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 Friday Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friday Friends. 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.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Fifteen Ways? Double-Time With an Extra "Ew"
As if trying their hand at one list wasn't enough. They had to write another list. A lady list. And I thought the man list was as stupid as pie.
The lady list is a joke. I think.
And just to make sure that I'm not cold hearted, mean spirited, and as rude as a rabid turkey, I asked Friday Friends what they thought.
Prepare yourselves. Gird your loins. . . .
Fifteen Ways to Please Your Wife
Fifteen Ways to Please Your Extra Saucy Kitty Kat.
1. Before leaving the house, tell me I sparkle like the sun and smell like the moon. And that I have the harder job
2. I don't care what time you go to bed, but when you do decide it's the right time - make sure the house is closed up in a proper manner and the kids are still breathing. Try your hardest to be thorough with this task. As it drives me completely wild when "close up time" is done haphazardly.
3. You touch me with a hair brush - I'll spank your bottom. But you can tell me that my old tired eyes have never looked more lively and lovely. And that my body is more magical than David Copperfield. And out of control, sizzily. And that if I were a steak, I would be extra well done.
4. I don't want to be caught looking at myself. So just ignore any glimpses you get of that happening, at all cost. But things that would be appropriate to say to me: a) your boobs have never looked perkier b) your buns are tighter than an over-done meat platter c) what fine chiseled legs you have . . . and other fine things of that sort.
5. Bring the tv into the bedroom. I may spend more time in bed. I may offer my body as a love offering in a more substantial manner.
6. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT call me during the day. Send me emails. And don't ask how my day is going. If it's that bad - you will be hearing from me. If you don't hear from me, then the chances of us all being alive when you get home, are great.
7. I am offended by #7
8. Don't waste your time. Although, I do love getting into my car and seeing a full gas tank. (I can't remember the last time I had to fill the gas tank - don't be hating ladies.)
9. Yes, yes. Write me lots. But write when you're pissed at me. It's a lot more fun to keep track of that.
10. Don't waste your time. Unless I get knocked up again. And then come pull me out of the car.
11. If there was ever a time you didn't put that seat down, I would scoop all the poopy toilet water up and dump it on your bed. And then you could swim your bare buns around in sludge.
12. When I start complaining about the stupidity of some people, agree with me.
13. When we're in crowds, try your best to keep me away from people you know. I tend to say things that make everyone involved feel weird. It's best to just stash me in a small corner and to bring me drinks and food. But if it's a crowd thingy with no food or drinks, keep me home.
14. This lady is a raging lunatic.
15. This is all manly and such, but you should pray for me, more. I sometimes get real itchy to throw something. Or dump dinner down the drain.
I have no closing thoughts or comments.
The end.
I puked.
The lady list is a joke. I think.
And just to make sure that I'm not cold hearted, mean spirited, and as rude as a rabid turkey, I asked Friday Friends what they thought.
Prepare yourselves. Gird your loins. . . .
Fifteen Ways to Please Your Wife
- Hug and kiss her every morning before leaving the house.
- Go to bed at the same time she does.
- Brush her hair while complimenting her eyes and appearance.
- When she's studying herself in the mirror, tell her, "You are so beautiful."
- Evict late-night television from your bedroom.
- During mid-afternoon, call or send her an email to ask how her day's going.
- Try your hand at making breakfast on Saturday morning.
- Put gas in her car, vacuum the floor mats, and clean the windows.
- Write her a short love letter. List several ways she has blessed you this year.
- Resurrect common courtesies: Hold the car door open. Offer her your arm.
- Put the toilet seat down.
- If you hear her engaged in a tough situation, compliment the way she handled it.
- When you're together in a crowd, find a way to brag on her.
- Help her put the kids to bed.
- Pray with her every day. Every day!
Fifteen Ways to Please Your Extra Saucy Kitty Kat.
1. Before leaving the house, tell me I sparkle like the sun and smell like the moon. And that I have the harder job
2. I don't care what time you go to bed, but when you do decide it's the right time - make sure the house is closed up in a proper manner and the kids are still breathing. Try your hardest to be thorough with this task. As it drives me completely wild when "close up time" is done haphazardly.
3. You touch me with a hair brush - I'll spank your bottom. But you can tell me that my old tired eyes have never looked more lively and lovely. And that my body is more magical than David Copperfield. And out of control, sizzily. And that if I were a steak, I would be extra well done.
4. I don't want to be caught looking at myself. So just ignore any glimpses you get of that happening, at all cost. But things that would be appropriate to say to me: a) your boobs have never looked perkier b) your buns are tighter than an over-done meat platter c) what fine chiseled legs you have . . . and other fine things of that sort.
