saga of Her Love Affair with Meat
What was the first thing Grace said to me this morning?
I'll give you a hint. It's the same thing she's said every morning for the past few weeks.
Meatballs.
She wants to have the movie "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" on all day, all night, all the time, whenever. When it rains steaks she stands up and holds out her hands. When it rains giant hot dogs she sits then and whispers "hot dog" for the next 5 minutes.
Strange.
But as I've mentioned in other posts ("Sausage" and "Meat") I already know she has a deep and creepy love for all things grilled. However, today she took it to a whole new level.
After leaving the gas station on our morning drink run I noticed Gracie had something in her hand. "What do you have?" I ask. "Meat" she replied.
"Meat?"
"Meat. "
Sure enough, it was meat. Well, not exactly meat but it was a $25 gift card to a local steak house that my precious baby girl had shoplifted from the gas station!
What am I going to do?
I'll give you a hint. It's the same thing she's said every morning for the past few weeks.
Meatballs.
She wants to have the movie "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs" on all day, all night, all the time, whenever. When it rains steaks she stands up and holds out her hands. When it rains giant hot dogs she sits then and whispers "hot dog" for the next 5 minutes.
Strange.
But as I've mentioned in other posts ("Sausage" and "Meat") I already know she has a deep and creepy love for all things grilled. However, today she took it to a whole new level.
After leaving the gas station on our morning drink run I noticed Gracie had something in her hand. "What do you have?" I ask. "Meat" she replied.
"Meat?"
"Meat. "
Sure enough, it was meat. Well, not exactly meat but it was a $25 gift card to a local steak house that my precious baby girl had shoplifted from the gas station!
What am I going to do?
Monday, April 26, 2010
An Answer to one of Life's Mysteries
This weekend I had one of life's mysteries answered for me.
If one farts in the cold does it form a smoke cloud?
And the answer is: Yes, yes it does.
This weekend I was running a race. It started in the middle of the desert at 6:30 a.m.. Now, don't let the desert thing throw you off. It was cold. Dang freaking cold. We had to be on a bus headed to the start line at 5:30 where we were dumped out and left to wander in the freezing wilderness. AND IT WAS COLD!!! My hands and feet went numb before the race started cold. See your breath when you are talking cold. That cold. But I digress....
The race begins, daylight starts to peek over the mountains, and I'm slogging uphill when I see highlighted by the rising sun a puff of smoke exit the behind of the man in front of me. (If I'm lyin' I'm dyin') And simultaneously my brain thinks two things: #1--HOLD YOUR BREATH! and #2--If you fart in the cold it will indeed make a smoke cloud. Interesting.
Now, is it gross to dedicate a post solely to fart clouds? Yes.
But don't tell me you've never wondered about it before. Come on, admit it. (And if you haven't I'm sure your husband has.) And now you can both stop wondering. The answer has been confirmed. So instead of judging me harshly just consider this a public service announcement and remember it next time you are enjoying the cold outdoors.
If one farts in the cold does it form a smoke cloud?
And the answer is: Yes, yes it does.
This weekend I was running a race. It started in the middle of the desert at 6:30 a.m.. Now, don't let the desert thing throw you off. It was cold. Dang freaking cold. We had to be on a bus headed to the start line at 5:30 where we were dumped out and left to wander in the freezing wilderness. AND IT WAS COLD!!! My hands and feet went numb before the race started cold. See your breath when you are talking cold. That cold. But I digress....
The race begins, daylight starts to peek over the mountains, and I'm slogging uphill when I see highlighted by the rising sun a puff of smoke exit the behind of the man in front of me. (If I'm lyin' I'm dyin') And simultaneously my brain thinks two things: #1--HOLD YOUR BREATH! and #2--If you fart in the cold it will indeed make a smoke cloud. Interesting.
Now, is it gross to dedicate a post solely to fart clouds? Yes.
But don't tell me you've never wondered about it before. Come on, admit it. (And if you haven't I'm sure your husband has.) And now you can both stop wondering. The answer has been confirmed. So instead of judging me harshly just consider this a public service announcement and remember it next time you are enjoying the cold outdoors.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Trouble at the Top Stop
After returning from a field trip to a farm with 15 preschoolers and 3 two year olds I needed a drink...a big one.
Sure, the field trip was fun but with kids and animals I'm in a perpetual state of panic that someone is going to get lost or maimed. Luckily, none of that happened today. Until...
We pulled into the gas station which was unusually busy. The only spot left was on the end next to a gangsta mobile. Suped up little silver car, battle ax hubcaps, black lights (do you really need them on during the day?), barbed wire license plate holder, and of course the bass turned way up so you can feel it in your heart.
Whatever, I don't care. I need my Dr. Pepper. Simon hops out and as I'm unloading Gracie I feel something in my hair. Something angry.
(Are you scared yet? I was.) I flip around thinking one of the smoking homies was messing with me. Nope. Nothing there. I unbuckle Gracie's other buckle and it's back and it's stuck. And now I know what it is. It's a freaking hornet buzzing like its nobodies business because it's caught in my hair!
Now if you think I'm a mess when you mix kids and cows you should see me with bugs on my head. I'm jumping up and down, screaming, waving my arms, and doing the crazy person dance. I'm so insane that I crash right into the silver car of death. At which point out come the gangsters in their bandannas and baggy pants to beat me down. But who cares? I'VE GOT A BEE ON ME!!!
