Sex. I am fully aware that sex is not the highlight of a marriage. But right now, it seems like it is. It's there, the holy grail of full fledged adulthood. I can see it peaking at me from dusty corners and poopy toilet lids. It hides in the grease film that engulfs my head and the toe hairs that feel the need to party. It taunts me playing catch-me-if-you-can. And because it's so close and so unachievable, I think about it ALL. DAY. LONG.
I JUST WANT TO FEEL LIKE A WOMAN. With lady bits. Who is in a relationship with somebody who thinks my lady bits are neat.
And you know, I am in this relationship with this man who knows what a spanking is. And he thinks my lady bits are pretty neat. (At least he used to. It's been so long I'm not even sure he knows what lady bits are anymore.)
We do all the right things. Write messages on pieces of paper that float around in the dustbowl aka our mole hole aka the place we call home. We even use our phones, because a picture is worth a thousand words. And sometimes words are worth as many words as you typed. We smile at each other nicely. We talk (in person) how wonderful it would be to "play that old banjo" and "eat at the clam bake" and "fox trot around the world" and "twist and shout". We talk about it all. With smiles of course.
But here's the problem.
WAILING WILLIAM IS HIS NAME, WAILING WILLIAM IS HIS GAME
For real. I have another baby. And all of that ^^^^^ is true. Without an ounce of writers exaggeration.
And so all the time that I could be spending "filling up the old urn" and "walking the bat cave" I instead spend feeding forever my first love child. (For real, he is my first love child. *sigh* *giggle* that was fun. A time when my body was a wonderland. And sleep was optional. And overrated. And sometimes, downright stupid.) And washing dishes for Big D because he's never home. And sometimes I like to show him that I love him. And homeschooling. And laundry and cleaning the pee pool that collects at the back of my toilet. Laundry. And enzyming the poop stains away. And making up things to eat, because that takes a real artist. Especially when you don't go grocery shopping. You would think that my baby weight might have dwindled. Not an ounce. Not. One. Bloody. Ounce. It's stuck. And boy, do I feel like a woman. Well, surfacely. My thighs not only touch each other. They smoosh and smack and dimple. And when I walk they do their own dance. Actually, everything does its own dance. Quite an interesting sensation . . . .bunny trailllllll .......................And I spend money. Because apparently I stress spend money. And amazon prime is secretly my lover. And poor Big D is stuck smack in the middle of it. Too tired to yell at me. And too in love with me since I washed his dishes.
It's dreadful. I sit and feed WW and then just think. Think about all the neat things I should look up to see if AP has it. Did you know that almonds are amazing? As in superfood amazing. And they make really good milk for WW. Because apparently my super power right now is making milk. But did you know that raw almonds aren't really raw. At least in the US. They have to be pasteurized. And that happens with either a steam process that cooks most of the goodness away. Or, with a chemical toxic waste fumigation bath. And so if you want almonds, simple simple almonds. With all the goodness that they're supposed to come with, you have to dig hard to make sure you're getting plain old almonds. How incredibly stupid is that. I JUST WANT A BLOODY ALMOND! Straight from the tree. Pick the damn almond and hand it over. Apparently, it can't be done. Sorry WW, you have to have half-ass milk.
So that's the trouble I get in, just by pulling out my milk bags. But I do want to tell you some good news. We (Big D and I) found a time to have our genitalia go a courting. It actually happened.
Dinner was sizzling on the stove, at the verge of being done (sausage. No pun intended. For real.) The kids were 5 minutes from the end of their movie they were watching, WW was at the very last seconds of his evening nap, and Friday Friends were to arrive at any moment. Yes, all of this was happening, and it was the most prime(al) time to reacquaint ourselves.
Does it count if you lift the lid of a garbage dumpster, peak inside at all the goodies, snatch one thing, and then leave . . . does that count as dumpster diving?
And I'll leave you to figure out what all of that means. It's not too difficult. But I will say, that's how incredibly awesome it was. (sarcasm dripping like a diarrhea explosion)
I'll end with this: there is always hope. That's my take away. And my two cents. And my best advice. And the coolest thing I could come up with to say. And what I really believe.
Because if I didn't believe that, there would be no reason at all to try again. To be and do my absolute best. And so I make the conscious choice to choose to hope.
Showing posts with label whiner pants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label whiner pants. Show all posts
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Monday, December 16, 2013
False Advertising Deserves a Nose Tweak
So I got this email about a local production of the Nutcracker ballet.
Key juicy points:
1) It was rated on a professional level as: just below the city's Nutcracker ballet.
2) Tickets were only $5 a person.
3) The show was run by a Russian. And Russians know how to dance.
Things I planned:
1) Fun, family, Sunday-afternoon, culturalization time - for cheap. So if anybody pooped their pants in the middle of the performance, I wouldn't feel crazy about leaving.
2) It was a surprise for Murnice. Beautiful costumes and fancy ladies twirling. What 8 year old wouldn't feel like a queen?
3) I invited Friday Friends. That was a surprise too.
4) Dinner all together after the ballet.
5) Big family smiles, as we shared the day together with good entertainment, good fellowship (I hate that word - so I used it just to annoy other people who hate that word), and good food.
The way it really went down:
1) It really cost $8 per person.
2) There were about 37 people there. All parents and grandparents.
3) I don't have words to describe the horrific-ness of the actual ballet. But I'll try.
a. the music was crammed through ginormous loud speakers. I use the word "cram" because there are no other words for: way-too-loud-with-the-tone-set-to-make-your-eardrums-bleed.
b. we were only given two clues that we were actually watching the Nutcracker. Clue #1 they played Nutcracker music Clue #2 the first scene was Clara waltzing around with her nutcracker, in her see-through nighty
c. there is nothing more possibly maddening, then to be watching a performance - of any sort - only to have to watch a bunch of snotty-nosed little kids run around in circles with no rhyme or reason. What makes it ever worse, is when the mothers scream a little louder, clap a little harder, and bounce up and down in their seats. (Yes, that all happened)
d. the worst part for me, was when the Arabian dancers came out. Grown-ups. And they couldn't dance at all. Not in sync for a second. They did the same 4 moves the entire dance. One Arabian dancer put her pants on backwards. They tried being sexy - which only made it so much more uncomfortable.
