I have so much to say, and no organizational skills this morning. So, long chaotic reading coming right up.
The Witherhalls were out of town for the past 40 hours. And Big D planned the whole trip. That sounds nice when I say that, like it was a romantic/surprise sort of thing. But the truth of the matter is: I was a weeny whiny baby who didn't want to go on this trip and refused to do ANYTHING to help get this trip in order. Including packing. Which I did a few hours before we left. But I told Big D he had to do it since it was his trip - and then I got really scared and did it myself.
Apparently being a poo nose wife works out in the end. Because it turns out, Big D arose to the challenge and out did himself. Maybe it's not so much that he arose to the challenge, but more so that these bounding chains of controlling wife-hood removed themselves and he was able to work as a free man. Hmmph
We left around 6 am Wednesday morning.- A whole day later due to Ed waking up Monday with a not pleasant fever and attitude that went with it. - Our destination: Sight and Sound Theater.
Weeny Whiny Baby Fit #1
WHO in their right mind names something this. It sounds like I'm going to be entertained by some puppets. Possibly Barney. Does this place have metal detectors? I'm thinking I may need to bring something in this joint to end my pain. (Was that inappropriate?) A little dramatic? But that's where my mind was at. I'm all for doing things for the kids - but when it comes to stage performances that are specifically for children. Small children. - I will gladly deprive. Without an ounce of sorrow or guilt.
I was so tired of hearing Big D say, "sight and sound theater" that I enforced the rule of calling it "ABC Train". And that made me feel better.
So, ABC Train actually is a big deal. Only 2 in the country. Which makes me think country = world. So, big deal. And it's a stage performance of bible stories. (Sounds super lame - abc trainish) But remember I said it's a big deal. So if you can think about bible stories in a big deal sort of way, maybe you'll be able to picture a large auditorium, mind blowing sets, beautiful costumes, (can I just say, the hair of these actors was enough for me. Oh yeah, and Shem) live animals, and lots of theater effects of lights and sounds. We saw "Noah". Now, my favorite part was the second half of show. Because the second half was when Noah and his family were on the ark. And all the way around this gigundas arena were curtains (that you didn't know were curtains) And they dropped the curtains, and for FOUR STORIES up - all the way around - were animals. In real simple terms - they made it so it felt/looked like you were on the ark.
And now I'm going to have to say: (Big D don't read this) I have to recommend this joint. They are showing Noah until November and then a new show begins.
Also, Big D really got top notch seats. Not sure if it was by the lucky front teeth of his head, or by researching - but they could not have been any better. I spanked him on the bottom two times and said "thank you".
After the showboat we drove to IKEA to return this. It made my house smell like a beef patty. And that doesn't work well in a mole hole house such as I have. You need a nice big house, one where you can really showcase this fine piece of meat.
Now this was my first trip to IKEA where I did not have to buy a large piece of furniture. Which got me REALLY excited. And Big D promptly fell into the depths of despair. Pouted a thousand pouts. Shed two tears. And growled. I pretended that I heard none of it. And with my best smile I bode him farewell and marched my bottom straight into creative land. Where for the first time EVER I had the chance to look at the small things. I think I almost hyperventilated and did 3 skippy twirls. And then as fast as I could, I waltzed through the top half of the store - grabbing small items that made me smile. Worked my way down to the bottom half. Ran into Big D. Hid around a corner, slowed my breathing and continued to shop like I didn't have some grumpy husband that I would have to contend with in the near future.
And Big D will say things like, "the reason I get so grumpy is because I have to entertain Ed". Ok, personally - Ed entertains himself with climbing on all the furniture. Big D only has to supervise. And because supervising is not what HE wants to do - he pouts. And becomes very dramatic. And there is no hope for our children because they have 2 parents who are both selfish and dramatic.
I finally finished. Really, it took 1 hour. Which I think is Houdini work. And Big D says, "lets get dinner here". And I said, "no". IKEA is not the most romantic place to eat. Cheap - yes. Convenient - yes. But I wasn't feeling cheap or convenient that night. I felt like a queen - with my small pretty purchases. And my belly wanted to match my head.
So Big D did a lot of research (3 chapters of On the Banks of Plum Creek worth) But it was worth it. And he found this incredibly delicious and perfect place that was not only scrum scrum and fit this romantic desire, but also grand for bringing piglets too. We appropriately slopped up the place. And our clothes.
I think we held hands for 3 seconds walking back to the car. Smiled satisfactorily. Farted once. And headed to the mystery hotel. That Big D said was in the ghetto.
Now I know for a fact - something the Whitherhalls don't go light on - are hotel rooms. We made that decision early on in our marriage - after far too many scary nights of threats of bugs, hairy pillows, and green and gold comforters. So, I was not worried about this ghetto place.
And sure enough, we drive into this brickyard where they just cleaned up a crime scene, and there beholds an old factory they turned into some artistically satisfying hotel.
Plans for the Night
1) Give kids shower. (I can't remember the last time they actually were covered in soap and water.)
2) Turn tv on to some kid show and put kids to bed.
3) Kids fall asleep immediately.
4) Adults order room service and watch interesting adult shows.
5) Giggle five times.
6) Be groped seven times.
7) Fall asleep happy and snuggled with tv still on.
How the Night Actually Went
1) Kids got bathed but only after Big D crawled in the shower with them because they both were screaming.
2) Turned tv on only to realize the only appropriate kid show was a tree-house building show on the animal planet. Nothing kid about it - except there were no disrespectful brats or nudity.
3) Kids are bored with show which only excites them and they refuse to sleep in their bed.
4) Big D complains about how hot the room is and sprawls out in the bed in a grumpy huff.
5) Kids jump around one too many times, land on Big D's peener.
6) Big D sends kids to their own bed = tears.
7) Big D falls asleep in 3 seconds.
8) Foxy watches the rest of the tree-house show and falls asleep.
9) Two hours later, Ed falls out of bed and ends up in ours = endless kicking to the face for the remaining 4 hours of sleep that remain in our busy schedule that Big D has planned.
Two Highlights of the First Day (with an extra highlight, and an extra)
1) Almost getting into a fight with the Mexicans
2) The 'Easy On, Easy Off' sign on the highway for McPoopers - that was anything but 'easy on, easy off'. And 'easy on, easy off' is going to be one of those things that you just say all the time - like, "happy birthday mama" and "MOM!!!! what's that noise???" and "IT'S NOT WORKING!"
3) Ed crying for a good part of the car ride because his tummy hurt. Because he now hoards is poopies AND his farts.
4) Seeing so many Amish. Loved.
Take Aways
1) Sometimes refusing to do anything results in better than expected adventures.
2) Leave kids home if you have any plans of snuggling.
3) Stay tuned for the next day's adventure.
Fun Fact
I was able to type this in about an hour - because the kids are still sleeping. Normally it takes me multiple hours, if not all day.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
4 of the Boringest, but Essential Things That Needed to be Said
Couple of things I want to say.
1) Is it whiny of me to encourage you readers to share my blog with others who might need to feel better about their life? I say this mainly because I like seeing my page views go up. It makes me feel fancy. And I really do feel passionately about giving woman permission to live truthfully. To be more honest in their actions and life story.
Ok - moving on from my selfish demands.
2) Something really unusual happened this past Saturday. I was at the grocer (by myself- aka a party) and while I was rounding the corner to move down the next aisle, this woman walked straight toward me - holding eye contact. (RUN!!!) She handed me some coupons and said, "here, I'm not using these". I told her thank you and felt a little confused. They ended up being free coupons for a pack of spare ribs and a small cheesecake. Free. $25 worth of luxury items.
I have analyzed this happening, and this is what I like to think
a) God wanted to remind me that there is still goodness in the world
b) God wanted to encourage me to continue to share meals with others
because . . .
3) Lately I've been getting kinda obsessed with sharing food with people. I don't know if it's because it's summer and eating outside is so much easier and lovelier than eating inside cramped at our Tiny Tim table. Or, maybe it's because I'm so lonely for adult interaction I'll do anything for it. Or maybe, I'm just getting fancier with old age - and inviting people over isn't a big deal anymore. Ok, it's still a big deal. Maybe just not as scary as it used to be. I guess I'm just feeling a little more brave in that area. Which is a lot to say for an introvert.
4) This kinda goes hand in hand with #3. There has been a lesson whirling in the wind, and as of recently I have chosen to be wise and claim it for myself. The lesson goes like this. Sharing food with others is really great. It's not only biblical, its part of community. But sharing food can be really scary. Because we open ourselves up to be vulnerable. "come into our homes, look at how we live life, look in our bathroom cupboards, eat the food we cook, use the forks that still have hardened cheese from last week" etc. All of that can get in the way. And boggle up our minds. And make us too proud. And we miss the whole point. The whole point of being together and living life. And loving. And sharing. And building. We make up these lies (or we listen to lies) of not being a fancy enough cook, or not having enough food or money, or space or time.
I've gathered this lesson from Friday Friends. They have broken all of those boundaries, refusing to hold captive to the lies. We have eaten together in rat holes. At 10 at night. When there's only 7 hotdogs to share amongst 8 of us. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. Cleanliness and fanciness doesn't matter. And I'm really really liking the truth of this lesson.
Take Aways
1) Eat with others.
2) Share with others.
3) Work at being vulnerable.
4) Don't call your husband at work and tell him that you took the door off the hinges because you got mad at the darn thing for not opening properly and while you were handling the heavy door it managed to slip from your fingers and smash out a window pane.
5) He won't think it's funny.
Fun Fact
There is nothing fun going on over here. Ed is pooping and Murnice is taking a shower x2 because she can't manage to rinse off the conditioner the first time around and then she looks like Slick Dick and it makes me crazy.
1) Is it whiny of me to encourage you readers to share my blog with others who might need to feel better about their life? I say this mainly because I like seeing my page views go up. It makes me feel fancy. And I really do feel passionately about giving woman permission to live truthfully. To be more honest in their actions and life story.
Ok - moving on from my selfish demands.
2) Something really unusual happened this past Saturday. I was at the grocer (by myself- aka a party) and while I was rounding the corner to move down the next aisle, this woman walked straight toward me - holding eye contact. (RUN!!!) She handed me some coupons and said, "here, I'm not using these". I told her thank you and felt a little confused. They ended up being free coupons for a pack of spare ribs and a small cheesecake. Free. $25 worth of luxury items.
I have analyzed this happening, and this is what I like to think
a) God wanted to remind me that there is still goodness in the world
b) God wanted to encourage me to continue to share meals with others
because . . .
3) Lately I've been getting kinda obsessed with sharing food with people. I don't know if it's because it's summer and eating outside is so much easier and lovelier than eating inside cramped at our Tiny Tim table. Or, maybe it's because I'm so lonely for adult interaction I'll do anything for it. Or maybe, I'm just getting fancier with old age - and inviting people over isn't a big deal anymore. Ok, it's still a big deal. Maybe just not as scary as it used to be. I guess I'm just feeling a little more brave in that area. Which is a lot to say for an introvert.
4) This kinda goes hand in hand with #3. There has been a lesson whirling in the wind, and as of recently I have chosen to be wise and claim it for myself. The lesson goes like this. Sharing food with others is really great. It's not only biblical, its part of community. But sharing food can be really scary. Because we open ourselves up to be vulnerable. "come into our homes, look at how we live life, look in our bathroom cupboards, eat the food we cook, use the forks that still have hardened cheese from last week" etc. All of that can get in the way. And boggle up our minds. And make us too proud. And we miss the whole point. The whole point of being together and living life. And loving. And sharing. And building. We make up these lies (or we listen to lies) of not being a fancy enough cook, or not having enough food or money, or space or time.
I've gathered this lesson from Friday Friends. They have broken all of those boundaries, refusing to hold captive to the lies. We have eaten together in rat holes. At 10 at night. When there's only 7 hotdogs to share amongst 8 of us. Time doesn't matter. Space doesn't matter. Cleanliness and fanciness doesn't matter. And I'm really really liking the truth of this lesson.
Take Aways
1) Eat with others.
2) Share with others.
3) Work at being vulnerable.
4) Don't call your husband at work and tell him that you took the door off the hinges because you got mad at the darn thing for not opening properly and while you were handling the heavy door it managed to slip from your fingers and smash out a window pane.
