...is this thing on?

Deaf, Dumb & Blind

This post is not about Helen Keller.  No, really.  My children think that I am hard of hearing, stupid and that my eyes don't work.

Have you ever watched America's Funniest Home Videos with a six and almost three year old?  Hey...  Everyone enjoys having a good laugh.  You'd think it would be fun, right?  Watch a silly video, have a good chuckle and all is right with the world.  It is neither fun, nor enjoyable.  In fact, it is pure torture and not because the videos aren't funny or the host is a dork.  It is because my kids have to repeat what happened over, and over, and over, and over, like I wasn't sitting there on the couch RIGHT next to them watching it.  Griffin is especially guilty of this, but as I have mentioned previously, he often exceeds his daily allowed number of words.  We are thinking of hitting him with overage charges, like when you go over your cell phone minutes.

"Mom!  That cat...  it just jumped up and scared that guy!"

"Mom...  Did you see that cat scare that guy?"

"It was running...  and it jumped and scared that guy!"

"Mom, did you see it?" 

"Did you see that cat?"

American Funniest Home Videos should be renamed the Yell at Your Kids Show, because that is what happens.  They repeat everything.  We can't hear anything.  We miss everything.  They get yelled at.  Nothing like a little family bonding time, eh? 

As for being deaf, they are confident that I cannot hear anything that they say, so they both repeat it.  Over and over and over and over and over.  I promise you dear children that I CAN hear you.  I am just ignoring you.  It's not that I don't love your both dearly, because I do.  Oh, I do.  SO much.  However, my ears are just full and I can no longer listen to your 15 minute stories about Pokemon or listen to you tell me that you have the pink crayon for the 20th time.  I'm sorry.  When you are a parent you will understand.

Additionally they do not believe that I can hear the oven/microwave timer, dryer or washer buzzer, the doorbell or the telephone, even though I am in the same room with them.  Case and point, tonight at dinner the phone rang and Ava turned to me and said "the phone is winging Momma".  I was maybe two and a half feet away from her.  Tops.

The best part though is that they think I am stupid.  Especially Griffin.  He thinks that I am a super dumb ass.  For example, several weeks ago, Griffin was trying to tell me something about Star Wars that, HELLO, everyone knows.  Our conversation went like this:

GRIFFIN: "Blah, blah, blah, story about Star Wars everyone knows."

ME:  "Yes, Griffin, I know."

GRIFFIN: "You don't know that Mom!"

ME:  "Yes, I do, Griffin."

GRIFFIN: "Ehhhhh (snitty sound)...  Mom, I've seen like five of the Star Wars movies Mom.  How many have YOU seen?  I know more about Star Wars than you do."

ME:  "I've seen all six of of them Griffin.  The first one came out when I was five.  I've seen them all many, many, many times.  Sigh... " 

GRIFFIN: "Well, you don't know as much as I do." 

Then, a couple of weeks ago, he wanted me to open up a DVD, which ironically was The Empire Strikes Back.  As I was removing the plastic and such from the DVD the following conversation occurred:

GRIFFIN:  "Mom...  You have to take those white stickers off!"   

ME:  "Yes, Griffin, I know."

GRIFFIN:  "Mom, you aren't doing it right!  Let me do it!"

ME:  "Griffin, DUDE, (yes I call my kids dude) I worked in a music/video store for five years and was a manager most of that time.  I know how to remove security stickers from DVDs and CDs.  I'm a professional."

-

My kid doesn't even think I am smart enough to remove stickers from DVDs and he is only six...  I can't wait until he's a teenager...  Ava too for that matter.  I betcha it is going to be real fun and stuff.   

Seeking: Brave Souls

I've been asked by a bunch of people to post entries from the "make fun of photos from the 80's" series much more frequently.  However, I think it would be waaaaaaaaaaay more fun if there were photos of people other than me.  Aren't you sick of seeing me in all of my 80's high school glory?  So, I'm asking you, the readers of my blog, to participate.  If you are brave, scan a photo, from a dance or otherwise and send it to me.  If there are bits of back story that just beg to be told, include those too.

I promise you the following:

• I won't post last names.  Heck, if you want an alias I can do that too.
• I won't make fun of your attractiveness, pimples or pudge, because I'm not mean.
• Hair, make-up, shoes and clothes are absolutely fair game.
• Surroundings are fair game too...  Like your Depeche Mode posters in the background...  Oh, yeah.  That kind of stuff will not escape me.

So...  Who's up for a little public humiliation?  It's for a good cause...  Other people's amusement.  Anyone else out there brave (or stupid) like me?  Who's game?

If you are game, click on the link underneath my photo over there <-------- on the left.

ETA:  That was quick...  I have one brave soul (victim) already.   Now have pictures from two three FOUR brave souls and promises from several others.  Oh, and they are good...  So, so good.  Come on people!

A Random bit of Funny... Well, to me anyway.

I have to listen to music while working.  It's a thing.  I simply must have music on and cannot work without it.  No music, no workie.  Lately however, when I press play on Windows Media Player a sound bite comes up instead of the CD I just put in.  Yeah...  The sound bite is a loop of Brett Michael's final words from Rock of Love II, which are, and I quote "let's go have hot monkey sex."  It loops four or five times. 

I have no idea how to get my computer to knock it off.  I can't find it to delete it.  It's a complete mystery.