With in seconds I'm surrounded by these young guys all swatting me and I realize they aren't going to kill me they are trying to get the bee off me. During all of this I catch a glimpse of Simon standing up against the wall of the store with his hands over his ears and a terrified look on his face and somewhere in my mind I thought, yep, this just about seals the deal on therapy in his future.
Finally the bee flies away. All of us stare at each other. No one says anything. It's like the earth stood still. The homies disappear into the car and we go inside for our sodas.
Why can't I ever just be normal?
Sure, the field trip was fun but with kids and animals I'm in a perpetual state of panic that someone is going to get lost or maimed. Luckily, none of that happened today. Until...
We pulled into the gas station which was unusually busy. The only spot left was on the end next to a gangsta mobile. Suped up little silver car, battle ax hubcaps, black lights (do you really need them on during the day?), barbed wire license plate holder, and of course the bass turned way up so you can feel it in your heart.
Whatever, I don't care. I need my Dr. Pepper. Simon hops out and as I'm unloading Gracie I feel something in my hair. Something angry.
(Are you scared yet? I was.) I flip around thinking one of the smoking homies was messing with me. Nope. Nothing there. I unbuckle Gracie's other buckle and it's back and it's stuck. And now I know what it is. It's a freaking hornet buzzing like its nobodies business because it's caught in my hair!
Now if you think I'm a mess when you mix kids and cows you should see me with bugs on my head. I'm jumping up and down, screaming, waving my arms, and doing the crazy person dance. I'm so insane that I crash right into the silver car of death. At which point out come the gangsters in their bandannas and baggy pants to beat me down. But who cares? I'VE GOT A BEE ON ME!!!
With in seconds I'm surrounded by these young guys all swatting me and I realize they aren't going to kill me they are trying to get the bee off me. During all of this I catch a glimpse of Simon standing up against the wall of the store with his hands over his ears and a terrified look on his face and somewhere in my mind I thought, yep, this just about seals the deal on therapy in his future.
Finally the bee flies away. All of us stare at each other. No one says anything. It's like the earth stood still. The homies disappear into the car and we go inside for our sodas.
Why can't I ever just be normal?
Saturday, April 10, 2010
The Italian Stallion
Tonight I went running. Conditions were perfect. The weather was warm. The sun was setting. The breeze was slight.
I wore my brand new ridiculously expensive running clothes. My IPOD was fully charged and my hair was securely pulled back. As I ran down the trail I could see my shadow floating at my side on the slotted fences. Man, I looked like an athlete.
The Rocky song came on and I knew I was the champion. Yea, even the Itailian Stallion. I was feeling it so much I even jumped a smoking pile of dog poo. And it was a big pile. And I did it in a single bound. Da da da Da da da Dun dun dun Da da da...
OH YEAH! I was feeling good. All I needed then were some steps to climb and a side of beef to punch. BRING IT ON!!! ADRIENE!!!!
And, it was just about then that a 6 year old wearing white sandals and pedal pushers passed me on her Barbie bike.
DA Da da DA Da da ...
I wore my brand new ridiculously expensive running clothes. My IPOD was fully charged and my hair was securely pulled back. As I ran down the trail I could see my shadow floating at my side on the slotted fences. Man, I looked like an athlete.
The Rocky song came on and I knew I was the champion. Yea, even the Itailian Stallion. I was feeling it so much I even jumped a smoking pile of dog poo. And it was a big pile. And I did it in a single bound. Da da da Da da da Dun dun dun Da da da...
OH YEAH! I was feeling good. All I needed then were some steps to climb and a side of beef to punch. BRING IT ON!!! ADRIENE!!!!
And, it was just about then that a 6 year old wearing white sandals and pedal pushers passed me on her Barbie bike.
DA Da da DA Da da ...
Friday, April 9, 2010
Maybe Not Mother of the Year but Still...
This weekend I spent 5 hours tucked in the back seat of a small car.
I was sandwiched between my two small children, their enormous car seats, and all their road trip paraphernalia.
Jon had to work so it was my kids and I tagging along with my family.
As we sped down the road I realized that my kids had me captive. Simon took full advantage of this and I fielded an onslaught of never ending questions...What color is the Easter bunny? What happens if you drink your own blood? Is grandpa's truck faster than an earthquake? Meanwhile Grace spent her time "doing my makeup" and begging to be held. And during all of this my sister was playing a random mix of Lady Gaga, the Glee soundtrack, and so forth.
When we came to a gas station in the middle of nowhere I was happy for a break. My two siblings bopped out of the car and disappeared. I unbuckled both kids and literally climbed out of the car.
Simon had to potty and so did I but I couldn't find either of my siblings for a helping hand. That left me alone to face the restroom with the kids. If you've never taken two children in a stall and held one of them all while making sure you and the 5 year old potty and that no one touches the toilet or door or floor...don't. It's is highly unrecommendable. I almost had a hernia trying to keep my kids from getting germafied. It was not the best few minutes of my life but we came out clean and ready to go again.
Feeling proud we perused the gas station aisles for treats. Which we bought and headed for the car. Um, did I mention it was storming? If I didn't, it was. Picture Dorthy in Kansas on her bike...except in the middle of the desert.
And my brother, trying to be polite to other customers pulling in , had moved his car to the other side of the parking lot after filling up. Sure, that's nice and all but I still had to get myself and two kids back into it and now it's parked a bazillion miles a way! Thanks.
He flashes his lights so I can spot him through the dust and flying debris. So here we come, Simon hanging onto my leg afraid he's about to be blown away and me carrying Grace, a fountain drink, 2 milk chugs, and 1 giant bowl of crappy popcorn.