5) He won't think it's funny.
Fun Fact
There is nothing fun going on over here. Ed is pooping and Murnice is taking a shower x2 because she can't manage to rinse off the conditioner the first time around and then she looks like Slick Dick and it makes me crazy.
Monday, June 24, 2013
How to Relieve Marriage Tension
Big D and I have been at each other's throats for a few weeks. Actually, for 9 years. We do not have - what you call - a smooth sailing marriage. No. It's more like fireworks and war. Always loud. Sometimes it's good loud. And sometimes it's chaotic loud. And that's just the way it is.
But over the weekend we tried a new exercise. First, we striped down to our underwear and held hands. Second, we locked eyes. Third, we took turns blowing love messages to each other. (this consists of not saying any words, you - the blower- thinks the love message while blowing and the receiver believes in their heart what you have just blown) Fourth, after each blown love message, we would then tenderly kiss. Fifth, I just puked. And I'm kidding a million percent.
What we actually did was yell complaints across the house to each other. We had 23 minutes. Big D washed dishes, I folded clothes. Rules: 1) you can ONLY say a complaint and it has to be toward AND about the spouse 2) you have to yell the complaint 3) there can be NO rebuttal or excuse after a complaint is made towards you
Example: Big D to Foxy "I HATE THE WAY YOU INSIST ON ME WEARING CERTAIN THINGS BUT YOU REFUSE TO WEAR ANYTHING THAT I LIKE"
Foxy to Big D "I HATE THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF STYLE AND INSIST ON BEING AN OLD MAN"
Can I just say - Big D really was terrible at this game. He was filled with "yeah, but . . . " I, on the other hand really showcased my ability to play by the rules.
Then we followed up the complaint session by yelling only things that we liked about the other. We had 30 minutes. Rules 1) you had to yell 2) no rebuttals 3) it had to be nice
Example: Big D to Foxy "I LIKE YOUR BOOBS"
Foxy to Big D " " (that would be silence) But in my head "@9%#8q@)(#!(y%@)#"
Yeah . . . I didn't do so well at this one. Guess I need a little more work in the compliment section.
Take Aways
1) Doing this exercise brings so much satisfaction.
2) It only works if you yell and have limited time.
3) Because you then feel super rushed and yell out as many things as possible for fear of not emptying the complaint bank.
4) Maybe I'll do this everyday.
5) Sometimes I wonder why there are so many things that I need to work on.
Thoughts on fighting in front of kids.
Do it - unless between the fighting there is no resemblance of liking each other. I think it's important for Murnice and Ed to see that a good fight is normal in a normal marriage. And its not something to be afraid of. P.S. that's my opinion.
But over the weekend we tried a new exercise. First, we striped down to our underwear and held hands. Second, we locked eyes. Third, we took turns blowing love messages to each other. (this consists of not saying any words, you - the blower- thinks the love message while blowing and the receiver believes in their heart what you have just blown) Fourth, after each blown love message, we would then tenderly kiss. Fifth, I just puked. And I'm kidding a million percent.
What we actually did was yell complaints across the house to each other. We had 23 minutes. Big D washed dishes, I folded clothes. Rules: 1) you can ONLY say a complaint and it has to be toward AND about the spouse 2) you have to yell the complaint 3) there can be NO rebuttal or excuse after a complaint is made towards you
Example: Big D to Foxy "I HATE THE WAY YOU INSIST ON ME WEARING CERTAIN THINGS BUT YOU REFUSE TO WEAR ANYTHING THAT I LIKE"
Foxy to Big D "I HATE THE FACT THAT YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF STYLE AND INSIST ON BEING AN OLD MAN"
Can I just say - Big D really was terrible at this game. He was filled with "yeah, but . . . " I, on the other hand really showcased my ability to play by the rules.
Then we followed up the complaint session by yelling only things that we liked about the other. We had 30 minutes. Rules 1) you had to yell 2) no rebuttals 3) it had to be nice
Example: Big D to Foxy "I LIKE YOUR BOOBS"
Foxy to Big D " " (that would be silence) But in my head "@9%#8q@)(#!(y%@)#"
Yeah . . . I didn't do so well at this one. Guess I need a little more work in the compliment section.
Take Aways
1) Doing this exercise brings so much satisfaction.
2) It only works if you yell and have limited time.
3) Because you then feel super rushed and yell out as many things as possible for fear of not emptying the complaint bank.
4) Maybe I'll do this everyday.
5) Sometimes I wonder why there are so many things that I need to work on.
Thoughts on fighting in front of kids.
Do it - unless between the fighting there is no resemblance of liking each other. I think it's important for Murnice and Ed to see that a good fight is normal in a normal marriage. And its not something to be afraid of. P.S. that's my opinion.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Desperate Housewife? (Ew)
How shall I put this without sounding less than holy . . . I don't think there is a way. So I'll be less than holy and promptly get a ringle jingle from Big D. (this would be one of those times that having him subscribed to my life is probably not in my best interest)
So, remember this neighbor?
Her treemen came today. *pant*
Let me back up a tad more. Bruver Bear Chuck basically woke me up this morning. He called last night to tell me that his wife hadn't had the baby. I got sidetracked from that little call (that I did NOT answer because I was driving in turd twisting traffic) and took the wrong turn. And yelled "CURSES".
So he called me back this morning on his drive to work so we could catch up on ridiculous life. And reminisce about all the times he had to apologize to adults when he was a kid. My favorite story from this morning was the time that one of our mother's friends had to pick him up from piano lessons. He climbed in the vehicle and shouted, "smells like fish in here". Then he grabbed our mother's friend's hair, took a whopping sniff and exclaimed, "yup, that's what it is".
*can't stop laughing about that one.*
And then Bruver Chuck hung up and I raced to the restroom to take care of morning things and looked in the mirror, and smirkingly thought "ha, I look like I'm ready to see the neighbor". And then I said, "OH poopies and peepees!!! It's Thursday and the neighbor said she was coming back today to talk about tree stuff" *pant pant pant*
I threw clothes on. Which entailed picking up yesterday's clothes off the floor. But the neighbor wouldn't know that. And smeared on about 7 inches of deodorant because an alarming stench was wafting out of my pores from panicking about the neighbor.
Then I looked in the mirror and said, "yes, yes. that looks quite nice". And decided to throw on some makeups and really wow the neighbor.
Well, before the neighbor came over, the treemen came. They backed up their big-rig down the narrow driveway. And these men starting crawling out of the woodwork (no pun intended) (just kidding - pun intended) Lots and lots of men. They had these auras of testosterone that gleamed and glittered. Lots and lots of workboots. *pant* Nasty workmen jeans that only workmen can wear. *pant* Red dirty t-shirts. *pant* Hard hats and workmen sunglasses. *pant* And big BIG muscles *pant pant pant pant pant pant* And really loud machines. *pant* But the thing I LOVED the most, was the yelling. NONSTOP. Bickering and hollering and singing and bossing. And yelling.
So, the foreman gets in the cherry-picker basket and somebody raises him up over to the tree. And at that exact moment, all the other workmen revved every engine that was in sight. The truck, the woodchipper, and all 37 chainsaws. And the foreman starts yelling. Really loud.
I think a woman would have a) taken notes while up in the cherry-picker to talk about when she got back down on the ground b) have everybody turn off their power tools so she could yell from way above the clouds OR c) used something technical and smart.
But no. They just yell. And yell. And it was delightful.
And finally the neighbor came over and asked if I'd like to come over and talk to the men about getting some scraps for our Tiny Tim fire pit.
P.S. When I opened the door for the neighbor, she said, "hello beautiful". And I felt like a queen because I wasn't in my mom pajamas. Nor was my hair greasy and parted down the middle.
I grabbed both kids hands and we marched our bottoms straight over to the treemen - which happened to be around the corner - because the neighbor lives directly behind us. I hoped I looked fancy enough. Because every mother wants to be noticed. Especially by treemen. (do I sound like a hussy?)
And there I was. Standing before these huge, manly, sweat-covered, treemen. I was promptly directed to the foreman - and this greek-like, mythical creature turns around. And I couldn't help myself. I got real close. And sniffed real hard. And laid my hand on his arm - squeezed his muscular bulge, and said, "sorry. I couldn't resist."
Kidding.
Instead, I snorted twice and said, "hi . . . uh . . . .um . . .. .er . . . .I want . . . some. I need the firewood. Throw it over the fence." And then they said some things to me that I don't remember, because now I had a small crowd of treemen around me. But I do know that I twisted my tongue 7 more times and ran home. And hid in the house.
But I have a nice pile of firewood that will make Big D mad. And I'll say, "go put on your hard hat and cut me some wood."
Take Aways
1) Never ever leave the house.
2) And if you do, definitely don't open your mouth.
3) Just smile and nod.
4) Wear a whiteboard around your neck in case you run into a situation where words need to be exchanged.
5) Need to remember that God made me one of the worst speakers in the world for a reason.
6) Maybe it's to help with my pride.
7) Or maybe it's to keep me out of more trouble than I already get myself into.
8) Possibly it was to make me write, because if I could talk, I definitely wouldn't be writing. Takes too long.
9) Rent a chainsaw for the weekend. Maybe a few, and have my own treemen party. But I'll stay in the house. And yell.
Fun Fact
I scrubbed this monstrosity today.
Bye-bye pee dribbles and grease splatters.
Don't look too close. It's not perfect. But it's good enough for me.
So, remember this neighbor?
Her treemen came today. *pant*
Let me back up a tad more. Bruver Bear Chuck basically woke me up this morning. He called last night to tell me that his wife hadn't had the baby. I got sidetracked from that little call (that I did NOT answer because I was driving in turd twisting traffic) and took the wrong turn. And yelled "CURSES".
So he called me back this morning on his drive to work so we could catch up on ridiculous life. And reminisce about all the times he had to apologize to adults when he was a kid. My favorite story from this morning was the time that one of our mother's friends had to pick him up from piano lessons. He climbed in the vehicle and shouted, "smells like fish in here". Then he grabbed our mother's friend's hair, took a whopping sniff and exclaimed, "yup, that's what it is".
*can't stop laughing about that one.*
And then Bruver Chuck hung up and I raced to the restroom to take care of morning things and looked in the mirror, and smirkingly thought "ha, I look like I'm ready to see the neighbor". And then I said, "OH poopies and peepees!!! It's Thursday and the neighbor said she was coming back today to talk about tree stuff" *pant pant pant*
I threw clothes on. Which entailed picking up yesterday's clothes off the floor. But the neighbor wouldn't know that. And smeared on about 7 inches of deodorant because an alarming stench was wafting out of my pores from panicking about the neighbor.
Then I looked in the mirror and said, "yes, yes. that looks quite nice". And decided to throw on some makeups and really wow the neighbor.
Well, before the neighbor came over, the treemen came. They backed up their big-rig down the narrow driveway. And these men starting crawling out of the woodwork (no pun intended) (just kidding - pun intended) Lots and lots of men. They had these auras of testosterone that gleamed and glittered. Lots and lots of workboots. *pant* Nasty workmen jeans that only workmen can wear. *pant* Red dirty t-shirts. *pant* Hard hats and workmen sunglasses. *pant* And big BIG muscles *pant pant pant pant pant pant* And really loud machines. *pant* But the thing I LOVED the most, was the yelling. NONSTOP. Bickering and hollering and singing and bossing. And yelling.
So, the foreman gets in the cherry-picker basket and somebody raises him up over to the tree. And at that exact moment, all the other workmen revved every engine that was in sight. The truck, the woodchipper, and all 37 chainsaws. And the foreman starts yelling. Really loud.
I think a woman would have a) taken notes while up in the cherry-picker to talk about when she got back down on the ground b) have everybody turn off their power tools so she could yell from way above the clouds OR c) used something technical and smart.
But no. They just yell. And yell. And it was delightful.
And finally the neighbor came over and asked if I'd like to come over and talk to the men about getting some scraps for our Tiny Tim fire pit.
P.S. When I opened the door for the neighbor, she said, "hello beautiful". And I felt like a queen because I wasn't in my mom pajamas. Nor was my hair greasy and parted down the middle.