I totally embarrassed myself the first time it happened, because I couldn't hear anything playing, so naturally I turned my speakers up REALLY loud.  That was a bunch of awesome.  People were doing that lean and peek thing out of their cubes.  You know...  They were trying to see what exactly I was up to in that there office of mine. 

Just trying to listen to some music as I work.  Carry on.  Nothing to see here.  I'm not trying to sexually harass you or anything.  I promise.  I'm totally not screwing off either.  I'm working.  Need music to work.  Move along. 

I keep forgetting about it and of course it keeps happening, because I'm clearly about as sharp as a bowling ball.

It's been a while since I have shared an embarrassing high school dance photo from the 80's. So, for your viewing pleasure, I present to you Commencement Ball 1987.

Since I have no dignity and am utterly shameless, I thought I would share another one of my priceless high school formal dance photos for your amusement. My high school had a butt load of formal dances.  Seriously, there were three every year.  Not that my friends and I ever actually stayed around to dance.  No.  We were WAY too cool for that nonsense. Pshaw!  We typically just used a "dance" as an excuse for an extended curfew.  We were smart like that.    

Oh sure, we'd get all dressed up and go to the dance, but we'd typically stroll in late, get our pictures taken and then leave.  We might make a lap around the dance floor (a.k.a. the gym), to see what everyone else was wearing so we could then duly make fun of them.  One year there were several girls in these ENORMOUS pink antebellum type dresses with huge hoop skirts.  How on earth they even got into the car still is a mystery to me.  They couldn't even sit and looked ridiculous dancing.  Heh.   

Now, I, on the other hand, looked totally cool...  as you can see here.

 

Now, I would like to point out a few things that I would hate for you to miss...  because this is the best part.  (Feel free to click on the fabulous photo to see it larger.)

• Starting with the hair, as we always do, I would like for you to know that 1987 was the year that I discovered Sun In and hydrogen peroxide.  Oh yes.  It was.  I applied it in massive doses so I could be blond.
• The tail is proudly displayed and has been crimped to match my crimped "in the face" bangs.  To get the crimp that I proudly displayed here, one would have to spray their hair with copious amounts of Aqua Net and then use the curling iron backwards to create large crimps.  I loved this trick!
• Amy, who was my best friend, has enormous hair, and her dude is sporting a semi-mullet.  Sweet.
• Why is my date smelling my hair?  Does it smell like pungent chemicals perhaps?
• Why are we holding rose scepters?  And the main question is, did we use our powers for good or evil that night?  I presume evil. 
• Where on God's green earth did Amy find royal blue leather pumps that perfectly matched her dress?

I had to lighten the photo to show you the next bit of goodness...

• I'm wearing witch boots with my formal dress.
• Sadly, you cannot see them in the photo, but I was also wearing fishnet stockings.  Roar!!!
• Our dates were actually college boys and were both 21.  Perhaps our parents thought is was OK because they were attending the Mormon college in Rexburg, ID.  It used to be called Ricks College (Napoleon Dynamite wears a Rick's College T-shirt in the movie by the way) but is now BYU Idaho.
• These boys bought us beer all the time.  They were not very saintly at all. 

For more laughter at my expense, you can click here to see some of the other fabulous 80's photos I have posted.  My personal favorite is still this one. 

The Monster Truck Rally

I remember when he asked me to go. 

"What?!?  You want me to go where?  A monster truck rally?"

"On purpose?"

"Are you insane?" 

"Do I look like the type of person who goes to a monster truck rally?"

"HELLO...  I do not have a mullet."

"Why on earth would you want to go and do that?"

To say that I thought he was insane would have been an understatement.  People like me, you know, who were cool and stuff, did not go to Monster truck rallies.  *Sunday!  Sunday!  Sunday!*  No, we cool people went to hip bars/clubs (like where I met him, duh) and concerts and art shows, man...  Not a monster truck rally.  I'm sure.  <eye roll> 

But, I was in love.

Truly, deeply, madly in love.

I think we can all agree that love can make you do things that you would never have done if it was on your own accord, and I simply wanted to be with him.  We were at that point in our relationship where all we wanted to do was be with one another.  We were also at that point in our relationship where people told us to "get a room".  Often.  Time seemed to go so fast when we were together and so slow when we were apart.  The hours apart were agony.  I was going to school full-time and working full-time, so my days were very long, but I always made time for him.  Always.

So, because I wanted to be with him, I begrudgingly agreed to go to a monster truck rally.  When the night of the big event finally arrived, we met some friends who were also going (thank God!) at a bar, where we proceeded to pre-func.  You know...  get a buzz on before the actual function.  We caught a cab over to the King Dome, which has since been imploded, and our cabbie was listening to reggae music and burning incense, however, it did not cover up the smell of what he had recently been smoking.  (Hey...  I went to college you know.) 

The cabbie dumped us out close to the entrance and we began our ascent up the long ramp to get into the Dome.  After being ticketed and entering, we bought beers that were bigger than our heads and eventually found our seats.  As I glanced around the arena I noticed a lot of men, a lot of boys and a lot of mullets.  To be fair, I also noticed a lot of families.  The energy was intense.  I think it was the sheer amount of testosterone in the air.  When the lights went down and the announcer came on the crowd erupted.  I watched two young boys who were sitting next to me go completely bat shit crazy insane with anticipation.  Oh. My. God. It. Is. GRAVEDIGGER!  *Boing, boing, freak, freak, freak*

What I remember most about the show was laughing so hard I thought I would die.  I was laughing for many reasons; the people, the idea that I was at a monster truck show, the high percentage of mullets in one area and because, well...  Big ass monster trucks were crashing around a stadium and wrecking other cars/trucks.  I also remember the smell of gasoline and fumes in the air, which towards the end of the show became quite pungent.