4) Murnice cried. She hated every part of it.
5) Friday Friends never showed up. Nor have they told us why they didn't show up. It's all very fishy.
6) The show lasted 40 minutes. Worst $8 ever spent in the history of spending money.
7) The place we ended up eating at smelled of moth balls and musty car oil. And I'm pretty sure my burger was a rotting tortoise carcass.
8) Big D and I fought the whole time.
Do I sound like an ungrateful fleabag?
Once again I'm spit-fired, flustered at the way a simple afternoon was supposed to go. At least I didn't almost die again.
I guess it's just more confirmation that the couch is where I belong.
On a side note, I actually got dressed to leave the house. Big D said that I looked so lovely. And that my breasts looked lushishly large. (That's what happens when you put a bra on for the first time in forever)
P.S. Does anybody else love to sniff down their own shirt to smell their musty armpits? I am not ashamed.
Key juicy points:
1) It was rated on a professional level as: just below the city's Nutcracker ballet.
2) Tickets were only $5 a person.
3) The show was run by a Russian. And Russians know how to dance.
Things I planned:
1) Fun, family, Sunday-afternoon, culturalization time - for cheap. So if anybody pooped their pants in the middle of the performance, I wouldn't feel crazy about leaving.
2) It was a surprise for Murnice. Beautiful costumes and fancy ladies twirling. What 8 year old wouldn't feel like a queen?
3) I invited Friday Friends. That was a surprise too.
4) Dinner all together after the ballet.
5) Big family smiles, as we shared the day together with good entertainment, good fellowship (I hate that word - so I used it just to annoy other people who hate that word), and good food.
The way it really went down:
1) It really cost $8 per person.
2) There were about 37 people there. All parents and grandparents.
3) I don't have words to describe the horrific-ness of the actual ballet. But I'll try.
a. the music was crammed through ginormous loud speakers. I use the word "cram" because there are no other words for: way-too-loud-with-the-tone-set-to-make-your-eardrums-bleed.
b. we were only given two clues that we were actually watching the Nutcracker. Clue #1 they played Nutcracker music Clue #2 the first scene was Clara waltzing around with her nutcracker, in her see-through nighty
c. there is nothing more possibly maddening, then to be watching a performance - of any sort - only to have to watch a bunch of snotty-nosed little kids run around in circles with no rhyme or reason. What makes it ever worse, is when the mothers scream a little louder, clap a little harder, and bounce up and down in their seats. (Yes, that all happened)
d. the worst part for me, was when the Arabian dancers came out. Grown-ups. And they couldn't dance at all. Not in sync for a second. They did the same 4 moves the entire dance. One Arabian dancer put her pants on backwards. They tried being sexy - which only made it so much more uncomfortable.
4) Murnice cried. She hated every part of it.
5) Friday Friends never showed up. Nor have they told us why they didn't show up. It's all very fishy.
6) The show lasted 40 minutes. Worst $8 ever spent in the history of spending money.
7) The place we ended up eating at smelled of moth balls and musty car oil. And I'm pretty sure my burger was a rotting tortoise carcass.
8) Big D and I fought the whole time.
Do I sound like an ungrateful fleabag?
Once again I'm spit-fired, flustered at the way a simple afternoon was supposed to go. At least I didn't almost die again.
I guess it's just more confirmation that the couch is where I belong.
On a side note, I actually got dressed to leave the house. Big D said that I looked so lovely. And that my breasts looked lushishly large. (That's what happens when you put a bra on for the first time in forever)
P.S. Does anybody else love to sniff down their own shirt to smell their musty armpits? I am not ashamed.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Some Days are Good. Some Days are Bad. This Week has Been Awful.
I wish there was something great to say to the world. ... I guess the greatest thing there is to say is: I'm still alive. And so are the kids. Big D . . . . . barely hanging on, ready to move into his own bachey pad.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
You're probably wondering what the "stupidest event of the year" is. And I would be pleased as punch to tell you all.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
I've been having quite a difficult week. So difficult in fact, I don't even have anything sarcastic to say about it.
The awfulness kinda started on Sunday, where the kids thought it would be grand to cry all day. I liked that so much. And then Murnice grew a fever.
Monday the kids cried all day. Except I was home alone, because Big D still has a job. And I reached an all time low of screaming and yelling, but not being satisfied with the decibel being used. I wanted the yelps and roars to be louder. I don't think that's ever happened to me before. Generally, raising the voice brings some sort of relief.
Normally, I can hold everything together like a regular old adult when Big D comes home at regular time. The count down begins at 4 pm. And usually everyone survives.
But Monday night, Big D attended the stupidest event of the year. Literally.
But, on our shared calender, it said that "relief" would be here at 7pm. That's what it said. And I literally believe the calender. Because I have to put my hope in something. I need to have some sort of count down. And 7 is only 1 hour later than normal. And I thought I might be able to be a normal adult and hang on to life in an orderly fashion for one extra hour that day.
And 7 turned to 7:30, and I had all the crying and screaming I could take for 3 years piled on top of each other. And then I turned really ugly. I think black tentacles crawled out of my butt. And maybe, but I'm not sure - I turned into her.
Stupidest Event of the Year:
Some big wig that probably only practices missionary position, who has way too much money and has the need to flaunt, feel important, flaunt some more and a whole array of other issues that I want to talk about but won't because I want to show Big D how much of a big normal adult I am sometimes. . . . . .decides that there is no other way possible, to show his appreciation to the world that he employs, then to throw a stupid dumb butt clam bake.
