1) I recently had a birthday. I did not shout "hurray" but I did eat as much of a Costco All American Chocolate Cake as I could stomach. That is RICH cake (and I love rich stuff).
2) It's sad that there's a whole generation of people (younger than me) who don't quite get the significance of 80s musicians showing up in cameos on "Yo Gabba Gabba." Come ON. Biz Markie teaching kids to beatbox isn't awesome?
And the non-fans can get kind of snotty about it. I don't quite get it.
3) It's never good to try to jog wearing Birkenstocks and no bra. It just doesn't work. You heard it here - now you don't have to try it.
4) This is my new ringtone. I am satisfied.
5) Hummus is surprisingly good on whole wheat plain toast. Kind of like crackers.
6) I don't WANT to take my Christmas tree down. I will. But I hate doing it. We have a fake tree, I'm not sick of looking at it yet, and it's tedious, horrible, boring, stupid, barf-inspiring work.
7) You blog people are awesome. Smooches to you all.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
TOOOOOOOOES
 |
| Tiny Toe Zombie hits the jackpot |
I'm preparing a church lesson, and I don't like teaching "with paper", so I'm copying the lesson from the church website to my phone.
<3 Always and forever <3
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
"I enjoy it auditorially."
Thus quoth Bella, regarding Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy", which she recently bought from iTunes. Her mother's geekiness is rubbing off. Awww.
Enough motherly goopiness. Let's get down to business.
Ease Up There, Love Chop Award
I'm not one to blog much about weather, unless I'm out in it. With our car now dead (or at least looking that way), we've been hoofing it this week. The Old Lady Grocery Cart has been used twice now - once by Hubby, who reluctantly agreed that it was a good purchase and might be joined by another cart, since our family is full of locust-like children and we have such a hard time keeping groceries in the house. Not buying them, just keeping them around. "There's nothing to eat!"
But back to the weather. We've experienced quite the gamut since the stupid car was stupidly thrown into the stupid lane divider (by the stupid ice), ranging from "colder than a well-digger's butt in January" to sunny to windy to cloudy to sprinkly to "What new car? We need to buy kayaks!"
The end is in sight, as we will soon know if our stupid car is worth stupidly fixing - Hubby and I are guessing, and I admit, hoping that it probably isn't - and our mechanic, a family friend, has another car for us to look at and possibly buy. We will only have to walk to the store one or two more times.
So I'm asking the weather: Ease Up There, Love Chop. Please take pity on our footbound family. We really don't mind walking. We lack a sense of societal convention. We're armpit-hair-sprouting dirt-munching hippies and have chosen to see this situation as an adventure. But weather, can you just cooperate? Until we have our new car, or can buy a few more umbrellas?
In other news: Life rocks. We're healthy, we're happy, we're warm, we're full, we have toys to play with. The Year of Ease continues.
Enough motherly goopiness. Let's get down to business.
Ease Up There, Love Chop Award
I'm not one to blog much about weather, unless I'm out in it. With our car now dead (or at least looking that way), we've been hoofing it this week. The Old Lady Grocery Cart has been used twice now - once by Hubby, who reluctantly agreed that it was a good purchase and might be joined by another cart, since our family is full of locust-like children and we have such a hard time keeping groceries in the house. Not buying them, just keeping them around. "There's nothing to eat!"
But back to the weather. We've experienced quite the gamut since the stupid car was stupidly thrown into the stupid lane divider (by the stupid ice), ranging from "colder than a well-digger's butt in January" to sunny to windy to cloudy to sprinkly to "What new car? We need to buy kayaks!"
The end is in sight, as we will soon know if our stupid car is worth stupidly fixing - Hubby and I are guessing, and I admit, hoping that it probably isn't - and our mechanic, a family friend, has another car for us to look at and possibly buy. We will only have to walk to the store one or two more times.
So I'm asking the weather: Ease Up There, Love Chop. Please take pity on our footbound family. We really don't mind walking. We lack a sense of societal convention. We're armpit-hair-sprouting dirt-munching hippies and have chosen to see this situation as an adventure. But weather, can you just cooperate? Until we have our new car, or can buy a few more umbrellas?
In other news: Life rocks. We're healthy, we're happy, we're warm, we're full, we have toys to play with. The Year of Ease continues.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
He can borrow my SLICKER
Wishing Hubby and Bella a safe trip to Sammamish and a great game... see you tonight!
Tonight's discussion: The Killers' lead singer vs Neon Trees' lead singer.
Tonight's discussion: The Killers' lead singer vs Neon Trees' lead singer.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Throwback
Brennan is a senior in high school this year. We had some pictures taken at the mall, including a set of wallet-size photos, which he needed to give to the yearbook staff. "Give the rest of them to your friends," I suggested.