I was with friends.  I was with the love of my life.  I had a good time.  I had a good time at a monster truck rally surrounded by men with mullets.  There, I said it.  I had a good time.   

So, the moral of this story is, try something new that you NEVER thought you would do in a million, zillion years. You might just like it. 

-

-

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OR, maybe it is, if you drink enough beer even a monster truck rally can be fun.
       

      

Shorty?

When I work out I tend to listen to a lot of rap, hip-hop and R&B/pop music via VH-1 or the infamous MTV, which really needs to just change their name, but I digress...  They actually do show videos at 5:00 am, in case you were wondering.  Normally, I wouldn't listen to that kind of music, because I am a music snob and prefer more high brow tunes.  However, when I'm working out I need something with an upbeat tempo and smashing beats to keep me motivated.  The mopey melancholy crap I generally listen to doesn't tend to make me want to work out.  Maybe have a good cry, or sit my butt on the couch, or have a drink, but for sure not work out.

I have noticed one thing about these genres of music.  A sort of common thread amongst them, if you will.  The men keep referring to "shorty".  I have a question for you, dear Internet.  What or who is "shorty"?  Are they referring to their man parts?  Or is a "shorty" a woman?  I ask you this in all honesty.  I truly just don't know and it has been bugging me.   

I've been known for my dimness before.  In general, I'm pretty dang smart, however, there are things that fly over my head all the time.  I exchange emails with a friend from work and I have a real knack for responding with something that could be considered terribly, hilariously dirty, completely on accident.  Like the time he asked me if I was still on a conference call and I responded "I just got off!  WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!  I won't even notice it until he points it out.  Clearly, he's a dirty, dirty, monkey.  Also, I only just recently realized that the song Lola by The Kinks was about a transvestite.  I was driving home from work and it was on the radio and I was singing along, just as I had done 300,000 other times, and a light bulb went off in my head.  Hey...  WHAT did they just say? 

I immediately called Chris.

<Ring.  Ring.  Ring.>

CHRIS:  "Hello?"

ME:  "Is Lola by The Kinks about a transvestite?!?"

CHRIS:  **Uncontrollable laughter**

ME:  "Is Lola by The Kinks about a transvestite?!?"

CHRIS:  "WHAT?!?" 

ME: "No, really?  Is it?  It is.  Isn't it?  Oh my God!  Where have I been?!?" 

CHRIS:  "How old are you?  What?  Have you never HEARD the song before?"   

ME:  "Shut up!  I've heard it a million times...  I just never realized what he was singing about.  Oh my God.  I'm so stupid!"

CHRIS:  *snicker, snicker, snicker*

-

So...  Can you please clue me in?  What's a "shorty" ?

So Awkward it Hurts

So, why not blog about it!?!

I was blog hopping the other day and I came across this blog (which I rather enjoy by the way): Que Sera Sera and I was reading and clicking around and I found a section called cringe and with a title like that I just HAD to click on it.  So, the dealio is, once a month people get together at a bar in Brooklyn and read from their teenage diaries.  Oh. My. God.  I would love to be in that audience.  You know it would be a combination of utter hilarity and total empathetic awkwardness that just makes you hurt. 

I would liken it to the first time I watched South Park.  The very first one I saw was with Jesus and Brian Boitano ice skating and the kids kept calling one another "dildo".  I kept wavering between laughing so hard it hurt and thinking "they can't say that on TV...  They can't call one another a dildo in the presence of Jesus!"  The Office does the same thing to me.  Must be because I work in Human Resources. I am very empathetic person.  I'm not the cold hard bitch that I portray myself to be.  I can't even watch "The Price is Right" without getting too anxious for the people playing that I have to turn the channel.  I can't handle the thought of seeing them lose.

So, yeah...  I would love to go to Brooklyn and go to one of those readings.  That isn't likely to happen anytime soon.  However, in honor of all the brave souls who have shared their teenage thoughts with a room full of strangers I will leave you, dear Internet, with the following... 

I present to you January 4th and 5th, 1989, senior year of high school...  I about spit my wine out as I was reading page 2. 

High school boyfriend Matt found my blog a few months ago...  Don't know if he is still reading, if so, he's going to get a kick out of this one.

Hillbilly Date Night

Chris and I had a totally romantic Thursday evening!  We went to the the gun range.  Sweeeeeeeeet.  I know.  However, I've been wanting to learn how to shoot trap forever and when my dad died I acquired several guns from his arsenal that would allow me to do so.  One of the guns was at the gunsmith for the past 3 - 3 1/2 months getting all fixed up, because, well...  it was broken.  Some doojobby or doohickey wasn't working on it.  Don't ask me.  I have no clue.  Chris knows about that stuff.  We finally got the call a couple of days ago that it was ready so Chris just picked it up this week.   