Big D finally came home around 8 - just in time to put Blessing 1 and Blessing 2 to bed. And I was in such a sour mood, I thought it highly appropriate to write more about flushing babies down the toilet.
That put the icing on the cake. I was in such a wicked mood when I was done. It marinated all night, and was quite potent on Tuesday morning.
At this point Murnice was feeling better but complaining about a slight sore throat. Ed, on the other hand could not keep his fingers out of his anus. He was itching and scratching so bad, to the point where he would wake up in the middle of the night and ask for "man-unders" just so he could scratch his poor anus. I thought it was a rash at first, but nothing was helping it. In fact it was getting worse. And then Mother suggested pin worms.
Glory be.
Our day Tuesday, was just as bad as Monday. So much gnashing of teeth. Mainly from Ed. Obnoxiously more so than usual.
By the time Wednesday came around, I was emotionally spent and done. All of my grace had been used up. Empty of patience. Sweet words and kind smiles ran away days ago. And I had nothing left to give.
I managed a doctor run where I was told Murnice had strep and Ed had a staph infection.
And then I went home and held my head in my hands and waited until 3, when I promptly called Big D and told him that if he cared about the sanctity of human life . . . . now was the time to show me where he stood on that whole debate.
So today is Thursday. I've had the chance to breath 40% more than the other days. I managed a trip to Marshalls with a 79% satisfaction rate. I fed the kids chemicals and dye for lunch aka mac and cheese. And I'm growing my armpit hair out. I can almost twisty it. I have passed out 4 kisses. And even muttered the words "I love you". AND I know what we're having for dinner, and it's only 4 o'clock. Feeling almost like a queen.
Take Aways
1) Be thankful for sperm donors who have the kindness in their heart to leave their plush, quiet offices to come hold screaming blessings.
2) Run Away.
3) Consciously breathe.
4) Embrace the all time lows, it makes any other day seem glorious.
Monday, September 16, 2013
The Day I Almost Died
I almost died.
I probably almost die all the time, but most of those times I'm completely unaware. This time, I was very aware.
It started out with a miscommunication problem. Or, a-not-reading-correctly moment. Which ever you choose..The main point is, it was not my mistake.
Our plan was to make a trip to visit Iss and her husband. And watch the horse races. And gamble away our 3 pennies. I don't believe in gambling. But Big D does, and when he gambles, I cross all my toes and fingers and hope for luckiness.
But when we got to Iss's house, and looked up our next day's frivolities - we were crushed to find out that "somebody" had misread the calendar. *ahem ahem* And there would be no gambling. Which lead to tears.
And then there was this extra time that needed to be filled. And what better way to enjoy friends and the beautiful end of summer than to go to a state park?
Sounds lovely. The idea was pitched to me like this: "So, it looks like it will be a great day to head to the park, if that sounds nice to you guys. We could pack a picnic. They have some fun little playgrounds. Even a zip line. And then a little hike if you want to."
Oh my, so low key. And manageable.
(Silly me to think such things.. . . )
We had a beautiful lunch. Perfect sunny warm and crisp air. Perfect combination of poo poo and J with plain salty chips and dilly picks - that Ed ate most of. Which made us sad.
And then the kids and the not kids had a grand time on the zip lines. And we made theories and hypothesises of which zip line was longer and which zip line was faster. And all sorts of silly conversations that made us feel smart.
And then the world blurred, while I was kidnapped and wisked away to the hiking location. I really am not sure what happened. But then, we were "there". And there were a lot of happy people. And families. And picnickers. And backpacks. And hiking shoes. And I felt very nervous, because: a) I don't hike b) the thought of hiking makes my tummy hurt c) when my tummy hurts, I get diarrhea explosions d) there are no bathrooms on hikes and e) I wasn't wearing a backpack.
I was also led to believe that this particular hike was "short" and "easy". That we would get to a "certain spot" and then turn around and come back.
And the hike began. It began with a flight of metal stairs that went straight down. Straight down the side of a mountain. Like your old grandmother's stairs that go down into the basement. Steep and narrow, and practically on top of each other. Like, you have to walk down with your feet sideways. Because there's no room for a full foot facing forward.
Welcome to hiking. And death.
And then it went from bad to worser. At least with the stairs there was a railing to hold on to.
Not so much with the rest of the hike.
The entire hike was on the ledge of a mountain. The foot path was a whopping yard wide. To the right was mountain that went straight up. To the left was mountain that went straight down.
Did I mention we had the beautiful children with us?
Did I also mention that the place (aka footpath) was over crowded with every troll, mountaineer, billy goat gruff, and lunatic that thought it was a good idea to go hiking on the ledge of a mountain that day as well?
Now, I'm not scared of heights. However, something physically happens to me when I'm up high. (I think it's because my buns are so used to being smooshed on the couch, in a "low" position.) I get really dizzy and my legs shake in a non-queen like manner.
Being shaky and dizzy is not a good mixture for ledge walking. Or for any type of walking.
I kept looking and judging the other troll mother's faces. Trying to get a good read of enjoyment or exhaustion. Or pure horror. And every other troll looked as pleased as punch that they chose such a death defying activity for the day. Which made me even more grumpy. I could not identify with anyone. I couldn't make "eyes" or share in knowing, sympathetic head nods. Or even lip crumples.
And then, after I had given up hope for ever finding the "certain spot" to turn around - the trail ended. It was over. And I renewed my secret oath of never going on a hike ever again, for real. And signed it with my own blood. And thanked Jesus that I didn't dive over the side of the mountain head first. And also thanked Jesus that neither kid bolted over the side of the mountain.
Take Aways
1) The Foxtrot belongs on her couch.
2) I do not like thinking about my scraping by. Therefore, I shall not think about it.
