Every Memorial Day weekend, the family packs up and heads on over to my mom's sisters house. It's a big big house, with lots and lots of rooms. (Know that song?) It's a mini family reunion where we reune shopping. My mother, Nan, has this slightly unhealthy obsession with TJMaxx and Marshalls. We went to 6 of them back-to-back on Saturday. And then Sunday even more of us headed to IKEA for way to many purchases that resulted in a game of tetris of boxes and people. Another side note *Nan is also slightly obsessed with tetris. Do you see how the two go hand in hand?
The weekend sum diddly dummed up
My two lowest points:
1) The time when I called Nan to ask where the car keys were so we could start loading up - and at that same exact moment 4 people started screaming at me (including Ed) i got kinda excited. Mostly at Ed. I swear I told him to "BE QUIET" but Big D said that I told him to "SHUT UP". I can't argue with him. I was really REALLY excited. (Nothing makes me more pleased than to be on the phone and have Ed weeping and wailing like a banchey.) And while I was telling Ed to "be quiet" I also gave his bottom a gentle push away from me. Normal people would have gotten the hint - move along. Not Ed. He locked up his legs and slightly twisted himself - so my gentle push sent him sprawling to the floor, in a heap. So what everyone saw who was sitting around me - and that would be everyone - was a very grumpy mother who screamed "shut up" to their kid and then sent him flying.
2) Too difficult to explain - but it would include saying something that didn't need to be said. Something squeaked out of my mouth that made me feel like an inferior naughty 2-year old. Something to the effect of "it was a good thing i had my belt on - because it would have made Bruver Bear Wensleydale uncomfortable to see my buns". Does it make it worse to know that we were having a faux mooning war? Yup, said this to my very dignified, very proper Aunt, who's vehicle I was sitting in. I do wonder if I will ever reach true adulthood. . .
Person I missed the most:
1) I missed all my sisters - but Sister Bear I missed the most. She is my shopping partner and tells me when I should not be making a purchase because something makes me look like a "mom". Definitely do not want to look like a mom. Also, she fights terribly with me. She's a wild cat. And she wallops bottoms worse then anybody else I know. I did not miss that part. Let me clarify - she wallops adult bottoms. Because they jiggle and jive so nicely.
Best and favorite purchase:
1) None. I am pleased with the outdoor table Big D and I agreed on/purchased. The one that Big D dropped and shattered. Ok, a corner is shattered. I also was really pleased about my purple glass drink dispenser. I was going to fill it up with water and lemon slices and keep it in the fridge. It was going to be fancy and so lovely to look at. But that broke too. So I guess it's water out of the tap for us. And I guess I should readily accept that "fancy" does not like to live here.
Favorite new person who came:
Bruver Bear Wensleydale's, Care Bear (aka gil frend). It was good to get to her know her a bit better and to glance upon her beauty for longer than 3 seconds.
Greatest achieving moment:
The moment was the whole weekend - Big D and I did NOT get into a fight. EVERY year we end up in some super special show down. (oh, memorial day weekend is our anniversary) So we fight terribly on our anniversary and feelings get hurt and tears and anger. So much anger. I'm sitting here growling just thinking about the anger. But this year, I came into the weekend playing defensively - and it worked. We snuggled every night.
Favorite taste bud moment:
Sweet Frog
Most disappointing moment:
Having our annual clothing exchange - and it was on par to watching a 90 year old tortoise eat lettuce. When usually its like 10 naughty monkeys fighting over something super shiny and super perfect. It didn't help that we were missing 4 lovely ladies. *Betty Boop! I have a bag of clothes for you!!*
Random spot where you just want to waggle your queenship:
My aunt gave me a large box of perennials plants. Shade plants no less. She went around her beautiful yard, hacking and sawing off baby plants and roots so that my yard can begin its journey to yumminess and I feel like a queen. That's what i will be doing today. Lots of fancy planting.
Um, and that's all I can think of interviewing myself. Any questions?! Any questions?!
Take Aways
1) Family time is time well spent
2) Playing defensively is superior to playing offensively
3) It is always better to have Big D smash things vs. me smash things
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Grumpy Sue = List Day
I am way way way way to tired and lazy to say anything fancy. So it's list day!!!
1) The amount of crumbs and food under my table could literally feed a family of chickens for a week. (We don't sweep)
2) My fancy purple drink container is still sitting in the corner. It's making me mad. It's like I just want to kick it. And yell at it for being stupid, breaking as easily as it did. (Maybe I'm too tired)
3) I hate bananas. Especially the bananus. That part makes me gag.
4) I am very much hooked on Leverage at the moment.
5) I'm making a flower bed into a sand box because I have no idea how to grow things.
6) All of the silverware in our house are dirty and sitting on the counter. And they will sit there till Big D gets to them. I'm boycotting silverware for the moment. Or day. Or days.
7) I think I like reading Proverbs best. So applicable.
8) My couches have really nasty jack speckles and spots all over them. They really are only from water. And juice. And spilled milk. And greasy mac and cheese. And drooled carrots. And pee dribbles. But the best part is: when company comes over, and they look at the couch cautiously and contemplate which cushion to sit on. I like watching that awkward moment take place.
9) I'm working on not apologizing for the condition of our home.
10) My favorite snack to eat after the kids are in bed is chicken Ramen noods with Siracha. It's like an O in a bowl.
11) Forgiveness is hard. There are some big offenses swirling around out there.
12) Churches are weird.
13) I put underwear on in the middle of the night (don't ask) and I woke up with them on inside out and backwards. Neat. Hope the mites enjoyed that.
14) Murnice has a planters wart, and she wants to keep it because it's not growing.
15) My favorite part of putting the kids to bed: as SOON as I'm done saying prayers, the kids race to see who can kiss me first. Which always results in clunked heads, smashed lips, yanked nose rings, clawed eyes. And snot.
Hoping your day is filled with magical moments. Mine is going to end on a magical moment - tonight it's FRIDAY FRIENDS FRIDAY FRIENDS. Yup, I'm that much of an eager beaver to see adults.
Take Aways
1) Eat more Ramen and Siracha - it makes for a better disposition.
2) Big D - go buy me more Ramen.
3) Stop judging me for eating Ramen. I only use half the flavoring package.
1) The amount of crumbs and food under my table could literally feed a family of chickens for a week. (We don't sweep)
2) My fancy purple drink container is still sitting in the corner. It's making me mad. It's like I just want to kick it. And yell at it for being stupid, breaking as easily as it did. (Maybe I'm too tired)
3) I hate bananas. Especially the bananus. That part makes me gag.
4) I am very much hooked on Leverage at the moment.
5) I'm making a flower bed into a sand box because I have no idea how to grow things.
6) All of the silverware in our house are dirty and sitting on the counter. And they will sit there till Big D gets to them. I'm boycotting silverware for the moment. Or day. Or days.
7) I think I like reading Proverbs best. So applicable.
8) My couches have really nasty jack speckles and spots all over them. They really are only from water. And juice. And spilled milk. And greasy mac and cheese. And drooled carrots. And pee dribbles. But the best part is: when company comes over, and they look at the couch cautiously and contemplate which cushion to sit on. I like watching that awkward moment take place.
9) I'm working on not apologizing for the condition of our home.
10) My favorite snack to eat after the kids are in bed is chicken Ramen noods with Siracha. It's like an O in a bowl.
11) Forgiveness is hard. There are some big offenses swirling around out there.
12) Churches are weird.
13) I put underwear on in the middle of the night (don't ask) and I woke up with them on inside out and backwards. Neat. Hope the mites enjoyed that.
14) Murnice has a planters wart, and she wants to keep it because it's not growing.
15) My favorite part of putting the kids to bed: as SOON as I'm done saying prayers, the kids race to see who can kiss me first. Which always results in clunked heads, smashed lips, yanked nose rings, clawed eyes. And snot.
Hoping your day is filled with magical moments. Mine is going to end on a magical moment - tonight it's FRIDAY FRIENDS FRIDAY FRIENDS. Yup, I'm that much of an eager beaver to see adults.
Take Aways
1) Eat more Ramen and Siracha - it makes for a better disposition.
2) Big D - go buy me more Ramen.
3) Stop judging me for eating Ramen. I only use half the flavoring package.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Possible Joy
Is it possible to find joy being woken up at 6:30am? After you stayed up late - because Big D has the day off? Being woken up starts with the soft tinkling from a strand of stuffed Indian elephants with tinkly bells. It hangs from their bedroom door. And it's a beautiful sound, but also one that holds so much dread and anticipation. So soon? - I think.
Is it possible to find joy when you realize the loud ferocious feet and smackerals of laughing have landed in your bed? And the jumping and jumping and body kicks. And then you think your head is literally going to pinch off and roll due to the sheet that got wrapped around your neck and pulled like a tourniquet . . . the pillow is now on your head and used for a chair.
Is it possible to find joy when you've finally been pulled from your bed and greeted with a roar of "EAT - ummies, yok, ohs, ooose" - over and over again. Over and over. Over and over. And then you finally generate the energy it takes to wrangle yourself off the couch - that warm nesty spot - to grab the first thing on the menu "ummies". Which are inhaled. And before you can make it back to nesty spot - the next menu item is chanted. "yok yok yok". On and on. There is no belly satisfaction until the entire list is consumed.