He sighed and smiled, and it hit me. Duhhhh.
"Mome..." he explained so patiently. "When we want pictures of each other, we just send them to each other's PHONES."
No paper photographs. The genealogist in me shudders.
Seriously, it's kind of sad - I still have pictures of friends from high school haunting a box in the garage. The only photographic evidence he will have will be on his phone - or on Facebook. So odd to me, to not have something tactile to keep forever, something on which they can write a message (write! Like, with a pen!) and sign their name to and be embarrassed by two years later. It's a good thing we still have yearbooks.
He sighed and smiled, and it hit me. Duhhhh.
"Mome..." he explained so patiently. "When we want pictures of each other, we just send them to each other's PHONES."
No paper photographs. The genealogist in me shudders.
Seriously, it's kind of sad - I still have pictures of friends from high school haunting a box in the garage. The only photographic evidence he will have will be on his phone - or on Facebook. So odd to me, to not have something tactile to keep forever, something on which they can write a message (write! Like, with a pen!) and sign their name to and be embarrassed by two years later. It's a good thing we still have yearbooks.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
The Weekend
This hike! I have to take it!
The car! I broke it! On the way to the indoor soccer place, early Saturday morning, the roads were ultraslick. We hit an ice patch and swerved, I overcorrected (actually, I just grabbed the steering wheel and futilely wiggled it in ANY direction while slamming on the brakes), and we hit a short lane divider with the wheel before stopping. Then we drove the dumb thing home and parked it FOREVER.
OK, not forever. That would be my wish but it's not happening.
On payday we'll have it fixed. It's a good thing we're close to everything. It's a good thing I planned for just such an occasion and bought that "old lady" grocery cart (much to Hubby's amusement - who's laughing now, Big Boy?). It's really crappy that this happened in winter. Duh, ice, can't you come in summer when it's warm?
This floorplan! Yes, I'm way dreaming with that one. Wouldn't it be fun, though?
The latest Facebook pet peeve!: Sending friend requests to high school classmates you barely remember, just so you can further your kid's career in rock music. "They're playing a gig here!" "Show up here on this day for a video shoot!"
I've already hidden the guy, but he's taken to sending private messages en masse, and invitations which require a response. Must you make me publicly reject your child? I barely know you.
And that was the weekend. How was yours?
The car! I broke it! On the way to the indoor soccer place, early Saturday morning, the roads were ultraslick. We hit an ice patch and swerved, I overcorrected (actually, I just grabbed the steering wheel and futilely wiggled it in ANY direction while slamming on the brakes), and we hit a short lane divider with the wheel before stopping. Then we drove the dumb thing home and parked it FOREVER.
OK, not forever. That would be my wish but it's not happening.
On payday we'll have it fixed. It's a good thing we're close to everything. It's a good thing I planned for just such an occasion and bought that "old lady" grocery cart (much to Hubby's amusement - who's laughing now, Big Boy?). It's really crappy that this happened in winter. Duh, ice, can't you come in summer when it's warm?
This floorplan! Yes, I'm way dreaming with that one. Wouldn't it be fun, though?
The latest Facebook pet peeve!: Sending friend requests to high school classmates you barely remember, just so you can further your kid's career in rock music. "They're playing a gig here!" "Show up here on this day for a video shoot!"
I've already hidden the guy, but he's taken to sending private messages en masse, and invitations which require a response. Must you make me publicly reject your child? I barely know you.
And that was the weekend. How was yours?
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Why I Am Going To H311
Reason 421.
Every afternoon, just as I am lovingly enfolding my two youngest (Carter, 9; Rosalind, 6) into my bounteous motherly arms, feeding them hand-squeezed hand-pasteurized milk from our cow and letting them feast on hot homemade cookies, congratulating them on triumphing against another day of school...
*DING DONG*
Here come the Wonder Twins.
The Wonder Twins are not actual twins, but brothers, one of whom is in Carter's class at school, but they are indeed wondrous -
Every day, they make their parents disappear.
They're basically nice kids (aside from the occasional begging - "Can I keep your Nerf gun?" - and menacing my other children - "If you don't do what Carter wants, I'll beat you up").
But they show up at 3:05 every afternoon, they play with Carter for awhile, and then I get tired of them or am ready to make dinner or take one of my children somewhere.
I excuse them to leave. "You are welcome to go home now, Wonder Twins."
"We can't," they say in precise, practiced, dead-eyed unison. "No one is home at our house."
I'm sorry, what?
"We can't go home. Our parents aren't home and the house is all locked up and we can't get inside."
I believed them the first time. The first time, they were lying. "Their father was home," their embarrassed mother griped to me on her way home from work. "They just wanted to stay and play with Carter."
Last night... they were not lying.