3) Big D thought the hike was grand. That's because he has no sense of parental protection.
4) Which makes me really excited.
5) The pickles were nice.
The end.
I probably almost die all the time, but most of those times I'm completely unaware. This time, I was very aware.
It started out with a miscommunication problem. Or, a-not-reading-correctly moment. Which ever you choose..The main point is, it was not my mistake.
Our plan was to make a trip to visit Iss and her husband. And watch the horse races. And gamble away our 3 pennies. I don't believe in gambling. But Big D does, and when he gambles, I cross all my toes and fingers and hope for luckiness.
But when we got to Iss's house, and looked up our next day's frivolities - we were crushed to find out that "somebody" had misread the calendar. *ahem ahem* And there would be no gambling. Which lead to tears.
And then there was this extra time that needed to be filled. And what better way to enjoy friends and the beautiful end of summer than to go to a state park?
Sounds lovely. The idea was pitched to me like this: "So, it looks like it will be a great day to head to the park, if that sounds nice to you guys. We could pack a picnic. They have some fun little playgrounds. Even a zip line. And then a little hike if you want to."
Oh my, so low key. And manageable.
(Silly me to think such things.. . . )
We had a beautiful lunch. Perfect sunny warm and crisp air. Perfect combination of poo poo and J with plain salty chips and dilly picks - that Ed ate most of. Which made us sad.
And then the kids and the not kids had a grand time on the zip lines. And we made theories and hypothesises of which zip line was longer and which zip line was faster. And all sorts of silly conversations that made us feel smart.
And then the world blurred, while I was kidnapped and wisked away to the hiking location. I really am not sure what happened. But then, we were "there". And there were a lot of happy people. And families. And picnickers. And backpacks. And hiking shoes. And I felt very nervous, because: a) I don't hike b) the thought of hiking makes my tummy hurt c) when my tummy hurts, I get diarrhea explosions d) there are no bathrooms on hikes and e) I wasn't wearing a backpack.
I was also led to believe that this particular hike was "short" and "easy". That we would get to a "certain spot" and then turn around and come back.
And the hike began. It began with a flight of metal stairs that went straight down. Straight down the side of a mountain. Like your old grandmother's stairs that go down into the basement. Steep and narrow, and practically on top of each other. Like, you have to walk down with your feet sideways. Because there's no room for a full foot facing forward.
Welcome to hiking. And death.
And then it went from bad to worser. At least with the stairs there was a railing to hold on to.
Not so much with the rest of the hike.
The entire hike was on the ledge of a mountain. The foot path was a whopping yard wide. To the right was mountain that went straight up. To the left was mountain that went straight down.
Did I mention we had the beautiful children with us?
Did I also mention that the place (aka footpath) was over crowded with every troll, mountaineer, billy goat gruff, and lunatic that thought it was a good idea to go hiking on the ledge of a mountain that day as well?
Now, I'm not scared of heights. However, something physically happens to me when I'm up high. (I think it's because my buns are so used to being smooshed on the couch, in a "low" position.) I get really dizzy and my legs shake in a non-queen like manner.
Being shaky and dizzy is not a good mixture for ledge walking. Or for any type of walking.
I kept looking and judging the other troll mother's faces. Trying to get a good read of enjoyment or exhaustion. Or pure horror. And every other troll looked as pleased as punch that they chose such a death defying activity for the day. Which made me even more grumpy. I could not identify with anyone. I couldn't make "eyes" or share in knowing, sympathetic head nods. Or even lip crumples.
And then, after I had given up hope for ever finding the "certain spot" to turn around - the trail ended. It was over. And I renewed my secret oath of never going on a hike ever again, for real. And signed it with my own blood. And thanked Jesus that I didn't dive over the side of the mountain head first. And also thanked Jesus that neither kid bolted over the side of the mountain.
Take Aways
1) The Foxtrot belongs on her couch.
2) I do not like thinking about my scraping by. Therefore, I shall not think about it.
3) Big D thought the hike was grand. That's because he has no sense of parental protection.
4) Which makes me really excited.
5) The pickles were nice.
The end.
Monday, August 26, 2013
Worst Idea of the Year Thus Far
I'm derailing from doom and gloom today. Just need a little break.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
So, once upon a time, I woke up last Sunday with a strange persona. Normally I LOVE just sitting home on my (fill in the blank). But this particular morning I got dressed, looked super fancy, and fully expected to go to church. But, Big D was incredibly grumpy and said he wasn't going. So I made sweet, sweet love to him and whispered something along the lines of going canoeing with the kids.
This day was going exactly the way Big D would describe his wildest dreams. Naughty Karen and then gross adventure time. (See, I said I woke up with a strange persona.)
He eager beaver agreed. Since this was one of his dreams for the summer. And I quickly moved before I realized what I had agreed to.
It could not have been a more perfect day. Weather was insanely divine. We were text-book renters. Arrived on time. Grabbed the proper floatation devices. And waited by the shuttle. Not all the other renters where as fine as we were at following the rules.
We survived our third-world-country ride to the launch destination and were the first to be launched. That was neat, because we were the only ones with kids. And also the only ones who hadn't canoed together. Ever. Actually I'm making that up. I don't know if we were the ONLY ones. But because we were first, we were made a spectacle of.
It started out so romantic. Big D in the back. Me in the front. Kids in the middle. Perfect family. Minus the fact that Big D had never had canoeing lessons. And I have. Big D thinks that in order to make a turn, you paddle really hard. (Did I emphasize "really"? Because when a turn appeared, it was like he turned the jet engine on in the back)
Now this quickly got old. Quickly. I was getting tired of crashing into the banks. (Remember, we are in front of all the other boaters) And I decided I was going to be the steer-er. And kicked Big D to the front. He cried. But we did not tip over.
