Well, it's finally happened to me this summer. I have slipped into a "funk". I've been in it for a couple of weeks now. I can't seem to get much done, I'm not very motivated to accomplish my "to do" list. I also get upset over small things and worry nearly constantly about things that I cannot control. You know, you've been there.
And isn't it funny how when we slip into these less than ideal moods, old Murphy's Law seems to just follow us around, ready to pounce at any moment. Seriously, bad things seem to happen with much higher frequency when I feel the least like I can handle them. Why can't they happen during the times that I feel so much more capable, upbeat, and prepared? Perhaps it's just my perception and the annoying, bad things do happen when I'm feeling great, I just notice them less because I have a brighter outlook. Where is the little fairy that flies around sprinkling happy dust over me? I think she's been on vacation for a couple of weeks.
So I'll give you a very small sampling of some of the more recent incidents that have made my "funk" even worse. The other day the princess and the young man were playing outside and I was happily harvesting my garden. After awhile I thought it was too hot, so I brought my little chicks into the house to cool off and have some juice. I noticed that the princess had gotten dirty, just a little smudge of mud on her leg. It was tiny, really, nothing to bother too much with. So I licked my finger and rubbed it off. Only, a tiny little bit remained so I licked my finger again and wiped the rest of it off. Suddenly, and with a fair amount of horror, it dawned on me that the princess had at one point picked up the little shovel we keep outside and tried to play with it. Can you guess what we do with that little shovel? I'll give you a hint. Remember that big dog I mentioned in my last post? Ya, we use that shovel as our "pooper scooper". So I gave my finger the old sniff test and yep, it smelled just like dog poo. So, I officially licked dog poo. How disgusting is that. At some point in time this will seem as funny to me as it no doubt does to you, but first I need to finish my deworming treatments with the local veterinarian.
So now on to the second incident. I was happily having a late morning snooze yesterday as the young man played with his legos and the princess had not yet woken up for the day (she sleeps in while young man is a total early bird). I awoke completely confused by the fact that I had been asleep. Well, owing to the fact that I was very befuddled, only half awake, and resting my hand directly under my jaw and chin...I completely twisted my own neck when I went to raise my arms over my head to stretch. Literally, my hand caught under my chin and I twisted my own neck too far in one direction. I heard a sickening sort of wet tearing noise and thought "okay, that can't be good". I felt a sharp pain and stood up to assess the damage. Within about 3 minutes I could not move my neck in any direction. It hurt so badly that I was actually in tears. I cried like a baby as I called husband at work and told him to please hurry home. He took me to the doctor, who prescribed narcotics, heat, and rest before he even examined me, assuming by my story that I couldn't have injured myself that badly. I mean, it's not like I fell down the stairs, he said. After an examination, he was quite surprised that I had managed to actually shift one of those little vertebrae in my neck over to the side. There was a gap where there should have been bone. So he sent me over to the hospital for further testing, and I am taking my pain meds and waiting to hear back on how badly I damaged my own neck.
So I tell ya folks, you best get yourself in a better mood if you're feeling down at all. Cause, old Murphy has no sympathy whatsoever for those of us feeling down. In fact, I think he gets a sick sort of joy from pouncing when we feel we are least able to handle him.
July 31, 2009
July 24, 2009
White Lies and Dog Spit
So do you ever lie to your kids, just a little, when you think it's for their own good? Cause, sometimes I do. I also occasionally tell little white lies when I am feeling sort of lazy and backed into a corner. You know, it goes something like: "Mom, can we go to the park, you said we were done working in the house (said by young man)", to which I might reply, "Um, no, today's not a good day babe, Mommy's gout is really acting up again". Which would work like a charm because his burning curiosity over what exactly gout is would completely distract him from his original query. I don't even know what gout is, but I do know it is something that would really incite the curiosity of a 5 year old boy.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
So the other day the young man asked for a peanut butter and honey sandwich, to which I promptly obliged. But then he decided that he "had to finish this level of Lego Indiana Jones" before he could eat the sandwich. So there it sat for about 30 minutes, up on the high counter, looking all lonely and forlorn in front of young man's empty stool. Apparently our dog, Sonya (who is really big), also thought the sandwich looked lonely and forlorn, and too delicious to resist. So while I sat blogging, I heard the unmistakable sound of a plate banging on a granite surface and the jingle of collar tags hitting each other. I deduced in a milisecond what was happening and yelled: "SONYA, DROP IT!!", and so she did, immediately and out of fear for her life. I walked into the kitchen, picked up the completely intact sandwich off the floor and sat it back on the plate. The only damage it sustained were some deep puncture wounds inflicted by Sonya's large teeth, but it was otherwise whole.