(I still haven't had my tea.)
Is it possible to find joy when Murnice is weeping and wailing over her eggs that dad made? Because she wanted scrambled and Big D said, "too bad. You can have tossed and turned eggs instead."
Yes, I found joy in that.
But then. But then, Sister sent me this beautiful photo from her morning. It puts things into perspective for me. And yes, I do believe I can find some joy in being woken up far too early. Being pummeled and kicked and trampled upon and made almost headless. And squawked and hollered and roared and demanded at.
Take Aways
1) Wear protective armor to bed
2) Get up at 5am to unsure kidless/tea time
3) Only make tossed and turned eggs from this day forth
Is it possible to find joy when you realize the loud ferocious feet and smackerals of laughing have landed in your bed? And the jumping and jumping and body kicks. And then you think your head is literally going to pinch off and roll due to the sheet that got wrapped around your neck and pulled like a tourniquet . . . the pillow is now on your head and used for a chair.
Is it possible to find joy when you've finally been pulled from your bed and greeted with a roar of "EAT - ummies, yok, ohs, ooose" - over and over again. Over and over. Over and over. And then you finally generate the energy it takes to wrangle yourself off the couch - that warm nesty spot - to grab the first thing on the menu "ummies". Which are inhaled. And before you can make it back to nesty spot - the next menu item is chanted. "yok yok yok". On and on. There is no belly satisfaction until the entire list is consumed.
(I still haven't had my tea.)
Is it possible to find joy when Murnice is weeping and wailing over her eggs that dad made? Because she wanted scrambled and Big D said, "too bad. You can have tossed and turned eggs instead."
Yes, I found joy in that.
But then. But then, Sister sent me this beautiful photo from her morning. It puts things into perspective for me. And yes, I do believe I can find some joy in being woken up far too early. Being pummeled and kicked and trampled upon and made almost headless. And squawked and hollered and roared and demanded at.
Take Aways
1) Wear protective armor to bed
2) Get up at 5am to unsure kidless/tea time
3) Only make tossed and turned eggs from this day forth
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Conviction Notice x2
Conviction came twice today. Hot dingle berry.
I'm just going to clear something up real quick. I don't think the topic of sex is a private discussion. I do think the intimate re-runs of the previous night should only be shared with close friends and neighbors. But definitely not broadcasted to the whole world. Kidding. Intimate re-runs of the previous night are up to your own discretion on who should be privy to that . . .
For example: something weird happens, bodywise. You are going to want to run that by a friend to see if a) you're weird b) you're normal c) you're not the only one d) ew and emergency OR, maybe you have this unspoken contest going on between you and some other weird person with an issue concerning sketchy locations. Maybe not sketchy, but unusual. And then of course there's always the instance where YOU. WERE. BROUGHT. TO. TOWN. and you go to work showing your teeth a little bit more, maybe a giggle or two. And somebody says to you - why are you so gleeful? And you say, "BECAUSE MY HUSBAND EXECUTED HIS GOD GIVEN RIGHT TO SPANK ME AND HE SPANKED ME GOOD". Ok, maybe you wouldn't actually say that. You might just say that with your eyes. I might say that though. I'm not ashamed or embarressed or too prudeful to share the goodness that rained down. This thing that God created. And it is GOOD.
So anyway, my whole point is - I talk about sex. And I don't do it to make people feel uncomfortable. I do it because it's natural for me. And if any of my sex talk offends you - I truly am sorry. And just skip over that part . . .
Back to my convictions.
Conviction 1) I found this website called boundless. It's for christian young adults and they have topics like marriage, sexuality, singlehood, etc. I jumped right to the sexuality part. I always find it interesting what christians have to say about sex. And I happened across this article. I am SHOCKED that there really are people in the world who feel this way. Not judging. Not judging. Just shocked. So I read. Top to bottom. I gobble-de-gooked it right down. But then she said something. She, the responder. And it went like this:
I'm just going to clear something up real quick. I don't think the topic of sex is a private discussion. I do think the intimate re-runs of the previous night should only be shared with close friends and neighbors. But definitely not broadcasted to the whole world. Kidding. Intimate re-runs of the previous night are up to your own discretion on who should be privy to that . . .
For example: something weird happens, bodywise. You are going to want to run that by a friend to see if a) you're weird b) you're normal c) you're not the only one d) ew and emergency OR, maybe you have this unspoken contest going on between you and some other weird person with an issue concerning sketchy locations. Maybe not sketchy, but unusual. And then of course there's always the instance where YOU. WERE. BROUGHT. TO. TOWN. and you go to work showing your teeth a little bit more, maybe a giggle or two. And somebody says to you - why are you so gleeful? And you say, "BECAUSE MY HUSBAND EXECUTED HIS GOD GIVEN RIGHT TO SPANK ME AND HE SPANKED ME GOOD". Ok, maybe you wouldn't actually say that. You might just say that with your eyes. I might say that though. I'm not ashamed or embarressed or too prudeful to share the goodness that rained down. This thing that God created. And it is GOOD.
So anyway, my whole point is - I talk about sex. And I don't do it to make people feel uncomfortable. I do it because it's natural for me. And if any of my sex talk offends you - I truly am sorry. And just skip over that part . . .
Back to my convictions.
Conviction 1) I found this website called boundless. It's for christian young adults and they have topics like marriage, sexuality, singlehood, etc. I jumped right to the sexuality part. I always find it interesting what christians have to say about sex. And I happened across this article. I am SHOCKED that there really are people in the world who feel this way. Not judging. Not judging. Just shocked. So I read. Top to bottom. I gobble-de-gooked it right down. But then she said something. She, the responder. And it went like this:
--------------------Sex is an essential part of God's good design for marriage (Genesis 2:18-25).
It provides the opportunity for much pleasure, as well as the possible
miracle of creating new life. But even more, sex is His means for
uniting husband and wife uniquely. That's why, in the words of Gary
Thomas, Satan is so intent on getting people to have as much sex as
possible outside marriage and as little sex as possible within it. It's
the physical picture of a spiritual reality: the one-flesh union.------------------------------------------------
I know this isn't a struggle for everyone. But having boom boom time on a regular basis is challenging for me. Very challenging. The kids and the tiredness and the poop and the body hair. . . And if I can remember that this is an attack, and that its on purpose that it's challenging - why wouldn't I fight harder. For good to reign. For goodness. I say WOW.
Conviction 2) While I sit in the sun for my allotted one hour pleased-as-punch-time, I've been reading this jizz-nizzely book.
It's like reading the KJV bible. The words are twirly. And sometimes you get jealous that you can't be as fancy as the writer - but the actual heart of the book is so lovely. So true. So juicy and needed.
The writer is talking about not being present in the moment. Hurrying through life. Reaching for the next glorious, grin maker. Yes, yes - guilty. These dishes are gross and poop cleaning is worse. And then dear sweet Ann says,
------------------"Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing . . .Through all the haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away."--------------------------------------------------------------------
Super, super guilty.
Take Aways
1) Have slow boom boom time
2) Thank you Jesus for loving me enough to tell me that I need to ENJOY (slowly)
3) Struggling in finding what's so great about changing another poopy diaper at 9:30pm
4) The key to happiness, change diaper slowly while sniffing heartily
5) I have alot of attitude to work on
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Sunday was not Funday
Sunday was a bit of a hormonal crazy fest. When I type this - the things that go through my mind: all those nice married couples that are peaceful all the time and all those married couples that don't say a word about their spouse. Oh dear. 1) When God made me, he dumped in a bit more fire than the usual allowance that a batch should take and 2) I would not have anything to talk about if I didn't write about Big D. PS - in case anyone is worried about Big D's feelings - the only thing he doesn't want me to say is, "what a wretched man" he is. Ok, check. So lots of fire and hormones = one big explosion. Actually no. It was a small spark jumping up.
Breakfast went on. Big D cooked us some yum yum things. He's better at breakfast cooking then I am. Ed and Murnice prefer his morning food to mine. I think cheerios is a perfect way to start a day. Big D thinks chicken is better. (that was a jab at the one time . . . *ahem**ahem* that SOMEBODY thought it would be a grand idea to take the perfectly trimmed chicken breast that was just sitting in the fridge and cook it for breakfast. And then claim that they needed protein, apparently overlooking the fact that there were 18 protein filled eggs ALSO sitting in the fridge)
Then Iss gave Murnice's hair a snip snip, and Murnice weeped and wailed. Claiming it was nothing like she asked for . . . I guess that's a normal response for a 7year old. I think she said that she didn't feel like a queen. (In our society, the word "sexy" is ridiculously oversaid and overplayed. When my 4 year old was talking about sexy, I introduced the word "queen". Because that's what they really mean. Queens look beautiful and feel beautiful and act beautiful and that's something of worth to strive for. Not sexy. Sexy is for bedroom bam bams)
And then we drove to church. Murnice still weeping and wailing. I believe that children should learn the art of sitting nicely for periods of time while also being quiet. And what better place to practice that art, then at church. So, we keep Ed with us. Murnice has learned the art - and she rocks her socks at it. Ed on the other hand, not so much.
