John The Toilet, Laid To Rest
For a quick giggle, take a look at this.
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January 31, 2009
Mom Jeans
Hey Jessica, next time you dress and decide to perform in front of thousands of paying customers, do me a favor and skip the mom jeans. It wasn't that we all thought you were chubby or maybe perhaps sperminated by your boy, Romo; no, it was much, much worse. I must call to your attention the major faux paus it appeared you were about to commit. The impending "camel toe" issue needs to be addressed with your stylist. The crowd was scared
On a side note, I must remember to ask Jessica to borrow this outfit for the upcoming Santa Rosa Monster Truck Show. I think this outfit, paired with my finest flannel, might just get the attention of the Bigfoot truck driver. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!
In case your not familiar with the term, "mom jeans," please use this excellently crafted video as a reference. You will be a better person, I promise.
The PMS Buddy...Seriously
Hey Ladies, can't figure out why you want to kill your significant other with a hammer while eating a carton of Ben and Jerry's and a handful of Doritos? In the dark about why your need for Proactiv skin care products and Midol escalates mid-month? Have no fear! Sign up for PMS Buddy!
Seriously. I think this site was created with tongue planted firmly in cheek - or at least I hope so. If they are taking suggestions, I had an idea for them:
The Manustrating Buddy
Wouldn't it be helpful to know when your man's PMS is going to kick in? Ladies, we all know our men have "that time of the month" but they'll deny it profusely. I think Hubby gets even moodier than I do - not that I get that moody anyhoo.
January 29, 2009
The Face Of Guilt
Thank God Hubby only reads my blog when I tell him to. Or when he catches me maniacally laughing and rubbing my hands together like Dr. Evil - since he knows it's probably about him. The above picture is a perfect example of why I'm glad Hubby is in the dark about most of what I write. I know he wouldn't be as impressed to see the kittehs sleeping on our pillows as I was this morning.
Hubby has this little thing called allergies and I guess the sneezing and itchy eyes that come along with Gracie and Piper's shimmering coats don't exactly agree with him. But they looked so friggin' cute this morning that I snapped away and let them sleep. It's hard to see Piper in the background (she's that black blob with white on her chin - her head is turned up in sleeping ecstasy) but it sure looks like Gracie knows she's doing something she probably shouldn't be doing.
Manic Mornings
Everyday when I take my kids to school, I hope and pray we do not get into an accident. Sure, it's mainly because I worry about their health and safety and would die if something ever happened to them. But, there is another reason my quest for a safe departure and return...
I'm a total hag in the morning.
Things I don't do prior to dropping the kids off include but are not limited to the following:
* Brush my teeth
* Comb my hair
* Talk
* Wear a bra
* Change out of my pajamas
* Clean the sleep out of my eyes
* Smile
* Remove yesterday's make-up
* Wipe the drool stain off the side of my face
* Look at myself in any reflective surface
Things I do prior to dropping the kids off include but are not limited to the following:
* Get my coffee
* Put on my Jackie O. sunglasses
* Grumble
* Um, yeah, that's pretty much it.
Can you see why I wouldn't want to get in an accident? I would die just from the embarrassment alone.
What's your morning ritual? Are you a better Mommy than I am? Do you look as pristine as Tammy Faye when you drop off your kidlets?!
January 27, 2009
Cowboy Poetry and High Heels
Back in the days of Aqua Net, pegged pants, and L.A. Gear shoes, I was attending high school. I had great aspirations of being the first person in my family to go to college but in those days, money wasn't sprouting from trees and there wasn't much hope for me to attend unless I did so on my parent's credit cards.
Because of this, I pimped myself out to every scholarship application and committee that crossed my path. I wrote essays to dead people, I drank warm milk and socialized with Humboldt "elite" at a local yocal moo-moo contest (name withheld to protect the innocent), and I worked hard to keep my grade point average as high as I could. I did everything I could possibly think of to pay my way into a higher education.
During my junior year of high school, a quasi beauty and talent pageant was annually held which meant big bucks should I place well. Of course, being the money grubbing teenager, I promptly signed myself up without a second thought to the dance routine, talent portion, and fancy dress wearing required of the contestants. Did I mention that I hated cheerleaders? Or how I avoided dancing at any of the dances and normally wore Wranglers and barn boots to school in the morning? Yeah, smart move on my behalf.
Throughout the next few weeks, I slowly picked up the dance moves and began practicing walking in high heels. It wasn't too bad but I was still at a loss as to what I could do for a talent. Some of the gals did dance routines while others played musicial instruments. I had absolutely no talent having sworn off anything remotely close to ladylike ambitions.