I grabbed both kids hands and we marched our bottoms straight over to the treemen - which happened to be around the corner - because the neighbor lives directly behind us. I hoped I looked fancy enough. Because every mother wants to be noticed. Especially by treemen. (do I sound like a hussy?)
And there I was. Standing before these huge, manly, sweat-covered, treemen. I was promptly directed to the foreman - and this greek-like, mythical creature turns around. And I couldn't help myself. I got real close. And sniffed real hard. And laid my hand on his arm - squeezed his muscular bulge, and said, "sorry. I couldn't resist."
Kidding.
Instead, I snorted twice and said, "hi . . . uh . . . .um . . .. .er . . . .I want . . . some. I need the firewood. Throw it over the fence." And then they said some things to me that I don't remember, because now I had a small crowd of treemen around me. But I do know that I twisted my tongue 7 more times and ran home. And hid in the house.
But I have a nice pile of firewood that will make Big D mad. And I'll say, "go put on your hard hat and cut me some wood."
Take Aways
1) Never ever leave the house.
2) And if you do, definitely don't open your mouth.
3) Just smile and nod.
4) Wear a whiteboard around your neck in case you run into a situation where words need to be exchanged.
5) Need to remember that God made me one of the worst speakers in the world for a reason.
6) Maybe it's to help with my pride.
7) Or maybe it's to keep me out of more trouble than I already get myself into.
8) Possibly it was to make me write, because if I could talk, I definitely wouldn't be writing. Takes too long.
9) Rent a chainsaw for the weekend. Maybe a few, and have my own treemen party. But I'll stay in the house. And yell.
Fun Fact
I scrubbed this monstrosity today.
Bye-bye pee dribbles and grease splatters.
Don't look too close. It's not perfect. But it's good enough for me.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
A Sign From the Universe
I mentioned last week, that we have a friend that graduated from a fancy school. With her MBA.
I'm going to paint a picture. Mrs. Friday Friend is a fancy lady. She's a business lady. Her color is black and sometimes a touch of navy blue. Picture this. Who sometimes does this. But with her knees together. Doesn't look like this. And DEFINITELY wouldn't be caught wearing this.
And now that I've painted you all a visual of Mrs. Friday Friend, I'll move on with the story.
Mrs. Friday Friend LOVES Banana Republic. Loves it. And wears it well. Every time we see her (*ahem* every Friday) she showcases a new purchase. Bracelet. Shoes. Fancy coat.
You see, she's been building up her new work wardrobe. And you would have to be Bart and dumber than a turtle crossing the road to not pick up on the fact that Banana Republic is a part of Mrs. Friday Friend's life.
And so for her graduation gift I thought it would be fun and nontraditional to grab a BR gift card. If I graduated I would LOVE a clothing gift card. Yes I would.
So, on graduation day we went to our local grocer (do you like how I call it a grocer? It makes me feel fancier.) to purchase the gift card that most certainly would be on that HUGE gift card tower. Except it wasn't. And I yelled "curses". Cause it's funny to yell that.
And we went to graduation and the party hoping that nobody would notice . . . our terribleness. But we weren't too ashamed because I was headed to the mall on Tuesday for smiles for miles, day.
I would just pick up her gift then and hand her the card in person. Or maybe, mail it. It always feels really special to get a nugget in the mail. (the word "nugget" always reminds me of the word booger or turd)
Well, I got home before I remembered about the BR card. Neat. But still not too worried, because the next night Big D had a meeting next to the mall and he offered to go pick up the dang gift card. But I told him no. 1) I had returns to make at the mall and I would just pick it up, try two 2) the more errands he had, the longer before I would see him that evening.
So, Thursday came along. I made returns and put a mental block on the card. And came home and smiled. And then I kicked myself in the shins.
I ate some humble pie and sent Mrs. Friday Friend a text that went like this: we still have your card at the house and maybe by November we'll remember to give it to you.
Fast forward to last night. Big D had another meeting next to the mall. And THIS time I told him to march his turtle shell over there and grab the ding dang card.
So Big D got home and I said, "did you get the goods?" And he replied, "yes, but I think I got the wrong thing". *AHEM* how do you get the wrong thing? It's a gift card. Not difficult. You CANNOT screw up a gift card. Unless you're Big D.
Some how he got a tad distracted. I'm not sure if it was the music. Or the dark entrance that whispers of horny pubescent teens making out in the corner. Maybe it was the giant, wall-to-wall photograph of pube hair. And I will even give him the benefit of the doubt, it very well may have been, the child like manikins wearing thongs and belly button shirts.
I'm not sure what happened that night. But Big D came home with this.
Take Aways
1) Have normal ideas for gifts - like fancy pens and bottles of wine.
2) Spank your husband after he takes off his turtle shell.
3) Remind Mrs. Friday Friend that November is far away, so don't get too anxious.
4) Or tell Mrs. Friday Friend that she needs to loosen up a bit and try to be a hip (aka hussy) mom
5) Also remind her that Mr. Friday Friend wouldn't mind a bit.
6) Can you return gift cards?
Fun Fact
I'm going to pee my pants. And then make boxed mac and cheese. Because I want to. Also, the neighbors have a cement truck in their driveway which reminds me of the time my mother drove our 9 passenger blue station wagon into a vat of concrete and then got stuck. And she was barefoot. And a very nice, very ugly (that's how the story was told) man helped her get the car out. (After she herself had climbed out of the vat and then ran around to get some help because it was lunch time and everybody was hiding in corners eating their lunch) And then she came screeching down our road, rip-roaring up our driveway screaming for the hose. Because she had to clean off the entire undersides of the car. That car never rusted through. The end.
I'm going to paint a picture. Mrs. Friday Friend is a fancy lady. She's a business lady. Her color is black and sometimes a touch of navy blue. Picture this. Who sometimes does this. But with her knees together. Doesn't look like this. And DEFINITELY wouldn't be caught wearing this.
And now that I've painted you all a visual of Mrs. Friday Friend, I'll move on with the story.
Mrs. Friday Friend LOVES Banana Republic. Loves it. And wears it well. Every time we see her (*ahem* every Friday) she showcases a new purchase. Bracelet. Shoes. Fancy coat.
You see, she's been building up her new work wardrobe. And you would have to be Bart and dumber than a turtle crossing the road to not pick up on the fact that Banana Republic is a part of Mrs. Friday Friend's life.
And so for her graduation gift I thought it would be fun and nontraditional to grab a BR gift card. If I graduated I would LOVE a clothing gift card. Yes I would.
So, on graduation day we went to our local grocer (do you like how I call it a grocer? It makes me feel fancier.) to purchase the gift card that most certainly would be on that HUGE gift card tower. Except it wasn't. And I yelled "curses". Cause it's funny to yell that.
And we went to graduation and the party hoping that nobody would notice . . . our terribleness. But we weren't too ashamed because I was headed to the mall on Tuesday for smiles for miles, day.
I would just pick up her gift then and hand her the card in person. Or maybe, mail it. It always feels really special to get a nugget in the mail. (the word "nugget" always reminds me of the word booger or turd)
Well, I got home before I remembered about the BR card. Neat. But still not too worried, because the next night Big D had a meeting next to the mall and he offered to go pick up the dang gift card. But I told him no. 1) I had returns to make at the mall and I would just pick it up, try two 2) the more errands he had, the longer before I would see him that evening.
So, Thursday came along. I made returns and put a mental block on the card. And came home and smiled. And then I kicked myself in the shins.
I ate some humble pie and sent Mrs. Friday Friend a text that went like this: we still have your card at the house and maybe by November we'll remember to give it to you.
Fast forward to last night. Big D had another meeting next to the mall. And THIS time I told him to march his turtle shell over there and grab the ding dang card.
So Big D got home and I said, "did you get the goods?" And he replied, "yes, but I think I got the wrong thing". *AHEM* how do you get the wrong thing? It's a gift card. Not difficult. You CANNOT screw up a gift card. Unless you're Big D.
Some how he got a tad distracted. I'm not sure if it was the music. Or the dark entrance that whispers of horny pubescent teens making out in the corner. Maybe it was the giant, wall-to-wall photograph of pube hair. And I will even give him the benefit of the doubt, it very well may have been, the child like manikins wearing thongs and belly button shirts.
I'm not sure what happened that night. But Big D came home with this.
Take Aways
1) Have normal ideas for gifts - like fancy pens and bottles of wine.
2) Spank your husband after he takes off his turtle shell.
3) Remind Mrs. Friday Friend that November is far away, so don't get too anxious.
4) Or tell Mrs. Friday Friend that she needs to loosen up a bit and try to be a hip (aka hussy) mom
5) Also remind her that Mr. Friday Friend wouldn't mind a bit.
6) Can you return gift cards?
Fun Fact
I'm going to pee my pants. And then make boxed mac and cheese. Because I want to. Also, the neighbors have a cement truck in their driveway which reminds me of the time my mother drove our 9 passenger blue station wagon into a vat of concrete and then got stuck. And she was barefoot. And a very nice, very ugly (that's how the story was told) man helped her get the car out. (After she herself had climbed out of the vat and then ran around to get some help because it was lunch time and everybody was hiding in corners eating their lunch) And then she came screeching down our road, rip-roaring up our driveway screaming for the hose. Because she had to clean off the entire undersides of the car. That car never rusted through. The end.
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Big D and Me
Today marks the 9th year of holy sexual intercourse that Big D and I have been having. In other words, it's our pannypersary. And I'm not going to say, "I married my best friend X amount of years ago" and other gobble-de-gook of love and twinkle dust in our eyes. Jesus sure knows that good times have not been had by all. Being married has been nothing but a fight, and a good kick to the shin and a twist of the nipples and a jab to the kidneys. I'm still waiting for this so called "honeymoon" phase to kick in . . .
Bruver Bear Bobby just asked me this past weekend if Big D was the love of my life. The answer is no. The love of my life came and went and my life partner went and came.
So, in honor of 9 years of wedded knock-'em sock-'em, here is a list of Big D greatness. To you, Big D. Happy punnypurpery
1) I love that you wear your beard, even tho you dye it.
2) I love that you can still make me giggle like a lunatic.
3) I love that we have arguments about who's turn it really is to change the huge turdy diaper.
4) I love that you gobble up all the food I make with vin and vigor - even when I make diarrhea bowl. (In layman's terms - homemade mac and cheese - which gives us the squirts for days.)
5) I love when you sing me songs like "what's green and black and hot all over" in an out-of-tune falsetto voice, and then you jump into Michael Scott's "feeling hot, hot, hot" - all because you think I look so tasty, when I actually look like a drowned sewer rat.
6) I love when you say, "let's have drunken sex" and then we both fall asleep on the couch after 1 sip of wine.
7) I love that you love all my bruver and sister bears.
8) I love that you fight just as dirty as me. Actually, no. I hate it. I wish you would be the bigger person.
8) I love that you care enough about your ninnies to sign up for big boy races, even tho it makes me nervy.
9) I love that you're man enough to take reproof.
10) I love that you try your hardest to learn new tricks - unless it's closing the shower curtain.
That's all I want to say.
I hope that you will always look for the fun in life and always come home to me.
Take Aways
1) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's bad.
2) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's not fun.
3) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's not rewarding.
Bruver Bear Bobby just asked me this past weekend if Big D was the love of my life. The answer is no. The love of my life came and went and my life partner went and came.
So, in honor of 9 years of wedded knock-'em sock-'em, here is a list of Big D greatness. To you, Big D. Happy punnypurpery
1) I love that you wear your beard, even tho you dye it.
2) I love that you can still make me giggle like a lunatic.
3) I love that we have arguments about who's turn it really is to change the huge turdy diaper.
4) I love that you gobble up all the food I make with vin and vigor - even when I make diarrhea bowl. (In layman's terms - homemade mac and cheese - which gives us the squirts for days.)
5) I love when you sing me songs like "what's green and black and hot all over" in an out-of-tune falsetto voice, and then you jump into Michael Scott's "feeling hot, hot, hot" - all because you think I look so tasty, when I actually look like a drowned sewer rat.
6) I love when you say, "let's have drunken sex" and then we both fall asleep on the couch after 1 sip of wine.
7) I love that you love all my bruver and sister bears.
8) I love that you fight just as dirty as me. Actually, no. I hate it. I wish you would be the bigger person.
8) I love that you care enough about your ninnies to sign up for big boy races, even tho it makes me nervy.