Probably an hour into the trip things started to go from romantic to worse decision of the year thus far. (Today I like using the words "thus far.")
I am comfortable and fine with steering. I enjoy steering. However, Big D still thought that he had to paddle as fiercely as he could when he spotted the next hair-pin turn. I basically did not do any paddling - I was just a rudder. And we were still crashing at a anger inducing rate.
An hour and a half into the trip we started noticing an alarming amount of very large spiders in our boat. I don't know if I've shared this or not - but I don't do spiders. If there is a choice of: spider gets too close OR boat gets tipped - boat gets tipped. Also, Ed decided he was tired of sitting nicely, and blue was wet - so the next sensible thing to do was to start screaming. Which showcased Big D's very pleasant mood. He started hooting and hollaring. Yelling things to the other boaters. Snarling and gnashing of teeth. I literally wanted to whale him over the head with my oar. But he was too far away. Lucky for him.
The only non-complainer of the whole trip was Murnice. Who just kept on paddling, aka hitting our oars with her oar and throwing water up on Ed and blue - which was not helping Ed's attitude, which only gave fuel to Big D's fire attitude.
At this point I had mentally, emotionally, physically, and almost spiritually given up. My right arm was burning due to the fact that I had to keep my oar on the right side of the ship. Emotionally I couldn't handle Ed crying and Big D being a fruit tart. I wanted to just stop and snuggle the poor wet boy. But I was too afraid of a) tipping over b) losing sight of the spiders c) drifting into more spider homes d) collecting more spiders e) wasting time f) never making it back home g) getting lost at sea. My left butt bone had dug a hole through my small amount of muscle and large amount of jiggle and was sitting squarely on the hard metal seat.
And then, we came to a fork in the river aka stream. We were with a large group of people. And everybody went to the left. And we went to the right. Before I knew it, we were paddling against the current. And everything began to escalate into a down-right emergency. With one final dramatic huffy paddle, I threw our boat head on into the biggest, spideriest, reptile filled bank there was. We rammed hard. Which got Big D really excited. I think he also realized that it was his turn to wear his grown up panties, take control, and get us home.
He started to paddle really hard. Making his earlier jet engine look like a paddle boat.
The part that I didn't tell you, was that our boat had flipped around with my massive crash, and we were now backwards.
Big D didn't care. He was going home. And I decided I might be able to scrounge up the energy to help.
You know the Olympic boat races, where they're going so fast that bodies are flying forwards and then lunging backwards? Yeah, we could have been medal contenders in the Olympics. Ed was holding on for his dear life. Not a peep was coming out. Murnice had put her paddle away and was hanging on hard.
And we were flying. I think we were actually flying up over the water, like they do in the cartoons.
Wouldn't you know that we ended up taking the short cut. Beat everybody by a mile. Or maybe a 1/2 mile. I think the workers were a little confused to why the canoe was coming in at such a disconcerting speed backwards.
And that will be the last time that I EVER come up with ridiculous ideas.
Take Aways
1) Just because you wake up with a different attitude towards life, doesn't necessarily mean you should embrace your new ideas.
2) But if you choose to embrace your new ideas, be sure you know how long of a ride it's going to be.
3) Or, just stay home.
4) On the couch.
5) And watch tv.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Wonderland
My body is a dermatologist's wonderland right now. The problem being: chlorine is my enemy.
Anywhere that skin touches skin = hives, rashes, flare-ups, intense itching, and such. Including my eye lids.
I have this incredibly sexy skin routine to help make life a tad more manageable as well as squander the rumor that I have body lice. It is not preventative, only helps.
Here's how it goes:
1) Before entering water, apply a thick layer of Vaseline under arms, behind legs, and (gulp) and where the sun don't shine unless Big D and I are being exciting - these are the areas that react the worst to the chlorine
2) Immediately after exiting pool, rush to take a shower with Dr. Bronner. Apply layer of Dr. Bronner and let sit for a minute. Rinse off.
3) Wipe down Vaseline area's of body with vinegar soaked cloth and let sit on skin for 1 minute.
4) Hop around enthusiastically, pretending you're the Easter Bunny.
5) Re-soap up body with Dr. Bronner and poof, scrubbing dangerously hard and rinse.
6) Upon getting home for the day, apply layer of arrowroot powder via a make-up brush on Vaseline area's of the body. This allows the body to not sweat, which exacerbates the vicious cycle of sweating, itching, move hives, etc.
7) Right before bed, apply a thin layer of corticosteroid cream to arm and leg area.
It's more than a pain-in-the-butt. It takes a lot of time. My running off to the shower and minimal entrance into the pool makes me look like a weeny whiny baby . . . . . . .. It's awkward when people touch me and they get a finger full of Vaseline (haha, that'll teach them for touching me)
And on top of all my skin pooplems, my head has decided to reject the whole idea of chlorine as well. I sneeze all day. Which produces massive amounts of snot. (Do you know how hard it is to blow your nose while in the pool?) I also look like I have a horrific case of wanky pink eye. (I try not to get too close to the parents, for fear they'll panic, hit me over the head, and never send their children back)
So to sum things up, I am a lust worthy lady over here. Big D could not be more thrilled that he does not have to share the bed with the pink-eye, flea infested, Easter Bunny (get it? The vinegar smell?)
You may ask, is it really worth it to work at a place where your body rejects your decision? Yup. Sure is. (Thanks for asking, by the way.) It's like my skin is just being a naughty screamy two-year-old. I'm not going to leave the store until I get what I came for. You can scream all you want, but this mama ain't leaving.
This mama wants her bathroom redid. I want to feel like a queen when bathroom duties call. NOT like a sad turnip in a cardboard box. Waaaaaahhh!
Take Aways
1) Yup.
Fun Fact
Murnice is learning how to play chess, which reminds me: when Bruver Bear Chuck and I were kids of a reasonable age, we had to stop playing chess together. Because, it always ended up in a bar-room brawl. I think the reasonable age was teenagers old. Homeschoolers are cool.