So then young man says to me: "Mommy, now I need a new sandwich, Sonya ate mine", and his little bottom lip was trembling with sadness. I started to agree when I realized that we were out of honey, I had used the last of it on the sandwich that nearly became dog food. And if you know young man at all, you know that peanut butter and jelly is nearly as bad as torture by a 10 foot tall closet monster that is forcing him to eat any kind of food besides peanut butter and honey or crackers (yeah, he really enjoys a wide range of food). So I did what any Mom would do (what, you wouldn't?) to cheer up my on the verge of tears boy. I pulled off a tiny corner of the crust and said "now you can eat it, Sonya only had this one little part in her mouth". He happily picked up his sandwich to begin eating, but not before he questioned, "why are there holes in it?". I thought for maybe one second before I said, "I must have punched holes in the bread with my fingers when I picked it up off the floor". Yep, he bought it hook, line, and sinker, and polished off his sandwich like a starving little man. I mean, have you ever known anyone who died or even got sick from a little dog spit? I have never met such a person.
July 20, 2009
The Boy Who Lived and The Girl Who Could Run
So, we saw Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince on Friday, and can I just say it was one of the nicest dates we've had in a long while. We had dinner with some of my favorite peeps, M and T, S and S, and he who must not be named (I can't say who the last person was in our group, I promised I wouldn't). We ate at Red Robin where I devoured a ridiculously fattening, delicious, make you have a heart attack just reading the nutritional information if you are so inclined, BBQ burger with little fried onion shoe strings on it. Oh my, it was wonderful. As were the bottomless french fries....yum. I threw caution to the wind and didn't "count points" eating dinner that night (a Weight Watchers thing) because if I had, I would have ended up depressed and would have starved myself the next two days to make up for it. Sometimes folks, it's just better to lie to yourself. After stuffing ourselves silly, we all headed over to the theater for a little 'Arry Po'er. I had an ice cream cone, albeit a child size ice cream cone (told ya I wasn't counting) with my movie and it was just fantastic too. Can you tell that I'm a really food driven person? Cause, I am.
As for the movie, it was really good. As usual, I couldn't help pointing out to husband every little deviation from the books, especially since I just finished reading all the books for, oh, about the 7th time through. I think from now on that I should avoid reading books before I see the movie. I'm sure I would have liked the movie better had I not just read the book. They threw a few little scenes in that weren't even in the book and that sort of annoyed me and left a few things out that I felt were pretty essential to the storyline. But what can ya do folks? I guess I have to leave it in the hands of the directors, as much as that might pain me :). Suffice it to say though, that the movie was well done and we all liked it.
Now for some more good news. I can run again, hallelujah! Oh yes, my knee has mostly repaired itself, mostly. After a failed attempt at running on Saturday, where my friend E drove all the way from a different city to run 5 miles with me and I was only able to run about 1 mile and walk the other 4, it seemed a lot better the next day. So really all I needed was 9 days off, enough ibuprofen to burn a hole in my stomach, lots of frozen peas and corn, a highly embarrassing knee brace, and a slightly awkward gait to run 4 miles the other night. That's right, I ran a mere 4 miles on Monday, slowly and painstakingly, but I ran it. Looks like I'm back in the game, until my next injury.
As for the movie, it was really good. As usual, I couldn't help pointing out to husband every little deviation from the books, especially since I just finished reading all the books for, oh, about the 7th time through. I think from now on that I should avoid reading books before I see the movie. I'm sure I would have liked the movie better had I not just read the book. They threw a few little scenes in that weren't even in the book and that sort of annoyed me and left a few things out that I felt were pretty essential to the storyline. But what can ya do folks? I guess I have to leave it in the hands of the directors, as much as that might pain me :). Suffice it to say though, that the movie was well done and we all liked it.
Now for some more good news. I can run again, hallelujah! Oh yes, my knee has mostly repaired itself, mostly. After a failed attempt at running on Saturday, where my friend E drove all the way from a different city to run 5 miles with me and I was only able to run about 1 mile and walk the other 4, it seemed a lot better the next day. So really all I needed was 9 days off, enough ibuprofen to burn a hole in my stomach, lots of frozen peas and corn, a highly embarrassing knee brace, and a slightly awkward gait to run 4 miles the other night. That's right, I ran a mere 4 miles on Monday, slowly and painstakingly, but I ran it. Looks like I'm back in the game, until my next injury.
July 15, 2009
The Birds and The Bees
I knew this day would come. Dreaded it, actually. The day my sweet, innocent, tender little man came into the world, I can remember thinking; "someday, he's going to ask me about s.e.x., and someday, he'll have it". Eeek! I know! What a horrible thought, but ya know, I'm always looking forward. Now he's only 5, so don't get all worried about the having it part, cause, I think we're still at least a good, oh, 25 years away from that milestone (a parent can only hope). But the subject has now officially been broached in our household. One of my most tremendous fears has come to pass. And I've spent a lot of time worrying about what I would say when he started asking questions. I've also spent a lot of time trying to convince husband that he should be the one answering questions, since he's a boy too (yeah- trying to shirk my duty, I know). "I'll take the girl", I say, but I know that when she starts to become curious, it'll be just as dreadful.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with the "birds and the bees" and I do think that children should be taught by their parents on these matters, but that does NOT make it any easier to do. It's like when I was 12 and I stole a chap stick from a drug store. I felt so guilty right away, in fact, my intestines still squirm with guilt when I think about it to this day. I was told the best way to feel better would be to take the chap stick back. I couldn't do it, I was too afraid so I just threw it in the trash. I can't throw my childrens' sex education in the trash however much I wish I could. *sigh*. I knew I would have to face it someday.