First it's sing song time. And he tolerates that - being held. With blue. Next, he immediately starts digging through my bag of funness and grabs his notebook and pen and draws a million "bobbys" which really are just small circular scribbles. Then he likes to flirt with me by drawing lines on the very very edge of his notebook with the pen. I get really excited (the pen being so close to the fabric pew) Boredom takes over and now it's time to grab all the other paper accessories from the back of the pew - and properly throw a fit when I say "no". "Alright fine! I'll just play ball". So he grabs the small bounce ball and starts to play catch with Big D. Excellent choice Dad. Two year olds can't really catch, so the ball is essentially flying and rolling everywhere - which makes Ed super happy that he gets to go exploring under the pews. And now it's time for Murnice to be dropped off to her class and I think that Big D is coming back to assist in this miserable part of parenting. (Big D never comes back) For the next 20 minutes Ed works in circles of a 3 second snuggle, fussing because he can't find the "red"car, scribbles of "bobby". Eventaully, he decides that he's going to try something new. And the something new would be loud, fake baby cries of "wah, wah". I get REALLY excited at this point and marched him to the back of church (like a sack of potatoes)(he is loving this) find a little room and put him at eye level with me. I gave him a tongue lashing and he is saying "yes mama" as fast as he can. Over and over. So I march, at a much slower rate, back to our frontish row pew and try again. We had a short power struggle - and I won. And then magically, a nickle appeared. And not a finer game can be found, other than - shove the nickle between the pew cracks so that it hits the metal legs. Clunks loudly and fine for all to hear. And then scramble under the pews to retrieve and do again. Yes, a fine game. If it didn't clunk. I really don't know what happened next. I think I blacked out from pure exhaustion for a brief moment. But the next thing i know, Ed has walked down the entire length of the pew (I think it's at least 30 feet long) and wound his way to pew behind me. Of course looking for his nickle. He was being quiet and sweet. And it was lovely. I'm still breathing at this point. But then he gets lost, and ends up in the front of the church, looking so sweetly for his mother. Now everybody on both sides of the aisle are waving violently and pointing directively and whispering raspishly to where I am seated. Trying to direct the poor boy (who is actually loving the new scenery) back to his mother. I have utterly had it by now. I am completely exhausted and beyond all sorts of reasonable actions and tones of voice. By the time we got home I was in tears about not having friends. Yes, that's the level of rational I was working at.
There's a lot more that happened Sunday, but I'm exhausted just thinking about all of this. And I don't feel like talking about it anymore. It has to do with more irrational behavior and heated fellowships. Surprise surprise.
Take Aways
1) Just smile and nod.
2) Keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.
3) And tell me what a fine son I have.
4) I sit in the sun for an hour a day and have found it works miracles on my disposition.
5) I put the kids down for a nap, and then sat in the sun. It was good for our marriage. Big D liked it.
Breakfast went on. Big D cooked us some yum yum things. He's better at breakfast cooking then I am. Ed and Murnice prefer his morning food to mine. I think cheerios is a perfect way to start a day. Big D thinks chicken is better. (that was a jab at the one time . . . *ahem**ahem* that SOMEBODY thought it would be a grand idea to take the perfectly trimmed chicken breast that was just sitting in the fridge and cook it for breakfast. And then claim that they needed protein, apparently overlooking the fact that there were 18 protein filled eggs ALSO sitting in the fridge)
Then Iss gave Murnice's hair a snip snip, and Murnice weeped and wailed. Claiming it was nothing like she asked for . . . I guess that's a normal response for a 7year old. I think she said that she didn't feel like a queen. (In our society, the word "sexy" is ridiculously oversaid and overplayed. When my 4 year old was talking about sexy, I introduced the word "queen". Because that's what they really mean. Queens look beautiful and feel beautiful and act beautiful and that's something of worth to strive for. Not sexy. Sexy is for bedroom bam bams)
And then we drove to church. Murnice still weeping and wailing. I believe that children should learn the art of sitting nicely for periods of time while also being quiet. And what better place to practice that art, then at church. So, we keep Ed with us. Murnice has learned the art - and she rocks her socks at it. Ed on the other hand, not so much.
First it's sing song time. And he tolerates that - being held. With blue. Next, he immediately starts digging through my bag of funness and grabs his notebook and pen and draws a million "bobbys" which really are just small circular scribbles. Then he likes to flirt with me by drawing lines on the very very edge of his notebook with the pen. I get really excited (the pen being so close to the fabric pew) Boredom takes over and now it's time to grab all the other paper accessories from the back of the pew - and properly throw a fit when I say "no". "Alright fine! I'll just play ball". So he grabs the small bounce ball and starts to play catch with Big D. Excellent choice Dad. Two year olds can't really catch, so the ball is essentially flying and rolling everywhere - which makes Ed super happy that he gets to go exploring under the pews. And now it's time for Murnice to be dropped off to her class and I think that Big D is coming back to assist in this miserable part of parenting. (Big D never comes back) For the next 20 minutes Ed works in circles of a 3 second snuggle, fussing because he can't find the "red"car, scribbles of "bobby". Eventaully, he decides that he's going to try something new. And the something new would be loud, fake baby cries of "wah, wah". I get REALLY excited at this point and marched him to the back of church (like a sack of potatoes)(he is loving this) find a little room and put him at eye level with me. I gave him a tongue lashing and he is saying "yes mama" as fast as he can. Over and over. So I march, at a much slower rate, back to our frontish row pew and try again. We had a short power struggle - and I won. And then magically, a nickle appeared. And not a finer game can be found, other than - shove the nickle between the pew cracks so that it hits the metal legs. Clunks loudly and fine for all to hear. And then scramble under the pews to retrieve and do again. Yes, a fine game. If it didn't clunk. I really don't know what happened next. I think I blacked out from pure exhaustion for a brief moment. But the next thing i know, Ed has walked down the entire length of the pew (I think it's at least 30 feet long) and wound his way to pew behind me. Of course looking for his nickle. He was being quiet and sweet. And it was lovely. I'm still breathing at this point. But then he gets lost, and ends up in the front of the church, looking so sweetly for his mother. Now everybody on both sides of the aisle are waving violently and pointing directively and whispering raspishly to where I am seated. Trying to direct the poor boy (who is actually loving the new scenery) back to his mother. I have utterly had it by now. I am completely exhausted and beyond all sorts of reasonable actions and tones of voice. By the time we got home I was in tears about not having friends. Yes, that's the level of rational I was working at.
There's a lot more that happened Sunday, but I'm exhausted just thinking about all of this. And I don't feel like talking about it anymore. It has to do with more irrational behavior and heated fellowships. Surprise surprise.
Take Aways
1) Just smile and nod.
2) Keep your judgmental thoughts to yourself.
3) And tell me what a fine son I have.
4) I sit in the sun for an hour a day and have found it works miracles on my disposition.
5) I put the kids down for a nap, and then sat in the sun. It was good for our marriage. Big D liked it.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Re-runs of the Weekend
I had a whiz of a weekend. I knew it was going to be intense, so when I got up around 6am on Saturday, I appropriately put my girdle of strength and protection on.
I pulled into work at the beautiful time of 7:30 and the games began.
--------What I do for work: 4 hours a week I direct a community school age swim program. I love what I do. I'm good at what I do. I feel confident in what I do. I smile (sometimes) while I'm doing what I do.----
To make a very long and drawn out and incredibly angering and blistering spirited and really exciting story short - one of my employees did not show up for work. Not really the end of the world if it was just that. But the part that I didn't mention was: it was parent's day, the last day of the program, the day that the parents get to sit in the pool area and watch what the instructor has been instructing for the past 9 weeks, the day that the children get their report cards and candy, and the day that hours of paperwork has to be filled out. That day. That fine glorious day.
I am so so so thankful that I am confident in what I do. I am so so so thankful for the remaining staff that surrounded me with support and stood in for their co-worker.
Essentially, every hour, I had to fill out between 3-5 report cards in 15 minutes, each report card consisting of around 30 skills. Then I received the beautiful gift of apologizing to not only the kids but also to their parents. And then we stole candy from the other instructors and smiled nicely while we passed it out.
It was beyond one of the worst Saturday mornings I've had in a long time. By 10am I had a raging headache.
The part that I didn't tell you: the MIA instructor was contacted by numerous coworkers and then the aquatics director, and she had the audacity to lie to all of them of where her report cards and candy were. She also informed the world that she had told ME that she wouldn't be at work that day. I "har-hard" at that information and smiled nicely. Oh, and I set the record straight.
Then I threw on my skinny purple cords and ran off to a Norwex gig. (With both kids because Big D wanted to play tennis)(Now that sounds unusually nice of me - and that is because just 2 weeks before, we had one of the most exciting, heated fellowships/bar room brawls over tennis, and quite frankly I just didn't have the energy to perform at that same level . . .with the headache and all) I'm not going to sit here and explain what Norwex is. Google it if you must. The show was at my SIL, Honey's house. Now Honey is 43. All of her friends, 85. It was grand. There was talk of dead husbands, and the jewelry that was made/left for them and a naming of all the people that call them "grandma" who aren't their real grandchildren. It was exciting. And then I left.