5. Bring the tv into the bedroom. I may spend more time in bed. I may offer my body as a love offering in a more substantial manner.
6. DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT call me during the day. Send me emails. And don't ask how my day is going. If it's that bad - you will be hearing from me. If you don't hear from me, then the chances of us all being alive when you get home, are great.
7. I am offended by #7
8. Don't waste your time. Although, I do love getting into my car and seeing a full gas tank. (I can't remember the last time I had to fill the gas tank - don't be hating ladies.)
9. Yes, yes. Write me lots. But write when you're pissed at me. It's a lot more fun to keep track of that.
10. Don't waste your time. Unless I get knocked up again. And then come pull me out of the car.
11. If there was ever a time you didn't put that seat down, I would scoop all the poopy toilet water up and dump it on your bed. And then you could swim your bare buns around in sludge.
12. When I start complaining about the stupidity of some people, agree with me.
13. When we're in crowds, try your best to keep me away from people you know. I tend to say things that make everyone involved feel weird. It's best to just stash me in a small corner and to bring me drinks and food. But if it's a crowd thingy with no food or drinks, keep me home.
14. This lady is a raging lunatic.
15. This is all manly and such, but you should pray for me, more. I sometimes get real itchy to throw something. Or dump dinner down the drain.
I have no closing thoughts or comments.
The end.
I puked.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Low Lady on the Totem Pole
Big D and I have a severe difference. It's "OUR" fight. (You know, every couple has a fight that ALL the fights go back to)(Sister Bear's is about cockroaches. Friday Friends is about car key placement.) Our fight is about Big D never being home.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
It used to be sports that took him away from home. He was on 5 different teams of various ball-themed activities when we first met and into our first couple years of marriage. Then it briefly went to friend visits. Then work meetings. And now it's a pleasant mixture of rabbi activities and work meetings. (I say "pleasant" with a twisted tongue.) He saves his friend get-togethers for the weekend. When the family can come. (This sounds so kind of him - but it's actually awful)
So in my eyes, I am competing for attention with all of these activities. And I want to be #1 at all points of the day, week, (including weekends) and forever. I am an introvert and love my couch. And I want Big D to love my couch almost as much as I do. AKA sit on the couch with me till he puts his butt before me, and farts.
Ok, I know I sound awful and greedy and so selfish. And truthfully, I'm all of those things.
However, that being said - I know that after 9 years of fighting to be the top of the totem pole, I know that I will only get as far as right below the scariest face. I have tried threats, seduction, food, promises, and other sorts of techniques that a lady should not admit too. . . . . . And he always leaves for whatever is more exciting than the couch.
I promise you, he sits in his big empty office at work, and thinks up ways to avoid the couch. Last night he went straight from work to a "peer support group meeting for fellow MBA graduates - minus Big D who is not a graduate - yet". AND get this! They got the college to provide food for them. How do people even think up these things?!
If I were on that committee - or any committee . . . .
"Foxy, we need to have a meeting ." "Ok, my couch is comfortable, lets meet there. And we'll drink tea."
"Foxy, lets have mom's group." "Ok, lets have it at my house. We can sit on my couch."
"Foxy, lets have intercourse." . . . . . . . (Secret: that's the real reason why my couch is so smeared)
(I'm getting so sidetracked)
Anyway, sometimes I try to act like a grown-up. I try to have a somewhat mature attitude. I'll put Big D's activities into my calender to try and make it seem a bit fancier than it really is. Sometimes when things appear fancy I have a better attitude.
So last night I started out with a better attitude. I took an afternoon nap while the kids watched an abundance of tv. I made boxed mac and cheese with tuna for dinner. (it was incredible) Then I read a few chapters to them to alleviate my guilt, put them to bed - and eagerly awaited Big -who was going to sit on the couch and watch Burn Notice and then New Girl with me, while we chatted about our days like grownups.
Except that's not how it went. Lets just say that after 2 episodes of Burn Notice AND 2 episodes of New Girl Big D still had not come home. And I got *ahem* a little excited. And then stormed off to bed like a spoiled poop stain.
So, 3 readers . . . What is your main fight? Do share. And then tell me if you have a solution for your main fight - or if you just take the opportunity to really duke it out. Because sometimes a duke session is really what the Dr. has ordered.
Take Aways
1) Find a permanent couch buddy and pay them handsomely.
2) Never have expectations. Especially if they're romantic.
3) Continue to rock as a mother and have outstanding evenings with your children.
4) I can't decide which one is better - tv or chemical dinner. Both were amazing. So . . . do both.
5) Maybe add something, like a little sodypop with dinner.