As the popcorn blew away kernel by kernel and I realized we were only half way home I thought I may not be the mother of the year but if we all make it home alive I deserve a medal.
I was sandwiched between my two small children, their enormous car seats, and all their road trip paraphernalia.
Jon had to work so it was my kids and I tagging along with my family.
As we sped down the road I realized that my kids had me captive. Simon took full advantage of this and I fielded an onslaught of never ending questions...What color is the Easter bunny? What happens if you drink your own blood? Is grandpa's truck faster than an earthquake? Meanwhile Grace spent her time "doing my makeup" and begging to be held. And during all of this my sister was playing a random mix of Lady Gaga, the Glee soundtrack, and so forth.
When we came to a gas station in the middle of nowhere I was happy for a break. My two siblings bopped out of the car and disappeared. I unbuckled both kids and literally climbed out of the car.
Simon had to potty and so did I but I couldn't find either of my siblings for a helping hand. That left me alone to face the restroom with the kids. If you've never taken two children in a stall and held one of them all while making sure you and the 5 year old potty and that no one touches the toilet or door or floor...don't. It's is highly unrecommendable. I almost had a hernia trying to keep my kids from getting germafied. It was not the best few minutes of my life but we came out clean and ready to go again.
Feeling proud we perused the gas station aisles for treats. Which we bought and headed for the car. Um, did I mention it was storming? If I didn't, it was. Picture Dorthy in Kansas on her bike...except in the middle of the desert.
And my brother, trying to be polite to other customers pulling in , had moved his car to the other side of the parking lot after filling up. Sure, that's nice and all but I still had to get myself and two kids back into it and now it's parked a bazillion miles a way! Thanks.
He flashes his lights so I can spot him through the dust and flying debris. So here we come, Simon hanging onto my leg afraid he's about to be blown away and me carrying Grace, a fountain drink, 2 milk chugs, and 1 giant bowl of crappy popcorn.
As the popcorn blew away kernel by kernel and I realized we were only half way home I thought I may not be the mother of the year but if we all make it home alive I deserve a medal.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Mother of the Year...I'm Not
A little while ago I was on the phone when Simon stole all of the aliens Grace was playing with. Grace begins screaming. Simon begins laughing. I can't hear. I scoop up Simon and put him on time out.
I finish the phone call. I check my emails. I start folding laundry.
Grace is playing on the floor with her little green men. All is well.
But where is Simon? He sure is being quiet. I wonder what he's up to.
OH, that's right. HE'S STILL ON TIME OUT!!!
I apologize. He forgives me.
Now both of my children are watching a NASCAR race on TV. NASCAR! And this is after we came home from buying sodas at the gas station in our pajamas! What are we? Hillbillies?!? You might as well just knock one of my teeth out and call me Cleatis.
Like I said before I ain't gonna never be no mother of the year.
I finish the phone call. I check my emails. I start folding laundry.
Grace is playing on the floor with her little green men. All is well.
But where is Simon? He sure is being quiet. I wonder what he's up to.
OH, that's right. HE'S STILL ON TIME OUT!!!
I apologize. He forgives me.
Now both of my children are watching a NASCAR race on TV. NASCAR! And this is after we came home from buying sodas at the gas station in our pajamas! What are we? Hillbillies?!? You might as well just knock one of my teeth out and call me Cleatis.
Like I said before I ain't gonna never be no mother of the year.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Lent Dilemma
My brother and I were reading up on Lent today.
Seems there are differences of opinion as to when Lent "ends". If the information we read was correct, then the two main camps are #1. Western society who stops their observance of Lent this Thursday at 3:00pm or #2. The orthodox observer who waits until Saturday at 3:00pm to end their observance.
So (being as I'm not even Catholic) when should I end my Lent observance and get my first afternoon Dr. Pepper in over 40 days?
In all the years I've participated in Lent I've always thought Lent "ended" on Easter Sunday. Apparently I've always been wrong (no big surprise there). So which route do I take ? I'm thinking that I should go orthodox. What do you think?
PS: I really do love Lent, like a lot. If you've never participated in it before try it next year. It's worth the experience.
Seems there are differences of opinion as to when Lent "ends". If the information we read was correct, then the two main camps are #1. Western society who stops their observance of Lent this Thursday at 3:00pm or #2. The orthodox observer who waits until Saturday at 3:00pm to end their observance.
So (being as I'm not even Catholic) when should I end my Lent observance and get my first afternoon Dr. Pepper in over 40 days?
In all the years I've participated in Lent I've always thought Lent "ended" on Easter Sunday. Apparently I've always been wrong (no big surprise there). So which route do I take ? I'm thinking that I should go orthodox. What do you think?
PS: I really do love Lent, like a lot. If you've never participated in it before try it next year. It's worth the experience.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Meat
We just had the TV on and a Sizzler commercial came on advertising their steak and salad bar special. After the commercial ended Gracie sighs and whispers "OOOOOO MEAT!"
She and Simon are now watching Sesame Street. Ah, good old public television with no commercials. (I don't think I can handle any more freaky deaky meat moments today.)
She and Simon are now watching Sesame Street. Ah, good old public television with no commercials. (I don't think I can handle any more freaky deaky meat moments today.)
Monday, March 22, 2010
Lent Will Never End
It's 1:45 and I have to go clean the basement. I'm tired and cranky and what would really make me happy---a big, fat, ice, cold, savory, Dr.Pepper is off limits due to my stupid Lent resolution!
AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Will Easter ever come?
AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Will Easter ever come?
Monday, March 15, 2010
McGyver
I just fixed my sewing machine using only a penny, a tooth pick, and my hair dryer.
You can just call me freaking McGyver.
You can just call me freaking McGyver.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Oh, How I Love Zach
This weekend Zach gave me his old IPOD and showed me how to load it up.
It is EXCELLENT!!!
I didn't have much time to select songs before our race (more on the race later). But what I did choose was EXCELLENT.
And what did I choose? The Baha Men, The Charlie Daniels Band (The Devil Went Down to Georgia), Black Eyed Peas, The Beastie Boys, the "Gangsta's Paradise" song, some Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin's "Respect", etc...
It is a total liZ list and the best part was there wasn't an Afterglow or an Osmond to be found.
Now I'm dying to have more time to add to and refine my running list.
Oh, Zach, third brother of mine, thank you for giving me the joy of your old IPOD. As I am slogging along on the treadmill I will be forever grateful for this gift.
PS---If any of you don't like my running list that's fine, you can't borrow my IPOD anyway. That baby is all mine. And did I mention that it's EXCELLENT?
It is EXCELLENT!!!
I didn't have much time to select songs before our race (more on the race later). But what I did choose was EXCELLENT.
And what did I choose? The Baha Men, The Charlie Daniels Band (The Devil Went Down to Georgia), Black Eyed Peas, The Beastie Boys, the "Gangsta's Paradise" song, some Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin's "Respect", etc...
It is a total liZ list and the best part was there wasn't an Afterglow or an Osmond to be found.
Now I'm dying to have more time to add to and refine my running list.
Oh, Zach, third brother of mine, thank you for giving me the joy of your old IPOD. As I am slogging along on the treadmill I will be forever grateful for this gift.
PS---If any of you don't like my running list that's fine, you can't borrow my IPOD anyway. That baby is all mine. And did I mention that it's EXCELLENT?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
My Daughter's Taste in Men
When Simon was younger we bought him a cool set of Disney's Robin Hood stuffed characters. I loved the set. He didn't and he didn't play with them.
We found them again recently while going through old toy bins. Gracie found one in particular that she just loves. She picked him right out and from that moment on they've been inseparable. She takes him for walks in her stroller and even puts him in bed with her at night. She loves him.
And all this love has me concerned for the future. See, she didn't choose Robin, Little Jon, or even Sir Hiss. Her one and only true love is Prince John. (The measly, weaselly, slobberin', grovelin' Prince John that Phony King of England.) If this is her choice now heaven help us when she gets older.
We found them again recently while going through old toy bins. Gracie found one in particular that she just loves. She picked him right out and from that moment on they've been inseparable. She takes him for walks in her stroller and even puts him in bed with her at night. She loves him.
And all this love has me concerned for the future. See, she didn't choose Robin, Little Jon, or even Sir Hiss. Her one and only true love is Prince John. (The measly, weaselly, slobberin', grovelin' Prince John that Phony King of England.) If this is her choice now heaven help us when she gets older.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Shopping With Jon
A few Saturdays ago I decided it was time to break down and buy some "real" running clothes. I had 3 items on the list: a shirt, some pants, and a sports bra.
We decided to make it a family outing so all of us headed to Target with my gift cards from Christmas. (Oh, how I hated to use them on running clothes.)
Knowing my time frame for having cooperative kids in a store is short, I hurried and selected some shirts and pants to try on and hustled down the aisle toward the dressing room. Then from way back in the distance I hear Jon calling to me, "Hey, Liz you forgot to get a training bra!"
Sports bra Jon. Sports bra.
And the reasons to hate running just keep on going...
Did I mention how loud the words "training bra" sound in a public place? Especially when they are directed at you?
...and going and going...
We decided to make it a family outing so all of us headed to Target with my gift cards from Christmas. (Oh, how I hated to use them on running clothes.)
Knowing my time frame for having cooperative kids in a store is short, I hurried and selected some shirts and pants to try on and hustled down the aisle toward the dressing room. Then from way back in the distance I hear Jon calling to me, "Hey, Liz you forgot to get a training bra!"
Sports bra Jon. Sports bra.
And the reasons to hate running just keep on going...
Did I mention how loud the words "training bra" sound in a public place? Especially when they are directed at you?
...and going and going...
Friday, February 19, 2010
Lent
It's that time of year again.
Lent.
For this season I am:
#1. Giving up Dr. Pepper after 1:00pm. (This really is a big deal since I usually have at least 2 of them between then and bedtime.)
#2. Eating a HEALTHY breakfast everyday. (No more gas station chocolate donuts and Nibs which really are magnificent in the morning.)
#3. Taking my vitamins everyday.
#4. In general going to take better care of my body.
It was either this or give up swearing. But considering the fact that I've had a raging headache spawned by caffeine withdrawals ever since Wednesday night I am now keenly aware that I've made the wrong choice. @#$*% it all. It's going to be a long 40 days.
Lent.
For this season I am:
#1. Giving up Dr. Pepper after 1:00pm. (This really is a big deal since I usually have at least 2 of them between then and bedtime.)
#2. Eating a HEALTHY breakfast everyday. (No more gas station chocolate donuts and Nibs which really are magnificent in the morning.)
#3. Taking my vitamins everyday.
#4. In general going to take better care of my body.
It was either this or give up swearing. But considering the fact that I've had a raging headache spawned by caffeine withdrawals ever since Wednesday night I am now keenly aware that I've made the wrong choice. @#$*% it all. It's going to be a long 40 days.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Even Blogger Thinks I'm Messed Up!