Because . . . Iss and her husband were coming to sit on my couch !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love nothing more then to have people come and sit on my couch. I love sitting on my couch. Just sitting. Sit, sit, sit. My bottom is growing rounding (on the sides) and flatter by the minute. It's all flab. All encompassing flab. Jiggly, jiggly, jiggly - all from sitting. On my couch.
And we sat. And hooted and hollered at each other. And asked silly questions just to hear the other one talk. Sometimes we even snarled. One time I even bore my one canine tooth. And we did things like: going to festivals, and looked at weird men, and ate really yummy food that the good Lord gave to us (I love being thankful for food)(and I'm learning to be thankful for bad things too.) And then we watched Cops - because everybody should be entertained by Cops at least once in their life. And then we went to bed.
Take Aways
1) I stopped on Saturday because Sunday is too long to add on
2) Maybe tomorrow I'll talk about Sunday and reveal some of my heart
3) OOOOOOOO AAAHHHHHHHHH
4) My headache finally disappeared around 6pm with water, ibuprofen, and prayer
5) Praise the Lord!!!
6) I get very angry when I'm screwed over
7) Working on forgiveness
8) I love my couch more then you love your couch
9) I wished I could have stayed at Honey's party a tad longer. I love hearing old people stories
10) For real - no sarcasm
I pulled into work at the beautiful time of 7:30 and the games began.
--------What I do for work: 4 hours a week I direct a community school age swim program. I love what I do. I'm good at what I do. I feel confident in what I do. I smile (sometimes) while I'm doing what I do.----
To make a very long and drawn out and incredibly angering and blistering spirited and really exciting story short - one of my employees did not show up for work. Not really the end of the world if it was just that. But the part that I didn't mention was: it was parent's day, the last day of the program, the day that the parents get to sit in the pool area and watch what the instructor has been instructing for the past 9 weeks, the day that the children get their report cards and candy, and the day that hours of paperwork has to be filled out. That day. That fine glorious day.
I am so so so thankful that I am confident in what I do. I am so so so thankful for the remaining staff that surrounded me with support and stood in for their co-worker.
Essentially, every hour, I had to fill out between 3-5 report cards in 15 minutes, each report card consisting of around 30 skills. Then I received the beautiful gift of apologizing to not only the kids but also to their parents. And then we stole candy from the other instructors and smiled nicely while we passed it out.
It was beyond one of the worst Saturday mornings I've had in a long time. By 10am I had a raging headache.
The part that I didn't tell you: the MIA instructor was contacted by numerous coworkers and then the aquatics director, and she had the audacity to lie to all of them of where her report cards and candy were. She also informed the world that she had told ME that she wouldn't be at work that day. I "har-hard" at that information and smiled nicely. Oh, and I set the record straight.
Then I threw on my skinny purple cords and ran off to a Norwex gig. (With both kids because Big D wanted to play tennis)(Now that sounds unusually nice of me - and that is because just 2 weeks before, we had one of the most exciting, heated fellowships/bar room brawls over tennis, and quite frankly I just didn't have the energy to perform at that same level . . .with the headache and all) I'm not going to sit here and explain what Norwex is. Google it if you must. The show was at my SIL, Honey's house. Now Honey is 43. All of her friends, 85. It was grand. There was talk of dead husbands, and the jewelry that was made/left for them and a naming of all the people that call them "grandma" who aren't their real grandchildren. It was exciting. And then I left.
Because . . . Iss and her husband were coming to sit on my couch !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love nothing more then to have people come and sit on my couch. I love sitting on my couch. Just sitting. Sit, sit, sit. My bottom is growing rounding (on the sides) and flatter by the minute. It's all flab. All encompassing flab. Jiggly, jiggly, jiggly - all from sitting. On my couch.
And we sat. And hooted and hollered at each other. And asked silly questions just to hear the other one talk. Sometimes we even snarled. One time I even bore my one canine tooth. And we did things like: going to festivals, and looked at weird men, and ate really yummy food that the good Lord gave to us (I love being thankful for food)(and I'm learning to be thankful for bad things too.) And then we watched Cops - because everybody should be entertained by Cops at least once in their life. And then we went to bed.
Take Aways
1) I stopped on Saturday because Sunday is too long to add on
2) Maybe tomorrow I'll talk about Sunday and reveal some of my heart
3) OOOOOOOO AAAHHHHHHHHH
4) My headache finally disappeared around 6pm with water, ibuprofen, and prayer
5) Praise the Lord!!!
6) I get very angry when I'm screwed over
7) Working on forgiveness
8) I love my couch more then you love your couch
9) I wished I could have stayed at Honey's party a tad longer. I love hearing old people stories
10) For real - no sarcasm
Monday, May 20, 2013
Some People Call Money "Brad"
I don't know if other bloggers do this, but I subscribed Big D to my posts. I think it's important that he stays abreast of the happenings here. Sometimes he comes home from work and complains that I don't tell him what's going on - but the fact of the matter is: he gets my posts the following day, and if I greeted him at the door sharing everything, then he wouldn't be an eager beaver to read what's happening right in his home. Sometimes I feel bad for the old chap, having to find things out a whole day later - but it does make for a sparkly evening the following day.
Anyway, the whole weekend Big D has been pushing for me to write an explanation for his broken arm. Personally I don't want to - but he want his name cleared. So here's what happened.
His brother was getting married in FL somewhere, close to a beach. And Big D and his cousin Weedy thought it would be appropriate to walk the beaches in the middle of the night, hours before the big affair. Now, Big D is not very big - but he was farming at the time, so there were muscles in various places that could land him on his feet. I don't think I need to go and explain Weedy. Name is pretty self explanatory.
So they're walking and talking about what 20 year old country boys talk about: how they wish the sun was up so they could look at girls, how incredibly heroic that one catch in that one football game was, how hungry they are, how excited they are for the open bar the next day, etc. Men's stuff.
All of sudden, two men appeared out of now where. Hispanic men - maybe they were boyish. (I wasn't there) They sauntered up to Big D and Weedy and said, "give me your brad". And Big D said, "H to the no". And then there was alot of punching. Poor Weedy took off and left Big D to fend for himself. Which he did. There was blood and body kicks and broken arms and lost watches. And then the "brad" guys took off running. And Big D and Weedy thought it would be incredibly appropriate to throw "brad" guy's shoes as far as they could into the ocean. Then they went to bed.
The following morning Big D's brother came into the dimly lit hotel room and shrieked a mighty shriek. Apparently there were large swollen lips and blue faces. Weedy's mom applied alot of makeup that day, covering the shenanigans of the previous night.
Take Aways
1) Big D holds this story near and dear to his heart. Surrounding it with pride.
2) Big D still thinks he can hold his own in a fist fight. I think he has forgotten he is no longer a farmer.
3) Sometimes I lean up into the car window and say, "give me your brad".
4) Big D didn't know he broke his arm for a weeks after it happened.
5) This happened just a few weeks before I met him for the first time.
6) So Big D was still pumped up on adrenaline, and thought he was a king.
Anyway, the whole weekend Big D has been pushing for me to write an explanation for his broken arm. Personally I don't want to - but he want his name cleared. So here's what happened.
His brother was getting married in FL somewhere, close to a beach. And Big D and his cousin Weedy thought it would be appropriate to walk the beaches in the middle of the night, hours before the big affair. Now, Big D is not very big - but he was farming at the time, so there were muscles in various places that could land him on his feet. I don't think I need to go and explain Weedy. Name is pretty self explanatory.
So they're walking and talking about what 20 year old country boys talk about: how they wish the sun was up so they could look at girls, how incredibly heroic that one catch in that one football game was, how hungry they are, how excited they are for the open bar the next day, etc. Men's stuff.
All of sudden, two men appeared out of now where. Hispanic men - maybe they were boyish. (I wasn't there) They sauntered up to Big D and Weedy and said, "give me your brad". And Big D said, "H to the no". And then there was alot of punching. Poor Weedy took off and left Big D to fend for himself. Which he did. There was blood and body kicks and broken arms and lost watches. And then the "brad" guys took off running. And Big D and Weedy thought it would be incredibly appropriate to throw "brad" guy's shoes as far as they could into the ocean. Then they went to bed.
The following morning Big D's brother came into the dimly lit hotel room and shrieked a mighty shriek. Apparently there were large swollen lips and blue faces. Weedy's mom applied alot of makeup that day, covering the shenanigans of the previous night.
Take Aways
1) Big D holds this story near and dear to his heart. Surrounding it with pride.
2) Big D still thinks he can hold his own in a fist fight. I think he has forgotten he is no longer a farmer.
3) Sometimes I lean up into the car window and say, "give me your brad".
4) Big D didn't know he broke his arm for a weeks after it happened.
5) This happened just a few weeks before I met him for the first time.
6) So Big D was still pumped up on adrenaline, and thought he was a king.