Anywhere that skin touches skin = hives, rashes, flare-ups, intense itching, and such. Including my eye lids.
I have this incredibly sexy skin routine to help make life a tad more manageable as well as squander the rumor that I have body lice. It is not preventative, only helps.
Here's how it goes:
1) Before entering water, apply a thick layer of Vaseline under arms, behind legs, and (gulp) and where the sun don't shine unless Big D and I are being exciting - these are the areas that react the worst to the chlorine
2) Immediately after exiting pool, rush to take a shower with Dr. Bronner. Apply layer of Dr. Bronner and let sit for a minute. Rinse off.
3) Wipe down Vaseline area's of body with vinegar soaked cloth and let sit on skin for 1 minute.
4) Hop around enthusiastically, pretending you're the Easter Bunny.
5) Re-soap up body with Dr. Bronner and poof, scrubbing dangerously hard and rinse.
6) Upon getting home for the day, apply layer of arrowroot powder via a make-up brush on Vaseline area's of the body. This allows the body to not sweat, which exacerbates the vicious cycle of sweating, itching, move hives, etc.
7) Right before bed, apply a thin layer of corticosteroid cream to arm and leg area.
It's more than a pain-in-the-butt. It takes a lot of time. My running off to the shower and minimal entrance into the pool makes me look like a weeny whiny baby . . . . . . .. It's awkward when people touch me and they get a finger full of Vaseline (haha, that'll teach them for touching me)
And on top of all my skin pooplems, my head has decided to reject the whole idea of chlorine as well. I sneeze all day. Which produces massive amounts of snot. (Do you know how hard it is to blow your nose while in the pool?) I also look like I have a horrific case of wanky pink eye. (I try not to get too close to the parents, for fear they'll panic, hit me over the head, and never send their children back)
So to sum things up, I am a lust worthy lady over here. Big D could not be more thrilled that he does not have to share the bed with the pink-eye, flea infested, Easter Bunny (get it? The vinegar smell?)
You may ask, is it really worth it to work at a place where your body rejects your decision? Yup. Sure is. (Thanks for asking, by the way.) It's like my skin is just being a naughty screamy two-year-old. I'm not going to leave the store until I get what I came for. You can scream all you want, but this mama ain't leaving.
This mama wants her bathroom redid. I want to feel like a queen when bathroom duties call. NOT like a sad turnip in a cardboard box. Waaaaaahhh!
Take Aways
1) Yup.
Fun Fact
Murnice is learning how to play chess, which reminds me: when Bruver Bear Chuck and I were kids of a reasonable age, we had to stop playing chess together. Because, it always ended up in a bar-room brawl. I think the reasonable age was teenagers old. Homeschoolers are cool.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Naughty Big D
Nothing. NOTHING, gets me more excited than a Sunday-after-church grocer trip. During normal weeks I'll shop with just the kids. But with me living with Mother, it's just easier to make the dreaded trip right after church, when I'm already in the car. (Because I have no self-discipline during the weekend)
This is how a normal Sunday grocer trip goes:
Me: exhausted and overly ravenous = beyond witch like
Big D: anything but helpful
Kids: exhausted and overly ravenous = beyond brat like
******************************************************************
For as long as we've been married (9 years) Big D has been incredibly awful about thinking up a menu for the week AND making any sort of grocery list. If I absolutely refuse to do ANYTHING, he will make the same glorious list of:
spaghetti
fish
chedder beef enchiladas
tacos
WITH. OUT. FAIL.
DRIVES. ME. NUTS.
Ok, so on his grocer list, he'll write down spaghetti, fish, enchiladas, and tacos - AND THAT'S IT. Not what he needs to make those things. No side dishes. No refills of things we've run out of around here. Just 4 items. *Ahem* or 4 dinners.
So over the years I have demanded less and less of his help with food planning, unless I'm super desperate. Or going on strike. Both have happened. More than the sun has shined.
************************************************************************
Moving on to the usual grocer trip . . .
We walk in as a glorious family, loving and kind. Pleased to smell the fresh bread and see the pretty cupcakes. We grab the kids their free cookie - to shut them up for 3.0096 seconds. We stop and look at the poor lobsters. Ed just squeals and squeals with delight. And cries if we leave without saying "goodbye lobsters".
And then the fighting begins. Because I have the grocer list. Because I have MADE the list. Because I have planned the menu - I am the holder of the list, and the leader of the list. Big D is merely the cart pusher. And as a cart pusher I expect YOU to follow ME. But no, this is not what Big D does.
I'll say, "I'm going to get parsley". What I mean: you stay exactly where you are, or follow me - but I am going to grab a bag of parsley and then I will come straight back to you and put my parsley in the cart. And then we will move on to the next item".
What Big D hears, "I am going to play hide and seek now. Please run to the farthest part of the store and grab some random item without telling me where you are headed or what you're going to get. And we'll see how long it takes for me to find you".
INSTANT RAGE.
When I am rageful, I do not care who hears, observes, witnesses, listens, stares, records, or takes note of my behavior. Because it is all rational in the situation.
I have yelled, hollered, fought, thrown, stomped, squealed tires, and given the bird in the middle of the grocer. Literally, I turn into an animal. And it's ONLY when Big D accompanies me.
I blame him entirely for my rude behavior. Maybe in another 9 years, I will completely ban him from any sort of grocer trip with me. Sometimes it takes me a long time to make an intelligent choice/decision.
Take Aways
1) Big D needs a huge wallop on the seat of his pants.
2) Big D needs to learn some manners when it comes to doing a grocer run with the family.
3) Big D needs to read a recipe book.