And you know how Wednesday night is. It's nutty. We have a Cub Scout and an 11-year-old Scout and two kids in Mutual. I'm in the Young Women program (necessitating my also being at Mutual) and my husband is the 11-year-old Scout leader.
So, at 5:00 yesterday evening, when the Wonder Twins were invited to vacate and they put forth their little "dilemma," I found myself walking the fine line between resentment for being considered the neighborhood drop-in day care (And why not? I have five children, I must LOVE yours), irritation at being inconvenienced, and murderous rage.
It is a very fine line.
"Get in the car, Wonder Twins," I nicely thundered at them. "We'll just see if no one is home at your house."
"But..."
"JUST GET IN THE CAR. Carter, you come with us."
And, true to their word (for once), no one was at home.
Now feeling extremely crappy for cranking at these children for a situation FAR beyond their control, I stopped my desperate doorbell-ringing and screen door-rattling, went back to the car, and drove them to another neighbor's house: the neighbor they apparently use as backup. "Our dad said we should go here if we can't stay at your house."
These two little boys exited my car and went to the neighbor's door. It was obvious they were not expected (and probably not very welcome, either).
I drove home, livid. Who makes their elementary school-age children live like this, wandering around trying to find a warm dry spot, like stray cats?
Their dad called me. "Wifey? My wife said you called."
Oh, so she's sick of my frantic phone calls and foists them on you now.
"So what's up?" he continued.
Well, Disappearing Dad, your days of abusing your neighbors' kindness and using our house as your own personal orphanage are hopefully numbered. Let's try this out.
"Your boys came over to play today and when it was time to go home, the house was locked and no one was home, so I took them to Trevor's house."
He said the first of several amazingly bad things:
1. "O-kay..." he spoke haltingly, as if my depositing his offspring at a house other than my own was really putting him out. "I - THINK - I - know where Trevor's house is."
You have to be kidding me. Your kids consider this one of their homes away from home, and you THINK you know which house it is?
2. "They TOLD me you said it was OK."
Hello? Remember last time? Your kids are liars... at least, that's what your wife told me. Now I'm starting to wonder.
3. "They're over at your house so much, I was wondering what's been going on over there!"
It's called "put on your shoes and walk over and meet your neighbors." We're indoctrinating them, to hate stupid parenting techniques. They just LOVE our Kool-Aid.
4. "The boys like coming to your house so much, I figure if they're there, they'll be gone for two or three hours, so I can go run errands."
So I do. I leave my third- and second-grade babies to the mercy of virtual strangers. I leave, and I don't tell the boys where I'm going or when I'll be back, I don't leave a door unlocked for them in case they come home, I don't give them a key and teach them how to use it. I DEFINITELY don't tell my boys' new unpaid babysitter where I'm going (let alone ASK her if it's all right with her), and I make sure I don't leave my cell phone number with her. That's none of her business.
I just leave, lock up the house like it's Fort Knox, point the boys in the neighbors' direction, and hope the neighbors pick up my "crappy father" slack.
In all seriousness... my husband and I are of differing opinions about this guy - I think he's just stupid and has entitlement issues. Hubby suspects drugs or another woman ("Why can't he run errands while they're at school?"). I told Hubby, when I went to the front door of their house, I half-expected to see Dad lying on the living room floor, half-dressed, in a pool of his own puke. How else to explain for this lack of parental feeling, if not something chemical-related?
I seriously considered calling Child Protective Services and reporting two abandoned children and a set of neglectful parents. They're probably onto me now, though.
And that's why I'm going to H311.
Every afternoon, just as I am lovingly enfolding my two youngest (Carter, 9; Rosalind, 6) into my bounteous motherly arms, feeding them hand-squeezed hand-pasteurized milk from our cow and letting them feast on hot homemade cookies, congratulating them on triumphing against another day of school...
*DING DONG*
Here come the Wonder Twins.
The Wonder Twins are not actual twins, but brothers, one of whom is in Carter's class at school, but they are indeed wondrous -
Every day, they make their parents disappear.
They're basically nice kids (aside from the occasional begging - "Can I keep your Nerf gun?" - and menacing my other children - "If you don't do what Carter wants, I'll beat you up").
But they show up at 3:05 every afternoon, they play with Carter for awhile, and then I get tired of them or am ready to make dinner or take one of my children somewhere.
I excuse them to leave. "You are welcome to go home now, Wonder Twins."
"We can't," they say in precise, practiced, dead-eyed unison. "No one is home at our house."
I'm sorry, what?
"We can't go home. Our parents aren't home and the house is all locked up and we can't get inside."
I believed them the first time. The first time, they were lying. "Their father was home," their embarrassed mother griped to me on her way home from work. "They just wanted to stay and play with Carter."
Last night... they were not lying.