So after I pushed publish on that last post Blogger popped up with a bunch of adds for me all about the causes, treatments, and medications for anxiety.
What the heck?
Is it that obvious that I need to be institutionalized?
Oh well, I gotta go. There may be someone trying to sneak in the front door to steal Jon's IPOD. (Everyone knows he's got an excellent selection of tunes on it!)
What the heck?
Is it that obvious that I need to be institutionalized?
Oh well, I gotta go. There may be someone trying to sneak in the front door to steal Jon's IPOD. (Everyone knows he's got an excellent selection of tunes on it!)
Speaking of Play Lists
So the other Saturday night I went to the gym to run again. (All this running is going to kill me.) It was about 7:00 so it was dark and cold. When I arrived there were only 2 other people in the place. However, they both left before I had a chance to fire up the treadmill.
I was all alone.
In general I don't mind being alone. But like I said it was dark and cold and that makes everything kind of creepy. Then the main lights went off. Sure, the back up lights were still on but now everything was dim and shadowy which only enhanced the creepiness.
Not wanting to get off the treadmill but wanting the lights to go back on I started waving my arms over my head in an attempt to trip the motion detector. That's when I noticed my reflection in the windows. All that running and flailing around. Not sexy.
I stopped waving.
I started worrying. Unreasonable. Irrational worries. What if someone is hiding in the bathroom just waiting to junp out and get me? What if someone sneaks up behind me and bashes my head in with a weight? What if someone shoots me through the windows I'm running in front of? What if I have a heart attack and die in here by myself? What if. What if. What if.
So I'm sick. Big surprise. But my overactive imagination was being fueled by stress, lack of sleep and Jon's IPOD play list. (No, I still don't my own yet. I hate being poor even more than I hate running if you can believe it.) Which means I'm at the mercy of Jon's music selection.
As thoughts of homicidal gym rats raced through my head I realize I'm listening to that old Bonnie Tyler song "Holding Out for a Hero" (you know the one..."he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be larger than life...") with all the heart beats in the background and the insaino back up singers with all the scary OOOOOO's and AAAAAAA's.
Not so good for my jumpy nerves. I skip to next song.
Pat Benatar, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot". Nope. Skip again.
Kenny Loggins, "Danger Zone". No way. Skip again.
Europe, "The Final Countdown". Not even.
Whew! Bon Jovi, "It's My Life". Finally something that won't make me think I'm about to be plundered. Oh wait, what's that he's saying? I aint gonna live forever?
Skip.
Between all the messing around with the IPOD, looking over my shoulder for serial killers, and that crazy arm pumping action I'm tripping and stumbling all over the treadmill. Which makes me think I should be more concerned with breaking an ankle than with murderers.
As this thought dawns on me a dude walks into the gym. I'm not alone anymore. With death narrowly averted I finish my run and head out to the car. Where I start to think..what if someone saw me in there alone and is now waiting in the mini van to slay my sweaty self?
I open the door, check for crouching tigers (seriously I'm mental), get in and turn on the van where I am greeted (no lie) by the Police. "Every step you take, every move you make I'll be watching you."
No more night time visits to the gym for me.
I was all alone.
In general I don't mind being alone. But like I said it was dark and cold and that makes everything kind of creepy. Then the main lights went off. Sure, the back up lights were still on but now everything was dim and shadowy which only enhanced the creepiness.
Not wanting to get off the treadmill but wanting the lights to go back on I started waving my arms over my head in an attempt to trip the motion detector. That's when I noticed my reflection in the windows. All that running and flailing around. Not sexy.
I stopped waving.
I started worrying. Unreasonable. Irrational worries. What if someone is hiding in the bathroom just waiting to junp out and get me? What if someone sneaks up behind me and bashes my head in with a weight? What if someone shoots me through the windows I'm running in front of? What if I have a heart attack and die in here by myself? What if. What if. What if.
So I'm sick. Big surprise. But my overactive imagination was being fueled by stress, lack of sleep and Jon's IPOD play list. (No, I still don't my own yet. I hate being poor even more than I hate running if you can believe it.) Which means I'm at the mercy of Jon's music selection.
As thoughts of homicidal gym rats raced through my head I realize I'm listening to that old Bonnie Tyler song "Holding Out for a Hero" (you know the one..."he's gotta be strong and he's gotta be fast and he's gotta be larger than life...") with all the heart beats in the background and the insaino back up singers with all the scary OOOOOO's and AAAAAAA's.
Not so good for my jumpy nerves. I skip to next song.
Pat Benatar, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot". Nope. Skip again.
Kenny Loggins, "Danger Zone". No way. Skip again.
Europe, "The Final Countdown". Not even.
Whew! Bon Jovi, "It's My Life". Finally something that won't make me think I'm about to be plundered. Oh wait, what's that he's saying? I aint gonna live forever?
Skip.
Between all the messing around with the IPOD, looking over my shoulder for serial killers, and that crazy arm pumping action I'm tripping and stumbling all over the treadmill. Which makes me think I should be more concerned with breaking an ankle than with murderers.
As this thought dawns on me a dude walks into the gym. I'm not alone anymore. With death narrowly averted I finish my run and head out to the car. Where I start to think..what if someone saw me in there alone and is now waiting in the mini van to slay my sweaty self?
I open the door, check for crouching tigers (seriously I'm mental), get in and turn on the van where I am greeted (no lie) by the Police. "Every step you take, every move you make I'll be watching you."