Friday, May 17, 2013
When I Met Big D
I was a silly girl in school. I teased teased teased - and never gave in. My, what a nice Christian girl I was. Pat me on the back please. My roommate Penny and I would talk about who we should date, and how delicious so and so looked and how unfortunate it was that Garth wasn't interested in us. Dreamboat Garth. His long lecherous legs, and perfect sandy red hair. And the perfect mom and dad (and probably a dog and sister). And he loved Jesus and sang so nice. Did I mention his smile? Perfectly manly plump lips with celebrity like white teeth. Yes, the smile was the clincher. But Garth only smiled to Penny and I. That polite smile. And we finally moved on, looking else where for the attention we sought. There were so many lovely choices: the Laundry Boys, Morgasm, Big Mike, Dave Feliz Navidad, various church boys who lacked a special name, various co-worker boys, various friends from highschool boys - that sums it up. We really made our rounds. (That sounds awfully hussy-ish)
And then Penny says to me, "you should just marry Big D". And I said, "I will".
I wondered who Big D was. Because I had never heard of him before. But I knew that I would marry him. And Penny said, "lets call him right now". Yes lets. Lets talk to this husband of mine. It was relatively early. Maybe 9 pmish. Penny called. His mom answered and said that he was in bed. *snickers* but she woke him up.
The first few sentences I uttered to him: "Hey Big D, I just bought some boy shorts". (Now, to most of you readers, you probably assume I'm talking about those cute little bottoms that go on girls buns. The girls who don't want all their buns hanging out - but no. No, I am not talking about any sort of cuteness. I am in fact talking about literal boy shorts that I bought at American Eagle. Shorts that looked like culottes. With huge pockets, and strings and threads hanging down around like fringe. And worn spots. The bottom was nonexistent. Swallowed whole by the notion of fabric. Droopy drawers?) Hey Big D, I'm going to be your wife and I look guuuuuud. Banging is more like it. But only because I wear boy shorts. . . . Honestly, I have no idea of what he said back to me. Something nice. The thing I do remember: his voice was slow and sleepy and v.e.r.y. raspy - and that's the last time I heard that voice.
So back when Big D was young. And tried to impress me - all the time. This is what he was like/did/I remember
1) he had a low, slow, and raspy voice
2) he loved to be woken up to talk to his beloved *giggling*
3) he wore too small jean shorts with WAY to small sport jerseys
4) his hair would actually resemble something instead of a spooked hedgehog
5) he had 5 stomach muscles
6) minimal body hair - just enough to be manly vs. boyish
7) he always smiled when he saw me, and would seek me out - but only with his shirt off
8) he drove a muscle car
9) he would chase my friends around in his underwear
10) he was never too tired to stay up and listen to all my exciting chatter
11) he had muscles
12) his hands were rough
13) he thought my body was delectable - ok, he imagined it was delectable
14) he thought I was ugly
15) he told me that if I ever started to "like" him, we would have to stop being friends
16) he had the worst singing voice
17) he stood up to Brother Bear and Sister Barry's shenanigans
18) he did not do anything for himself (ie cook, wash clothes)
19) he made out with my face - after he started to like me, but I still didn't like him ;)
20) he loved Jesus
21) he had a broken arm from punching somebody
And that's all I'm going to say about that. Today.
Take Aways
1) I liked boys
2) Penny is a whiz at matchmaking
3) Clearly I was not a whiz at introductory conversations
4) Farm boys did it for me
And then Penny says to me, "you should just marry Big D". And I said, "I will".
I wondered who Big D was. Because I had never heard of him before. But I knew that I would marry him. And Penny said, "lets call him right now". Yes lets. Lets talk to this husband of mine. It was relatively early. Maybe 9 pmish. Penny called. His mom answered and said that he was in bed. *snickers* but she woke him up.
The first few sentences I uttered to him: "Hey Big D, I just bought some boy shorts". (Now, to most of you readers, you probably assume I'm talking about those cute little bottoms that go on girls buns. The girls who don't want all their buns hanging out - but no. No, I am not talking about any sort of cuteness. I am in fact talking about literal boy shorts that I bought at American Eagle. Shorts that looked like culottes. With huge pockets, and strings and threads hanging down around like fringe. And worn spots. The bottom was nonexistent. Swallowed whole by the notion of fabric. Droopy drawers?) Hey Big D, I'm going to be your wife and I look guuuuuud. Banging is more like it. But only because I wear boy shorts. . . . Honestly, I have no idea of what he said back to me. Something nice. The thing I do remember: his voice was slow and sleepy and v.e.r.y. raspy - and that's the last time I heard that voice.
So back when Big D was young. And tried to impress me - all the time. This is what he was like/did/I remember
1) he had a low, slow, and raspy voice
2) he loved to be woken up to talk to his beloved *giggling*
3) he wore too small jean shorts with WAY to small sport jerseys
4) his hair would actually resemble something instead of a spooked hedgehog
5) he had 5 stomach muscles
6) minimal body hair - just enough to be manly vs. boyish
7) he always smiled when he saw me, and would seek me out - but only with his shirt off
8) he drove a muscle car
9) he would chase my friends around in his underwear
10) he was never too tired to stay up and listen to all my exciting chatter
11) he had muscles
12) his hands were rough
13) he thought my body was delectable - ok, he imagined it was delectable
14) he thought I was ugly
15) he told me that if I ever started to "like" him, we would have to stop being friends
16) he had the worst singing voice
17) he stood up to Brother Bear and Sister Barry's shenanigans
18) he did not do anything for himself (ie cook, wash clothes)
19) he made out with my face - after he started to like me, but I still didn't like him ;)
20) he loved Jesus
21) he had a broken arm from punching somebody
And that's all I'm going to say about that. Today.
Take Aways
1) I liked boys
2) Penny is a whiz at matchmaking
3) Clearly I was not a whiz at introductory conversations
4) Farm boys did it for me
Thursday, May 16, 2013
The Things that Come Out
Things not to say in a phone interview:
"I am so excited about this opportunity. It's really tickling my interest buttons."
Nailed it Foxy. Nailed it. You have the job. But only because you used the words "tickling" and "buttons" in the same sentence.
Take Aways
1) Ask if you can do a writing interview vs. a phone interview - next time
"I am so excited about this opportunity. It's really tickling my interest buttons."
Nailed it Foxy. Nailed it. You have the job. But only because you used the words "tickling" and "buttons" in the same sentence.
Take Aways
1) Ask if you can do a writing interview vs. a phone interview - next time
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Good Morning *grin*
My question of the day is - when is it socially acceptable to get dressed and look presentable if you only plan to stay home?
I woke up this morning, and AFTER taking a sip of my too hot tea with way too much honey, I managed to growl out a few words to Big D. What should I blog about today? He gave me some nice answers. Honestly, I have no recollection what he said. The answer that I have choosen is: if it's meant to be blogged about, the universe will let me know.
We have lived in our little mole hole for a full 4 years. We have met our neighbors, in the form of smiles and waves. I'm just finding that friendliness is not this neighborhoods forte. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just a rude hermit.
The morning is going by smoothly. Fights have been broken up. Children sent to bed for not being happy. Half of breakfast has been eaten, the other half waiting for a mid morning hunger seizure - splattered on the table. Now, the lucky part of the morning so far - the children were dressed and hair was brushed. And super brownie points go to me - Ed's peener was covered (you know, potty training).
I'm sitting on the couch researching how to wash yellowed, greased smeared pillows. I had the fortitude to pull my hair back and powder the greased slick dick do, that was happening. (Hense the pillows) BUT, I did have a Biore pore nose strip on, mom sweats, and a see through, very thin, long sleeved shirt - with no underthings on . . . I also just ate a large bowl of chicken fettuccine alfredo with lots of fresh parsley and ground pepper.
So I'm sitting there doing my research , and I notice a red head go bobbing by the front window. Oh dear Jesus, thank you for bringing wonderful encounters into my life. *Ahem* more like humbling moments that will forever put me in the laughing stock category of neighbor status. I ripped my nose strip off - not giving it enough time to harden, and missing out on the satisfying eye watering agony of the s.l.o.w. rip Crossing my fingers that there was no white residue left on my face.
I open the door and it's our neighbor who lives directly behind us. The ones who get to watch everything we do - because our yard is like a soup bowl. And we sit in the bottom, and the neighbors all around us sit on the lip. They probably know more about us than we do. They probably have seen more body parts than we would care to share. And they probably have heard far too many heated fellowships.
Blessings abound this morning.
I didn't know what to do. Apologize for the way I looked and smelled. Pray that she didn't see or smell anything. Or pretend that nothing was unusual and have a pleasant first encounter meet and greet.
I chose to pretend that I looked like a queen. I ran my tongue over my teeth ferociously every time she would say something. And at one point I scored a large pointy object. I'm guessing fresh ground black pepper. I wonder how many pepper shows she got? The children hung around my legs like fleas. It was wonderful.
She finally continued on her walk - after asking if she could cut down a hunk of a tree that resides in our yard. I ran to the bathroom to see the damage of first impressions. Honestly, not bad. No white residue on nose. Rosy cheeks from the violent ripping - thoughts of blush? Teeth - loads of cheese and other pasta material crammed in all corners, but no green or black hunks.
I am some what mortified. And somewhat pleased that I have finally met a neighbor. She was a lovely Irish lady. Maybe we'll be friends some day.