9) I love that you're man enough to take reproof.
10) I love that you try your hardest to learn new tricks - unless it's closing the shower curtain.
That's all I want to say.
I hope that you will always look for the fun in life and always come home to me.
Take Aways
1) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's bad.
2) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's not fun.
3) Just because something is miserably hard, doesn't mean that it's not rewarding.
Happy Wanawersary
Yesterday was my ranarusary. 9 hot banging years. Yup. We spent the day being homeschooler parents. It was neat. We went on a homeschool field trip. Homeschoolers are neat creatures. I can say this because I was homeschooled. So, I have the green go card that says "you may make homeschooler jokes". I love making homeschooler jokes. Honestly, it's like an out-of-jail-free card. Because, if there is EVER a moment where you make a blundering mistake - educationally, or your pals are talking about something that you have no idea what they're talking about, or maybe even you wear something just a little bit awesome - it's just a simple "I was homeschooled". It's down right magical. You will get the soft nervy chuckles when you say that. But that's it. They don't make fun of you - they just understand. I love it. And still use it - 15 years later.
Ok, so homeschooley day. It was a treasure. We got to check out what life was like back in the old days. Like Farmer Boy era. Murnice loved it. Big D came too. And we spent the day holding hands for 1/2 second intervals and making out. Ew. It was a mild mid 70s. The wind was blowing thru the tall weedy grass. And we were having as a romantic time as could be on homeschooley day. My mind is thinking "my, I think this is my favorite kranakrusary yet".
But then something happened. We were in the wood carving shop. Mmmm the smells of freshly shaved wood. The light, gently sending soft pats of love through the dusty windows onto the worn floors. I'm falling gently in love with the moment. Big D walks up behind me and very sweetly rubs my arm. He bends his head over close to my ear, peaks down my shirt, and says "babe, I was wondering what you thought about-" . . . . .
And I thought he was going to say "going out to get something to eat tonight" or "going to the beach tonight" or "hiding over there in that corner and doing it" or "inviting friends over for a pizza party tonight"
. . . . .
No. Instead, he said: "babe, I was wondering what you thought about me going out with Rich and Wade tonight".
WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!
Are you kidding the sheep skin off my butt right now? That's not actually what I said. I think it included some pirate verbiage. I lost my poopy squirts for about 3 minutes. I ran out of that romantic wood shaving shed and hollared and tooted and roared. And asked Betty Boop if she could believe what just happened in there. And asked Honey (because she came too) if she could believe what just happened in there. Hot dingle berry. Are you for real? Did you, did you really just ask me that question?
And then poor Big D who clearly did not place his head on properly that morning, came around to his senses and apologized. He got on his knees and begged forgiveness. I did. I forgave him. Because Jesus tells us to.
And then we held hands again in 1/2 second intervals and made out.
Take Aways
1) Homeschooler friends are neat. They're full of jokes.
2) Romantic moments rarely work.
3) After 9 years Big D is catching on slowly and realizing that stupid questions are not appreciated.
4) I love when he apologizes.
5) Old tool sheds are perfect ;)
Ok, so homeschooley day. It was a treasure. We got to check out what life was like back in the old days. Like Farmer Boy era. Murnice loved it. Big D came too. And we spent the day holding hands for 1/2 second intervals and making out. Ew. It was a mild mid 70s. The wind was blowing thru the tall weedy grass. And we were having as a romantic time as could be on homeschooley day. My mind is thinking "my, I think this is my favorite kranakrusary yet".
But then something happened. We were in the wood carving shop. Mmmm the smells of freshly shaved wood. The light, gently sending soft pats of love through the dusty windows onto the worn floors. I'm falling gently in love with the moment. Big D walks up behind me and very sweetly rubs my arm. He bends his head over close to my ear, peaks down my shirt, and says "babe, I was wondering what you thought about-" . . . . .
And I thought he was going to say "going out to get something to eat tonight" or "going to the beach tonight" or "hiding over there in that corner and doing it" or "inviting friends over for a pizza party tonight"
. . . . .
No. Instead, he said: "babe, I was wondering what you thought about me going out with Rich and Wade tonight".
WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!
Are you kidding the sheep skin off my butt right now? That's not actually what I said. I think it included some pirate verbiage. I lost my poopy squirts for about 3 minutes. I ran out of that romantic wood shaving shed and hollared and tooted and roared. And asked Betty Boop if she could believe what just happened in there. And asked Honey (because she came too) if she could believe what just happened in there. Hot dingle berry. Are you for real? Did you, did you really just ask me that question?
And then poor Big D who clearly did not place his head on properly that morning, came around to his senses and apologized. He got on his knees and begged forgiveness. I did. I forgave him. Because Jesus tells us to.
And then we held hands again in 1/2 second intervals and made out.
Take Aways
1) Homeschooler friends are neat. They're full of jokes.
2) Romantic moments rarely work.
3) After 9 years Big D is catching on slowly and realizing that stupid questions are not appreciated.
4) I love when he apologizes.
5) Old tool sheds are perfect ;)
Nay Nay
Talking about fantasies, may as well jump to Ed's fetish.
Definition of fetish: A course of action to which one has an excessive and irrational commitment.
Ed came out of the vaginal canal LOVING the feel of anything that resembled hair, in this mouth - while he sucked his fingers. LOVES IT. It used to just be my hair. You know, when he was a baby, he would wrap his little fingers around my hair and then suck on it. So sweet. But then he got a little older and started de-threading his "blue". But the WORST discovery was, when he found "Nay".
Nay is a beautiful (*ahem* was a beautiful) white magical pony/horse. And Nay has long blond hair for her mane and tail. It WAS beautiful. Murnice took such good care of her. The hair glistened and gleamed. And Nay looked so majestic. How Ed found Nay, I'll never remember. But Nay is no longer majestic.
Nay is no longer white. More like, dappled grey. Her hair is knotted into one large dread. One dread for the mane. One dread for the tail. And Ed loves nothing more than to get tangled up in "nay hair" and then suck his fingers. He will weave his little fingers into the knots. And sometimes his toes.
Last night he went on a weaving frenzy with his toes, and then got his whole foot stuck in Nay's dread. And then screamed like a banshee.
Any hair formation floating around on the floor is referred to as "nay hair". Ed is finally getting better about throwing those jewels out. He used to immediately cram them into his mouth and hide in a corner until I would find him with a mouthful of mystery hair and dust bunnies.
I feel sorry for his wife.
I took a few snap shots, trying to capture the moment - but it was difficult. Nay hair sucking is a fast-moving activity, and my camera is s-l-o-w. Fast-moving because fingers are constantly moving in and out of the weave.
So, with the first one, you can see the blur of the fingers. Entangled nicely.
The second one depicts the wrapping of the toes. It also showcases the fine dread that has been created. And if you look real close, you'll see the dappled grey effect. (Or is it affect?)
And here you'll see the sucking of the fingers and blue.
And that sums up Ed's life right now as a two-year-old.
Take Aways
1) You can't choose who'll come out of you.
Fun Fact
While writing this post our neighbor stopped by. Yup, it's 8:30 am. And I look almost as beautiful as I did then. Except this morning - I have my bangs parted down the middle with a bobby pin plastering them down. I greeted her at the door and said, "do I look beautiful?" Nothing like constantly being humbled.
Definition of fetish: A course of action to which one has an excessive and irrational commitment.
Ed came out of the vaginal canal LOVING the feel of anything that resembled hair, in this mouth - while he sucked his fingers. LOVES IT. It used to just be my hair. You know, when he was a baby, he would wrap his little fingers around my hair and then suck on it. So sweet. But then he got a little older and started de-threading his "blue". But the WORST discovery was, when he found "Nay".
Nay is a beautiful (*ahem* was a beautiful) white magical pony/horse. And Nay has long blond hair for her mane and tail. It WAS beautiful. Murnice took such good care of her. The hair glistened and gleamed. And Nay looked so majestic. How Ed found Nay, I'll never remember. But Nay is no longer majestic.
Nay is no longer white. More like, dappled grey. Her hair is knotted into one large dread. One dread for the mane. One dread for the tail. And Ed loves nothing more than to get tangled up in "nay hair" and then suck his fingers. He will weave his little fingers into the knots. And sometimes his toes.
Last night he went on a weaving frenzy with his toes, and then got his whole foot stuck in Nay's dread. And then screamed like a banshee.
Any hair formation floating around on the floor is referred to as "nay hair". Ed is finally getting better about throwing those jewels out. He used to immediately cram them into his mouth and hide in a corner until I would find him with a mouthful of mystery hair and dust bunnies.
I feel sorry for his wife.
I took a few snap shots, trying to capture the moment - but it was difficult. Nay hair sucking is a fast-moving activity, and my camera is s-l-o-w. Fast-moving because fingers are constantly moving in and out of the weave.
And that sums up Ed's life right now as a two-year-old.
Take Aways
1) You can't choose who'll come out of you.
Fun Fact
While writing this post our neighbor stopped by. Yup, it's 8:30 am. And I look almost as beautiful as I did then. Except this morning - I have my bangs parted down the middle with a bobby pin plastering them down. I greeted her at the door and said, "do I look beautiful?" Nothing like constantly being humbled.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Guilt vs. Conviction
I've been struggling with the concept of guilt versus conviction.
You've probably seen that thingy going around on facebook. There are two rows. Each row has a header. One says "God" and one says "Satan". I don't remember anything else on the list except that God brings conviction and that Satan brings guilt.
Ok. Great. But what does guilt versus conviction look like?. Or feel like? There's always that underlying feeling of "you should have done this" or "if you loved me . . ." or "you are so unholy". And the list never ends of these voices. They sound good. They sound like things I think God would say. Because he wants us to strive for all things great and holy.
And then I got my answer. Guilt just makes you feel guilty. Conviction punches you in the gut. Knocks you on your face. And you can do nothing but beg for forgiveness, because the stench of your sin overpowers the pride to stand and ignore the offense. It's almost like a reflex. This hearing or reading of truth. Penetrates to the soul. And washes.
So there you have it. In case you were wondering the difference.
And now it's thundering, so I must get off of this electrical device.
Take Aways
1) God's love should never take us by surprise - but it always does
2) I love it most when God reveals.
Fun Fact
Murnice has picked up a Florence Nightingale book and can't put it down. Also, I have cherry coke in the freezer and I can't stop thinking about it.
You've probably seen that thingy going around on facebook. There are two rows. Each row has a header. One says "God" and one says "Satan". I don't remember anything else on the list except that God brings conviction and that Satan brings guilt.
Ok. Great. But what does guilt versus conviction look like?. Or feel like? There's always that underlying feeling of "you should have done this" or "if you loved me . . ." or "you are so unholy". And the list never ends of these voices. They sound good. They sound like things I think God would say. Because he wants us to strive for all things great and holy.
And then I got my answer. Guilt just makes you feel guilty. Conviction punches you in the gut. Knocks you on your face. And you can do nothing but beg for forgiveness, because the stench of your sin overpowers the pride to stand and ignore the offense. It's almost like a reflex. This hearing or reading of truth. Penetrates to the soul. And washes.
So there you have it. In case you were wondering the difference.
And now it's thundering, so I must get off of this electrical device.
Take Aways
1) God's love should never take us by surprise - but it always does
2) I love it most when God reveals.
Fun Fact
Murnice has picked up a Florence Nightingale book and can't put it down. Also, I have cherry coke in the freezer and I can't stop thinking about it.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Fantasy Crusher
Big D has this fantasy which involves me wearing one of these. Every day. All the time.
Excuse me for a moment.
*gag* *gag* *chunks are hurled*
He loves getting the Athleta and Title Nine magazines in the mail and picking out this and that. Things for me to wear. (????)
WHERE? I'd like to know. I don't work out. And even if I did, I would do it with my mom clothes on. Sweatpants work great. They keep all your secret, yours. Nothing drives me MORE nuts than going to a fancier part of town and having all the ladies in their workout clothes.
Did you just work out? Going to work out? Or are you making the world THINK that you care about your heart - but really don't - so you just wear your spandex. Or do you feel sexy? Do you think I like to see every dimple on your buns? Or your sweaty butt crack? Or the jiggle that happens when you take every step? Do women not realize that when you wear something like that - butt huggers - everybody looks. (Or am I the only one that looks?) I sure as heckity heck don't want ooglers checking out my bun secrets.