So this is how it all went down. I was folding a pile of laundry in the living room, underwear in fact. The young man came in looking perplexed. I'm sure his thought process was something along the lines of; where his latest lego creation had gone to, how cool transformers are, when in the world would Cyberchase be on TV again, how the bad guys are so much more cool than the good guys (Megatron obsession over here), and how perhaps I wouldn't do a sniff check on his undies at bedtime and find out that he'd wet them just a little bit because he got too into building things with his legos to take a potty break in time like he does every.single.day.....you know, normal 5 year old boy stuff. I just know he wasn't actually thinking about, well, you know. I think it was the panic induced by the wetting his pants a bit thought, or maybe just that too many little boy concerns flooded his mind all at once, but the effect was a temporary, heart stopping, panic inducing, oral diarrhea that produced the question: "Mommyhowdobabiesgetoutofyourtummy?", said real quick-like. "What sweetie", was all I could muster for a good 5 seconds that seemed like 10 minutes. Oh I'd heard him the first time alright, but I was simply hoping that perhaps I had heard him wrong and he'd actually asked something like: "Mommycantyouanddaddyhaveanotherbaby?" (cause he really wants a little brother, sisters are "the worst" apparently).
My mouth went real dry all of a sudden and I needed a really big glass of water so that I could regain my ability to swallow correctly. My stomach started doing horrible, nausea inducing flip-flops, and I'm pretty sure I was breathing faster than is necessary during casual conversation. Two seconds passed, then 5 seconds, then my palms started sweating and I silently cursed husband for being at work. The thought crossed my mind that we were at the tip of the sex iceburg with the baby question and that global warming was melting that iceburg into nothing. "What do I say.....I mean, holy heck, what do I say?!". So I came up with this: "Well young man, the mommy goes to the hospital and the doctor helps the baby come out", to which he replied "okay" and skipped off looking so much more at ease. Ba-rilliant! Success! And he was satisfied with that tiny, harmless little bit of information. Someday the big talk is coming, I know it, I can feel it. And when we do talk, he'll probably roll his eyes and tell us he'd known about "that" since he was 3. Until then, less is definitely more.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem with the "birds and the bees" and I do think that children should be taught by their parents on these matters, but that does NOT make it any easier to do. It's like when I was 12 and I stole a chap stick from a drug store. I felt so guilty right away, in fact, my intestines still squirm with guilt when I think about it to this day. I was told the best way to feel better would be to take the chap stick back. I couldn't do it, I was too afraid so I just threw it in the trash. I can't throw my childrens' sex education in the trash however much I wish I could. *sigh*. I knew I would have to face it someday.
So this is how it all went down. I was folding a pile of laundry in the living room, underwear in fact. The young man came in looking perplexed. I'm sure his thought process was something along the lines of; where his latest lego creation had gone to, how cool transformers are, when in the world would Cyberchase be on TV again, how the bad guys are so much more cool than the good guys (Megatron obsession over here), and how perhaps I wouldn't do a sniff check on his undies at bedtime and find out that he'd wet them just a little bit because he got too into building things with his legos to take a potty break in time like he does every.single.day.....you know, normal 5 year old boy stuff. I just know he wasn't actually thinking about, well, you know. I think it was the panic induced by the wetting his pants a bit thought, or maybe just that too many little boy concerns flooded his mind all at once, but the effect was a temporary, heart stopping, panic inducing, oral diarrhea that produced the question: "Mommyhowdobabiesgetoutofyourtummy?", said real quick-like. "What sweetie", was all I could muster for a good 5 seconds that seemed like 10 minutes. Oh I'd heard him the first time alright, but I was simply hoping that perhaps I had heard him wrong and he'd actually asked something like: "Mommycantyouanddaddyhaveanotherbaby?" (cause he really wants a little brother, sisters are "the worst" apparently).
My mouth went real dry all of a sudden and I needed a really big glass of water so that I could regain my ability to swallow correctly. My stomach started doing horrible, nausea inducing flip-flops, and I'm pretty sure I was breathing faster than is necessary during casual conversation. Two seconds passed, then 5 seconds, then my palms started sweating and I silently cursed husband for being at work. The thought crossed my mind that we were at the tip of the sex iceburg with the baby question and that global warming was melting that iceburg into nothing. "What do I say.....I mean, holy heck, what do I say?!". So I came up with this: "Well young man, the mommy goes to the hospital and the doctor helps the baby come out", to which he replied "okay" and skipped off looking so much more at ease. Ba-rilliant! Success! And he was satisfied with that tiny, harmless little bit of information. Someday the big talk is coming, I know it, I can feel it. And when we do talk, he'll probably roll his eyes and tell us he'd known about "that" since he was 3. Until then, less is definitely more.