The ladies putting on the show approached me, seeing the quandary I was already facing of having to pretend that I enjoyed being a girl for the entire show. One nice gal mentioned doing a poem and I chewed on it overnight. By morning, I had a solution. My favorite teacher used to play cowboy poetry during class and on field trips. It was one of the few types of poetry (besides Sidney Sheldon) I actually enjoyed listening to. The answer was perfect and none of the women seemed too concerned over my decision; that is until they heard me recite the poem in all it's glory on the night of the performance. I guess when I walked out in Wranglers, boots, leather chaps, a cowboy hat, and a painted on mustache - they knew they were in for it.
Here's what I recited:
Story With a Moral
By: Waddie Mitchell
Now I know there's things worse that make cowpunchers curse,
And I reckon it's happened to us all.
Though it's years since, you bet, when I think of it yet,
It still makes my old innards crawl.
I was makin' a ride to bring in one hide
That hadn't showed up in the gather;
I was riding upstream, daydreamin' a dream,
When I caught there was somethin' the matter.
Near some quakin' asp trees, I had caught in the breeze
A stench that was raunchy and mean,
And I reckoned as how it might be the old cow,
So I rode to a bend in the stream.
Shore 'nuff that cow lied in the crick there and died;
Hard tellin' how long she'd been been there.
She was bloated and tight, twas a horrible sight --
She was oozin' and slippin' her hair.
Her eye sockets were alive with maggots that thrive
On dead flesh, putrid yellow and green,
And the hot sun burnin' down, turnin' pink things to brown,
Spewin' oily gunk in the stream.
Well, I spurred upwind fast to get away from the blast
Of the heavy stench the cow made;
And I felt bad seein's how I'd lost the old cow,
And I pulled up near a tree in the shade.
Then I got sick to the core, rememberin' just minutes before
I'd done something that made me feel worse;
Not thirty yards down I'd stepped off to the ground
And drank 'til my belly near burst.
For months after it, just the thought made me spit,
And I'd live it over like a bad dream.
And the moral, I think, is if you must take a drink,
Never, ever remount and ride upstream.
The crowd was silent during my recital and I gave my best cowboy twang voice, making sure to accentuate the parts about the guts and stench. It was great. I got a polite clapping session at the end but I could care less. I rocked good 'old Waddie and I did the talent portion without entirely giving up my tomboy roots.
Needless to say, I didn't win the talent contest or the whole shebang. But... I did walk out with first-runner up and Miss Congeniality (due to all my dirty jokes during practice). I was shocked and so were my parents - especially when they saw the $700 bucks I made for a night's worth of girliness. It was a great experience but one I'd never repeat - even though I did it my way *insert Frank Sinatra's voice here*.
Registered Warrant = BITE ME!
Guess what? In just about a week, the State of California will no longer have the funds necessary to refund California tax payers who have overpaid throughout the year of 2008. Instead, they will be passing out handy dandy "Registered Warrants" which is just fancy talk for IOU's. In 1992, they did the same thing and the banks honored these (like checks) after the government promised to give them an extra 5% for their troubles. This time around, our banks are sucking just as bad so who knows what they'll do. Ridiculous.
This is probably old news for many of you, but I just watched a news blip online that reminded me that I needed to be pissed off. What the hell happened to us? Why did this happen? Why was I such an idiot to claim single and zero all year long, giving Arnold a bunch of my money that I now won't see for who knows how long! Grrrrr....!
All I can say is, BITE ME State of California. Arnold, you need to pull your troops together over a fat stogie, and figure this schat out.
Stains The Hypnotized Dog
This is pretty funny...
January 26, 2009
Book Giveaway!
I'm not hosting it but my blogging buddy and fabulous momma of five kids (Bri) is! Check out Bri's site to enter for a chance to win one of two books (The Da Vinci Code or Ya-Yas In Bloom). Let her know I sentcha!
A Comparison In Time
I was rooting around on one of my memory sticks and found a scan I had made several years ago. The scan was of two pictures (side by side) of my Grandpa and I and a shot of Taters. Before I show it to you and let you decide if you think there is some family resemblance, I want to make some proper introductions.
My Grandpa Darrel was a cool dude. I was just a little over three years old when he passed away from cancer, but I do remember him vividly. Sitting on his lap while he mowed the orchard, sharing his cherry flavored cough drops (when I wasn't even sick which really torked my Grandma off), hanging out with him on the old rickety porch while he drank his coffee and I sipped my juice - great memories.
For you Humboldt locals, I remember he and my Grandma taking me to the old Eureka Mall to look at the "fishies" in the walkway. Do you know what I'm talking about? Before Winco and during the time of Sears and Newberry's, it was a really neat place to walk around in - especially with your favorite Grandpa.