No more night time visits to the gym for me.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Yea, That's Right, I Said Jon Denver.
That's right. Jon Denver. I listen to Jon Denver.
It could be worse. Some people watch High School musical, think that the "Imagination Movers"are hot, or own "Team Edward" t-shirts. ( I know who you are.)
But I listen to Jon Denver.
I admit it. I'm cool with my dorkness. I also listen to Neil Diamond. I've even been to one of his concerts and my only regret is that I didn't buy the rhinestone encrusted T-shirt that said "Diamond Girl". (Neil could beat down a lame wad vampire any day of the week I can tell you that much.)
So there you have it. Jon Denver and Neil Diamond. They are almost as dynamic a duo as Mc Hammer and Vanilla Ice. Oops, I think I've said to much...
At least that's better than Oops I did it again. Dun Dun dundun Da Dun
It could be worse. Some people watch High School musical, think that the "Imagination Movers"are hot, or own "Team Edward" t-shirts. ( I know who you are.)
But I listen to Jon Denver.
I admit it. I'm cool with my dorkness. I also listen to Neil Diamond. I've even been to one of his concerts and my only regret is that I didn't buy the rhinestone encrusted T-shirt that said "Diamond Girl". (Neil could beat down a lame wad vampire any day of the week I can tell you that much.)
So there you have it. Jon Denver and Neil Diamond. They are almost as dynamic a duo as Mc Hammer and Vanilla Ice. Oops, I think I've said to much...
At least that's better than Oops I did it again. Dun Dun dundun Da Dun
The Play List
I have to get ready for a marathon. It's a long story and I don't really want to talk about it (talking about it makes the repression process just that much harder) but I need some help.
I'm out there running (and I use that term very loosely) and to keep myself from going mid evil I've taken to borrowing Jon's IPOD. Visions of myself speeding through the miles to heart pounding jams filled my brain. What I got however was Afterglow and like every General Conference talk since the 1980's. While these may be inspirational in some respects they do not speed up my pace.
I did find a little pocket of music in there that I started listening to but it gives me the giggles which, again, is not very helpful. For instance I was running along when Donny Osmond started singing that he'll "make a man out of" me.
I don't want to be a man.
I do want my own IPOD. I am trying to save for one. Hopefully I'll be able to buy a Shuffle (is that what they are called?) soon. At which point I'll program in my own play list. It will not include Afterglow or Donny Osmond. The question is what will it include?
Since I am anti-exercise this is quite out of my realm. I don't think that my current tunes will power me up (Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, Cake, Jon Denver, Frank Sinatra, and the like). So I ask you (pretending that anybody actually reads this blog) what songs can I put on my running play list that will help me go faster and make me forget that I'd rather be doing anything than jiggling my junk for the whole world to see?
Any input would be appreciated.
*If you are thinking about suggesting anything by Afterglow or Donny Osmond please reread paragraphs 3,4, and 5 before commenting. Thank you.
I'm out there running (and I use that term very loosely) and to keep myself from going mid evil I've taken to borrowing Jon's IPOD. Visions of myself speeding through the miles to heart pounding jams filled my brain. What I got however was Afterglow and like every General Conference talk since the 1980's. While these may be inspirational in some respects they do not speed up my pace.
I did find a little pocket of music in there that I started listening to but it gives me the giggles which, again, is not very helpful. For instance I was running along when Donny Osmond started singing that he'll "make a man out of" me.
I don't want to be a man.
I do want my own IPOD. I am trying to save for one. Hopefully I'll be able to buy a Shuffle (is that what they are called?) soon. At which point I'll program in my own play list. It will not include Afterglow or Donny Osmond. The question is what will it include?
Since I am anti-exercise this is quite out of my realm. I don't think that my current tunes will power me up (Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, Cake, Jon Denver, Frank Sinatra, and the like). So I ask you (pretending that anybody actually reads this blog) what songs can I put on my running play list that will help me go faster and make me forget that I'd rather be doing anything than jiggling my junk for the whole world to see?
Any input would be appreciated.
*If you are thinking about suggesting anything by Afterglow or Donny Osmond please reread paragraphs 3,4, and 5 before commenting. Thank you.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The One Who Thinks He's The Boss
Just in case you were worried...
Simon wasn't traumatized by the robot decapitation. In fact, he whole heartedly approved. He is convinced that the robot has turned "evil" and "hates us". He tried reasoning with the thing but it just kept beeping. Stupid good for nothing robot.
Right now the headless corpse is blinking it's light board chest at me.
That thing really is evil.
Simon wasn't traumatized by the robot decapitation. In fact, he whole heartedly approved. He is convinced that the robot has turned "evil" and "hates us". He tried reasoning with the thing but it just kept beeping. Stupid good for nothing robot.
Right now the headless corpse is blinking it's light board chest at me.
That thing really is evil.
Jon's the Boss
Jon just tore that robots head off.
I love that man.
So much I'll even let him think he's the boss for a little while.
Unless, of course him and Simon build another robot. Then he's dead meat.
I love that man.
So much I'll even let him think he's the boss for a little while.
Unless, of course him and Simon build another robot. Then he's dead meat.
Who's the Boss
Right now Simon is splashing around in my tub singing "You're not the boss of me now. You're not the boss of me now and your not so big..." (That annoying theme song from Malcom in the Middle which I don't know where he heard it since I hate that show---is it even on TV anymore?)