And you know how Wednesday night is. It's nutty. We have a Cub Scout and an 11-year-old Scout and two kids in Mutual. I'm in the Young Women program (necessitating my also being at Mutual) and my husband is the 11-year-old Scout leader.
So, at 5:00 yesterday evening, when the Wonder Twins were invited to vacate and they put forth their little "dilemma," I found myself walking the fine line between resentment for being considered the neighborhood drop-in day care (And why not? I have five children, I must LOVE yours), irritation at being inconvenienced, and murderous rage.
It is a very fine line.
"Get in the car, Wonder Twins," I nicely thundered at them. "We'll just see if no one is home at your house."
"But..."
"JUST GET IN THE CAR. Carter, you come with us."
And, true to their word (for once), no one was at home.
Now feeling extremely crappy for cranking at these children for a situation FAR beyond their control, I stopped my desperate doorbell-ringing and screen door-rattling, went back to the car, and drove them to another neighbor's house: the neighbor they apparently use as backup. "Our dad said we should go here if we can't stay at your house."
These two little boys exited my car and went to the neighbor's door. It was obvious they were not expected (and probably not very welcome, either).
I drove home, livid. Who makes their elementary school-age children live like this, wandering around trying to find a warm dry spot, like stray cats?
Their dad called me. "Wifey? My wife said you called."
Oh, so she's sick of my frantic phone calls and foists them on you now.
"So what's up?" he continued.
Well, Disappearing Dad, your days of abusing your neighbors' kindness and using our house as your own personal orphanage are hopefully numbered. Let's try this out.
"Your boys came over to play today and when it was time to go home, the house was locked and no one was home, so I took them to Trevor's house."
He said the first of several amazingly bad things:
1. "O-kay..." he spoke haltingly, as if my depositing his offspring at a house other than my own was really putting him out. "I - THINK - I - know where Trevor's house is."
You have to be kidding me. Your kids consider this one of their homes away from home, and you THINK you know which house it is?
2. "They TOLD me you said it was OK."
Hello? Remember last time? Your kids are liars... at least, that's what your wife told me. Now I'm starting to wonder.
3. "They're over at your house so much, I was wondering what's been going on over there!"
It's called "put on your shoes and walk over and meet your neighbors." We're indoctrinating them, to hate stupid parenting techniques. They just LOVE our Kool-Aid.
4. "The boys like coming to your house so much, I figure if they're there, they'll be gone for two or three hours, so I can go run errands."
So I do. I leave my third- and second-grade babies to the mercy of virtual strangers. I leave, and I don't tell the boys where I'm going or when I'll be back, I don't leave a door unlocked for them in case they come home, I don't give them a key and teach them how to use it. I DEFINITELY don't tell my boys' new unpaid babysitter where I'm going (let alone ASK her if it's all right with her), and I make sure I don't leave my cell phone number with her. That's none of her business.
I just leave, lock up the house like it's Fort Knox, point the boys in the neighbors' direction, and hope the neighbors pick up my "crappy father" slack.
In all seriousness... my husband and I are of differing opinions about this guy - I think he's just stupid and has entitlement issues. Hubby suspects drugs or another woman ("Why can't he run errands while they're at school?"). I told Hubby, when I went to the front door of their house, I half-expected to see Dad lying on the living room floor, half-dressed, in a pool of his own puke. How else to explain for this lack of parental feeling, if not something chemical-related?
I seriously considered calling Child Protective Services and reporting two abandoned children and a set of neglectful parents. They're probably onto me now, though.
And that's why I'm going to H311.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
People Who Have It Easy... Or Do They?
So I was going to post all these videos of intros to superhero television shows - The Six Million Dollar Man, et al - but of course "embedding has been disabled." I HATE disabled embedding!!!
I did find this clip, though. This is a major Google moment for me, so I hope you appreciate the significance. I couldn't think of their names, I could only remember that it was a live action children's show on ABC from the 70s. I think that's what I Googled.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who remembers this show.
I was especially surprised to see that this is how Deirdre Hall got her start in TV.
Please tell me you know who Deirdre Hall is. Without Googling.
I think this is how midlife crises start... after a while, it becomes clear to you that no one knows who or what you're talking about anymore.
I can just imagine how my grandmother must feel.
I did find this clip, though. This is a major Google moment for me, so I hope you appreciate the significance. I couldn't think of their names, I could only remember that it was a live action children's show on ABC from the 70s. I think that's what I Googled.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who remembers this show.
I was especially surprised to see that this is how Deirdre Hall got her start in TV.
Please tell me you know who Deirdre Hall is. Without Googling.
I think this is how midlife crises start... after a while, it becomes clear to you that no one knows who or what you're talking about anymore.
I can just imagine how my grandmother must feel.
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