I recall some of the sad times, when he was confined to a hospital bed in the livingroom, suffering from the evilness of cancer. We all offered him love and support as he passed on - almost as if we were giving him permission to go. I was there when he died and his viewing and funeral were the first dealings with grief and death I had ever had. Thankfully, his passing was explained to me as a positive thing rather than a tragedy; he was truly suffering and the idea he was finally at peace was a consoling factor - even for a little kid. Cancer is evil and chemotherapy (at least in those days) was just as bad.
It will be 30 years this March since he passed but the memories are still there. I'm truly fortunate that my kids have two awesome grandpas to make memories with and they've been working hard on doing just that.
Here's the picture. Can you guess who's who?
And here's my dad (Grandpa Darrel was his dad) and my little bro, Uncle R:
January 25, 2009
Thank You, iCarly
A few days ago, Hubby and Taterbug struck up a deal allowing her to have two girlfriends over to spend the night. I had no part of the conversation as I knew I wouldn't be home due to a previous engagement and he would be forgoing the nine year old little girl slumber issue by himself. He foolishly agreed to her shenanigans and I quietly laughed to myself knowing all too well what he he had set himself up for.
When the night came, I said my goodbyes as the girls ran around the living room professing to maintain their elevated sugar levels through the use of Hawaiian punch and Papa Murphy's pizza. Hubby looked a little frazzled but C-dub promised to keep an eye on him and yell at the girls as necessary. Taterbug told me that she would call and give me regular spastic updates as they planned on being up all night and possibly well into the morning.
At about 11PM, my cell phone rang and I saw that it was the house calling. I figured it was Hubby calling to tell me that he had smartened up and was either (A) heavily drinking or (B) taking everyone home. Instead, I heard Taterbug's voice come on the line and she sounded a little strange.
Taterbug: Hi Mom, uh, it's me, Taters. What's a douche bag?
Mommazilla: I choked and then coughed. What?
Taterbug: A douche bag. What is it?
Mommazilla: Where the heck did you hear that?
Taterbug: On i-Carly. She called someone a douche bag and Daddy said you'd tell me what she meant.
Mommazilla: Well, Taters, it's a very rude name to call someone and I can't believe she said that on her show. Don't use that word, K? It's not nice.
Taterbug: I know it's not nice but what is it? Daddy said you'd tell me exactly what it is.
Mommazilla: Oh he did? Wow, that was nice of him to do that.
I'm seriously cursing that assmunch under my breath. I had no idea what to say to her. Let me begin by saying that "douche bag" is not a word I normally use as I understand it's connotation. Having had a grandma who was very conscious of her feminine health, I remember seeing that curious little critter regularly hanging in her shower. I only learned what it was for after my parents found my brother and I playing with it, pretending it was some sort of fireman's pack used to put out small fires.
Taterbug: Well, Mom, what is it?
Mommazilla: With my inner brain wheels cranking, I uttered words I never thought I'd eventually quote. Well Taters, when a woman feels "not so fresh" sometimes they use a special liquid on their, uh (did I seriously want to go the "vagina" route and open up that can of worms? Nope, I chickened out and kept it broad - very broad) potties, and the bag they keep this special liquid in is called a douche bag.
Taterbug: Silence and breathing. That's really gross Mom.
Mommazilla: Do you see now why it's not a nice name to call someone?
Taterbug: Yeah. I can't believe ladies really do that. Have you done that? Cuz, that's really gross and I never wanna see one of those things.
Mommazilla: Enough! Can I talk to your dad now?
By this time, I've finally relaxed after the initial shock of the call and I've started to laugh. Really laugh. Hubby was laughing too. He explained that the girls had been sitting on the couch, playing Taterbug's DS system. He heard Taterbug mutter, "douche bag," when she died on a game and quickly called her on it. When she questioned him further about it's meaning, he decided it would be the perfect thing for me to explain to her. It was certainly not the first nor last of embarrassing conversations I'm sure to have with my children. Hubby is doing the next one - even if it contains talk of girly parts or boobies.
January 24, 2009
A Eureka Woman With A 78K Ring?
I was more impressed that someone from Eureka had a 7-carat, 78K ring than I was with with the story. Evidently, she accidentally flushed it down the toilet of a Black Bear Diner in Phoenix, AZ, and the city and Mr. Rooter came to her aid. $6,200 and $1000 in tips later, she had her rock back. Read it here. I don't think I'd go to such lengths with my Diamonique.
Creamsicle
Miss Gracie is getting so big and her coloring reminds me of a delicious creamsicle. With her size comes more of an oafy clumsiness that I would attribute to a dog's characteristics rather than a dainty kitteh cat. Oh well, I guess she hasn't read the same books I have on the virtues of a feminine feline.