6) Have "poor me" treats hidden in the cupboards.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Holy Water
The Witherhalls had a holy weekend. Ok, not really holy - just a baptism. Big D decided that he needed the holy washing.
It's kinda a long story - and since family reads this to get updates since I don't do the phone very well, I'll tell the story. And they rest of you piglets can do as you please.
Big D could not remember when he became a believer, but got baptized when he was 16. He never really thought about it - until he heard David Jeremiah (on the radio) say that when you become saved, it's a moment in time. And it should be remembered. Something about it should be remembered. And Big D couldn't remember his moment in time. The only thing that was sticking in his memory banks was when he was in college and a change in his heart started to take place and he started to live out the scriptures. And if this is the case, his previous baptism was illegitimate.
I really struggled with this for a lot of personal reasons that I will not get into unless you are super super close to me and we share the same air.
A few of the reasons that I will publicly announce, that crumpled my toes: Big D loves a reason to run away from house duties, which means - if he can turn a 3 minute event into a 5 hour event - he will. And, Big D loves to be a showman. He's one of those people that will invite everybody to everything. (Those types of people make me growl)
So when he finally announced his decision to be baptized, I was on high-alert, grump style. He started going through his list of people that he was going to invite - I got real excited. Asked him what his motive was. And thank you, Jesus - he had a change of heart.
And now I'll move on to the actual day, because I could go on for the rest of the year on all the reasons I was being a sour puss.
Saturday was cool (72ish) Big D decided that 9:30am was perfect (with much cajoling) and the holy water experience was going to take place at a local hikery park that we walked to from our mole hole. Big D decided to invite Friday Friends and two other men (and their families) that have a spiritual impact in his life. It was a perfect intimate group of people. We walked a mile. The men up ahead, the women in the back with the kids. And we finally got to Big D's spot where the boy scouts were having a work party.
I have to be honest. It was quite lovely. My favorite baptism so far. So quiet, so simple, so special with a few of our favorites.
And then the fun began. We played in the river. All of us - minus the mama with the baby.
That's me swinging out on the rope swing. Yes, I'm wearing a dress. Big D is holding Ed, and Murnice is watching.
Take Aways
1) I'm glad I have a husband/bed romper friend that hears and obeys God.
2) I am so glad that all of the "things" that I was crumpled about - did not come to pass.
3) I am so glad that we had river time, together.
It's kinda a long story - and since family reads this to get updates since I don't do the phone very well, I'll tell the story. And they rest of you piglets can do as you please.
Big D could not remember when he became a believer, but got baptized when he was 16. He never really thought about it - until he heard David Jeremiah (on the radio) say that when you become saved, it's a moment in time. And it should be remembered. Something about it should be remembered. And Big D couldn't remember his moment in time. The only thing that was sticking in his memory banks was when he was in college and a change in his heart started to take place and he started to live out the scriptures. And if this is the case, his previous baptism was illegitimate.
I really struggled with this for a lot of personal reasons that I will not get into unless you are super super close to me and we share the same air.
A few of the reasons that I will publicly announce, that crumpled my toes: Big D loves a reason to run away from house duties, which means - if he can turn a 3 minute event into a 5 hour event - he will. And, Big D loves to be a showman. He's one of those people that will invite everybody to everything. (Those types of people make me growl)
So when he finally announced his decision to be baptized, I was on high-alert, grump style. He started going through his list of people that he was going to invite - I got real excited. Asked him what his motive was. And thank you, Jesus - he had a change of heart.
And now I'll move on to the actual day, because I could go on for the rest of the year on all the reasons I was being a sour puss.
Saturday was cool (72ish) Big D decided that 9:30am was perfect (with much cajoling) and the holy water experience was going to take place at a local hikery park that we walked to from our mole hole. Big D decided to invite Friday Friends and two other men (and their families) that have a spiritual impact in his life. It was a perfect intimate group of people. We walked a mile. The men up ahead, the women in the back with the kids. And we finally got to Big D's spot where the boy scouts were having a work party.
I have to be honest. It was quite lovely. My favorite baptism so far. So quiet, so simple, so special with a few of our favorites.
And then the fun began. We played in the river. All of us - minus the mama with the baby.
That's me swinging out on the rope swing. Yes, I'm wearing a dress. Big D is holding Ed, and Murnice is watching.
Take Aways
1) I'm glad I have a husband/bed romper friend that hears and obeys God.
2) I am so glad that all of the "things" that I was crumpled about - did not come to pass.