July 14, 2009
Addicted
I have always been a shopper, I just might have been born to do it. The prowess I display when moving deftly between hanging racks while pushing a clunky stroller and pulling an unwilling 5 year old boy along with me is something to behold. My stamina is amazing, I am a marathoner when it comes to shopping. Although, I don't do it in my underwear, like most marathoners I know :). But maybe I should cause that'd clear the place out real quick and then I wouldn't have to move so much like a lioness on the hunt, full of stealth and ready to pounce, but more like the somewhat clumsy girl that I am away from the shopping forum.
You wouldn't believe the bodily changes that take place within me and many other ladies I know when we're "on the hunt". I'm pretty sure my eyes dilate, my nostrils flare, my heart rate and blood pressure both speed up, and my breath quickens. I also experience this euphoric, happy feeling that makes me feel just fantastic, on top of the world! Do you want to go shopping now? Cause, you should, it can be that great.
I've met my match in shopping lately though, I've got to tell ya. Have you heard of Matilda Jane? It's like a secret society, just not intentionally secret. The company is still fairly small, though growing larger all the time I'm sure, so getting ahold of the "merchandise" can be...difficult. It's addicting and I've been sucked into the vortex that is stalking their website all.day.long waiting for things to pop up that I can actually buy online. You see, you usually can't get it online, but you have to go to in-home trunk shows and order it through "trunk keepers". But they started online art fairs and now their "platinum" site allows you to shop and buy any time. The trick is waiting for the things you've been salivating for to pop up and get them before the other 8,000 ladies who are also stalking the web site. Oh yes, there are thousands of us out there.
Until my innocent foray into a certain website devoted to clothing and a forum entitled "other brands", I had never heard of Matilda Jane. I was safe in my world of easily obtainable Gap, Gymboree, and Target. I had merely to decide to go to the mall or make a few strokes on the old keyboard and all the adorable childrens' clothing I could ever want was made immediately available to me. And then I bought my first Matilda Jane dress, from someone else, and I was hooked. Now the trick was figuring out how to get my hands on it. And then I found my dealer, a perfectly nice girl (named Megan) who supplies my Matilda Jane. I have been contacting her more and more frequently as of late and we are now on a first name, bantering basis. Scary.
What's the draw, you say? Well, it's only the cutest, most unique, and did I say cutest, clothing I've ever seen for kids. It's full of whimsy, a little bit old-fashioned while being fashion-forward at the same time, and a sure-fire way for your kids to get compliments. My daughter loves the clothes and she's only 2. Incidentally, she's wearing Matilda Jane in the pics I posted of her last. Go check it out, if you even dare...
So here I sit, blogging to pass the time *just in case* that light blue "dance yourself silly" tank that I.MUST.OBTAIN pops back up on their website. My eyes are bloodshot, my head hurts, my fingers hurt, but I WILL be victorious. Oh yes, that tank will be mine...I mean the princess's.
You wouldn't believe the bodily changes that take place within me and many other ladies I know when we're "on the hunt". I'm pretty sure my eyes dilate, my nostrils flare, my heart rate and blood pressure both speed up, and my breath quickens. I also experience this euphoric, happy feeling that makes me feel just fantastic, on top of the world! Do you want to go shopping now? Cause, you should, it can be that great.
I've met my match in shopping lately though, I've got to tell ya. Have you heard of Matilda Jane? It's like a secret society, just not intentionally secret. The company is still fairly small, though growing larger all the time I'm sure, so getting ahold of the "merchandise" can be...difficult. It's addicting and I've been sucked into the vortex that is stalking their website all.day.long waiting for things to pop up that I can actually buy online. You see, you usually can't get it online, but you have to go to in-home trunk shows and order it through "trunk keepers". But they started online art fairs and now their "platinum" site allows you to shop and buy any time. The trick is waiting for the things you've been salivating for to pop up and get them before the other 8,000 ladies who are also stalking the web site. Oh yes, there are thousands of us out there.
Until my innocent foray into a certain website devoted to clothing and a forum entitled "other brands", I had never heard of Matilda Jane. I was safe in my world of easily obtainable Gap, Gymboree, and Target. I had merely to decide to go to the mall or make a few strokes on the old keyboard and all the adorable childrens' clothing I could ever want was made immediately available to me. And then I bought my first Matilda Jane dress, from someone else, and I was hooked. Now the trick was figuring out how to get my hands on it. And then I found my dealer, a perfectly nice girl (named Megan) who supplies my Matilda Jane. I have been contacting her more and more frequently as of late and we are now on a first name, bantering basis. Scary.