January 23, 2009
My Little PMS Warrior
Taters has no idea what PMS is much less a warrior for the cause. However last night, she made me proud and most importantly, satisified my inner raging PMS'y beast; she baked her first chocolate cake.
Several weeks ago, Taters had informed me that she had checked out a Hershey's baking cookbook from her library. Each week, she'd remind me she had recipes she wanted to try and she'd again, renew the book because I'd either flake on getting the ingredients or would have other excuses to prevent her from traumatizing my kitchen.
Then, the Gluten issue hit and I completely put a foot down on her cake making wishes. Taters was insistant and kept leaving the book in places I'd notice it. She'd drop hints about her love of baking and offered to help me grocery shop. I began to realize that for her, it wasn't the process of eating the cake and savoring it's chocolately goodness. It was the whole issue of making and baking it, so I finally gave in.
Taters tackled the cake last night while I made dinner. I assisted with the heavy lifting and the reaching of bowls too far above her head; but other than that, she did it all herself. I also loaded the dishwasher and washed an additional two sinkfuls of dishes, all the while wondering how one cake could take so many dishes. It was great watching her try to figure out tablespoons and teaspoons, cups and quarter cups, but she did it and did it well. Her cake was delicious and she relished in the fact that she could lick the frosting bowl out as it cooperated with her diet plan.
I am so proud of the little lady she's becoming and I'm especially happy that she's taking on my abilities in the kitchen rather than Hubby's. If he would have cooked this cake, there would have certainly been at least a can of beer added to the batter (for moisture of course - I can just hear his excuse) and he probably would have greased the bowls with bacon fat because bacon makes everything better - usually.
Here's the finished product:
January 22, 2009
Daddy?
I have to beg, plead, bribe, and make false promises to my children, in order to get them to cooperate with my photography addiction. C-dub was none to happy today to help me out when I wanted to practice using some different types of lighting. I finally told him to just make whatever face he wanted as long as I could see his eyeballs. This is the face he made:
Charming, I know. I think he's channeling his true father, Gene Simmons. See the similarities? Truly uncanny.
Reality Do's and Do Not's
Now that we're in the swing of reality TV, I'd like to get your perspective on some of the shows I've been watching and will be watching. Here's my take on things...
The Bachelor
Sorry ladies, but I hate it. Jason is a puss and the women are scary desperate. I guess I should mention that I didn't care for him on the Bachelorette so it was pretty much a given I wouldn't like him now. I know I'm in the minority on this because it seems as though women just love the guy and feel so bad *insert high pitched, squish the cheeks, and give some lovey dovey baby talk* for him. They should have given this show to Jesse but then again, no one knew what a skank DE Annahhh (trying to provide you with some phonetics - God forbid you pronounce her name wrong) was going to turn into. Jason does look like a cute little chimpanzee, but I like my men a little more wordly and most importantly, manly.
Rock of Love Bus
Bret Michaels outta be ashamed of himself. The guy is 44 years old, diabetic, overly tan, puffy looking, and has two daughters under the age of 10. You'd think he'd stop hooking up with nasty hoochie mamas and getting crappy hair extensions and spend some time making sure he entered his golden years sans a strange red rash and smelly discharge. Seriously, this new show is bad. Really bad, There is not one woman I'd even think had an ounce of self-respect or morality. Between the chick fights, drunk induced vomiting, profanity, and disgusting kisses Bret shares with each of these girls (notice I'm not using the word, "lady"), it's a hot mess. And I watch every week.
Real World
I'm officially too old to watch this show. With trans gendered roommates and a weirdo Mormon kid infatuated with sex, I just couldn't keep up. My mind would not and could not comprehend the diversity they were trying to shove down my throat during that torturous one hour period. I guess my coolness has ended and mid-thirties brain has settled in.
American Idol
Well, the season is off to a great start with the additon of Kara DioGuardi, whoever the hell she is. I guess she's an acclaimed songwriter but we really don't run in the same circles. Paula still looks high, Simon's a super jerk, and Randy, well, Randy is likable enough. The contestants are just like the past 50 seasons of AI, quirky, unremarkable, and not that funny. I hardly watch AI at all last season and this season looks even worse. I honestly just watch to see if Paula will go "on the knod" during a live performance. Drugs are bad, very bad. Someone should tell Paula.
Survivor
I stopped watching it after season one when I saw them eat bugs. Blech! I can't watch stuff like that. It doesn't start until February but I'm going to watch a coupla episodes and decide if it's for me.
Double Shot At Love
You thought Tila Tequila was icky? Meet the Ikki twins (such an appropriate name) - double your pleasure, double your fun - or not. They don't know if they like boys or girls (just like Tila) and make their potential partners do all sorts of crazy things for dates with them. Lots of drama, alcohol, a couple of fights between the twins, and you've got good, all wholesome crazy fun for the whole family. I highly doubt this show will make it a second season. It is painful to watch in a chafing sorta way.