I REFUSE to wear that junk around the house. 363 days out of the year I'm freezing and therefore bundled well and thickly. So, on those two days where I can wear my lusted after summer clothes, I am NOT going to grab some sort of man-mad material to squeeze in and then vaginally sweat and get a yeast infection. Worst idea ever. I would NOT feel like a queen. And when mother does not feel like a queen, bad things happen. My shoulders slump and I growl 3x more than usual.
I guess I should also say that Big D wishes that I ran and did all things athletic.
Wow, I could not be anymore opposite. Give me my couch. And tv. And I wouldn't cry if I had a a few of these to munch on. (Would ya look at that ingredient list?)
And the stupid thing is - genetically, I would be an amazing runner. My dad's side of the family are ALL runners. My dad still runs a million miles everyday. Every Thanksgiving he runs a marathon (by himself) just to see how he's aging. And I just sit and snort and squeal.
Take Aways
1) Before you get married, really know what you're getting yourself into.
2) Actually, before you get married, really get to know what your spouses fantasies are.
3) Most people are too nervous to talk about their fantasies, but there's nothing to be ashamed about. You like what you like and that makes you you.
4) Unless you have fantasies because you watched rude, unrealistic "shows" that ruin marriages by bombarding minds with unrealistic fantasies
5) But if they're organic, real-life original fantasies - I'll allow it. Embrace them.
Fun Fact
I'm watching a pbs thingy on Jamaican musik - (and loving it) But, have you kids ever watched Jamaican dancers? Um whoa. Actually, maybe you shouldn't. It might spark some sort of unoriginal fantasies.
Excuse me for a moment.
*gag* *gag* *chunks are hurled*
He loves getting the Athleta and Title Nine magazines in the mail and picking out this and that. Things for me to wear. (????)
WHERE? I'd like to know. I don't work out. And even if I did, I would do it with my mom clothes on. Sweatpants work great. They keep all your secret, yours. Nothing drives me MORE nuts than going to a fancier part of town and having all the ladies in their workout clothes.
Did you just work out? Going to work out? Or are you making the world THINK that you care about your heart - but really don't - so you just wear your spandex. Or do you feel sexy? Do you think I like to see every dimple on your buns? Or your sweaty butt crack? Or the jiggle that happens when you take every step? Do women not realize that when you wear something like that - butt huggers - everybody looks. (Or am I the only one that looks?) I sure as heckity heck don't want ooglers checking out my bun secrets.
I REFUSE to wear that junk around the house. 363 days out of the year I'm freezing and therefore bundled well and thickly. So, on those two days where I can wear my lusted after summer clothes, I am NOT going to grab some sort of man-mad material to squeeze in and then vaginally sweat and get a yeast infection. Worst idea ever. I would NOT feel like a queen. And when mother does not feel like a queen, bad things happen. My shoulders slump and I growl 3x more than usual.
I guess I should also say that Big D wishes that I ran and did all things athletic.
Wow, I could not be anymore opposite. Give me my couch. And tv. And I wouldn't cry if I had a a few of these to munch on. (Would ya look at that ingredient list?)
And the stupid thing is - genetically, I would be an amazing runner. My dad's side of the family are ALL runners. My dad still runs a million miles everyday. Every Thanksgiving he runs a marathon (by himself) just to see how he's aging. And I just sit and snort and squeal.
Take Aways
1) Before you get married, really know what you're getting yourself into.
2) Actually, before you get married, really get to know what your spouses fantasies are.
3) Most people are too nervous to talk about their fantasies, but there's nothing to be ashamed about. You like what you like and that makes you you.
4) Unless you have fantasies because you watched rude, unrealistic "shows" that ruin marriages by bombarding minds with unrealistic fantasies
5) But if they're organic, real-life original fantasies - I'll allow it. Embrace them.
Fun Fact
I'm watching a pbs thingy on Jamaican musik - (and loving it) But, have you kids ever watched Jamaican dancers? Um whoa. Actually, maybe you shouldn't. It might spark some sort of unoriginal fantasies.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
A Story by Murnice
THERE LIVED
A MAN NAMED
JON.
JON LIVED
ON A FARME.
JON HAD
TEN COWS.
AND MILKD
THEM EVREY DAY.
ONE OF
THE COWS HAD
A PROBLUM.
THE PROBLUM
WAS IT HAD
TO MUCH MILK.
JON WAS
TEN WHEN HE
FOUND OUT.
WHEN JON
WAS TWELV THE COW DIDE.
AND THAT
DAY JON CRYED ALL
DAY.
Oh dear. Where oh where do small children come up with such things.
On a side note, I'm proud of her creativity. And sense of emotion.
Friday, June 14, 2013
The Mom-Butt Hustle
I am officially growing up to be a mom. Mom butt. Mom belly. And mom excitement that today is Friday - yard sale day. A few years ago I wouldn't have left my couch for such frivolities. But today I felt brave.
On a side note we also ran to a few stores and made returns. One of the return places happened to be Aerie (where I went a few days ago for some smiles) And wouldn't you know that those sales ladies remembered me. (I gloated a bit.) AND they remembered something that happened that I forgot. So I'll share.
Remember my friend whom I won't name? Well, Murnice was in her son's way - and he hollered out, "move out of the way you old hag!".
Ok.Two things here. Three things here.
1) Murnice a hag? A seven year old? *chortle*
2) Who is calling who a hag at home I wonder . . .
3) The sales lady was still laughing about this 3 days later. Most perfect.
Anyway, a summary of our
Grossest thing observed:
30ish looking man with beard who was maybe attractive walking out behind a mom and two teenager daughters. Man could not look at anything besides the teenagers. I gagged twice. And farted once. On him. Or, too him. And then I rolled down the window and hollered "hey ya big fat perv" and then threw my half gnawed apple core at him.
Sweetest thing said by Murnice:
After I had returned my PURPLE watering hole and we were driving to the new location of momhood, Murnice began to console me from the backseat. Now I never mentioned that I was indeed a bit heartbroken that the stupid hunk of junk had the nerve to shatter. Actually, today I wasn't sad. It was two weeks ago that I was sad. But Murnice felt the need to console none the less. She's just going on and on about how we should just really look for a few one. And it was SO selfish of the other buyers to buy the good watering hole and leave us the broken one . . . and then she says, "well mom, I guess the soldiers are just going to have to fix your broken heart."
Most annoying part of my whole day:
I don't know directions/locations/area/left or right/NESW. I just have to use the GPS. So I typed in a yard sale address that didn't start until 12pm. (annoyed #1) The yard sale ended up being on the complete other side of the city. (annoyed #2) We finally got to the right road but the GPS took us further down than we needed to go - right to the brink of road work where i needed to wait in the slow/stop line. Waited my turn, went through the one-laned road, pulled a U-turn, almost got rear-ended, almost got t-boned, then went back through the one-laned road (after waiting our turn) to arrive at the yard sale (annoyed #3, #4, #5, and #6) This yard sale was the most chaotic occurrences that I have been privy to in awhile. Some tables with heaps of unmarked items. (annoyed #7) Some items on other tables had prices. Women were standing everywhere. Actually they were all bent over digging through boxes on the ground. Like crazed rodents. A cackle would occur periodically. There was this heap of items on the ground. It was a nice heap that had interesting things in it - but nobody was hovering. So I made a loud "IS THIS ANYBODY'S PILE"? All those cackling rodents stood up straight, stared at me with huge toothy smiles and nodded vigorously "yes, yes I THINK it is". (annoyed #8) Well, either it is or it isn't - because it looks like the rest of this heap of a sale. (I kept that to myself) I was finally ready to be done - had my 3 items in hand. One item had a price. Two items did not. *growl* I stood next to the table that had a metal cash box on it. And I stood there. For while. I scanned the crowd trying to make eye contact with somebody. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the "I'm in charge" face. Nothing. (annoyed #9) Once again I used my precious voice to get what I wanted, "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE"? Oh, it's the lady who looks like she just smoked a pack of doobies. Excellent. I marched up to this lady and said, "are you in charge?" (I felt double asking was best) And she chaotically said, "well . . yes . . .um . . . um . . . .I guess . . . I think . . . " all while looking around the area. (annoyed #10) GET IT TOGETHER LADY!!!!! Then mysteriously, another lady who looked like she inhaled a lot of the doobie smoke, appeared right next to the first lady (who, by the way was wearing Jerusalem cruisers with white socks) They finally get it together enough to come up with a price for my two items that are price-less. AND THEN inform me that I owe "Socks" $2 and "Mystery Woman" $3. So I said, "you want me to pay you two separately? As in hand money to you and then hand money to you?" (annoyed #11) And they actually had the guts to say, "yeah. We couldn't figure out how to do it any other way." (annoyed #5 million) I am like a raging lunatic at this point. I am working with a bunch of idiots. Or maybe I was just feeling a bit dramatic today and I'm being too harsh. Blah!
Self-pity moment of the day:
Walking to a yard sale 5 streets over and see the girl who I wanted to be friends with 3 years ago, but she turned me down because I wasn't cool enough. Actually I think she turned me down because I mentioned something about wanting to talk about sex and maybe I was a little too blunt with my wordage. And probably because I didn't talk in a soft voice and probably because I have a mom butt. Waaaaaa
Take Aways
1) If you leave a comment on any of these here posts, write your name. Otherwise you'll miss out on me having fond thoughts of you because I won't know who to direct my fond thoughts to.
2) If you ever have this impulsive need to get things really randy in the bedroom, wake up singing this song to your lover. They get really excited.
3) Big D is home from work and I'm too grumpy, hungry, distracted to say anything else.
On a side note we also ran to a few stores and made returns. One of the return places happened to be Aerie (where I went a few days ago for some smiles) And wouldn't you know that those sales ladies remembered me. (I gloated a bit.) AND they remembered something that happened that I forgot. So I'll share.
Remember my friend whom I won't name? Well, Murnice was in her son's way - and he hollered out, "move out of the way you old hag!".
Ok.
1) Murnice a hag? A seven year old? *chortle*
2) Who is calling who a hag at home I wonder . . .
3) The sales lady was still laughing about this 3 days later. Most perfect.
Anyway, a summary of our
Grossest thing observed:
30ish looking man with beard who was maybe attractive walking out behind a mom and two teenager daughters. Man could not look at anything besides the teenagers. I gagged twice. And farted once. On him. Or, too him. And then I rolled down the window and hollered "hey ya big fat perv" and then threw my half gnawed apple core at him.
Sweetest thing said by Murnice:
After I had returned my PURPLE watering hole and we were driving to the new location of momhood, Murnice began to console me from the backseat. Now I never mentioned that I was indeed a bit heartbroken that the stupid hunk of junk had the nerve to shatter. Actually, today I wasn't sad. It was two weeks ago that I was sad. But Murnice felt the need to console none the less. She's just going on and on about how we should just really look for a few one. And it was SO selfish of the other buyers to buy the good watering hole and leave us the broken one . . . and then she says, "well mom, I guess the soldiers are just going to have to fix your broken heart."