We found this gun range a couple of weeks ago totally by accident when we went out geocaching.  It's close to the house and cheap, which are both good things.  Chris bought some clay pigeons, a hand thrower and shot gun shells, and our main goal tonight was to get me comfortable with the guns.  I plan to take some lessons soon and I don't want to look like a complete and total ass.  I'm against that.  Looking like an ass, I mean.  I'm happy to say that I am now comfortable with both guns and was kicking some serious ass with the 20 gauge for a bit, which is rather ironic since it is the one that kicks hardest.  I got five in a row.  Go me.  Dad would be so proud. 

CLEARLY you don't want to mess with me.

*smirk*

      

OK... and it actually wasn't a TRUE date night, because we brought the kids.  We bought them pizza, bug juice and candy and they had a picnic in the back of the Jeep and watched a Sponge Bob Square Pants DVD.  We actually paid Griffin to watch Sponge Bob Square Pants, errr...  I mean his sister and he did a great job.  Man...  Kids have it good today.  We would have just had to go play with rocks or something back in my day.

As I was loading up the gun getting ready for my next shot, we heard Griffin say "Dad!  I see a deer!" , and Chris and I both looked up and lo and freaking below there is a deer right in the middle of the gun range!  I'm pretty sure that deer was not a member of deer mensa international.  Yeah.  Not so much.  Chris and I had shot through about two boxes of shells at that point, so it's not like we were being quiet or anything.  Guns being shot are pretty loud in general.  Then two more deer went walking on the edge of the range.  I know Chris was TOTALLY thinking "where the hell are all these stupid deer during deer season?!?"  It was as if they were taunting him.

Then the really, super dumb one came back AGAIN!  It was just waltzing around in the middle of the range again like it owned the place.  Lucky for it, we were the only ones at the range.   

Hello dumb ass!  We are shooting guns in your general direction.  You could get shot and stuff and die.  It could hurt.  There would be blood.  Your blood.  Do you think you could remove yourself from the gun range?  You know...  'Cause we are shooting guns toward you.   

Chris tried scaring it by yelling, doing ooga booga monster arms, chasing it, etc.  Nothing was working.  So, he threw a couple of clay pigeons at it to get it to move.  It still wouldn't get off the range.  The dumb thing went over to the clay pigeon and sniffed at it!  I'm so glad I had my camera with me tonight, because I'm not sure anyone would have believed us without pictures.  Maybe they are all deaf deer.

   

It finally boogied when a dog, who belonged to some people who were at the archery range, which is next to the trap range, saw it and went crazy.

Is that not just insane?

Proud Parental Moment #292: Plus an Oldie, but Goodie

Last evening was completely lovely outside, so I was hanging with the kidlets while they were playing in the yard before dinner.  In the span of about 40 minutes Ava uttered "oh my God!" four times.  Crap.  Each time I told her it was a no-no and she was not allowed to say that.  I gave her a mini lecture using my stern Momma voice and she would say "OK, Momma", all sweet and sheepishly, and then do it again.  Blast! 

The problem with littles saying stuff that they aren't supposed to say is that it is really, REALLY funny.  She had the intonation down pat!  I know I'm a terrible parent for finding it funny, but I do.  I'm easily amused and little kids cursing and fart jokes always do me in.  Do you know how hard it is to scold a child while you are cracking up?  Oh my God... 

I have NO idea where she picked that saying up.

*smirk*

While we are on the subject of kids saying things they aren't supposed to, I have to tell you about Griffin's infamous outburst.  We were up visiting Grandma and Grandpa Gailey in Traverse City one weekend when Griffin was about 2 and 1/2 or so.  We were going to go get ice cream and all of us were in the car together.  All of the sudden Griffin goes into this touretteish tirade and starts saying every curse word known to mankind. 

He was in the back seat in between Grandma and me...  He had the most devilish smile on his face during his vocabulary display so I know he TOTALLY knew what he was doing.  It seemed to be happening in slow motion.  He started out mild with "Jesus Christ" and "God Dammit", continued with bad, and worked up to really bad.  Yeah...  He dropped the F-bomb.  Oh. Yes. He. Did. With his grandparents in the car to hear it ALL.  That was pretty much the pinnacle of both Chris's and my parenting experiences.  We are clearly fantastic parents.

Would you like us to babysit for you?

We are really good at teaching children vocabulary enhancers.

      

If this doesn't make you shake it, I don't know what will.

Loving this song by Estelle.  Loving it.

Reminds me of the good ol' days when I used to go out dancing at the gay clubs with "the girls" in Seattle.  Usually some of "the girls" were actually boys.  We used to go to a club called the Brass Connection all the time, however, WE all called it the Ass Infection.  *snicker, snicker, snort*   

I'm pretty sure Chris and the kids are sick of me dancing around the living room doing my uncoordinated white girl moves to this by now. 

It's not a pretty sight, but I just can't help myself.

   

Is there a more beautiful sight?

I think not.

It's been official for several weeks now...  She's potty trained!

*and the clouds parted and the angels sang*

To be fair, she was really easy to potty train.  Especially since she went to Grandma and Grandpa's house for a week right as she was getting started.  Heh, heh, heh...  Now, Chris and I didn't do that on purpose.  We are mean, but not THAT mean.  She started showing interest and actually was going in the potty chair at daycare two days before she was supposed to go up to stay with them.  You know how it is with potty training...  Once they show an interest you can't ignore it.  Otherwise you might miss your opportunity... 

She got the majority of her accidents out of the way at their house and has only hand a handful here at home.   

No more diapers.

No more wipes.

No more diaper pail.

Life is good.