Sober House
I've never been in rehab, much less a clean and sober house, but out of all these shows, it does seem the most real. For the most part, the celebs currently on it seem like they want to do the right thing - well, all except Steven Adler. Have you seen him? Good grief! Someone called him the Lion from the Wizard of Oz, and my Gawd, did they get that right! Seriously scary. He got arrested last episode and had a little issue with "chasing the dragon" in the bathroom. Get some help, dude.
Confessions Of A Teen Idol
I like this show. Primarily because I love Christopher Atkins and "Blue Lagoon" and the "Pirates of Penzance" were two of my favorite movies growing up. I don't really care for the Baywatch dudes, especially the "former" meth addict who seems to have a 'tude. The little Grease guy is cute in an old man sorta way - not sure if that's what he's looking for, though. The rest of the dudes are a'yight but I've got my money on Atkins. Yummy.
I think that's all I can think of right now. Am I missing any good ones besides the awesomeness that is Deadliest Catch, Ax Men, and Ghost Hunters? Do you totally disagree with me? Let me know!
Bella -n- Tara
This video will just make you feel good. I promise!
January 21, 2009
20 Ways To Tell If You're A Mom
This is my own personal list. Please feel free to make your own.
1. You seriously contemplate driving four hours to a monster truck rally just to hear your three-year-old scream in joy, "Monstah Jaaaammmm!"
2. You say to your three-year-old, without giving it a second thought, "quit touching the cat's tail with your weiner."
3. You then say to your three-year-old, "I don't care if it tickles; it's just not right." Again, without a second thought.
4. You tell your child they have onion pits. And then you let him/her use your deodorant.
5. You prefer to watch "Chowder" over the nightly news.
6. You know all the names of the characters in "Chowder" and give your child status updates on the episodes
they missed.
7. Fancy dining is done at Denny's.
8. You automatically whip out the Ranch dressing at dinner time, because ranch goes good with everything.
9. You know what "bustin' a grumpy" and "floatin' an air biscuit" means, and see it practiced daily.
10. You expect a third, fourth, or fifth person in your bed everynight. And not in a good way ;-).
11. It's natural to pick other people's noses for them. And eye boogies as well.
12. Sniffing your child's diapered butt is normal and expected.
13. You know where the bathroom is located in every store or eating establishment and you know if it contains a changing table - by memory.
14. You run a nudist colony but don't partake amongst the festivities for fear of being laughed at.
15. On some days, you look forward to going back to work and talking to a grown-up.
16. You can't relate to Martha Stewart.
17. You refuse to give away your nine year old daughter's baby clothes because it's too final.
18. You have the gag reflex of a sword swallower.
19. The release of a new Pixar/Disney/Nickolodeon movie is exciting to you because you know it buys you at least a two hour sanity break.
20. You have naughty thoughts about Sportacus from Nick Jr.'s "Lazy Town." It's honestly the second show (see #'s 5 & 6) you don't mind watching with your three-year-old.
Ok, I know there are more out there...List away!
January 20, 2009
A Spoonful Of Sugar...
Normally makes the medicine go down but in Gunny's case, a lot of sleep works just as well. He's caught a head cold and the poor kid feels lousy. It does make for a calm and peaceful naptime, so I'm certainly not complaining too much - at least about my gained quiet time.
Patience And A Potluck For Obama
I'm trying to be excited, really I am. I've done everything right to set the mood - a cup of perfectly brewed coffee, a toasty fire roaring in the wood stove - the perfect compliments to a historical morning. I'm watching a landmark in history with the inauguration of our new president, Barack Obama, but I'm feeling still feeling cynical. We've placed the weight of the world on the shoulders of one man and the pessimist inside me is saying he just can't do it. I honestly don't think anyone can. It's going to take years to dig us out of the cesspool we've created and I'm afraid too many people have unreasonable expectations of a quick fix to a problem that took many years to create.
On a side note, and before you think I'm anti-Obama or anti-America, I do really like the guy and I want him to succeed. He's just gonna need to be a miracle worker to do it.
I know throughout his campaign he's preached change, change, change and a little more change, but has he truly looked at how 'effed up California currently is? Home foreclosures, the possibility of late tax return payments, state employees facing IOU's for paychecks, unemployment up, and the list goes on and on. I'm not even going to discuss the state of affairs with the rest of the US because we're all pretty much living in the same financial craphole. No one is safe in our current economy.