Most annoying part of my whole day:
I don't know directions/locations/area/left or right/NESW. I just have to use the GPS. So I typed in a yard sale address that didn't start until 12pm. (annoyed #1) The yard sale ended up being on the complete other side of the city. (annoyed #2) We finally got to the right road but the GPS took us further down than we needed to go - right to the brink of road work where i needed to wait in the slow/stop line. Waited my turn, went through the one-laned road, pulled a U-turn, almost got rear-ended, almost got t-boned, then went back through the one-laned road (after waiting our turn) to arrive at the yard sale (annoyed #3, #4, #5, and #6) This yard sale was the most chaotic occurrences that I have been privy to in awhile. Some tables with heaps of unmarked items. (annoyed #7) Some items on other tables had prices. Women were standing everywhere. Actually they were all bent over digging through boxes on the ground. Like crazed rodents. A cackle would occur periodically. There was this heap of items on the ground. It was a nice heap that had interesting things in it - but nobody was hovering. So I made a loud "IS THIS ANYBODY'S PILE"? All those cackling rodents stood up straight, stared at me with huge toothy smiles and nodded vigorously "yes, yes I THINK it is". (annoyed #8) Well, either it is or it isn't - because it looks like the rest of this heap of a sale. (I kept that to myself) I was finally ready to be done - had my 3 items in hand. One item had a price. Two items did not. *growl* I stood next to the table that had a metal cash box on it. And I stood there. For while. I scanned the crowd trying to make eye contact with somebody. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the "I'm in charge" face. Nothing. (annoyed #9) Once again I used my precious voice to get what I wanted, "WHO'S IN CHARGE HERE"? Oh, it's the lady who looks like she just smoked a pack of doobies. Excellent. I marched up to this lady and said, "are you in charge?" (I felt double asking was best) And she chaotically said, "well . . yes . . .um . . . um . . . .I guess . . . I think . . . " all while looking around the area. (annoyed #10) GET IT TOGETHER LADY!!!!! Then mysteriously, another lady who looked like she inhaled a lot of the doobie smoke, appeared right next to the first lady (who, by the way was wearing Jerusalem cruisers with white socks) They finally get it together enough to come up with a price for my two items that are price-less. AND THEN inform me that I owe "Socks" $2 and "Mystery Woman" $3. So I said, "you want me to pay you two separately? As in hand money to you and then hand money to you?" (annoyed #11) And they actually had the guts to say, "yeah. We couldn't figure out how to do it any other way." (annoyed #5 million) I am like a raging lunatic at this point. I am working with a bunch of idiots. Or maybe I was just feeling a bit dramatic today and I'm being too harsh. Blah!
Self-pity moment of the day:
Walking to a yard sale 5 streets over and see the girl who I wanted to be friends with 3 years ago, but she turned me down because I wasn't cool enough. Actually I think she turned me down because I mentioned something about wanting to talk about sex and maybe I was a little too blunt with my wordage. And probably because I didn't talk in a soft voice and probably because I have a mom butt. Waaaaaa
Take Aways
1) If you leave a comment on any of these here posts, write your name. Otherwise you'll miss out on me having fond thoughts of you because I won't know who to direct my fond thoughts to.
2) If you ever have this impulsive need to get things really randy in the bedroom, wake up singing this song to your lover. They get really excited.
3) Big D is home from work and I'm too grumpy, hungry, distracted to say anything else.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Not my Prettiest Face
I have a prideful selfish issue. Ok, really I have many prideful selfish issues - but this one is probably the most annoying. At least for me.
It has to do with Big D. I view him as an adult, not a child. Even though there are many child-traits he possesses. I expect him to get his own drink. I expect him to remember to grab his towel when he goes to take a shower. I expect him to wash his own underwear if he chooses to hoard all of his dirty underwear under the dresser until he is completely underwear-less and I have been given no warning that he is on the verge of going commando. I'm not going to jump up and start a load just because I'm the wife.
So I think you can see what my pride issue is. But there's a fine line of being a slave and being a servant. And I feel that I would be a slave. I have no desire to serve Big D. I serve my beautiful *cough* children all day long. Probably over-serve them. (I need to cut back)
But some miracle happened last week. I did 3 nice things that I would have never done. And it happened naturally without me having an argument in my head about what a good, loving wife would do *said in nasty snarky voice* I don't remember the first two. (that's how natural it was for me) But the third thing I did was to grab a forkful of chicken breast out of the rotisserie chicken and put it in a bowl on the table for Big D. He actually called me a Proverbs 31 lady. Whoa.
Two things here. 1) That's kind of embarrassing that I'm being called a Proverbs 31 woman all because I forked a hunk of chicken out of the roast. 2) It REALLY gets me excited when I naturally swallow my pride and do something out of the ordinary - and then get acknowledged for it in an elaborate way. It makes me want to grab that bowl full of chicken and chuck it out the front door. Bowl and all.
What I would prefer, is a pleasant "thank you" and maybe a special smile. And THEN, if you're still feeling really pleased with scoring such a winner of a wife - then I would like a letter. Letters are my favorite. But DON'T sit there and gloat like a bull frog over me. Ew.
So many things to work on. And serving is right at the top of being the most difficult. BUT, I felt so accomplished and thankful that there is indeed hope for me. It happened naturally and simply.
And so today I'll say that with Jesus, all things are possible. Even for prideful sassy wives.
Take Aways
1) Don't think too much about this for fear of getting really snarly and even more prideful just because you did 1 servitude gesture. (that was to me)
2) Always bath in hope.
3) Try every day. Eventually the trying will turn to real actions. Maybe.
4) I need to be done writing this post because it's making me grumpy.
It has to do with Big D. I view him as an adult, not a child. Even though there are many child-traits he possesses. I expect him to get his own drink. I expect him to remember to grab his towel when he goes to take a shower. I expect him to wash his own underwear if he chooses to hoard all of his dirty underwear under the dresser until he is completely underwear-less and I have been given no warning that he is on the verge of going commando. I'm not going to jump up and start a load just because I'm the wife.
So I think you can see what my pride issue is. But there's a fine line of being a slave and being a servant. And I feel that I would be a slave. I have no desire to serve Big D. I serve my beautiful *cough* children all day long. Probably over-serve them. (I need to cut back)
But some miracle happened last week. I did 3 nice things that I would have never done. And it happened naturally without me having an argument in my head about what a good, loving wife would do *said in nasty snarky voice* I don't remember the first two. (that's how natural it was for me) But the third thing I did was to grab a forkful of chicken breast out of the rotisserie chicken and put it in a bowl on the table for Big D. He actually called me a Proverbs 31 lady. Whoa.
Two things here. 1) That's kind of embarrassing that I'm being called a Proverbs 31 woman all because I forked a hunk of chicken out of the roast. 2) It REALLY gets me excited when I naturally swallow my pride and do something out of the ordinary - and then get acknowledged for it in an elaborate way. It makes me want to grab that bowl full of chicken and chuck it out the front door. Bowl and all.
What I would prefer, is a pleasant "thank you" and maybe a special smile. And THEN, if you're still feeling really pleased with scoring such a winner of a wife - then I would like a letter. Letters are my favorite. But DON'T sit there and gloat like a bull frog over me. Ew.
So many things to work on. And serving is right at the top of being the most difficult. BUT, I felt so accomplished and thankful that there is indeed hope for me. It happened naturally and simply.
And so today I'll say that with Jesus, all things are possible. Even for prideful sassy wives.
Take Aways
1) Don't think too much about this for fear of getting really snarly and even more prideful just because you did 1 servitude gesture. (that was to me)
2) Always bath in hope.
3) Try every day. Eventually the trying will turn to real actions. Maybe.
4) I need to be done writing this post because it's making me grumpy.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Smiles For Miles
Today is a sweet glorious day that happens twice a year. Smiles for miles, day. A day where women squeal and men roar with glee. An excuse to buy, day. Decorate your bottom, day. Throw out your old crunchy panties and upgrade to sparkles and fringe. It's Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale, day. It's where you find something extra saucy to wear on your bottom. And it's a secret. You strut a tad more. Smile for a few extra miles.
I love smiles for miles, day. I love having the excuse to buy something. And I REALLY love smacking off the 12 year olds that try to steal everything in the bins that fit me. What makes it even better is having a 7 year old talking non-stop about how she thinks that boo-coverer will fit and she doesn't like the design on the panties and on and on and on and this color and that lace and on and on. And then there's Ed. He would be screaming bloody murder, in his stroller clawing at my clothes that are now barely on me. So, not only am I fighting the teeny-bops and trying to ignore the verbal and physical assault that is happening under my nose, but I also have to put up with all. those. judgmental. stares. of the perfectly pushed-up, long haired, tight-pant store workers. As well as those snarky-toothed snarl glares from the 12 year olds.
It's like I want to get my stroller and run over those toes. All those toes of those little 12 year olds who think they need push-up or lace on their buns. Listen, kid. You have to work to wear those. You have to push a few babies out of Mrs. Needlemeyer and lose all the nice-ness out of your buns before you can wear some decorations. You need to squirt milk for awhile. Have huge wobbly nipples covered in stretch marks before you should EVER think about reaching for push-up. I just want to smack their little fresh hands and show them the Fruit of the Loom aisle. I need all the help I can get from Victoria and these little spoiled hussies are stealing all of my wedded bliss helpers.
This morning, we rushed. I got the whip cracking. Dressed AND fed and off to the mall by 10:15. I was hoping that the little kids would still be in school and I wouldn't have as much of a competition versus going later in the day. I looked. And oogled. And smacked my lips - imagining my smiles. The smiles I would have for many miles. And then I decided that Victoria was driving me nuts and I didn't want to spend another second with her. So I left. And went to Aerie instead. Where I spent plenty of money and bought many smiles.
But the best part of THAT store is a story in itself. I won't name names . . . But I went with a friend. (It's much better to go with a friend) And while I was in the dressing room, Murnice informed me that my friend's son had been scratching her arms. Sure enough, her arms had red ribbons down them. So I went blazing out of the dressing room and said, "awkward conversation, but your kid is scratching my kid's arms." And she said NOTHING. Her little lips pursed real hard together. And her eyes squinted down, all nasty. And then she flailed wildly for her son. Grabbed his arm and finally said, "you can't go to the Lego store." And then there was weeping and wailing. A lot. It was loud. Really, it was more like roaring and snorting. And then she said, "you need to apologize properly." He tried to apologize, but there's too many snuffles and squeaks to be proper. He tried louder and again. And again. And again. And his mother kept saying, "that is not proper, do it again." By this point I'm over at the register checking out, smiling nicely. And then I hear a ear shattering rumble. A knee-quaking yell that went like this "I'M SORRY I SCRATCHED YOUR ARM". Not once, but twice. Twice the giggles I got. The whole store listening and snickering and getting extra smiles. It was like a 2-fer-1 sale. End of story within the story. My favorite part of the day.
So when Big D got home, I sang a song about smiles for miles. And maybe added in a dance. Pulling each item out slowly. Twirling them around on my finger for extra emphasis. Flashing the lace. And when I was all done, Big D was not smiling. I believe his words went something like this: "wow, this is why I should be buying your underwear. I hate them".
Don't be offended readers. This is exactly the way the story is to play out. I buy what I want. Comfort. Pleasant comfort. Big D gets annoyed with the full-coverage purchases and then he goes out and buys MORE smiles for miles. I get a double dose. Comfort smiles and hussy smiles. I could not be a bigger winner.
Take Aways
1) Everybody should have some panties that make them feel like a queen.
2) If you can't find smiles at Victoria's, don't give up. Look somewhere else. But not Fruit of the Loom.
3) Does anybody else get annoyed when their husbands resort to talking like they're 12 on the phone. "Yo man".
4) I seriously crinkle my nose to that kind of talk.
5) Two people have told me that they have written a comment to a post - but it's not there. So, if you have written a comment you should take a double peaksy to see if it's there and then let me know if it's missing.
6) Seasoned bloggers - any tidbits about what could be wrong?
I love smiles for miles, day. I love having the excuse to buy something. And I REALLY love smacking off the 12 year olds that try to steal everything in the bins that fit me. What makes it even better is having a 7 year old talking non-stop about how she thinks that boo-coverer will fit and she doesn't like the design on the panties and on and on and on and this color and that lace and on and on. And then there's Ed. He would be screaming bloody murder, in his stroller clawing at my clothes that are now barely on me. So, not only am I fighting the teeny-bops and trying to ignore the verbal and physical assault that is happening under my nose, but I also have to put up with all. those. judgmental. stares. of the perfectly pushed-up, long haired, tight-pant store workers. As well as those snarky-toothed snarl glares from the 12 year olds.
It's like I want to get my stroller and run over those toes. All those toes of those little 12 year olds who think they need push-up or lace on their buns. Listen, kid. You have to work to wear those. You have to push a few babies out of Mrs. Needlemeyer and lose all the nice-ness out of your buns before you can wear some decorations. You need to squirt milk for awhile. Have huge wobbly nipples covered in stretch marks before you should EVER think about reaching for push-up. I just want to smack their little fresh hands and show them the Fruit of the Loom aisle. I need all the help I can get from Victoria and these little spoiled hussies are stealing all of my wedded bliss helpers.