 

Dude, you are messing with my zen time.

You know how I go to the gym at 5:00 am almost every bloody weekday morning, right?  I've dropped that bit of mind numbing information several times, so I can't imagine you've missed it.  I don't do it to brag.  I do it so you will take pity on me, because 5:00 in the morning is really, really, really early.  It's still dark out you know...  I work full-time, plus have the family thing going on and quite frankly don't want to go to the gym after work for many reasons, several being:  I actually want to see my family, I hate fighting people for treadmills/bikes/etc., and I'm just too dang tired and lazy at that point in the day.  So, as much as I loathe getting up at 5:00 am, it is what I have to do.

Normally, the gym is nice and quiet at that time of day.  There are typically only 5-7 other insane people there at that time.  We will nod "hello" to one another or give a polite wave, but we don't speak to one another.  We all quietly go about our business, plug our headphones into the little HD TVs on our machines and do our workout thing.  Up until now it has been quite pleasant.  For the past couple of days though, there has been a new person at the gym.  She is chatty and she is loud.  I can hear her converation perfectly without removing my headphones and she is messing with my zen time.

I'll be the the first one to admit that I too LOVE talking about "Rock of Love", but not at 5:00 am.  I'm half asleep and am trying to pay attention to the really important Mariah Carey, Flo Rida or Usher video I'm watching.  Heck, watching anything at that hour of the day requires massive amounts of concentration by me.  I go to the gym sans coffee, and I NEED coffee to wake up.  Two big ass cups full.  So, I've already got a strike against me.  No coffee = comatose Ashley. 

In addition to being loud and chatty, this person is annoyingly chipper for that time of day.  Who is all bouncy and smiley at 5:00 am?  Who?  Aliens, lunatics and pod people.  That's who.

Good God, lady!  Do you not know what time it is?  Do you want me to show you where the clock is?  It's five FREAKING am!  I am trying to work out over here and your loud happiness is really making it hard for me to do so.  Working out at 5:00 am already blows, but your incessant twittering is making it somehow worse.  Gawd.  *hair-flip-stomp-stomp-stomp*  Do you mind?  Can't you see that I'm trying to get my groove on to this Madonna video and she only has 4 minutes to save the world?  Do you think that you could just zip it?  Or, perhaps take your loud happiness elsewhere? 

People suck.

Or MAYBE I'm just a bitch.

It could go either way.

            

 

Earth Day 2008

I spent my Earth Day 2008 spewing forth enormous amounts of emissions from my car today.  I found that to be rather ironic, considering the day and all that jazz.  This morning on my commute into work there was a five car wreck (you know we aren't allowed to call them accidents anymore).  So, I sat on the freeway FOREVER, just emitting fumes as I crept along trying to get past it.  It took me 30 minutes longer to get into work this morning.  Stupid gawkers.  It's not like there was any gore or anything either, just smashed cars.  I've got places to go people!  MOVE ALONG!

Then, at 10:30 am I got a call that one of my children had an "accident" (this term is still acceptable when talking about children's potty mishaps) and would I please bring in a whole new set of clothes for child.  Ugh.  So, off I trek all the way back across town, which is 18 miles each way mind you, gather new clothes for the child who had the accident and then headed to their school.  I gave my child the clean clothes and took the ucky ones.  What kind of a deal is that?  I got the crappy end of the stick for sure.

Since I had no gas left in my car I had to hit the gas station to fill up.  Gas is FREAKING $3.65 per gallon!  I'm talking about the bottom shelf stuff too, not the fancy smanchy super duper unleaded stuff. Plus the place where I go has a limit if you use a Visa or Master Card, be it a credit card or debit card.  For a Visa the limit is $50.00, so in order to fill up my car I have to do two transactions.  What kind of bull hockey doo is that?  Two transactions?!?  Visa needs to get with the freaking program and update that craziness.  Hello?!?  Can anyone at Visa even do math?  My tank only holds 17 gallons.  I'm not driving a Ford Excursion or something similarly gigantic.  I have a total pansy ass 2000 Chevy Tracker.  It's the gutless wonder, but it gets about 25 MPG and its paid for, so we are keeping her until she dies. 

So, I pretty much feel like a horrible person for all my extra ozone destroying emissions with it being Earth Day and all.  I'm actually quite the tree hugging earth muffin.  I'm known as the recycle Nazi in our house and have been known to yell at Chris a lot about it.  He throws stuff away that can be recycled all the time and it drives me nuts.  So, I'm always picking stuff out of the trash, washing it, and recycling it and then I yell at him.  The most often thrown away item is the empty peanut butter jar.  I *get* that it sucks to clean that sucker out, but we only have one earth man... 

Funny that this commercial is still totally relevant. 

Peace out.

Pouting - A lesson from the MASTER

So, I know I've mentioned before that Ava can be a beast to wake up.  Evil she beast from hell is probably the more appropriate term.  It doesn't matter if it is in the morning, or in the afternoon from a nap, the process is neither pretty nor enjoyable.  There are many tears, "I don't wannas" and THEN the pouting ensues.  Sometimes we get off easy and it only lasts for a few minutes, but other times we are tortured for a good 30-45 minutes.  Saturday we did not escape the nap wake up easily.  Not. At. All.

ME:  "Wake up Sunshine!  It's time to get up."  (Said in my most sunshine and sing songy rainbows voice.)

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "Come on, let's go outside."