Anyway,back to now...singing...splashing...a partially nude baby...flashing lights...and BLEEP...BLEEP... BLEEP... BLEEP... BLEEP...
While I was at the copy store Jon and Simon used a kit and built a full on robot. And it's not just any robot it is a light sensitive robot that bleeps out an alarm if you pass by it. BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP.
I hate that thing.
And of course since it's a homemade joby there is no on and off switch and no freaking batteries. I don't know how the dang thing operates and Jon is gone speaking at some Young Women's thing.
BLEEP BLEEP splash splash
Your not the boss of me now.
I can't move. The robot is watching.
I think it suspects something....
Anyway,back to now...singing...splashing...a partially nude baby...flashing lights...and BLEEP...BLEEP... BLEEP... BLEEP... BLEEP...
While I was at the copy store Jon and Simon used a kit and built a full on robot. And it's not just any robot it is a light sensitive robot that bleeps out an alarm if you pass by it. BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP.
I hate that thing.
And of course since it's a homemade joby there is no on and off switch and no freaking batteries. I don't know how the dang thing operates and Jon is gone speaking at some Young Women's thing.
BLEEP BLEEP splash splash
Your not the boss of me now.
I can't move. The robot is watching.
I think it suspects something....
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Pizza Fire Clarification
As my brother pointed out on Sunday it wasn't actually the pizzas that caught on fire it was the potatoes that Jon had spilled in there when he whipped up some dutch oven cooking. And it wasn't as much of a fire as it was a spontaneous combustion with mounds of black smoke and putrefied smells.
And as this was information from a post several posts ago nobody really cares.
Nevertheless consider the matter clarified.
And as this was information from a post several posts ago nobody really cares.
Nevertheless consider the matter clarified.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Parental Advisory Primary
What do you do when your 6 year old primary class needs a parental advisory warning?
I smile and ignore it. (Pretty much the same thing I do in like every situation.)
The week before last we had one of our class members make his Primary child paper doll stark raving naked and anatomically correct. Complete with bum cheeks in the back. Nice.
Later in the lesson one of the girls wanted to just know how babies get from heaven to the mommy's tummy anyway.
Then last week as we discussed talents yet another student wanted to show us his "sexy man" dance. And the whole lesson wrapped up with a girl showing us the picture she made of her sister crying in hell.
So overall I'd say we're teaching the kids loads of really great material. Unfortunately, it may not be the material we are aiming for. But on the bright side we get to smile a lot. (That is until they fire us.)
I smile and ignore it. (Pretty much the same thing I do in like every situation.)
The week before last we had one of our class members make his Primary child paper doll stark raving naked and anatomically correct. Complete with bum cheeks in the back. Nice.
Later in the lesson one of the girls wanted to just know how babies get from heaven to the mommy's tummy anyway.
Then last week as we discussed talents yet another student wanted to show us his "sexy man" dance. And the whole lesson wrapped up with a girl showing us the picture she made of her sister crying in hell.
So overall I'd say we're teaching the kids loads of really great material. Unfortunately, it may not be the material we are aiming for. But on the bright side we get to smile a lot. (That is until they fire us.)
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Just Now
I was just sitting here typing and Simon comes in.
Me: I love you Simon.
Simon: Why?
At this point I began listing things....
...because you're so smart, because you have brown eyes, because you can sometimes read my mind
Simon: What mind?
What mind indeed.
Me: I love you Simon.
Simon: Why?
At this point I began listing things....
...because you're so smart, because you have brown eyes, because you can sometimes read my mind
Simon: What mind?
What mind indeed.
How Do You Spell...
The other day in the car Simon asked me, "How do you spell the word boob?"
"How do you spell what?"
"Boob"
"Um...boob? Hum, let's see. I'm not sure. Use it in a sentence."
"What a boob! What a maroon!"
(Oh That's right. Jon let him watch a Looney Toon marathon the other afternoon.)
"Ohhhh sure, boob. B-O-O-B. Boob."
"Ok. Thanks mom."
I know it didn't change the spelling but as it is with most words it was the meaning and not the spelling I was concerned with.
Whew.
"How do you spell what?"
"Boob"
"Um...boob? Hum, let's see. I'm not sure. Use it in a sentence."
"What a boob! What a maroon!"
(Oh That's right. Jon let him watch a Looney Toon marathon the other afternoon.)
"Ohhhh sure, boob. B-O-O-B. Boob."
"Ok. Thanks mom."
I know it didn't change the spelling but as it is with most words it was the meaning and not the spelling I was concerned with.
Whew.
Friday, January 15, 2010
The Girlfriend of Doom
So my brother has been casually dating this girl for like the past year. Sure, she seems like a nice enough girl...goes to church, has a job and an education, doesn't wear thigh high hooker boots and a lot spandex. You know, a real take-home-to-meet-the-family type of girl. Unfortunately, I don't think that their relationship is really going to work out for me.
Why, you ask?
Because she is the girlfriend of doom. EVERY and I mean EVERY time we've been together destruction has followed. For instance the night I met her I was wearing a full on pirate eye patch. No, it wasn't Halloween. It was last spring. That morning I sliced my eye open, which made it swell making me look like Quasimodo's cousin. Then to compound the situation it wept non-stop and became unbearably sensitive to light. Hence the pirate patch given to me by the eye doctor. I have no doubt that her first impression was overwhelmingly positive.