I think what puts the cherry on my proverbial presidential cake iced with poor man's buttercream frosting, is that we are now having a $150 million dollar inauguration gala for our new prez. Yep, $150 million. Oh, don't worry too much, he did raise about $42 million to help cover part of it, that just leaves the rest of us to gather $108 million. Pocket change, really. With the state of our economy, the way I figure it is that it's like we are going out to a prime rib dinner on a Spam budget. After we gorge ourselves on a meal we really can't afford, we then charge the tab on our already maxed out credit cards, while also paying for a couple of rounds at the bar for the 100 or so other patrons. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm a strong believer in celebrating this momentous occasion but couldn't we just sponsor a potluck? Heck, I'll bring enough potato salad to feed an army. If we split it up, it really shouldn't take too much effort. I'd bet we'd even have enough to buy a couple of kegs of Great White and a few dozen boxes of Franzia. I know if we all got liquored up together, the ideas about our current state of economy would be flowing and history would be made; wars would end and peace could be had. It's a fun thought, isn't it?
Ok, my rant is over. I have a feeling, after looking at the thousands of cheering people at the inaugural festivities, I may be alone in this cynicism. If I'm not, please feel free to join in on the biotching session. We all need to stick together in our pessimism.
Hiccups
You might have noticed that some of my pictures are no longer visible. For some reason, I thought I was smarter than Flickr last night and tried to change some settings around. Instead, I managed to invalidate the individual html coding for each of the pictures. I've had to go in and manually reload shots so needless to say, my older stuff will only be viewable on my Flickr account.
If you're a diehard and really want to see what my Christmas cookies looked like this year or perhaps want to remember what the call duck hatching looked like, you can click on any of my pictures to take you to my Flickr account. Don't worry, they are all internet/work safe. The nudies are on a different account ;-).
January 19, 2009
Pixel Queen Photography
Rather than boring you all with photos and goofy talk about my passion of photography, I've started a separate blog to keep track of such nonsense. Should you be so inclined to take a peek, here's the link:
This new site is dedicated to my hobby as I am not charging and really haven't figured out yet if that's the for sure direction I want to take. There is so much less stress and pressure if I just stay on the path I'm going. But, the money would certainly help out on my glass addiction (that's camera fancy talk for a new lens).
Thanks for looking!
January 18, 2009
A Berry In Your Garden
Today's Daily Photo:
This is sweet Berry, one of my mutts. She was willing to pose for me on the front porch as long as I promised her a good belly scratching afterwards. Needless to say, her tummy is satisfied and my sock smells like dog. But I got my shot :-).
January 17, 2009
Spur of Fury
I had to risk life and limb today, in order to get my daily photo. This is one of my roosters and he tends to be a little on the angry side. I don't know why seeing how I give him food, shelter, and seven different ladies to choose from. It seems like any man would be happy with that but not this fellow.
The original face of anger:
The spur of fury and death. It feels especially uncomfortable when inserted into your calf muscle. The follow-up tetanus shot doesn't feel too nice either. Just ask Grandma D.
22 Of Me
I found this on Rambles From My Chair and thought it looked like fun. Feel free to copy and paste it, of course submitting your own answers because I have a feeling might won't apply.
I Am: very happy.
I Want: my kids to be successful and happy citizens.
I Have: two fat kittens that run my house and keep my floor clean.
I Wish: to be debt free within five years.
I Fear: something bad happening to my kids.
I Hear: dead people *whispers*. Ok, lame but I couldn't think of anything else.
I Search: for ways to make my kids have a great childhood.
I Wonder: why common sense isn't so common.
I Regret: not finding my husband sooner. 14 years hasn't been long enough.
I Love: myself and family.
I Always: give way too much of myself.
I Usually: keep my house neat and tidy but my family doesn't participate in this practice.
I Am Not: a weak person.
I Dance: in the privacy of my home or when four pints of Great White say I'm John Travolta's twin sister.
I Sing: *see the answer to above*
I Never: give up.
I Rarely: cut myself any slack. I'm my hardest critic by far.
I Cry: when necessary; frustration, sadness, joy - it really doesn't take much.
I Am Not Always: as patient as I should be.
I’m Confused: why women think Bret Michaels (Rock of Love) is hot. Are we seeing the same picture?
I Need: more sleep. Gunny - this comment is directed towards you, vampire boy.
I Should: be more cogniznant of my family budget since we are working hard to become debt free.
What are your 22?
January 16, 2009
My Daily Photo Hampered By Loss
Alright, how's that for a pitiful title? Since I'm in mourning, I refused to play with my camera today as a way to punish myself for being a cellphone murderer. I took this pic a couple of days ago so I'm using this one instead.