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "Come on Ava, get it together.  Do you want to go BACK to bed?  I'll put you back to bed."

AVA:  "No go back to bed.  NO TAKE MY PICTURE!"  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "OK, well if you are going to continue to act like this I am going to go somewhere else."

(Do, you like that?  I tried to reason with a 2 and half year old 'cause I'm smart and stuff.)

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

(When she realized I wasn't watching her pout...)

AVA:  "Mama.  Mama.  MAMA!"  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

ME:  "I'm right here.  Do you want to go into the front yard for a while?"

AVA:  Cry, cry, cry.  Pout, pout, pout.

(Shaunte, dude, this one is totally for you.  It's not as good as these, but I know you will still enjoy it.)

ME:  OK... Let's go into the back yard.

Oh, hey...  BUBBLES!  Tra la la la la...

...and then she was all full of sweetness, sparkles and sugar and all was right with the world.

The end.

The Cup

Any day now we should be getting "the call" from Griffin's T-Ball coach letting us know when and where practices will occur.  Knowing that the season is upon us, we've been doing a bit of preparation.  Chris and Griffin have been practicing catching the ball in the back yard: pop flys, grounders and normal throws.  Chris picked up a new mitt for himself and he also took Griffin to the sporting goods store to purchase new cleats and man protection.  Apparently Griffin now needs a cup to protect the family jewels.  I asked Chris why he needs one this year when he didn't have one last year.  His reply?  "Oh, he needed one last year, we just never got him one."

Niiiiiice.

I'm not in charge of boy parts.  Anything to do with, or questions about, are referred to the man of the house.  I am not equipped, literally, to handle that sort of stuff.  In case you haven't previously realized, I'm a female.  I am in charge of bras, periods, hair product and pedicures, not penises. Needless to say, I was a bit astonished to find that Chris had fallen down on his job.  I'm sure if it was his twig and berries at stake he would have fully ensured that "the boys" were protected.  So, clearly Griffin was one lucky T-Baller last year.   

On Saturday night after bath time, unbeknown to me, Griffin decided to try his stuff on his stuff instead of putting on his pajamas.  He came marching out into the living wearing nothing but a jockstrap, with his heiny hanging out, giggling all the while.  He didn't even have the thing on straight, and had one of the leg straps around his waist... Here's the conversation that resulted:

GRIFFIN: "Mom, kick me in the nuts!"

ME:  "No!"

GRIFFIN: "Mom, kick me in the nuts!"

ME: "I'm not kicking you in the nuts."

GRIFFIN: "Mom, come on...  Kick me in the nuts!"

ME:  "Griffin, I'm NOT going to kick you in the nuts!"

GRIFFIN:  "Mom, it won't hurt...  I'm wearing a cup.  See?"

He then proceeds to punch himself in the nether region over and over...

(Chris then walks by.)

GRIFFIN:  "Dad!  Do YOU want to kick me in the nuts?"

Lord help us.

Nerd Season Opener

We are nerds.  Big fat ones.  You see, we are geocachers.  (If you don't know what geocaching is, then you will just have to click here for more information.)  I don't care that it is totally nerdy either.  I'm a nerd and I am proud!  DO YOU HEAR ME?  I am proud!  The weather today was PERFECT for nerding, er...  I mean geocaching. 

We headed out to Stony Creek Metro Park to find some geocaches that were new to us.  The metro park is enormous and beautiful, yet a bit tainted for me ever since Stephen Grant decided to disperse of his murdered wife's dismembered body parts in the park.  *shudder*  All you metro Detroiters know what I'm talking about...  They never found all of her parts.  I'm always afraid that I will find more than I bargained for when we go geocaching there.  Luckily today we did not find any stray body parts.  Just geocaches.  Phew!

We have this nerdy tradition that you have to take the picture of the person who finds the geocache.  I know...  We are THAT cool.  I actually found the first one.  As Chris was trying to get his bearings and figure out where we needed to go I glanced over and found it.  I have geocache super powers apparently.  Oh, and ESP too.

Griffin found the next one.  I wasn't even looking in the right spot.  Kids are great geocache spotters.  I think it is because they are so much closer to the ground.

As we were trekking through the forest we kept running across garter snakes.  We saw two or three.  Well, most likely we saw the same snake twice because it was in the same area.  Chris and Griffin were all over those poor snakes.  Ava and I were not.  We are not snake lovers.  We are both pretty much snake haters.  She freaked out after they were trying to catch the second one because she was out of her chariot.  She started girlie screaming and requested that I pick her up LOUDLY and many times.  So, I did.  Even though I pretty much wanted to do the same thing, but I knew I would squish her.  She had a death grip on me and wouldn't let me put her down.

On the way back out of the woods we walked by the area where they lost the first snake and lo and behold there was the snake again (or its creepy cousin) sunning on a branch.  I told them where the snake was and they headed off to get it.  Chris was determined that he was going to catch that snake this time, since the other two had gotten away, although, one snake gave him a present.  It peed on him.  Lucky! 

The creepy crawler is below. 

 

They caught it this time.  I guess the third time really is the charm.  Chris got it and then gave it to Griffin to hold.  It was squirming around like a crazed, well...  a crazed snake, so Griffin dropped it because it was freaking him out.  Smart boy.  Chris wanted to know if I got a picture of them holding the snake.  Yeah...  Ummmm...  No.  I was too freaked out to take photos.  I was afraid that crazy snake was going to bite one of them and then slither towards me.  I was poised and ready to run off down the trail screaming like a banshee at any given moment.  I couldn't think about taking photos!  Good Lord man!  That snake could have breathed on me or slithered near me or something equally terrifying.