3) I am so glad that we had river time, together.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Receive-Me-Not Lines
I do indeed have major issues regarding my bubble. Bubble of space. Space that is mine. All mine. No sharing. I think my bubble is a good 4 feet on each side/all around me. When my bubble is invaded I either:
a) sweat like a hairy toe in a polyester sock
b) panic and can't hear a word that is being said
c) am unable to comprehend words and or actions
d) suffocate
e) think violent thoughts
f) become statuesque
All big people - take note, STAND BACK. And I will be much more pleasant. I might even say something nice to you. Tell you that I like your socks, er something. If you want to chat, you should get out of my bubble. I like talking to people through my bubble windows, not in my bubble house.
Oh, and I don't like being touched. But I do accept massages. Only the professional kind. Because I'm a professional and I don't appreciate nonprofessional touches. (just being real) (aka - I am a LMT, just not practicing)
Also, I hate. HATE - kissing, making-out, pecking, smacking nobs, exchanging saliva, rubbing faces and touching chin juice. Major invasion of bubble. I seriously feel like I'm suffocating. Actually, I was kicked out of a boy's house one time because I wouldn't kiss him anymore because I felt like I was suffocating. (hehe) (for real) (his nickname was: Morgasm) (stop judging)
I don't like seeing kissing in movies. I start suffocating, just thinking and seeing what's happening to their bubble space.
Hugs are hard for me too. But I can survived them. And have never been kicked out of somebody's house because I refused to hug. Actually I'm pretty critical about hugs. Maybe another post for another time.
Moving on . . .
But one of the WORST occasions for me to have to endure, is the receiving line. Wedding, funeral, and highschool shows. I actual writhe just thinking about them. I purposefully ignore them. They are awkward and more awkward. And what are you supposed to do with them? (them being the people in the lines) Hugs? Talk? Whatever happens in these lines = bubble invasion on the highest level.
So how does a grown woman go about these lines? (in case I ever feel like being a grown woman and trying out a line)
Do you go through the whole line ignoring those you don't know? Acknowledge ONLY the people you do know? What about the people you know, but not that well? Is there a level of acknowledgment? Strangers = ignore (look straight ahead), Acquaintances = high five, Good friends/family = hugs?
But what if you know them, and they don't know you? Then what?
So, here's what I did at the latest receiving line: walked out of the line, made a BIG half-moon shape and walked straight to the person I came to see. Exchanged a few words. Then panicked, because the people standing next to thepersonIcametosee was expecting some sort of congratulatory acknowledgement. So I gave them a thumbs up. And then ran away. (they didn't like the thumbs up) (even though I smiled)
Take Aways
1) It is never appropriate to grow up when you feel as awkward about life as I do.
2) Stand back.
3) Children don't bother my bubble boundaries.
4) Ok, the truth is, I panic about hugs too.
5) Big D is welcomed into my bubble. But no mushy face. Not joking.
Fun Fact
The time we went to Friday Friends house for their 6-year-old's birthday party, and Ed pooped a few logs in the grass. And then their 6-year-old told her mother that next year she was going to ask that nobody pooped in the grass at her birthday party.
a) sweat like a hairy toe in a polyester sock
b) panic and can't hear a word that is being said
c) am unable to comprehend words and or actions
d) suffocate
e) think violent thoughts
f) become statuesque
All big people - take note, STAND BACK. And I will be much more pleasant. I might even say something nice to you. Tell you that I like your socks, er something. If you want to chat, you should get out of my bubble. I like talking to people through my bubble windows, not in my bubble house.
Oh, and I don't like being touched. But I do accept massages. Only the professional kind. Because I'm a professional and I don't appreciate nonprofessional touches. (just being real) (aka - I am a LMT, just not practicing)
Also, I hate. HATE - kissing, making-out, pecking, smacking nobs, exchanging saliva, rubbing faces and touching chin juice. Major invasion of bubble. I seriously feel like I'm suffocating. Actually, I was kicked out of a boy's house one time because I wouldn't kiss him anymore because I felt like I was suffocating. (hehe) (for real) (his nickname was: Morgasm) (stop judging)
I don't like seeing kissing in movies. I start suffocating, just thinking and seeing what's happening to their bubble space.
Hugs are hard for me too. But I can survived them. And have never been kicked out of somebody's house because I refused to hug. Actually I'm pretty critical about hugs. Maybe another post for another time.
Moving on . . .
But one of the WORST occasions for me to have to endure, is the receiving line. Wedding, funeral, and highschool shows. I actual writhe just thinking about them. I purposefully ignore them. They are awkward and more awkward. And what are you supposed to do with them? (them being the people in the lines) Hugs? Talk? Whatever happens in these lines = bubble invasion on the highest level.