I like it and if you notice, the color is a little different because of a variety of "actions" I used in my Photoshop program. Actions are a series of steps someone much smarter and wiser (with the Photoshop program) have already created and recorded. The nice people who make these up are often willing to share them with others so you can use them as well. The Pioneer Woman has some great free actions. They current only work in Photoshop so if you have Elements your out of luck for the time being. She's working on that so stay tuned and check back periodically.
Two Phones, One Washer
I just washed my second Motorola Razr phone. The first one I bathed was only three days old. This one was a little better as I had had it for about six months. It's entirely my fault because I didn't practice what I preach about checking your pockets. In my own defense, I must have inhaled too much Downey as I was doing my millionth load of laundry when I emptied the wash machine and heard that all too familiar, "tink, tink, tink" as it fell out of the wet clothes. See? Housework can be dangerous.
The worst part? I just spent $50 on a battery, less than a week ago, because the old battery wouldn't hold a charge. Grrr...
I never realized how miserably dependent I had become on my cell phone. l was having serious heart palpitations at the thought of losing all my contacts and pictures. Thank goodness US Cellular is smarter than I am because they anticipated I'd wash this one too and helped me out with a contacts back-up. I was to track that down online last night and it at least helped me to sleep a bit better.
My sweet little phone is currently drying out, in several pieces, on the counter. I say nice things to it whenever I pass by and give it encouragement to start working again. I even rubbed it's little waterlogged screen in a weak attempt to show how much I cared. I dunno, but I have a feeling it's gone. It's really gone *sobbing, cough - cough, nose blowing*.
Several friends have recommended checking out e-Bay because no, I did not have insurance (I'm the responsible one, remember?) and I'm smack in the middle of my contract. This sucks.
***** UPDATE ***** My phone number just called me! Woohoo! Thank goodness US Cellular has cheap, 30-day returned phones. I'm back in business :-). Thank you Hubby. I love you.
January 15, 2009
When Life Hands You Sunshine...
...Take a dip in your closest mud puddle. It was such a gorgeous day that I let hygiene and a possible case of giardia slide, by giving the kiddos full permission to play in the mud puddle located just off our driveway. Hubby wants to fill the puddle in with gravel but I've been hesitant to do so since it's the perfect depth for duck swimming and kid boot galloping. Needless to say, it's still there and the kids had a blast at it's expense. And the ducks were none to happy see three partially naked children swimming in their poop soup.
Here's some captures from today and the second day of my daily photo project:
What did you do to enjoy the sun?
January 14, 2009
Gran Torino
Go see it. More than worth the one hour and fifty-seven minutes you'll spend seeing it. Have your hanky ready.
365 Project
In order to work on my photography, I'm making myself take at least one pic a day - hence the "365 Project" title. It's actually going to have to be a 351 project because I'm 14 days late with my posts but it took a little ambition to get going. I actually cheated a bit since this pic was taken two days ago but we're all friends so just ignore that little fact.
My challenge to you is to do the same. Take and maybe even post one pic a day and see how you progress. You can upload pics for free at Flickr.com or Photobucket.com (you're limited on your monthly uploads if you do the free account). Will you have a theme? Will you edit them or just leave them be? My 351 Project's theme is "Happiness" and will encompass all things that make me happy.
Here's post #1:
January 13, 2009
A Miracle Happened...
I cooked an entire dinner using my crockpot. I never use my crockpot because I honestly forget I even have one. I think I may have got it for a wedding present ten or so years ago, but it's arrival into my household is truly a mystery.
I really love to cook and when I find a good recipe, it's like Heaven in the kitchen, at least for me. My family, on the other hand. tends to be on the picky side. Well, except for Gunny who enjoys licking floors and sucking on Piper's tail - which I agree, is absolutely disgusting and not much appreciated by the cat.
Anyhoo, back to the miracle at hand. I'm a huge collector of cookbooks with a particular love for fast and delicious recipes. I want recipes that contain few ingredients and cost a minimal amount to prepare. Grandma Linda paid attention to my frugal *cough* lazy ambition in the kitchen and gave me a cookbook entitled, "Fix It and Forget It. 5-Ingredient Favorites" by Phyllis Pellman Good.
I read through the book and was impressed at the ease of the recipes and the normal ingredients it called for. Tonight I made the "Chicken Stroganoff" and it was a hit. I modified the recipe just a bit but this is what I did and it was awesome.
* Four chicken breasts, cut up into chunks
* Half a stick of butter
* Two packages of dry Italian dressing mix
* One can of Cream of Chicken soup
* One block of cream cheese (8 oz)
* Instant brown rice (you could use egg noodles instead but I was trying to lower our Gluten consumption)
Salt and pepper to taste.