Geez.

And then we went home...  and took naps.

The End.

       

You Can't Stop Progress*

Or gnomes for that matter...

Is that a lovely victory garden or what?

Check out that dirt. 

That is some PRIME dirt. 

I remembered the other day that our city gives out free dirt during the spring.  Of course what I couldn't remember was when they started doing it.  Then of course I forgot to look it up, because I have the attention span the size of a gnat and a Swiss cheese brain.  As I was driving home from work on Friday I drove past the free dirt place and lo and behold there was free dirt just waiting to come to live in our yard.  I called Chris and told him that the free dirt was there, so he made a couple of runs on Friday evening after setting up the frame and then made a few more runs yesterday.

We have dirt, people!

*If you can tell me what movie the title is from I will think you are really cool and give you a gold star for your forehead.

Daddy Big Fun

One of Chris's many nicknames is Daddy Big Fun.  He's always playing with the kids and they just love it, which of course just makes me love him even more.  He's truly a great father.  Plus he cooks.  AND cleans.  There is something so sexy about a man scrubbing a toilet.  Whooo weeee!  *fanning self with hand*  AND he can fix almost anything.  AND he does laundy.  I know!  He's a total catch for sure and I am a very lucky woman.

The other evening it was really nice outside so we and the rest of the state of Michigan were hanging out outside enjoying the warmth.  We've been trapped inside for a really looooooooooooong time you know.  Daddy Big Fun was in rare form.  There were all sorts of airplane rides and antics going on. 

I personally would NOT have found that fun, but the kids loved it.  Clearly, I have captured photographic evidence that they are insane, or perhaps that they have some sort of dare devil gene that I am missing.

Chris was working with Griffin on his catching too.  T-Ball will be starting up in the next couple of weeks.  I can see some marked improvement over last year already.  I mean with Griffin...  Not Chris.  Chris seems to know what he is doing...

 

OK...  I'm getting off this here computer box now...  Ava got me up at the butt crack of dawn this morning, so I've been editing photos and drinking coffee since then, but now I need to get my skanky, nasty house all cleaned up.  *shudder* 

Rock on with your bad self.

 

A couple of layouts

Did these for the May It Kit...

I'll tell you guys this...  I have hardly been doing any scrapbooking lately.  I'm just not feeling it lately dawgs...  So, I'm not doing it.  I'm still trying to take photos and documenting stuff via this here blog.  Hopefully my mojo will return soon.

Had to take a photo of this one, due to those yellow doodlybobs. 

And the award for the weirdest search that brought up my blog goes to...

The complete and total freak who searched for "make my ass CRAVE CORDWOOD."

I'm NOT making that up.  I can't make up stuff like that.  That is some crazy searching going on.  CRAZY. 

Disturbing, but oh so true...   

Reason #356 Why Kids Crack Me Up

Last evening, as Griffin was headed outside to get in some more play time after dinner he yells out to us "I'm going outside!  I'll let you know if I need anything!"

Chris and I had a good hardy laugh about that one, because you know...  we are ALWAYS just sitting around waiting for our kids' beckoned call so we can hop to it and get them whatever they need/desire the instant they ask for it. 

"Oh, yes Sire...  You want a Popsicle?  Right away, Sire.  Right away."

"Oh, you wanted a green Popsicle?  Not a purple one?  My mistake, Sire.  My mistake.  I'll fix it right away, Sire.  Right away." 

**Imagine me walking away backwards, with my head down and arms splayed showing my open palms.**

I'm SO glad our kids think we are their indentured servants. 

That rocks.

It's good to be the king...

"What HAPPENED to her face?!?"

Don't you love it when you drop your kid off at daycare with a totally conspicuous boo boo and you get the third degree about it?  I was assaulted with that question three times this morning.  Yeah...  I don't love it so much...  I especially don't love it when the boo boo was not acquired on my watch.  Most injuries happen on Chris's watch.  Now, I'm not implying that he is a crappy Dad...  Perhaps he just has really bad luck...  BUT, Ava's broken leg - his watch, Griffin's broken arm - his watch, Ava's newest boo boo - his watch.  See a trend here?

It is probably because he allows them to actually be kids.  I'm a wee bit overprotective at times.  Like all the times.  I'm that Mom that always scares the shit out of their kids before letting them do anything.  I like to give them all the information so they are prepared for anything and then quiz them...  Or just scare them.

"What do you do if a stranger offers you candy?"

"NO!  The answer is not eat it!  GOOD GOD CHILD!  Do you want to be stolen?  Do you?  Huh?  Huh?"

"What do you do if a stranger tries to talk to you?"

"YOU RUN AWAY!  Run boy, run!  Run with all your might and scream stranger danger!"

"If you climb on that you are going to get splinters...  or tetanus...  or BOTH."

"Get away from that water!  Do you want to drown?"

"Get down from there! Do you want to break a bone (again)?"

"What do you do before you cross the street?  You look BOTH ways before crossing!  Do you want to get squished by a car and be dead?  DO YOU?!?"