This morning, we rushed. I got the whip cracking. Dressed AND fed and off to the mall by 10:15. I was hoping that the little kids would still be in school and I wouldn't have as much of a competition versus going later in the day. I looked. And oogled. And smacked my lips - imagining my smiles. The smiles I would have for many miles. And then I decided that Victoria was driving me nuts and I didn't want to spend another second with her. So I left. And went to Aerie instead. Where I spent plenty of money and bought many smiles.
But the best part of THAT store is a story in itself. I won't name names . . . But I went with a friend. (It's much better to go with a friend) And while I was in the dressing room, Murnice informed me that my friend's son had been scratching her arms. Sure enough, her arms had red ribbons down them. So I went blazing out of the dressing room and said, "awkward conversation, but your kid is scratching my kid's arms." And she said NOTHING. Her little lips pursed real hard together. And her eyes squinted down, all nasty. And then she flailed wildly for her son. Grabbed his arm and finally said, "you can't go to the Lego store." And then there was weeping and wailing. A lot. It was loud. Really, it was more like roaring and snorting. And then she said, "you need to apologize properly." He tried to apologize, but there's too many snuffles and squeaks to be proper. He tried louder and again. And again. And again. And his mother kept saying, "that is not proper, do it again." By this point I'm over at the register checking out, smiling nicely. And then I hear a ear shattering rumble. A knee-quaking yell that went like this "I'M SORRY I SCRATCHED YOUR ARM". Not once, but twice. Twice the giggles I got. The whole store listening and snickering and getting extra smiles. It was like a 2-fer-1 sale. End of story within the story. My favorite part of the day.
So when Big D got home, I sang a song about smiles for miles. And maybe added in a dance. Pulling each item out slowly. Twirling them around on my finger for extra emphasis. Flashing the lace. And when I was all done, Big D was not smiling. I believe his words went something like this: "wow, this is why I should be buying your underwear. I hate them".
Don't be offended readers. This is exactly the way the story is to play out. I buy what I want. Comfort. Pleasant comfort. Big D gets annoyed with the full-coverage purchases and then he goes out and buys MORE smiles for miles. I get a double dose. Comfort smiles and hussy smiles. I could not be a bigger winner.
Take Aways
1) Everybody should have some panties that make them feel like a queen.
2) If you can't find smiles at Victoria's, don't give up. Look somewhere else. But not Fruit of the Loom.
3) Does anybody else get annoyed when their husbands resort to talking like they're 12 on the phone. "Yo man".
4) I seriously crinkle my nose to that kind of talk.
5) Two people have told me that they have written a comment to a post - but it's not there. So, if you have written a comment you should take a double peaksy to see if it's there and then let me know if it's missing.
6) Seasoned bloggers - any tidbits about what could be wrong?
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Queen Bee
I have a lady in my life named Queen Bee. She is one of my favorite-est people in all the land. And everybody should know about Queen Bee and should have a friend like Queen Bee.
I met her when I was in college. I was 19 and she was 15. A baby. I was doing my thing at the local Y - swim lesson jizznizzle, and I was given this baby for my helper. I don't remember much else of our early days. Except I can be sympathetic towards her parents and what they must have been feeling when their highschooler was bringing home a college student to play dolls with.
These areall the reasons a few of the reasons why Queen Bee is a necessity to life.
1) She squeals louder than a lost pig.
2) She does better twirls and gets her knees up higher on her leprechaun hops then I could ever hope to.
3) She sings loudly in the car for all to hear. (Makes my heart smile)
4) She brings me birthday presents in old paper bags of homemade gifts.
5) She snuggles Ed and Murnice in the back seat when she's on the verge of hurling chunks from being carsick..
6) She calls Big D "daddy" just to be annoying.
7) She curls up on my grease stained pee-covered couch and goes to sleep.
8) And then wakes up demanding watermelon.
9) She texts me when she's pooping. To tell me she's pooping.
10) She makes up games in the car regarding what word to say when you need to make a left or right. And what noise to make when you need to stop.
11) She is not afraid to haggle.
12) She has a nose ring and wears men's glasses.
13) She loves babies and birth and real saggy saggy money makers.
14) She helped paint my livingroom purple.
15) She has the tenderest most nonjudgmental heart I know.
16) She inspires me artfully.
17) She picks up old broken furniture on the side of the road and makes it look special and loved and shiny.
18) She makes me feel alive.
19) And loved.
20) And better about life.
21) She hates sneakers even more than I do.
22) She says things like "tell me everything" and "text me a million times".
23) She is incredibly fancy and so humble.
24) And introduces me to movies that I would have otherwise never known about.
25) And makes Big D and Murnice and Ed feel just as special as she makes me feel.
I got to spend a couple few hours with Queen Bee this weekend. And wow. It was better than the 5th bowl of chicken soup I'm eating right now. (Don't judge. I'm sick. And hungry.)
Take Aways
1) Sometimes when you pray for a friend, you get way better than you could have ever imagined.
2) Spend more time with Queen Bee.
3) Practice squealing so that one day you can outdo on the squeal competition.
4) Try to be a Queen Bee to others.
I met her when I was in college. I was 19 and she was 15. A baby. I was doing my thing at the local Y - swim lesson jizznizzle, and I was given this baby for my helper. I don't remember much else of our early days. Except I can be sympathetic towards her parents and what they must have been feeling when their highschooler was bringing home a college student to play dolls with.
These are
1) She squeals louder than a lost pig.
2) She does better twirls and gets her knees up higher on her leprechaun hops then I could ever hope to.
3) She sings loudly in the car for all to hear. (Makes my heart smile)
4) She brings me birthday presents in old paper bags of homemade gifts.
5) She snuggles Ed and Murnice in the back seat when she's on the verge of hurling chunks from being carsick..
6) She calls Big D "daddy" just to be annoying.
7) She curls up on my grease stained pee-covered couch and goes to sleep.
8) And then wakes up demanding watermelon.
9) She texts me when she's pooping. To tell me she's pooping.
10) She makes up games in the car regarding what word to say when you need to make a left or right. And what noise to make when you need to stop.
11) She is not afraid to haggle.
12) She has a nose ring and wears men's glasses.
13) She loves babies and birth and real saggy saggy money makers.
14) She helped paint my livingroom purple.
15) She has the tenderest most nonjudgmental heart I know.
16) She inspires me artfully.
17) She picks up old broken furniture on the side of the road and makes it look special and loved and shiny.
18) She makes me feel alive.
19) And loved.
20) And better about life.
21) She hates sneakers even more than I do.
22) She says things like "tell me everything" and "text me a million times".
23) She is incredibly fancy and so humble.
24) And introduces me to movies that I would have otherwise never known about.
25) And makes Big D and Murnice and Ed feel just as special as she makes me feel.
I got to spend a couple few hours with Queen Bee this weekend. And wow. It was better than the 5th bowl of chicken soup I'm eating right now. (Don't judge. I'm sick. And hungry.)
Take Aways
1) Sometimes when you pray for a friend, you get way better than you could have ever imagined.
2) Spend more time with Queen Bee.
3) Practice squealing so that one day you can outdo on the squeal competition.
4) Try to be a Queen Bee to others.
Monday, June 10, 2013
If You're Fancy and You Know it Clap Your Hands
So the lady of Friday Friends graduated from a very prestigious school with her MBA. So proud of her. And her husband, as he has worked so hard at being supportive and loving and patient and enthusiastic and loving and gracious and loving. It's been such a privilege watching this dance take place. Such a privilege walking life with them. Such a privilege being so incredibly open with marriage together. (Big D goes out one week with the lady of Friday Friends and the next week I go out with the Mr.) (Kidding) We just talk about all the ooey gooey. We've cried in front of each other. Had high energy dance parties. Had sleep overs. Belly button shots? (Not answering that question) Fancy dinners. Messy dinners. I can't think of anything that is too above sharing with Friday Friends. I can't imagine life without Friday Friends.
So anyway, we were invited to the actual graduation ceremony. And thank the Lord, we had enough wisdom to wear appropriate clothes. Some women were acutally wearing evening gowns. Or so it looked. Super fancy. Which made me feel extra snorty. I can't help it. The fancier the event, the snortier I feel and the harder it is for me to try not to act like a complete pig. So difficult for me.
By the time we got there it was starting. The band was blaring and the graduates marching and we were scrambling to find a spot for our family and our large bag of funness. We found our special spot on the 3 floor at the very back. Or should I say, top. We were actually in the nose bleed section. And when I stood up with my knees straight - I felt like i was going to topple down 3 very huge flights. So I stayed seated.
These are the things I noticed while seated up so high.
1) Anytime a graduates name was announced due to some fancy award, the entire crowd would all slowly lean forward, as if to catch a glimpse of the special someone. There was no possible way of seeing the graduate, but they all tried. And trying counts for something.
2) Everybody was on their phone. Some people were catching up on their blogs they follow. Some people were sharing pictures from their facebook accounts. It was neat.
3) My favorite thing that i noticed was, when a graduate got called out individually with an award, or special acknowledgement, the parent - if they were seated on the 3rd floor - would jump up on their feet and clap hysterically. Kind of like that one time on Anne of Green Gables when Anne does something really great and Gilbert jumps up and claps so hard and so fast that his floofy hair gets a waggling. Ok, that's what it was like. So the parent (or relative) would be Gilbert Clapping and then slowly they would look to the right. And slowly look to the left. And they would notice that nobody else was clapping. We just didn't care about that person. We were all trying to keep our noses together. And their clapping would slowly die into a normal clap and then they would sit down - melting into the crowd. Anyway, I loved that part. It happened quite a few times. And I giggled.
For the next hour and a half we sat and listened to speeches and names called. Ed kept getting his big rubbered shoes all tangled up in my dress. That got me excited. My nose was running hysterically due to the guy who was sitting on my right. He either was wearing super dusty clothes or has a cat. Murnice kept whispering "how much longer". And then 4 pages away from screaming for Friday Friends, Murnice informs us that she has to use the lady's room. *grumble grumble grumble* And then we're 2 pages away from hooting and hollering and Murnice really lets us know that she needs to use the lady's room.
Well, Murnice. Your timing could not be any better. So, we decided that I would make a hurricane trip to the lady's room and we would meet on the 2nd floor to clap our hands and stomp our feet. And wouldn't you know, when we got out to the 2nd floor there was a sleeping baby. So we roared and cheered in our hearts, remembering what it was like to finally have the baby asleep. Dang baby.
And then we hightailed it out of there and Big D rushed me to the sidewalk art fair. Where I found a happier disposition and bought something that made Big D grumpy.
And that's my story of going to the fanciest graduation ceremony known to man kind.
Take Aways
1) Thank Jesus that fancy graduations are few and far in between.
2) Thank Jesus for the sidewalk art sale.
3) Get to fancy graduations earlier. Much much earlier.
4) Before going to another fancy graduation, make sure there will be an art festival in walking distance.
5) Sit on an end aisle to avoid dusty people or cat lovers.
So anyway, we were invited to the actual graduation ceremony. And thank the Lord, we had enough wisdom to wear appropriate clothes. Some women were acutally wearing evening gowns. Or so it looked. Super fancy. Which made me feel extra snorty. I can't help it. The fancier the event, the snortier I feel and the harder it is for me to try not to act like a complete pig. So difficult for me.
By the time we got there it was starting. The band was blaring and the graduates marching and we were scrambling to find a spot for our family and our large bag of funness. We found our special spot on the 3 floor at the very back. Or should I say, top. We were actually in the nose bleed section. And when I stood up with my knees straight - I felt like i was going to topple down 3 very huge flights. So I stayed seated.
These are the things I noticed while seated up so high.
1) Anytime a graduates name was announced due to some fancy award, the entire crowd would all slowly lean forward, as if to catch a glimpse of the special someone. There was no possible way of seeing the graduate, but they all tried. And trying counts for something.
2) Everybody was on their phone. Some people were catching up on their blogs they follow. Some people were sharing pictures from their facebook accounts. It was neat.
3) My favorite thing that i noticed was, when a graduate got called out individually with an award, or special acknowledgement, the parent - if they were seated on the 3rd floor - would jump up on their feet and clap hysterically. Kind of like that one time on Anne of Green Gables when Anne does something really great and Gilbert jumps up and claps so hard and so fast that his floofy hair gets a waggling. Ok, that's what it was like. So the parent (or relative) would be Gilbert Clapping and then slowly they would look to the right. And slowly look to the left. And they would notice that nobody else was clapping. We just didn't care about that person. We were all trying to keep our noses together. And their clapping would slowly die into a normal clap and then they would sit down - melting into the crowd. Anyway, I loved that part. It happened quite a few times. And I giggled.