Take Aways
1) Put the mirror back up by the front door
2) Embrace every opportunity that comes your way with the outcome of meeting new neighbors
I woke up this morning, and AFTER taking a sip of my too hot tea with way too much honey, I managed to growl out a few words to Big D. What should I blog about today? He gave me some nice answers. Honestly, I have no recollection what he said. The answer that I have choosen is: if it's meant to be blogged about, the universe will let me know.
We have lived in our little mole hole for a full 4 years. We have met our neighbors, in the form of smiles and waves. I'm just finding that friendliness is not this neighborhoods forte. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm just a rude hermit.
The morning is going by smoothly. Fights have been broken up. Children sent to bed for not being happy. Half of breakfast has been eaten, the other half waiting for a mid morning hunger seizure - splattered on the table. Now, the lucky part of the morning so far - the children were dressed and hair was brushed. And super brownie points go to me - Ed's peener was covered (you know, potty training).
I'm sitting on the couch researching how to wash yellowed, greased smeared pillows. I had the fortitude to pull my hair back and powder the greased slick dick do, that was happening. (Hense the pillows) BUT, I did have a Biore pore nose strip on, mom sweats, and a see through, very thin, long sleeved shirt - with no underthings on . . . I also just ate a large bowl of chicken fettuccine alfredo with lots of fresh parsley and ground pepper.
So I'm sitting there doing my research , and I notice a red head go bobbing by the front window. Oh dear Jesus, thank you for bringing wonderful encounters into my life. *Ahem* more like humbling moments that will forever put me in the laughing stock category of neighbor status. I ripped my nose strip off - not giving it enough time to harden, and missing out on the satisfying eye watering agony of the s.l.o.w. rip Crossing my fingers that there was no white residue left on my face.
I open the door and it's our neighbor who lives directly behind us. The ones who get to watch everything we do - because our yard is like a soup bowl. And we sit in the bottom, and the neighbors all around us sit on the lip. They probably know more about us than we do. They probably have seen more body parts than we would care to share. And they probably have heard far too many heated fellowships.
Blessings abound this morning.
I didn't know what to do. Apologize for the way I looked and smelled. Pray that she didn't see or smell anything. Or pretend that nothing was unusual and have a pleasant first encounter meet and greet.
I chose to pretend that I looked like a queen. I ran my tongue over my teeth ferociously every time she would say something. And at one point I scored a large pointy object. I'm guessing fresh ground black pepper. I wonder how many pepper shows she got? The children hung around my legs like fleas. It was wonderful.
She finally continued on her walk - after asking if she could cut down a hunk of a tree that resides in our yard. I ran to the bathroom to see the damage of first impressions. Honestly, not bad. No white residue on nose. Rosy cheeks from the violent ripping - thoughts of blush? Teeth - loads of cheese and other pasta material crammed in all corners, but no green or black hunks.
I am some what mortified. And somewhat pleased that I have finally met a neighbor. She was a lovely Irish lady. Maybe we'll be friends some day.
Take Aways
1) Put the mirror back up by the front door
2) Embrace every opportunity that comes your way with the outcome of meeting new neighbors
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Happy Muver's Day, Mama
I like to add "mama" after any and all celebratory greetings. The proper way to say these greetings is with a high, soft, airy voice.
You know when you hear a little kid say something in real life, and then it just stays with you. Forever. And you think it's hysterical to throw the verbiage around where ever and whenever you please? Yes, yes, that's what I'm doing.
I didn't actually hear the little kid say this in person. I only heard the story. It comes from Friday Friends. They have two little kids. A bigger little kid. And a littler little kid. And it was their mama's birthday. There was a cake in the fridge. Mama gets up one morning, and littler little kid (maybe 2 years old) somehow opened the fridge, got the cake out and was eating it on the floor. Hearing her mother, littler little kid turns around - with cake plastered to her face - and says, "happy birthday mama".
This kills me. And so Big D and I throw this saying around. All the time. For everything we can (within reason) Happy Monday Morning mama - does not work.
Sooooooo - mother's day. I really abhor the holiday. I think it's cheese and crackers with a good glob of stupidity on top. It's important to not call anybody that you really care about on this day, for fear they may think you're calling to wish them a happy mother's day. Which is not the case. You're just calling to chat. But they don't know that. And then it gets weird. And feelings get hurt. Example. I was having a bored moment on Sunday and decided to call Brother Bear. He did not answer. But he called me first thing Monday morning. Why? Because he didn't want to call me back on Sunday to make me think he was calling to wish me "happy mother's day".
I'm assuming that probably offended many. Let me just say, that's just me. I won't be calling you on mother's day. But if we do bump into each other, I will be socially acceptable and do what society tells me to do - and wish you a beautiful happy mother's day.
Which leads me to my next point. I don't have to like something to take full advantage of the situation. And I got that splendid idea from Sister Barry (short for barracuda). She had the nerve to sit her family down and tell them exactly what she wanted for mother's day. And it wasn't one thing. It was a whole list.
Wow wow wow. She has such great ideas. And this is the email i immediately shot off to Big D.
I was half expecting a snark remark back of what an ungrateful, demanding fleabag I was, and I should be happy with the love he had for me that day. But instead, I acquired a positive notice back that the message had been received with pleasure in his heart.
The next question from me was - would you like me to help you pick out the dress? Or, would you like to attempt this almost impossible feat by yourself. *Gasp* by himself was the reply. I have to admit, I was quite frightened. Big D has style appreciation like a turtle slurping down crab stew. Doesn't really mesh. But in a marriage, trust is important. So I crossed my fingers and my toes. And really, really hoped alot.
Sunday rolls around, and I am stoked. Mainly because it's a day I could care less about, but it was going to be filled with wonderful things. I had no presumptuous ideas of how I would be treated, or special moments, or half attempted gleeful grins - like we try to do on birthdays and such. It was just a regular old day with preplanned groovyness.
Breakfast was had. I ate far too many jalapenos. (Lately I can't get enough spiciness in my belly)
Then there were big snuggly naps. And when we woke up my special dress appeared. It was like a Christmas miracle (Merry Christmas mama) Isn't she beautiful? I don't think Big D has ever impressed me more - on so many different levels. 1) actual dress 2) actual store 3) actual price If you know my husband - he likes cheap and athletic "mom" attire. (Wow, another post for another day) The qualifications of me feeling like a queen - check. Double check, with a golden star.
My ten pointed list arrived at night - which I left to read the following morning. You know, drag out the goodness. I have hemmed and hawed once or twice, with a donkey kick thrown in for good measure - trying to decide if I should share my list. As of today, it stays to me. There are just too many things that I don't want to explain . . . . . *ahem*
My plant? It's waiting for a more glorious, spring like day to be picked out and loved appropriately.
Mother's day = success. The part I didn't tell you about was how Big D decided it was his day to be the biggest poopy fleck smear in the attitude department. But, I'm pushing that aside and swimming in the glee of good fortune that came my way.
I CAN NOT wait for next year. Although Big D did say he thought my wants were a bit excessive. (after the fact of course) He implied a birthday may be more appropriate for all of my demands. In my defense, it's alot harder being a mother and pushing out babies then it is to be born.
Take aways
1) Sister Barry Pants has good ideas
2) Sometimes husbands make smashing purchases
3) Never deprive yourself of spiciness
4) Never pass by an opportunity to celebrate
You know when you hear a little kid say something in real life, and then it just stays with you. Forever. And you think it's hysterical to throw the verbiage around where ever and whenever you please? Yes, yes, that's what I'm doing.
I didn't actually hear the little kid say this in person. I only heard the story. It comes from Friday Friends. They have two little kids. A bigger little kid. And a littler little kid. And it was their mama's birthday. There was a cake in the fridge. Mama gets up one morning, and littler little kid (maybe 2 years old) somehow opened the fridge, got the cake out and was eating it on the floor. Hearing her mother, littler little kid turns around - with cake plastered to her face - and says, "happy birthday mama".
This kills me. And so Big D and I throw this saying around. All the time. For everything we can (within reason) Happy Monday Morning mama - does not work.
Sooooooo - mother's day. I really abhor the holiday. I think it's cheese and crackers with a good glob of stupidity on top. It's important to not call anybody that you really care about on this day, for fear they may think you're calling to wish them a happy mother's day. Which is not the case. You're just calling to chat. But they don't know that. And then it gets weird. And feelings get hurt. Example. I was having a bored moment on Sunday and decided to call Brother Bear. He did not answer. But he called me first thing Monday morning. Why? Because he didn't want to call me back on Sunday to make me think he was calling to wish me "happy mother's day".
I'm assuming that probably offended many. Let me just say, that's just me. I won't be calling you on mother's day. But if we do bump into each other, I will be socially acceptable and do what society tells me to do - and wish you a beautiful happy mother's day.
Which leads me to my next point. I don't have to like something to take full advantage of the situation. And I got that splendid idea from Sister Barry (short for barracuda). She had the nerve to sit her family down and tell them exactly what she wanted for mother's day. And it wasn't one thing. It was a whole list.
Wow wow wow. She has such great ideas. And this is the email i immediately shot off to Big D.