So how does a grown woman go about these lines? (in case I ever feel like being a grown woman and trying out a line)
Do you go through the whole line ignoring those you don't know? Acknowledge ONLY the people you do know? What about the people you know, but not that well? Is there a level of acknowledgment? Strangers = ignore (look straight ahead), Acquaintances = high five, Good friends/family = hugs?
But what if you know them, and they don't know you? Then what?
So, here's what I did at the latest receiving line: walked out of the line, made a BIG half-moon shape and walked straight to the person I came to see. Exchanged a few words. Then panicked, because the people standing next to thepersonIcametosee was expecting some sort of congratulatory acknowledgement. So I gave them a thumbs up. And then ran away. (they didn't like the thumbs up) (even though I smiled)
Take Aways
1) It is never appropriate to grow up when you feel as awkward about life as I do.
2) Stand back.
3) Children don't bother my bubble boundaries.
4) Ok, the truth is, I panic about hugs too.
5) Big D is welcomed into my bubble. But no mushy face. Not joking.
Fun Fact
The time we went to Friday Friends house for their 6-year-old's birthday party, and Ed pooped a few logs in the grass. And then their 6-year-old told her mother that next year she was going to ask that nobody pooped in the grass at her birthday party.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Friday Night, Swank Style
Friday, Big D and I had a special night that doesn't happen very often because we have children. Friday Friends and we aligned babysitters so that we could have a night on the town.
Friday Friends always get dressed so nice. It's because they can wear things from Banana Republic. The Witherhalls can't. My hot bod is as straight as a board. So I swim in adult clothes. And must shop at Justice and Limited Too. Big D has curves, so . . . um. He shops at Lane Bryant. *snickering* On the other hand, Mr. Friday Friend is as straight as a board and Mrs. Friday Friend is curvy.
Mr. Friday Friend had his tight pants on. And we all talked about his tight pants.. And Mrs. Friday Friend had her hip hugger dress on. We wore jeans. And snorted.
First we went to a hopping Mexican joint. Had a drink. Talked about things that adults talk about. Water bills and dirty dishes.
And then we swaggered over to another swank joint that was playing live music. Jazz.
We had a really uncomfortable waiter. It was like he was sucking his buns in too hard and couldn't exhale properly. But he did bring us food and drinks. And wasn't quite as bad as Julian - but came in a close second.
Mr. Friday Friend and I be-bopped our heads and tapped our fingers to the beat. A little shoulder shimmy here and knee wobble there. And then neither of us could take it any more. Mr. Friday Friend lunged at me and said, "dance with me or die". So I danced.
Except I don't know how to dance. And neither does Mr. Friday Friend. But we can feel the beat. So we did our own fancy moves and watched all the 70 year olds who knew what was up - and tried to copy them.
And we laughed at ourselves and then ran home.
Take Aways
1) Never give up a chance to dance.
2) Always dance with somebody who is not your partner.
3) If you don't look fancy make sure you feel fancy, because that carries over to your feet.
4) Make sure you have a swank sitter for the kids that knows how to bring order to your pig hole.
Friday Friends always get dressed so nice. It's because they can wear things from Banana Republic. The Witherhalls can't. My hot bod is as straight as a board. So I swim in adult clothes. And must shop at Justice and Limited Too. Big D has curves, so . . . um. He shops at Lane Bryant. *snickering* On the other hand, Mr. Friday Friend is as straight as a board and Mrs. Friday Friend is curvy.
Mr. Friday Friend had his tight pants on. And we all talked about his tight pants.. And Mrs. Friday Friend had her hip hugger dress on. We wore jeans. And snorted.
First we went to a hopping Mexican joint. Had a drink. Talked about things that adults talk about. Water bills and dirty dishes.
And then we swaggered over to another swank joint that was playing live music. Jazz.
We had a really uncomfortable waiter. It was like he was sucking his buns in too hard and couldn't exhale properly. But he did bring us food and drinks. And wasn't quite as bad as Julian - but came in a close second.
Mr. Friday Friend and I be-bopped our heads and tapped our fingers to the beat. A little shoulder shimmy here and knee wobble there. And then neither of us could take it any more. Mr. Friday Friend lunged at me and said, "dance with me or die". So I danced.
Except I don't know how to dance. And neither does Mr. Friday Friend. But we can feel the beat. So we did our own fancy moves and watched all the 70 year olds who knew what was up - and tried to copy them.
And we laughed at ourselves and then ran home.
Take Aways
1) Never give up a chance to dance.
2) Always dance with somebody who is not your partner.
3) If you don't look fancy make sure you feel fancy, because that carries over to your feet.
4) Make sure you have a swank sitter for the kids that knows how to bring order to your pig hole.
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.
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.
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