What's the draw, you say? Well, it's only the cutest, most unique, and did I say cutest, clothing I've ever seen for kids. It's full of whimsy, a little bit old-fashioned while being fashion-forward at the same time, and a sure-fire way for your kids to get compliments. My daughter loves the clothes and she's only 2. Incidentally, she's wearing Matilda Jane in the pics I posted of her last. Go check it out, if you even dare...
So here I sit, blogging to pass the time *just in case* that light blue "dance yourself silly" tank that I.MUST.OBTAIN pops back up on their website. My eyes are bloodshot, my head hurts, my fingers hurt, but I WILL be victorious. Oh yes, that tank will be mine...I mean the princess's.
July 13, 2009
Little Models
I recently had some professional pictures taken of the kids and they turned out really great. There are, like, 142 of them (literally!), so I'm just going to post a few. The photographer was great, a gal named Skye Johansen who lives in Lehi. Check out her blog. Hope you enjoy my beautiful kiddos, I know I do.
July 12, 2009
An Ode to Inappropriate Conversations
So my family came over tonight. And by my family, I mean husband's crazy siblings with their various spouses and younglings, and well, that's always a good time. We love to talk, and we will talk until 3 am if the mood strikes. Yeah, we've done it before, more than once. Now that I'm 30, I'm going to have to really scale back on that kind of behavior just like I had to give up the keggers a few years ago. Kidding, cause I'm like, Mormon. Aren't you?
So there is one thing even better than gossip that seems to happen as the little hand on the clock winds its way ever more toward the right, which should be clockwise in case you're scratchin' your head. We start talking about things that are really better left unsaid. And if you know my brother-in-law T, you know those things generally do not remain unsaid. And just to be fair, my sister-in-law M too. Oh fine, and me three.
You wouldn't think that discussing leaking milky boobs, birth stories, birth control, and various bodily functions and non-functions could be such a rip-roaring good time, but I tell ya, you must not have tried it yet. I really get into those conversations that tend to take place at 2am and leave you hanging your head in shame the next morning. "Did I really say that?", you think to yourself. "What the heck was I thinking?", is the inevitable conclusion that you blearily come to the next morning. And here's the kicker folks, it is all said without the benefit of any form of intoxication to get the conversational wheels a turnin'. Oh me oh my, we Mormons sure know how to party like it's 1999.
So the next time you find yourself sitting with a group of close friends (as these people previously mentioned are my BEST friends in the whole world) and there is a lull in the conversation, here are some trigger words that work best for me and mine: boob, butt (or bum, if you prefer), shower, poop, "my boob is leaking!" (ya, we like, have babies all the time in this group), and well, you get the gist. You'd think we were all in second grade or something, but really I think it's the "witching hour". Ya know, nothing good happens after midnight and all that jazz. Well, the witching hour used to be midnight for us, but as old father time bestows more wrinkles around my eyes than I care to notice each morning, it gets earlier and earlier. I can only conclude that pretty soon, 7pm is going to get reeeaaallllly interesting.
Editor's Note: Some of my "favorite peeps", or "best friends in the world" if you would prefer, were not present last night. You know who you are girls :).
So there is one thing even better than gossip that seems to happen as the little hand on the clock winds its way ever more toward the right, which should be clockwise in case you're scratchin' your head. We start talking about things that are really better left unsaid. And if you know my brother-in-law T, you know those things generally do not remain unsaid. And just to be fair, my sister-in-law M too. Oh fine, and me three.
You wouldn't think that discussing leaking milky boobs, birth stories, birth control, and various bodily functions and non-functions could be such a rip-roaring good time, but I tell ya, you must not have tried it yet. I really get into those conversations that tend to take place at 2am and leave you hanging your head in shame the next morning. "Did I really say that?", you think to yourself. "What the heck was I thinking?", is the inevitable conclusion that you blearily come to the next morning. And here's the kicker folks, it is all said without the benefit of any form of intoxication to get the conversational wheels a turnin'. Oh me oh my, we Mormons sure know how to party like it's 1999.
So the next time you find yourself sitting with a group of close friends (as these people previously mentioned are my BEST friends in the whole world) and there is a lull in the conversation, here are some trigger words that work best for me and mine: boob, butt (or bum, if you prefer), shower, poop, "my boob is leaking!" (ya, we like, have babies all the time in this group), and well, you get the gist. You'd think we were all in second grade or something, but really I think it's the "witching hour". Ya know, nothing good happens after midnight and all that jazz. Well, the witching hour used to be midnight for us, but as old father time bestows more wrinkles around my eyes than I care to notice each morning, it gets earlier and earlier. I can only conclude that pretty soon, 7pm is going to get reeeaaallllly interesting.
Editor's Note: Some of my "favorite peeps", or "best friends in the world" if you would prefer, were not present last night. You know who you are girls :).
July 11, 2009
Running is on my mind...