Fun Fact
Whenever I send an email to a company or professional individual - I never hear back from them. Maybe they think I'm a joke. Maybe I should stop being honest and tell them what they WANT to hear, or what normal adults say. This is me having a pity-party because nobody ever gets back to me. waaaaahhhhh.
I love love love running into "swim kids" in random places (ie target) and saying "hi" to them, and they have no idea who I am. My favorite favorite part is when I say, "do I look different with clothes on?" And the parents softly gasp and then everybody giggles and says, "yes". Reactions to situations are so, so great.
This is how a normal Sunday grocer trip goes:
Me: exhausted and overly ravenous = beyond witch like
Big D: anything but helpful
Kids: exhausted and overly ravenous = beyond brat like
******************************************************************
For as long as we've been married (9 years) Big D has been incredibly awful about thinking up a menu for the week AND making any sort of grocery list. If I absolutely refuse to do ANYTHING, he will make the same glorious list of:
spaghetti
fish
chedder beef enchiladas
tacos
WITH. OUT. FAIL.
DRIVES. ME. NUTS.
Ok, so on his grocer list, he'll write down spaghetti, fish, enchiladas, and tacos - AND THAT'S IT. Not what he needs to make those things. No side dishes. No refills of things we've run out of around here. Just 4 items. *Ahem* or 4 dinners.
So over the years I have demanded less and less of his help with food planning, unless I'm super desperate. Or going on strike. Both have happened. More than the sun has shined.
************************************************************************
Moving on to the usual grocer trip . . .
We walk in as a glorious family, loving and kind. Pleased to smell the fresh bread and see the pretty cupcakes. We grab the kids their free cookie - to shut them up for 3.0096 seconds. We stop and look at the poor lobsters. Ed just squeals and squeals with delight. And cries if we leave without saying "goodbye lobsters".
And then the fighting begins. Because I have the grocer list. Because I have MADE the list. Because I have planned the menu - I am the holder of the list, and the leader of the list. Big D is merely the cart pusher. And as a cart pusher I expect YOU to follow ME. But no, this is not what Big D does.
I'll say, "I'm going to get parsley". What I mean: you stay exactly where you are, or follow me - but I am going to grab a bag of parsley and then I will come straight back to you and put my parsley in the cart. And then we will move on to the next item".
What Big D hears, "I am going to play hide and seek now. Please run to the farthest part of the store and grab some random item without telling me where you are headed or what you're going to get. And we'll see how long it takes for me to find you".
INSTANT RAGE.
When I am rageful, I do not care who hears, observes, witnesses, listens, stares, records, or takes note of my behavior. Because it is all rational in the situation.
I have yelled, hollered, fought, thrown, stomped, squealed tires, and given the bird in the middle of the grocer. Literally, I turn into an animal. And it's ONLY when Big D accompanies me.
I blame him entirely for my rude behavior. Maybe in another 9 years, I will completely ban him from any sort of grocer trip with me. Sometimes it takes me a long time to make an intelligent choice/decision.
Take Aways
1) Big D needs a huge wallop on the seat of his pants.
2) Big D needs to learn some manners when it comes to doing a grocer run with the family.
3) Big D needs to read a recipe book.
Fun Fact
Whenever I send an email to a company or professional individual - I never hear back from them. Maybe they think I'm a joke. Maybe I should stop being honest and tell them what they WANT to hear, or what normal adults say. This is me having a pity-party because nobody ever gets back to me. waaaaahhhhh.
I love love love running into "swim kids" in random places (ie target) and saying "hi" to them, and they have no idea who I am. My favorite favorite part is when I say, "do I look different with clothes on?" And the parents softly gasp and then everybody giggles and says, "yes". Reactions to situations are so, so great.
Monday, July 1, 2013
Where I've Been - Day 2
I really out did myself on the weeny whiny baby part on day two.
Weeny Whiny Fit #1
Being woken up at 7am by a very eager beaver husband who could not wait to get to our destination for the day. Hershey Park.
Weeny Whiny Fit #2
Having the tv turned off on me while I was watching a cat hoarder show snuggled up in bed, refusing to move my bottom and thoroughly enjoying cable.
Weeny Whiny Fit #3
Fit #3 never ended. From the time we left the hotel until the time we pulled into our driveway back home I threw a fit. I do want to say that I really tried my hardest to remember this trip was not about me. But there were just some times were I couldn't keep it under cover a second more.
Honestly, I view amusement parks like a chore when you have children. There is nothing amusing about them. Just driving to one makes me want to turn around, right back to that cozy bed I left and watch cat hoarder shows.
Things that make me hyperventilate
1) The line of cars just to get into the park
2) The hot sun
3) The amount of pavement.
4) The masses of people that are all pleased as punch that they are at Hershey Park.
5) I don't like pleased as punch people.
6) The lines people commit to stand in just to go on a 30 second ride.
7) The bathing suits that should be illegal to wear.
8) The fast-food around every corner that cost 3 arms and 2 toe-nails.
9) The incredibly awful/creepy waiters named Julian that ask stupid questions and stare too long.
10) Big D's over exuberant attitude about staying as long as possible.
Personally, I was ready to leave around lunch time. Approximately an hour and a half and 3 rides in. We had officially experienced the Hersh Park.
I really turned into a 2 year old at this point. I will not go into details.
But I guess the highlight of day 2 began when Big D finally deemed it was allowable to leave.
It started raining. And we only had a mile to walk back to the car. And then it went from raining to - Jesus really wanted to host a spontaneous white tee-shirt contest but you didn't have to have a white tee-shirt to participate. And then we couldn't open our eyes. And the parking lot that was the size of a Hawaiian Island turned into an ankle-deep watering hole.
And Big D got really excited looking at me, because I looked like a drowned sewer rat - and that look really does it for him. Or maybe he got excited because it looked like I was wearing spandex. Who knows. But he was paying me extra attention.
And then the arguing began. Big D thought it would be wise and pleasant to throw everybody in the car with all of our belongings and drive somewhere to change.