Other coincidental gems soon followed. Including freezing wind up the canyon blowing our picnic away in the dark while I sat in the van with two very cold, crying, and unhappy children, the time she came over and my house was covered from the kitchen to the front door in pumpkin guts courtesy of Jon, Simon and the electric drill, or my personal favorite---the time she came for dinner and our homemade pizzas CAUGHT ON FIRE in my oven. Oh, that was awesome. Nothing impresses potential girlfriends like eating $5 Little Ceasers pizza in a smoked filled house more than an hour after arriving for dinner. (At least I wasn't wearing my eye patch that night.)
More stellar accounts could be listed but suffice it to say that our meetings have not gone well. So it is with great trepidation that I announce she will be here again tomorrow night for games. What will it be this time? Another flat tire? Will one of her pets attack me? I know, maybe this time it will be barf instead of spit globs on our game.
The suspense is killing me...
Why, you ask?
Because she is the girlfriend of doom. EVERY and I mean EVERY time we've been together destruction has followed. For instance the night I met her I was wearing a full on pirate eye patch. No, it wasn't Halloween. It was last spring. That morning I sliced my eye open, which made it swell making me look like Quasimodo's cousin. Then to compound the situation it wept non-stop and became unbearably sensitive to light. Hence the pirate patch given to me by the eye doctor. I have no doubt that her first impression was overwhelmingly positive.
Other coincidental gems soon followed. Including freezing wind up the canyon blowing our picnic away in the dark while I sat in the van with two very cold, crying, and unhappy children, the time she came over and my house was covered from the kitchen to the front door in pumpkin guts courtesy of Jon, Simon and the electric drill, or my personal favorite---the time she came for dinner and our homemade pizzas CAUGHT ON FIRE in my oven. Oh, that was awesome. Nothing impresses potential girlfriends like eating $5 Little Ceasers pizza in a smoked filled house more than an hour after arriving for dinner. (At least I wasn't wearing my eye patch that night.)
More stellar accounts could be listed but suffice it to say that our meetings have not gone well. So it is with great trepidation that I announce she will be here again tomorrow night for games. What will it be this time? Another flat tire? Will one of her pets attack me? I know, maybe this time it will be barf instead of spit globs on our game.
The suspense is killing me...
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Hey Good Looking
Before Christmas Simon had his tonsils and adenoids removed. The next morning when we all woke up I realized we had no bread or milk in the house. Super.
Without even getting the kids dressed I loaded them in the car. Simon wasn't feeling well but I tempted him with the prospects of picking out a bucket of ice cream all for himself.
As we walked through the wind and snow into the store I knew this would have to be a fast trip. Gracie was crying for milk and Simon was melting into a pile. Quickly I threw Gracie and Simon into the shopping cart and sped over to the milk. Without even waiting to pay for it (or finish my shopping) I opened the milk and filled Gracie's bottle.
With one child under control I asked Simon what would help him. By now he was laying in a heap next to Grace's car seat in the cart. He said he was freezing. So I covered them both with my coat. As we walked around I saw big tears falling down his cheeks. "Mom, I don't feel good," he says. Me, mad at myself for not planning ahead ask what I can do to help. "Sing me a song." he says.
Well, what was I supposed to do? How could I say no? I start to sing. Simon covers them up "like a fort" in the cart and we proceed to pick up a few more items. Things are going swimmingly and I forget to keep my voice down.
As we turn down the next aisle I'm belting out "Hey good lookin'. What you got cookin'?" Only to be met by some dude (roughly my same age) who smiles weakly, flashes me his wedding ring and heads off toward the cereal. Suddenly I look down at the cart and see only groceries! My kids are completely covered up and I realize that I look like I'm alone and that guy thought I was singing to him.
Seriously?!? Who would pick up on someone like that? I wanted to get on the PA system and tell him that this is Wal-Mart and not Top Gun but then I realized I didn't even have back up singers or a uniform and that it was really a bad analogy and that when it all comes down to it I just shouldn't be allowed out in public. Could someone please remind me of this the next time I need milk?
Without even getting the kids dressed I loaded them in the car. Simon wasn't feeling well but I tempted him with the prospects of picking out a bucket of ice cream all for himself.
As we walked through the wind and snow into the store I knew this would have to be a fast trip. Gracie was crying for milk and Simon was melting into a pile. Quickly I threw Gracie and Simon into the shopping cart and sped over to the milk. Without even waiting to pay for it (or finish my shopping) I opened the milk and filled Gracie's bottle.
With one child under control I asked Simon what would help him. By now he was laying in a heap next to Grace's car seat in the cart. He said he was freezing. So I covered them both with my coat. As we walked around I saw big tears falling down his cheeks. "Mom, I don't feel good," he says. Me, mad at myself for not planning ahead ask what I can do to help. "Sing me a song." he says.
Well, what was I supposed to do? How could I say no? I start to sing. Simon covers them up "like a fort" in the cart and we proceed to pick up a few more items. Things are going swimmingly and I forget to keep my voice down.
As we turn down the next aisle I'm belting out "Hey good lookin'. What you got cookin'?" Only to be met by some dude (roughly my same age) who smiles weakly, flashes me his wedding ring and heads off toward the cereal. Suddenly I look down at the cart and see only groceries! My kids are completely covered up and I realize that I look like I'm alone and that guy thought I was singing to him.
Seriously?!? Who would pick up on someone like that? I wanted to get on the PA system and tell him that this is Wal-Mart and not Top Gun but then I realized I didn't even have back up singers or a uniform and that it was really a bad analogy and that when it all comes down to it I just shouldn't be allowed out in public. Could someone please remind me of this the next time I need milk?
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