And I'll tell you why. Cause I've been doing an awful lot of it lately, that's why. I am running my little heart out, putting my feet inside a humble pair of running shoes that only cost me $115 and pounding the pavement to nothin'. Why do I do this to myself? I am really not sure, cause I don't like it. Really, I *almost* hate it. I can't stand to hear myself gasping for air like it's my last breath, I detest the feeling of my bladder bouncing uncomfortably within the tendons that are supposed to hold it into place, I hate my boobs bouncing in front of others and I mean really bouncing despite my "bounce free" sports bra, but most of all, I really hate the nearly incapacitating need to empty my bowels within 5 minutes of starting out a run. TMI you say, no my friend, it is not. I only tell you this to spare you from even attempting this archaic form of exercise yourself. I've been sucked into it because of my highly competitive, "I must spend hundreds of dollars on this new hobby of mine", nature. But I hope to spare you.
Walking is the way to go. Yes, yes, I know, the "cool" people run. They run marathons for fun, yes they do! And they do it in their underwear with their clearly defined abdominal muscles free of stretchmarks and that winter warming layer of blubber, being highlighted with each intake of breath. But I'll tell who's gonna have the last laugh, the walkers. Oh yes, while the runners are on their way to the hospital for multiple joint replacements, the walkers will quietly hold up their "I TOLD you so, you fool" mantles. Yes, they will go to the grave with their very own joints intact. It's like Bill Gates people. You know he got made fun of all through school, but who's laughin' now? So put on your power walking shoes, roll your hips, and swing those arms baby! And do it with pride, cause you're the smart one.
So, I ran 7 miles on Thursday, and I ran through the gully twice, and I didn't walk at all. I was all proud of myself until I woke up the next morning. Oh boy, my right knee did NOT like that run at all! It had puffed itself up to twice its normal size in its anger over my tomfoolery. It refused to bend, it laughed at my attempts to quiet it with Ibuprofen, but most of all, it punished me for my stupidity by aching in a nearly unbearable fashion all.day.long. And this comes after a barely healed sprained ankle. I think my joints are trying to tell me something, but I will not listen. No sirree, I will soldier on. Cause I found this:
And by THIS!, I mean "the Frog Bra" by Title Nine Sports. Oh yeah, it guarantees no more bouncing, ever. It costs a mint, but hey, I'd do a lot for no more bouncing while running, ever. So I ordered it and I anxiously await it's arrival at my doorstep. So there's one thing I might be able to change, the bounce factor. Perhaps the next time I run, I will hate it just a little bit less.
Walking is the way to go. Yes, yes, I know, the "cool" people run. They run marathons for fun, yes they do! And they do it in their underwear with their clearly defined abdominal muscles free of stretchmarks and that winter warming layer of blubber, being highlighted with each intake of breath. But I'll tell who's gonna have the last laugh, the walkers. Oh yes, while the runners are on their way to the hospital for multiple joint replacements, the walkers will quietly hold up their "I TOLD you so, you fool" mantles. Yes, they will go to the grave with their very own joints intact. It's like Bill Gates people. You know he got made fun of all through school, but who's laughin' now? So put on your power walking shoes, roll your hips, and swing those arms baby! And do it with pride, cause you're the smart one.
So, I ran 7 miles on Thursday, and I ran through the gully twice, and I didn't walk at all. I was all proud of myself until I woke up the next morning. Oh boy, my right knee did NOT like that run at all! It had puffed itself up to twice its normal size in its anger over my tomfoolery. It refused to bend, it laughed at my attempts to quiet it with Ibuprofen, but most of all, it punished me for my stupidity by aching in a nearly unbearable fashion all.day.long. And this comes after a barely healed sprained ankle. I think my joints are trying to tell me something, but I will not listen. No sirree, I will soldier on. Cause I found this:
And by THIS!, I mean "the Frog Bra" by Title Nine Sports. Oh yeah, it guarantees no more bouncing, ever. It costs a mint, but hey, I'd do a lot for no more bouncing while running, ever. So I ordered it and I anxiously await it's arrival at my doorstep. So there's one thing I might be able to change, the bounce factor. Perhaps the next time I run, I will hate it just a little bit less.
July 10, 2009
Another day, another background...
Well, I'm playing around with this stuff and learning a few tricks. I need my friend L to come over and show me how to add pictures and change the layout and whatnot, but hey, I'm trying. I'm ashamed that I am completely and totally inept at blogging. Perhaps some day, I will become the world's greatest blogging, background making, template designing fool, but for now, yeah, I'm really not even sure how to put the pictures in.
This really does remind me of scrap booking, an art I have never excelled in. Once my Mom took me to a scrap booking store and bought me all sorts of pretty paper, ink, stamps, cute stickers and borders, and I was determined to scrapbook. I did one whole page before I realized that I am just not the "scrap booking type". I still have a bin full of the stuff down in the basement and I use it whenever I am unfortunate enough to have to serve in the primary (only kidding folks, primary is the highest calling besides RS president and I was LUCKY to get to spend 3 years in a row molding young minds...to do my evil bidding, Mwahahahaha!). Incidentally, my Mom still has her bin too, but I think she did at least, oh, 5 pages before she called it quits.