Now any mother knows this is the foolishest of foolish decisions ever. If we did that, we would never get dry the whole way home - due to the car and seats soaking up our rat-hood.
So I put my foot down hard, which caused a mighty splash.
How we went from wet to dry and had a semi-pleasant ride home until we went to the Mulberry Cafe
1) Undressed kids in Noah's flood and threw them into the car with a semi-dry towel. (a miracle gift from God)
2) Shouted through the window to Murnice to dry herself off and then Ed.
3) Opened the trunk and retrieved kids clothes in approximately .00034 seconds and threw them in the car.
4) Shouted more instructions through the window to Murnice.
5) Wisked all drowned clothes into a pile and then found a bag collection that was supposed to go to Weggers but was forgotten about for such a time as this.
6) Shouted more instructions to get into car seats.
7) Adult clothes came off - all thoughts of modesty don't waft around when you are in survival mode.
8) Laughed that we could see daddy's peener.
9) Jumped into mostly dry car and finagled clothes on.
I would like to point out that Jesus did stop the rain for a few minutes in that 30 minute wet clothes/dry clothes dance so that we could do few vital car rearrangements. Thank you Jesus.
Take Aways
1) Never, never agree to discounted homeschooler tickets to amusements parks again.
2) Smile smugly that when mother says it's time to go, that mother knows best. And if we had left when mother said lets go - we would have been very dry and pleasant all the way home. And had time to go to Olive Garden vs. Mulberry Cafe that ended up being a rodent hole. AND we would have gotten home before midnight.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Where I've Been - Day 1
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Grumpy Sue = List Day
I am way way way way to tired and lazy to say anything fancy. So it's list day!!!
1) The amount of crumbs and food under my table could literally feed a family of chickens for a week. (We don't sweep)
2) My fancy purple drink container is still sitting in the corner. It's making me mad. It's like I just want to kick it. And yell at it for being stupid, breaking as easily as it did. (Maybe I'm too tired)
3) I hate bananas. Especially the bananus. That part makes me gag.
4) I am very much hooked on Leverage at the moment.
5) I'm making a flower bed into a sand box because I have no idea how to grow things.
6) All of the silverware in our house are dirty and sitting on the counter. And they will sit there till Big D gets to them. I'm boycotting silverware for the moment. Or day. Or days.
7) I think I like reading Proverbs best. So applicable.
8) My couches have really nasty jack speckles and spots all over them. They really are only from water. And juice. And spilled milk. And greasy mac and cheese. And drooled carrots. And pee dribbles. But the best part is: when company comes over, and they look at the couch cautiously and contemplate which cushion to sit on. I like watching that awkward moment take place.
9) I'm working on not apologizing for the condition of our home.
10) My favorite snack to eat after the kids are in bed is chicken Ramen noods with Siracha. It's like an O in a bowl.
11) Forgiveness is hard. There are some big offenses swirling around out there.
12) Churches are weird.
13) I put underwear on in the middle of the night (don't ask) and I woke up with them on inside out and backwards. Neat. Hope the mites enjoyed that.
14) Murnice has a planters wart, and she wants to keep it because it's not growing.
15) My favorite part of putting the kids to bed: as SOON as I'm done saying prayers, the kids race to see who can kiss me first. Which always results in clunked heads, smashed lips, yanked nose rings, clawed eyes. And snot.
Hoping your day is filled with magical moments. Mine is going to end on a magical moment - tonight it's FRIDAY FRIENDS FRIDAY FRIENDS. Yup, I'm that much of an eager beaver to see adults.
Take Aways
1) Eat more Ramen and Siracha - it makes for a better disposition.
2) Big D - go buy me more Ramen.
3) Stop judging me for eating Ramen. I only use half the flavoring package.
1) The amount of crumbs and food under my table could literally feed a family of chickens for a week. (We don't sweep)
2) My fancy purple drink container is still sitting in the corner. It's making me mad. It's like I just want to kick it. And yell at it for being stupid, breaking as easily as it did. (Maybe I'm too tired)
3) I hate bananas. Especially the bananus. That part makes me gag.
4) I am very much hooked on Leverage at the moment.
5) I'm making a flower bed into a sand box because I have no idea how to grow things.
6) All of the silverware in our house are dirty and sitting on the counter. And they will sit there till Big D gets to them. I'm boycotting silverware for the moment. Or day. Or days.
7) I think I like reading Proverbs best. So applicable.
8) My couches have really nasty jack speckles and spots all over them. They really are only from water. And juice. And spilled milk. And greasy mac and cheese. And drooled carrots. And pee dribbles. But the best part is: when company comes over, and they look at the couch cautiously and contemplate which cushion to sit on. I like watching that awkward moment take place.
9) I'm working on not apologizing for the condition of our home.
10) My favorite snack to eat after the kids are in bed is chicken Ramen noods with Siracha. It's like an O in a bowl.
11) Forgiveness is hard. There are some big offenses swirling around out there.
12) Churches are weird.
13) I put underwear on in the middle of the night (don't ask) and I woke up with them on inside out and backwards. Neat. Hope the mites enjoyed that.
14) Murnice has a planters wart, and she wants to keep it because it's not growing.
15) My favorite part of putting the kids to bed: as SOON as I'm done saying prayers, the kids race to see who can kiss me first. Which always results in clunked heads, smashed lips, yanked nose rings, clawed eyes. And snot.
Hoping your day is filled with magical moments. Mine is going to end on a magical moment - tonight it's FRIDAY FRIENDS FRIDAY FRIENDS. Yup, I'm that much of an eager beaver to see adults.
Take Aways
1) Eat more Ramen and Siracha - it makes for a better disposition.
2) Big D - go buy me more Ramen.
3) Stop judging me for eating Ramen. I only use half the flavoring package.
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