For the next hour and a half we sat and listened to speeches and names called. Ed kept getting his big rubbered shoes all tangled up in my dress. That got me excited. My nose was running hysterically due to the guy who was sitting on my right. He either was wearing super dusty clothes or has a cat. Murnice kept whispering "how much longer". And then 4 pages away from screaming for Friday Friends, Murnice informs us that she has to use the lady's room. *grumble grumble grumble* And then we're 2 pages away from hooting and hollering and Murnice really lets us know that she needs to use the lady's room.
Well, Murnice. Your timing could not be any better. So, we decided that I would make a hurricane trip to the lady's room and we would meet on the 2nd floor to clap our hands and stomp our feet. And wouldn't you know, when we got out to the 2nd floor there was a sleeping baby. So we roared and cheered in our hearts, remembering what it was like to finally have the baby asleep. Dang baby.
And then we hightailed it out of there and Big D rushed me to the sidewalk art fair. Where I found a happier disposition and bought something that made Big D grumpy.
And that's my story of going to the fanciest graduation ceremony known to man kind.
Take Aways
1) Thank Jesus that fancy graduations are few and far in between.
2) Thank Jesus for the sidewalk art sale.
3) Get to fancy graduations earlier. Much much earlier.
4) Before going to another fancy graduation, make sure there will be an art festival in walking distance.
5) Sit on an end aisle to avoid dusty people or cat lovers.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Needy Night
I don't mean to sound needy . . . Actually I am feeling needy and I'm not ashamed to say so. At least tonight.
At the bottom of my posts, in really small gray words, there is something called "reactions". Just click on that little box to give my poor needy self some numbers. Also, if there are any fancy new ideas for different "reactions" I would love to hear them.
Thanks to all you classy cats for snooping up on my life and letting me know that you're enjoying it. It makes me feel like a queen to hear that news.
Ps - I have my tight pants on.
Pss - If you don't know what that means - SNL tight pants. Youtube it.
Psss - If easily offended by a word that starts with B and rhymes with witch - don't watch. They say it once.
At the bottom of my posts, in really small gray words, there is something called "reactions". Just click on that little box to give my poor needy self some numbers. Also, if there are any fancy new ideas for different "reactions" I would love to hear them.
Thanks to all you classy cats for snooping up on my life and letting me know that you're enjoying it. It makes me feel like a queen to hear that news.
Ps - I have my tight pants on.
Pss - If you don't know what that means - SNL tight pants. Youtube it.
Psss - If easily offended by a word that starts with B and rhymes with witch - don't watch. They say it once.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Green Pants in the Rain is Better Than No Pants in the Rain
Praise the Lord, it has rained all day. Lovely lovely dark rain. The kind where all forms of productivity are put on hold. And your couch gets a little extra wear and tear. Or maybe it's just a big indent. Bigger indent. And a few more crumbs and greasy smears appear. And dishes collect on the floor surrounding the couch. It's most certainly couch day.
I love wearing couch clothes, which consist of . . . Green sweatpants with a huge grease smear on my left upper thigh. That would be from last nights dinner. I made salt block stew. And it landed on my pants because everybody loved it that much. Also on the left leg, I have dried on yogurt that fell on the floor this morning and splattered all over . . . my green sweatpants. On my right leg, upper thigh region, I have smeared ricotta cheese from last nights salt block stew. Ed was so pleased when he took his first bite, that he immediately shoved both hands into his mouth, gagged, and spit everything onto the floor. There were tears involved and very messy ricotta fingers that landed on my green sweatpants. On the top region of my hot bod, I'm wearing a red zipper hoodie. The sleeves are a tad too small as well as the bodice. But it is too comfy not to wear. On my left sleeve (right on the ribbed portion) I have a large gob of rubbed into exploded yogurt. It's crunchy and looks as though it's fading the red coloring of my sleeve.
I do not feel like a queen today.
Now today is Mom Group. Actually, it's when Betty Boop and I get together and smile and nod, because nobody else comes to it. Bom Group starts at 10am and I was feeling a bit adventurous. Adventurous actually spelled out is: No food in the house/starving. So I decided that a trip to the grocer was in order AFTER I dumped yogurt all over my Christmas outfit with approximately 20 minutes to spare before Betty Boo and crew arrived. I love to work under pressure. I perform so much better and efficiently..
I rush my list together. Grab my phone, keys, and money (budget - can't just use credit card *said in a really obnoxious whiny snarly voice*) Actually remembered to remind Murnice to use the bathroom. (For whatever reason, she will only go if told to go . . . *growling*) And put Ed's shoes on. And then remembered that Ed was not wearing a diaper, and we have never left the house without a pee-catcher. I left the lights on with the music. (Sometimes I like to come home with the lights and music on. It makes me feel like my house is welcoming me back. And I feel loved and wanted.) *Dear Jesus, please please please put a plug on Ed's urine production* Where's my shoes. "Murnice, grab the bags!" No blue, Ed. It has to stay home.
Mad chaos that lasted about 49 seconds. And then we all tumbled out the door. (Tumbling actually happens, because when the Witherhalls try to leave their house, the children rush forward, which makes it near impossible to open the door. Once the door is actually opened and all the children have moved accordingly, after being clunked on the head with bags, and toes have been properly stepped on, and noses have been crammed in corners, we - the adults, then have to open another door. The screen door. That door has to be pushed out. There are always children plastered up against the screen door which can only lead to tumbling out onto the stoop. Every time, this routine gets me really excited.)
So we make it outside onto the stoop and Murnice takes off to the car. It's raining quite heavily. Ed on the other hand doesn't want to move. More like, he's in a magical place and can't think about anything else besides the earth's gift of rain. And puddles. So that means Mother and her new blue leather bag must haul Ed to the car. And all you mother's know that sticking a child in a carseat when it's raining, is almost as bad as going to bed with your socks on. Half of you is in the car, the other half is hanging out. THE WORST. And Ed, like most children I'm sure, just looks out into the world unable to do anything helpful. "You want me to put my arms in the straps? Well, I'm just going to sit here nicely with my hands folded in my lap". Locked up with tetanus. Unwilling to move.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!! Do you think I enjoy getting my bottom half washed. All slippy slimy, moist and damp? While I wrestle your arms into their rightful spot. Moments like those make me as pleased as punch. Pleased. As. Punch.
We got to the grocer in record time. Was only almost hit once due to the poor new parking lot set up. We hustled. We rolled. I whispered a lot of anti-pee slogans. And then I noticed it was Grandma day. And you just can't roar around with Grandmas everywhere. They are just too sweet and startily. So we kept our wheel squealing to a minimum and grabbed our 5 +3 items.
With a friendly reminder to wear my hat in the rain, from a 'helping hand' - we screeched back home only 30 seconds over our time limit. And do you know what the first thing Betty Boop said to me?
"NICE GREEN PANTS!!!" Actually she hollered this to me. From her car.
And that's how the beginning moments of my day went.
Take Aways
1) Never invite Betty Boop over when you're wearing green pants
2) Wear your hat in the rain
3) And never bring the children anywhere while it's raining
4) Unless they can get themselves buckled up
5) Actually, just stay on your couch. Forever.
6) An interview question I had yesterday: interviewer - "Do you have a favorite location in the world" Foxy - "My couch"
7) I'm not ashamed by that answer. Unlike Big D who almost died when I told him.
8) Ed did not pee his pants. That would have added a whole new element to the post if he did.
9) There is nothing of significance to this post - minus a look into my ridiculous mom life.
I love wearing couch clothes, which consist of . . . Green sweatpants with a huge grease smear on my left upper thigh. That would be from last nights dinner. I made salt block stew. And it landed on my pants because everybody loved it that much. Also on the left leg, I have dried on yogurt that fell on the floor this morning and splattered all over . . . my green sweatpants. On my right leg, upper thigh region, I have smeared ricotta cheese from last nights salt block stew. Ed was so pleased when he took his first bite, that he immediately shoved both hands into his mouth, gagged, and spit everything onto the floor. There were tears involved and very messy ricotta fingers that landed on my green sweatpants. On the top region of my hot bod, I'm wearing a red zipper hoodie. The sleeves are a tad too small as well as the bodice. But it is too comfy not to wear. On my left sleeve (right on the ribbed portion) I have a large gob of rubbed into exploded yogurt. It's crunchy and looks as though it's fading the red coloring of my sleeve.
I do not feel like a queen today.
Now today is Mom Group. Actually, it's when Betty Boop and I get together and smile and nod, because nobody else comes to it. Bom Group starts at 10am and I was feeling a bit adventurous. Adventurous actually spelled out is: No food in the house/starving. So I decided that a trip to the grocer was in order AFTER I dumped yogurt all over my Christmas outfit with approximately 20 minutes to spare before Betty Boo and crew arrived. I love to work under pressure. I perform so much better and efficiently..
I rush my list together. Grab my phone, keys, and money (budget - can't just use credit card *said in a really obnoxious whiny snarly voice*) Actually remembered to remind Murnice to use the bathroom. (For whatever reason, she will only go if told to go . . . *growling*) And put Ed's shoes on. And then remembered that Ed was not wearing a diaper, and we have never left the house without a pee-catcher. I left the lights on with the music. (Sometimes I like to come home with the lights and music on. It makes me feel like my house is welcoming me back. And I feel loved and wanted.) *Dear Jesus, please please please put a plug on Ed's urine production* Where's my shoes. "Murnice, grab the bags!" No blue, Ed. It has to stay home.
Mad chaos that lasted about 49 seconds. And then we all tumbled out the door. (Tumbling actually happens, because when the Witherhalls try to leave their house, the children rush forward, which makes it near impossible to open the door. Once the door is actually opened and all the children have moved accordingly, after being clunked on the head with bags, and toes have been properly stepped on, and noses have been crammed in corners, we - the adults, then have to open another door. The screen door. That door has to be pushed out. There are always children plastered up against the screen door which can only lead to tumbling out onto the stoop. Every time, this routine gets me really excited.)
So we make it outside onto the stoop and Murnice takes off to the car. It's raining quite heavily. Ed on the other hand doesn't want to move. More like, he's in a magical place and can't think about anything else besides the earth's gift of rain. And puddles. So that means Mother and her new blue leather bag must haul Ed to the car. And all you mother's know that sticking a child in a carseat when it's raining, is almost as bad as going to bed with your socks on. Half of you is in the car, the other half is hanging out. THE WORST. And Ed, like most children I'm sure, just looks out into the world unable to do anything helpful. "You want me to put my arms in the straps? Well, I'm just going to sit here nicely with my hands folded in my lap". Locked up with tetanus. Unwilling to move.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!! Do you think I enjoy getting my bottom half washed. All slippy slimy, moist and damp? While I wrestle your arms into their rightful spot. Moments like those make me as pleased as punch. Pleased. As. Punch.
We got to the grocer in record time. Was only almost hit once due to the poor new parking lot set up. We hustled. We rolled. I whispered a lot of anti-pee slogans. And then I noticed it was Grandma day. And you just can't roar around with Grandmas everywhere. They are just too sweet and startily. So we kept our wheel squealing to a minimum and grabbed our 5 +3 items.
With a friendly reminder to wear my hat in the rain, from a 'helping hand' - we screeched back home only 30 seconds over our time limit. And do you know what the first thing Betty Boop said to me?
"NICE GREEN PANTS!!!" Actually she hollered this to me. From her car.
And that's how the beginning moments of my day went.
Take Aways
1) Never invite Betty Boop over when you're wearing green pants
2) Wear your hat in the rain
3) And never bring the children anywhere while it's raining
4) Unless they can get themselves buckled up
5) Actually, just stay on your couch. Forever.
6) An interview question I had yesterday: interviewer - "Do you have a favorite location in the world" Foxy - "My couch"
7) I'm not ashamed by that answer. Unlike Big D who almost died when I told him.
8) Ed did not pee his pants. That would have added a whole new element to the post if he did.
9) There is nothing of significance to this post - minus a look into my ridiculous mom life.
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