I admire the ladies who are really good at scrap booking. I know quite a few and I am in awe of their artistic abilities. This might be a coincidence, but they also tend to be really good at decorating their homes. They are also usually really good at dressing fabulously stylishly and staying really thin while eating entire tubs of buttered and salted popcorn at every.single.chick flick that they attend. Alas, I am not a scrap booker. No buttered popcorn for me, but could you pass the fiber one bars?
So I'm working on it. And if you are reading this L, please know that I am waiting for you to come and show me art of blogging, which you seem to have mastered :).
This really does remind me of scrap booking, an art I have never excelled in. Once my Mom took me to a scrap booking store and bought me all sorts of pretty paper, ink, stamps, cute stickers and borders, and I was determined to scrapbook. I did one whole page before I realized that I am just not the "scrap booking type". I still have a bin full of the stuff down in the basement and I use it whenever I am unfortunate enough to have to serve in the primary (only kidding folks, primary is the highest calling besides RS president and I was LUCKY to get to spend 3 years in a row molding young minds...to do my evil bidding, Mwahahahaha!). Incidentally, my Mom still has her bin too, but I think she did at least, oh, 5 pages before she called it quits.
I admire the ladies who are really good at scrap booking. I know quite a few and I am in awe of their artistic abilities. This might be a coincidence, but they also tend to be really good at decorating their homes. They are also usually really good at dressing fabulously stylishly and staying really thin while eating entire tubs of buttered and salted popcorn at every.single.chick flick that they attend. Alas, I am not a scrap booker. No buttered popcorn for me, but could you pass the fiber one bars?
So I'm working on it. And if you are reading this L, please know that I am waiting for you to come and show me art of blogging, which you seem to have mastered :).
July 08, 2009
So this is what all you young, hip people have been doing
Well, due to boredom and avoidance of cleaning the basement, I decided to start a blog today. I love blogs and I read a lot of blogs of people I love and people I hardly even know. Why read the blog of people I don't know, you ask? I guess I'm kind of voyeuristic that way. I've definitely bitten off more than I can chew, so bear with me as I add in pictures and make this blog personal and 'Me' style. Apparently, when I get really good, I can even custom design a template, whatever that is. If it's anything like scrap booking, and I suspect it is, I will suck at it. For some strange reason I have avoided this 'newfangled' technology for as long as I possibly can, much like someone's great-grandmother might...but not husband's grandma, nope, she's got e-mail and she's even on facebook at the ripened age of 99. But she doesn't have a blog, so there's one more very elderly person that I am one step ahead of, yesiree Bob! So if you haven't gotten the idea, I'm quite behind in the world of blogging. But I will not even attempt 'twitter' for at least 4 more years.
As I type this, my 5 year old, the young man, is standing on my right asking repeatedly, "Mommy, when are you going to throw the dying bug outside. Don't you know you always have to throw dying bugs outside, okay Mommy. The bug looks dead, why did it come in our house?", and rinse and repeat about 10 times and you get the idea. To which I keep replying, "Well, if it's dead, we'll just leave it there", when really I'm thinking as hard as I can "please go away, please go away, please go away", and "gross, I might throw up if I have to touch a bug, best to leave it for husband", but don't dare say it lest I hurt his tender little feelings. And his feelings certainly are tender, he can cry real tears, big ones, at the drop of a hat, or rather, the voicing of a harsh word or tone. He is uber- smart though and quite a rationalist and bargainer ("I'll tell you what Mom, you turn on Cyberchase for me and then I will finish my banana"-real quote). Maybe, if the other kids don't kill him first, he'll grow up to be a lawyer. He knows just how to drive me crazy but he can also be the most endearing little guy you've ever met. Whenever I scold him or punish him he'll yell, "Mom, I HATE you for 50 years!", which almost always makes me laugh. Not that he hates me at the moment, but that he feels he needs to put a time constraint on his hate. He is not athletically gifted and is quite clumsy really, but he sure is good at building stuff with his legos. Genius actually.