Things I expect for Mother's Day
1) a potted plant to stick in our yard
2) breakfast at Tiffany's - but if you can't manage, then I'll take Steves
3) a 10 pointed note of why I make the sexiest mother
4) a sundress that makes me feel like a queenI was half expecting a snark remark back of what an ungrateful, demanding fleabag I was, and I should be happy with the love he had for me that day. But instead, I acquired a positive notice back that the message had been received with pleasure in his heart.
The next question from me was - would you like me to help you pick out the dress? Or, would you like to attempt this almost impossible feat by yourself. *Gasp* by himself was the reply. I have to admit, I was quite frightened. Big D has style appreciation like a turtle slurping down crab stew. Doesn't really mesh. But in a marriage, trust is important. So I crossed my fingers and my toes. And really, really hoped alot.
Sunday rolls around, and I am stoked. Mainly because it's a day I could care less about, but it was going to be filled with wonderful things. I had no presumptuous ideas of how I would be treated, or special moments, or half attempted gleeful grins - like we try to do on birthdays and such. It was just a regular old day with preplanned groovyness.
Breakfast was had. I ate far too many jalapenos. (Lately I can't get enough spiciness in my belly)
Then there were big snuggly naps. And when we woke up my special dress appeared. It was like a Christmas miracle (Merry Christmas mama) Isn't she beautiful? I don't think Big D has ever impressed me more - on so many different levels. 1) actual dress 2) actual store 3) actual price If you know my husband - he likes cheap and athletic "mom" attire. (Wow, another post for another day) The qualifications of me feeling like a queen - check. Double check, with a golden star.
My ten pointed list arrived at night - which I left to read the following morning. You know, drag out the goodness. I have hemmed and hawed once or twice, with a donkey kick thrown in for good measure - trying to decide if I should share my list. As of today, it stays to me. There are just too many things that I don't want to explain . . . . . *ahem*
My plant? It's waiting for a more glorious, spring like day to be picked out and loved appropriately.
Mother's day = success. The part I didn't tell you about was how Big D decided it was his day to be the biggest poopy fleck smear in the attitude department. But, I'm pushing that aside and swimming in the glee of good fortune that came my way.
I CAN NOT wait for next year. Although Big D did say he thought my wants were a bit excessive. (after the fact of course) He implied a birthday may be more appropriate for all of my demands. In my defense, it's alot harder being a mother and pushing out babies then it is to be born.
Take aways
1) Sister Barry Pants has good ideas
2) Sometimes husbands make smashing purchases
3) Never deprive yourself of spiciness
4) Never pass by an opportunity to celebrate
Monday, May 13, 2013
Jesus Smiled Down Upon Me Today
Disclaimer - for those of you who think manners are nice, this post may not be for you. I did warn you that I am undignified.
We are on a budget. And Big D gets paid every other week. I guess they also call that biweekly. Or does that mean two times a week? Regardless, those envelopes get filled twice a month - which brings me two happy days out of the month. And today was 1 of those days.
Of course everybody was up early and I rushed the beautiful children through their breakfast so that we could begin the most glorious day of the month thus far.
Now sometimes rushing through morning rituals is not a good way to start out a morning on the town, but time was of the essence. And sometimes you just have to power through. And I powered through.
We managed Wegmans - WITH the tractor trailer shopping cart in tow. I only smashed into the entry door. Other then that, no accidents. I didn't even have to get running starts to move the beast, like I had to last time.
Store 1 done. 4 to go. Feeling like a queen.
Hobby Lobby next. I only had to look at one measly thing. Key word *look* since I didn't know if they would have that particular item. Because it was going to be a short trip I opted out of the shopping cart. I thought Ed might enjoy some freedom.
We walked v.e.r.y. slowly enthralled with all the beautiful breakables looming, begging to be touched. So many owls and balls. All glass. (I think the whole store is glass, actually) Finally making it to the fabric section. I begin my rapid search and immediately get a very unpleasant feeling in my lower belly. "This is quite unfortuante", I think to myself - looking faster. And I begin to feel a sense of urgency. Maybe even a small hint of panic. I never come to this store. I have no idea where the facility would be hiding out. But I assume it's on the complete opposite side of the store.
I calmly call the children to come, that we're going to take a walk. "Why mom!!!" they squawk. "CAUSE MOTHER IS GOING TO SHIT HER PANTS!!!" I roared.
Not really. I quietly whispered that I needed to use the bathroom. Now Murnice understands the urgency of this predicament because she doesn't wear diapers. Ed on the other hand wears a diaper, and likes his freedom of leisure.
I am quickly learning the stupidity of my choice of not grabbing a shopping cart upon our entrance. I envision throwing both kids in the cart, sticking my ambulance light on my head (I keep one in my bag) and racing, running full tilt to the bathroom (where ever it is) Both kids would be plastered against the side of the cart. That's how fast I would be running.
But I can't run. I have to walk. Very slowly. There are just so many interesting things to look at. So many wonderful colors. At this point I am now holding both children's hands, half dragging them, squeezing my buns, squeezing my buns as we begin the long walk of the perimeter of that store.
There happens to be a door every couple of aisles. You know the door - no merchandise beyond this point and employees only. Sometimes bathrooms are there, in those forbidden zones. I have hope though, that there is a real bathroom somewhere. A door that doesn't seem so threatening.
I finally walked the whole back of the store with everything intact. I came across a store employee. I cheered loudly in my head and asked him as calmly as I could where the restrooms where. I for sure did not want him to think that I was about to unload in my pants. I wanted to give off an aire of "how annoying, my child has to use the bathroom for her bladder is the size of a pea". I think I succeeded. And we begin our walk down the next wall in the general direction of where we were pointed.
I begin to breath a little heavy. Thinking of how I would make my exit of Hobby Lobby with full pants. Would I just pretend that nothing is going on behind me? Would I try to clean up what I could in the bathroom? All of my choices are not pleasant. I know what awaits me. (Have I told you that time that I did unload in my pants after I had a baby? Yup, that happened. And I don't want to do that again) My steps are getting smaller and smaller and faster and faster. I can feel the sweat rolling down my stomach and under my arms. What little bit of muscles I have left from birthing babies are just a quivering. I imagine my little muscles standing up, pushing as hard as they can against the wall that holds every ounce of dignity that I own. Their faces beat red, giving it everything they've got. I am now a lightheaded, sweaty, shaky nutcase.
I burst through the bathroom door. 3 bathrooms. ALL. OF. THEM. EMPTY. *high kick, Michael Jackson twirl, and jazz hands*
I let that animal instinct take over. Biggest bathroom here I come. Anybody in a wheelchair MUST. WAIT. I ruled that bathroom. I WAS QUEEN. You talk about power. Power was served. Power was had.
This is how much Jesus loves me. NOBODY came into that throne room the entire time of power ruling.
I AM LOVED
Take aways:
1) always have a cart when you have children with you shopping
2) do more kegels
3) don't rush the morning rituals
We are on a budget. And Big D gets paid every other week. I guess they also call that biweekly. Or does that mean two times a week? Regardless, those envelopes get filled twice a month - which brings me two happy days out of the month. And today was 1 of those days.
Of course everybody was up early and I rushed the beautiful children through their breakfast so that we could begin the most glorious day of the month thus far.
Now sometimes rushing through morning rituals is not a good way to start out a morning on the town, but time was of the essence. And sometimes you just have to power through. And I powered through.
We managed Wegmans - WITH the tractor trailer shopping cart in tow. I only smashed into the entry door. Other then that, no accidents. I didn't even have to get running starts to move the beast, like I had to last time.
Store 1 done. 4 to go. Feeling like a queen.
Hobby Lobby next. I only had to look at one measly thing. Key word *look* since I didn't know if they would have that particular item. Because it was going to be a short trip I opted out of the shopping cart. I thought Ed might enjoy some freedom.
We walked v.e.r.y. slowly enthralled with all the beautiful breakables looming, begging to be touched. So many owls and balls. All glass. (I think the whole store is glass, actually) Finally making it to the fabric section. I begin my rapid search and immediately get a very unpleasant feeling in my lower belly. "This is quite unfortuante", I think to myself - looking faster. And I begin to feel a sense of urgency. Maybe even a small hint of panic. I never come to this store. I have no idea where the facility would be hiding out. But I assume it's on the complete opposite side of the store.
I calmly call the children to come, that we're going to take a walk. "Why mom!!!" they squawk. "CAUSE MOTHER IS GOING TO SHIT HER PANTS!!!" I roared.
Not really. I quietly whispered that I needed to use the bathroom. Now Murnice understands the urgency of this predicament because she doesn't wear diapers. Ed on the other hand wears a diaper, and likes his freedom of leisure.
I am quickly learning the stupidity of my choice of not grabbing a shopping cart upon our entrance. I envision throwing both kids in the cart, sticking my ambulance light on my head (I keep one in my bag) and racing, running full tilt to the bathroom (where ever it is) Both kids would be plastered against the side of the cart. That's how fast I would be running.
But I can't run. I have to walk. Very slowly. There are just so many interesting things to look at. So many wonderful colors. At this point I am now holding both children's hands, half dragging them, squeezing my buns, squeezing my buns as we begin the long walk of the perimeter of that store.