Yeah...  So, I can be wound a little tight.  I think I get it from my Dad.  He was an emergency room doctor for a really long time, so he saw the worst of the worst that could happen.  He made us wear seat belts before people wore them.  I mean, they were always in the cars, but no one actually used them back in those days.  The car wouldn't move until everyone had them on and if you happened to take yours off while the car was in motion you were totally going to have to pick your own switch when you got home.  I used to think he was mean.  Now I TOTALLY get it.

So, back to Ava and her boo boo.  I'm sure you are wondering "what HAPPENED to her face".  Yeah...  So her big brother, Griffin, ran over her with his bike because he couldn't remember where the brakes were.  He plowed her over and her face and the driveway became one.  Poor bunny.  The funny thing is she doesn't hold it against him at all.  She got all upset this morning when I dropped him off at school and I was scooting her out the door before she got a Griffin hug.  She started bawling, so I had to take her back in.  Once she got a hug from her big brother all was right with the world. 

Awwww...  Doesn't that just give you that mushy-sweet-lovey-dovey-with-rainbows-and-sparkles-everywhere feeling? 

Yeah, me too. 

      

Dear TypePad

Please update spell checker.  I'm getting sick and tired of said spell checker trying to tell me that ginormous is not a word.  Ginormous is a real, official word now and has been since last July, when Merriam-Webster added it to the 2007 version of the dictionary.  Geez, TypePad...  Get with the freaking program already.  I mean come on...  Shouldn't spell checker be up on all the latest diction?

Don't believe me?  Check it out for yourself.   

Since the economy is in the crapper...

...and the price of EVERYTHING is going up, up, up, we have decided to plant a victory garden in our backyard this year. I had never heard that term before, but I am not as up on my World War II trivia as Chris is. Click on that there linky loo to learn all about victory gardens and you can thank Chris for broadening your horizons.  He's full of it...  Errrr...  Of trivia I mean...

So, anyhoo...  Yesterday, after work Chris went to one of those ginormous home improvement stores and picked up some wood to fashion a frame, 15 or 20 different types of seed packets and two seed starter greenhouse thingamajigs.  So far we are down 80 bucks.  I'm not so sure that this little cost saving experiment is going to actually pan out.

We decided to make a raised garden, so Chris pretty much built the frame last night after work, while I was all pissed off about something totally unrelated and stomping around being an uber bitch extraordinaire.  Go me.  He plans to rip up the grass and assemble the science project this weekend, when it is supposed to rain buckets.  Lucky him.  We need some soil...  Otherwise it can't be called a "raised" garden, we would have to call it a "slightly-lower-than-the-grass-with-a-wood-wall-around-it" garden.  It just takes too much effort to say all that, so we are going to get some soil. 

After building the frame Chris and the kids planted the seeds in the seed starter greenhouse thingamajigs.  I do not know the technical term, so that is what I'm calling them.  Brandt, who is also putting in a garden this year, was telling us that he planted his seeds in one of these things and they popped up within 3-4 days versus the 10-12 that it normally takes.  Since we are clearly lemmings we decided that we NEEDED some of these amazing starter trays too.

While those brown clumps may look like Two Bite Brownies, they are indeed not.  TRUST ME ON THIS.   

We have all sorts of seeds planted.  If they all take off we are in for some serious vegetable eating this summer.  We have planted approximately a butt ton of each type of vegetable.  How's that for scientific?  Luckily, Mr. Gailey is brilliant and wrote down what was planted in each area of the tray, so we know 1) what the hell it is and 2) where we should plant it.  Obviously the most concerning are the green beans, which like to climb.  Those will go next to the fence...  So they can climb...  Duh.

In addition to us attempting to save some money on vegetables, which I can't imagine is actually going to happen since carrots are as cheap as dirt and HELLO we are already down 80 bucks, this will be a project that the kids and we parental units can work on together over the summer.  Nothing screams family fun time like weeding a garden! 

Back in the day when I was a kid, and I am 36 you know, so that was a REALLY long time ago, we had an enormous garden.  We also had to prepare the garden, which was a major pain in the ass.  The first year that we prepared it the weeds that we had to pull out were at least as tall as me, which would have been about 4 and 1/2 feet tall or so.  I'm talking about when I was young folks...  I'm much taller now.  After we got all the weeds pulled, some farmer guy came and plowed it all up.  That is when the real fun began.

Oh yeah...  Good times...

We had rock picking parties.  T.R., my step-dad, fooled us kids into picking all the rocks out of the soil.  How did he dupe us?  He gave us each an empty plastic ice cream bucket and told us that "the first one to fill their bucket wins!"  I remember being super excited and running off to the garden and filled my bucket as fast as I could.  I came back and wanted to know what I had won.  He then told us to "go another round."  We finally caught on after about the 3rd round or so and after we realized that we had been duped we were ALL sorts of pissy.  I think from that moment on my brothers and I hated that stupid garden. 

Hopefully, Chris and I will be able to create similar memories for our children.  Heh heh heh...

   

My Weird Compulsion

I have a weird compulsion.  I KNOW it is weird.  I know I'm a TOTAL freak.  However, I cannot stop this thought...  Whenever I see someone bending over with their butt sticking out, say at the drinking fountain, trying to reach something on a low shelf at the grocery store, or tying their shoe the same thought always pops into my head.  I think "wouldn't it be funny if I gave them a little slap right on their butt?".  I have to clasp my hands as I walk by the person with their butt sticking out and pretty much chant "don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, don't do it" as I pass by.