My 2 year old, little princess, is fast asleep and has been for the last 2 1/2 hours. What a good girl. Really, nap time is the best! I can do a whole lot of nothin' in 2 hours! And nothing, is like, my favorite thing to do a lot of time. I occasionally like to spice up 'nothing' with things like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming for a roaring good time, but ya know, nothing usually works great for me. Lest you think I'm sitting and staring at the wall like a zombie, let me list my 'nothing' activities. Let's see, there is reading the Harry Potter series for, oh, I don't know, maybe the 10th time, perusing the Twilight series and focusing on the make-out scenes (did I just blog that out loud?), or reading any book for that matter, watching any of the 50 reality series on TLC that I tivo incessantly (nothing like a good, screaming, labor scene at lunch time) or SYTYCD (if you don't know what that is, time to move out of the rock), or any TV really, and of course, nothing would not be 'nothing' without a good nap. But I digress, this is little princess's paragraph. She really is a princess. She is sweet, petite, and very girly. She loves her shoes and the color pink. She loves animals and already hates bugs (just liker her mom). And oh boy can she talk. I mean, full thoughts, full sentences, with a dash of full teen-angst/puberty already thrown in. Case in point, the other day I told her it was nap time but she didn't want to go to sleep yet. I tried to tempt her with a bottle (she just turned 2 and still has a bottle at naps) and she turns towards me, puts her hands on her hips, and says "Mommy, I no want baba EVER AGAIN!". She also informs me of current events on a nearly constant basis- "Mommy, I go potty in diaper", "Mommy, kids outside jumping", "Mommy, doggy go poop".
So our brood just consists of 2 littluns right now. And just because the princess is 2 does NOT mean that it's time for us to get crackin on little number 3, so stop askin people, sheesh! Just kidding, ask away. It gives me the chance to act secretive and vague and start ward rumors that I'm pregnant :). The hubby is fantastic. I mean, really fantastic! He's sexy, funny, smart, can fix anything, and is an amazing Dad. He only occasionally tries to shirk dad duty and always picks up my slack on the weekends when I'm so burned out that I "just don't care". So that's a little look into our family. Bear with me while I get some pictures and a cutesy background going on this blog.
As I type this, my 5 year old, the young man, is standing on my right asking repeatedly, "Mommy, when are you going to throw the dying bug outside. Don't you know you always have to throw dying bugs outside, okay Mommy. The bug looks dead, why did it come in our house?", and rinse and repeat about 10 times and you get the idea. To which I keep replying, "Well, if it's dead, we'll just leave it there", when really I'm thinking as hard as I can "please go away, please go away, please go away", and "gross, I might throw up if I have to touch a bug, best to leave it for husband", but don't dare say it lest I hurt his tender little feelings. And his feelings certainly are tender, he can cry real tears, big ones, at the drop of a hat, or rather, the voicing of a harsh word or tone. He is uber- smart though and quite a rationalist and bargainer ("I'll tell you what Mom, you turn on Cyberchase for me and then I will finish my banana"-real quote). Maybe, if the other kids don't kill him first, he'll grow up to be a lawyer. He knows just how to drive me crazy but he can also be the most endearing little guy you've ever met. Whenever I scold him or punish him he'll yell, "Mom, I HATE you for 50 years!", which almost always makes me laugh. Not that he hates me at the moment, but that he feels he needs to put a time constraint on his hate. He is not athletically gifted and is quite clumsy really, but he sure is good at building stuff with his legos. Genius actually.
My 2 year old, little princess, is fast asleep and has been for the last 2 1/2 hours. What a good girl. Really, nap time is the best! I can do a whole lot of nothin' in 2 hours! And nothing, is like, my favorite thing to do a lot of time. I occasionally like to spice up 'nothing' with things like laundry, dishes, and vacuuming for a roaring good time, but ya know, nothing usually works great for me. Lest you think I'm sitting and staring at the wall like a zombie, let me list my 'nothing' activities. Let's see, there is reading the Harry Potter series for, oh, I don't know, maybe the 10th time, perusing the Twilight series and focusing on the make-out scenes (did I just blog that out loud?), or reading any book for that matter, watching any of the 50 reality series on TLC that I tivo incessantly (nothing like a good, screaming, labor scene at lunch time) or SYTYCD (if you don't know what that is, time to move out of the rock), or any TV really, and of course, nothing would not be 'nothing' without a good nap. But I digress, this is little princess's paragraph. She really is a princess. She is sweet, petite, and very girly. She loves her shoes and the color pink. She loves animals and already hates bugs (just liker her mom). And oh boy can she talk. I mean, full thoughts, full sentences, with a dash of full teen-angst/puberty already thrown in. Case in point, the other day I told her it was nap time but she didn't want to go to sleep yet. I tried to tempt her with a bottle (she just turned 2 and still has a bottle at naps) and she turns towards me, puts her hands on her hips, and says "Mommy, I no want baba EVER AGAIN!". She also informs me of current events on a nearly constant basis- "Mommy, I go potty in diaper", "Mommy, kids outside jumping", "Mommy, doggy go poop".
So our brood just consists of 2 littluns right now. And just because the princess is 2 does NOT mean that it's time for us to get crackin on little number 3, so stop askin people, sheesh! Just kidding, ask away. It gives me the chance to act secretive and vague and start ward rumors that I'm pregnant :). The hubby is fantastic. I mean, really fantastic! He's sexy, funny, smart, can fix anything, and is an amazing Dad. He only occasionally tries to shirk dad duty and always picks up my slack on the weekends when I'm so burned out that I "just don't care". So that's a little look into our family. Bear with me while I get some pictures and a cutesy background going on this blog.
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