There happens to be a door every couple of aisles. You know the door - no merchandise beyond this point and employees only. Sometimes bathrooms are there, in those forbidden zones. I have hope though, that there is a real bathroom somewhere. A door that doesn't seem so threatening.
I finally walked the whole back of the store with everything intact. I came across a store employee. I cheered loudly in my head and asked him as calmly as I could where the restrooms where. I for sure did not want him to think that I was about to unload in my pants. I wanted to give off an aire of "how annoying, my child has to use the bathroom for her bladder is the size of a pea". I think I succeeded. And we begin our walk down the next wall in the general direction of where we were pointed.
I begin to breath a little heavy. Thinking of how I would make my exit of Hobby Lobby with full pants. Would I just pretend that nothing is going on behind me? Would I try to clean up what I could in the bathroom? All of my choices are not pleasant. I know what awaits me. (Have I told you that time that I did unload in my pants after I had a baby? Yup, that happened. And I don't want to do that again) My steps are getting smaller and smaller and faster and faster. I can feel the sweat rolling down my stomach and under my arms. What little bit of muscles I have left from birthing babies are just a quivering. I imagine my little muscles standing up, pushing as hard as they can against the wall that holds every ounce of dignity that I own. Their faces beat red, giving it everything they've got. I am now a lightheaded, sweaty, shaky nutcase.
I burst through the bathroom door. 3 bathrooms. ALL. OF. THEM. EMPTY. *high kick, Michael Jackson twirl, and jazz hands*
I let that animal instinct take over. Biggest bathroom here I come. Anybody in a wheelchair MUST. WAIT. I ruled that bathroom. I WAS QUEEN. You talk about power. Power was served. Power was had.
This is how much Jesus loves me. NOBODY came into that throne room the entire time of power ruling.
I AM LOVED
Take aways:
1) always have a cart when you have children with you shopping
2) do more kegels
3) don't rush the morning rituals
Friday, May 10, 2013
Pleasant is as Pleasant does
I am a grumpy morning person.
In the morning I am grumpy.
I am a morning person and am grumpy.
I like mornings vs. night. I wake up much easier vs. staying awake. In fact, it's common knowledge that when Friday Friends come over, I fall asleep on the couch. I will not be embarrassed to say the average time of falling asleep - 9:00pm. You may be thinking that I am talking like this happens all the time. I will not be embarrassed to say yes, yes it does. Almost every time. If I stay up till 11, I feel like a wild cat.
I can do mornings much easier than nights. But the problem is, I wake up miserable EVERY DAY. I do not want to be smiled at, talked to, kissed, stared at, waved to, I don't want to hear you, smell you, listen to you shower, hear closet doors or dressers open and close. I definitely don't want to hear cupboards open, spoons clanking on bowls, front doors open or keys a jangling. But the worst offensive of all - THE WORST - is to hear a sneeze. I have contemplated keeping a medium sized bowl of medium sized rocks on my bed stand. (I really have thought about this with vigor) When I become offended in the morning, I would just throw rocks in the general direction of the offense.
My grumpiness is out of control. I realize this. I think it's getting worse with age.
Lately Ed has been waking up earlier than normal. A mere 6-6:30am vs the typical 8:30-10am. When I see that sweet little red-sleep-crumpled face trailing a parade of blue and neigh behind him, I do not think pleasant thoughts. I do not smile back and wave sweetly like he does to me. I growl at him when he comes to the side of the bed asking so sweetly to come up and snuggle. My heart does melt when he's finally in our bed (after a circus act of trying to pick him up without having to move a muscle myself for fear of waking up more than I already am) and I can stick my nose in his sweet little neck and sniff in his snuggliness.
My attitude is so terrible in the morning that i don't want to keep it just to myself. I force myself out of bed if Big D is still in the house. I stumble in a very dramatic formation out to the couch, sounding the *SPIDER ALERT* alarm as I go (that will have to be another post another day) I proceed to plop down in the most unattractive manner and scowl. I want my poor happy husband to know just how miserable I am. Shameful behavior to say the least. I growl at him too. I turn in disgust - like he's a skeezy uncle - as he tries to kiss me goodbye.
And then, something magical happens. I take my first sip of tea. Hot and steamy with too much honey. And joy slowly fills my heart. I have hope for the day. My love-o-meter becomes replenished. And I have faith that I will be able to mother appropriately for another day. Until Ed pees on me.
This leaves you with a few, very obvious take-aways from this beautiful insight into my life.
1) The Witherhalls and morning sex do not mix.
2) I have issues. And I am aware of them. Now you know how to pray for me better : )
3) Maybe I'm a "middle of the day" person. Screw the "morning" and "night" categories only.
4) Do not ruin or withhold my tea in the morning.
5) I welcome kisses at night. After my tea. And when I can't contain my joy and relief that my "rescuer" has come. Finally.
In the morning I am grumpy.
I am a morning person and am grumpy.
I like mornings vs. night. I wake up much easier vs. staying awake. In fact, it's common knowledge that when Friday Friends come over, I fall asleep on the couch. I will not be embarrassed to say the average time of falling asleep - 9:00pm. You may be thinking that I am talking like this happens all the time. I will not be embarrassed to say yes, yes it does. Almost every time. If I stay up till 11, I feel like a wild cat.
I can do mornings much easier than nights. But the problem is, I wake up miserable EVERY DAY. I do not want to be smiled at, talked to, kissed, stared at, waved to, I don't want to hear you, smell you, listen to you shower, hear closet doors or dressers open and close. I definitely don't want to hear cupboards open, spoons clanking on bowls, front doors open or keys a jangling. But the worst offensive of all - THE WORST - is to hear a sneeze. I have contemplated keeping a medium sized bowl of medium sized rocks on my bed stand. (I really have thought about this with vigor) When I become offended in the morning, I would just throw rocks in the general direction of the offense.
My grumpiness is out of control. I realize this. I think it's getting worse with age.
Lately Ed has been waking up earlier than normal. A mere 6-6:30am vs the typical 8:30-10am. When I see that sweet little red-sleep-crumpled face trailing a parade of blue and neigh behind him, I do not think pleasant thoughts. I do not smile back and wave sweetly like he does to me. I growl at him when he comes to the side of the bed asking so sweetly to come up and snuggle. My heart does melt when he's finally in our bed (after a circus act of trying to pick him up without having to move a muscle myself for fear of waking up more than I already am) and I can stick my nose in his sweet little neck and sniff in his snuggliness.
My attitude is so terrible in the morning that i don't want to keep it just to myself. I force myself out of bed if Big D is still in the house. I stumble in a very dramatic formation out to the couch, sounding the *SPIDER ALERT* alarm as I go (that will have to be another post another day) I proceed to plop down in the most unattractive manner and scowl. I want my poor happy husband to know just how miserable I am. Shameful behavior to say the least. I growl at him too. I turn in disgust - like he's a skeezy uncle - as he tries to kiss me goodbye.
And then, something magical happens. I take my first sip of tea. Hot and steamy with too much honey. And joy slowly fills my heart. I have hope for the day. My love-o-meter becomes replenished. And I have faith that I will be able to mother appropriately for another day. Until Ed pees on me.
This leaves you with a few, very obvious take-aways from this beautiful insight into my life.
1) The Witherhalls and morning sex do not mix.
2) I have issues. And I am aware of them. Now you know how to pray for me better : )
3) Maybe I'm a "middle of the day" person. Screw the "morning" and "night" categories only.
4) Do not ruin or withhold my tea in the morning.
5) I welcome kisses at night. After my tea. And when I can't contain my joy and relief that my "rescuer" has come. Finally.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The Reality is . . .
I have great thoughts about all the fancy things I'm going to say and write about here in this blog. Most likely what will happen is I'll write the first 3 blogs like a true good blogger. And then every 4 months after that I'll make a list-esq blog. (Those actually are my favorite blogs because I don't have to come up with a "theme" or try to sound half way intelligent) To be honest, I don't even know when I'm going to blog. But isn't that what SAHMs do? Blog? Make their lives sound fancy by posting delicious recipes they've made their families for dinner. Or snapping shots of their over achiever eager beaver fort they made for their kids? Everybody smiling nicely with really cute clothes from Naartjie or other various nice places. Yes, smiling with clean teeth and scrubbed faces. Homemade popcorn in cute dishes laying artistically around. Yes, that's what they do. And even the bloggers who don't post rub-it-in-your-face photos, always have nice thoughts to write about - thought provoking, or encouraging. (Just smile and nod boys - that's what I always think when I see or hear something that makes me squirm) (like nice blogs)
Anyway, all of that to say - I'm glad that I'm finally doing this blog thing - officially. And most of my posts will be rants. (I rant alot) (I think it's because I'm a SAHM) (That's another thing bloggers do - write SAHM instead of stay at home mom; I officially understand why they do that.) And I promise, I will always make you feel better about your life.
Anyway, all of that to say - I'm glad that I'm finally doing this blog thing - officially. And most of my posts will be rants. (I rant alot) (I think it's because I'm a SAHM) (That's another thing bloggers do - write SAHM instead of stay at home mom; I officially understand why they do that.) And I promise, I will always make you feel better about your life.
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