I placed the cubes of chicken, butter, and seasoning in my crockpot and cooked it on high for about two hours. Like I said before, I am not at one with my crockpot so I really had to keep an eye on it as far as cooking times went. When the chicken was cooked thoroughly, I added in the soup and cream cheese and then simmered it on low for about an hour. During the last ten minutes or so, I boiled the instant brown rice so it was ready to go when the chicken was done. For the grand finale, I Ioaded up each plate with rice and then spooned over the chicken stroganoff.
It was so stinkin' good. Hubby even asked me a couple of times if I had actually made it. Loser. Maybe I should have splashed some flour and water onto my face so I appeared more convincingly domestic. Perhaps I should have donned a maid costume since that would be more fitting to all the crap I do on a daily basis. And no, not a french maid costume because I refuse to try and make my bitching and whining look sexy - I want a pity party, not pervy stares.
I'm going to crack that book open up again tomorrow night. I have two pounds of hamburger mooing for a new home in our bellies and I can't wait to try something new.
What Are You Doing In May?
I know what I want to do and it consists of me, my BFF Sandruh, a cruise ship, several pairs of granny panties, and the NKOTB. That's right, the New Kids on the Block are taking over a cruise ship mid-May, and they're sailing their biggest fans to the Bahamas. Well, maybe not the biggest fans but those of us who are willing to buy plane and cruise ship tickets. This four day cruise sails out of Florida and I really want to go. Bad.
Hubby thinks I'm nuts and Taters wants a ticket. They go on sale tomorrow and the temptation will be so hard - must...stay...away...from...keyboard... I know I can get rock hard abs in four months and I'm pretty sure so can Sandruh. We'd be quite the duo of the high seas. Donnie would for sure fall in love with this Pirate Enchantress of the Caribbean. Oh, I really like that. And Sandruh could be the Mystical Mermaid of the Caribbean 'cuz I like a little more spice with my romantic lead heroine.
But alas, I will more than likely be sitting on my hiney when the rest of the biotches are sailing the high seas with our men. I'm at least hoping for a little case of the Norwalk virus to hit their ship. Bloody farts to my female counterparts would make me smile.
A Shout Out!
I'd like to give a big shout out to Mother Nature. Whoop, whoop Lady! You totally rock! Thanks so much for the bitchin' weather and multiple days of it. I got all my roses pruned yesterday and even tackled the chicken perch (a.k.a. Rhody). Today, I'm off to my orchard to get working on the apple, plum, peach, and pear trees. I really have no clue on how to prune but I'm going to Google and learn. Google says I shouldn't prune until late Winter/early Spring so I'm going to at least do some evaluation on how much work I'm looking at. Or Hubby's looking at. Or maybe the nice guy that trims the neighbor's trees. We shall see....
I'm pretty sure I can't hurt my trees any worse than the black bear did. You know, the one who roosted his big hairy butt on those tiny little branches, totally engorging himself on french prunes and then suffering incontinent issues on my roadway? And the deer aren't that helpful either with their sharp little hooves and profound horn itchiness. Can't they just leave my trees alone? Go to the neighbors' - I'm sure they won't complain as much as I do.
Anyhoo, wish me luck. It's certain to be an adventure for everyone involving. I'm even letting C-dub borrow a pair of my pruners since he did such a good job yesterday helping me out.
January 12, 2009
Good Bye Terrible Twos And Welcome Terrific Threes!
My sweet little baby is celebrating his third birthday today and it's a celebration. Where has the time gone? Out of all my kids, he truly seems to be aging the fastest. I guess it's because he's the baby of the family and a reminder that if we're going to have another, we'd better do it sooner rather than later (sorry Hubby - no pressure).
My sweet little Gunny is quickly growing out of his little body and is shedding the veil of toddlerhood; he's growing into a little man. While it makes me a little sad it does inspire some hope that the older version of Gun-Gun will become a little more cooperative with our rules and regulations.
Normally, I honor my birthday celebs with just a quick little posting and a goofy picture. With Gunny's birthday, I've decided to do a little more. Gunny's birth was a huge deal to me and hopefully after reading this (and it's gonna be long), you'll understand why. It was a personal and triumphant event that I love to share over and over.
I love reading birth stories. Hearing about a woman's greatest personal achievement is inspiring and can be entertaining at times. After all, who wouldn't enjoy a story that encompasses nudity, gore, screaming, bodily fluids and a happy ending? Ok, maybe not everyone so take this as your official warning. The following paragraphs will cover the birth of Gun-Gun and the work I did to get 'em here. There will be no gratuitous hoo-hah shots, so you don't have to worry about that, but I do mention things like "contractions" and "dilation," which are strong words not meant for the weak of heart.
Gunny's Birth Story
Birth Stats: 9 lbs 9 oz, 21 inches long (half born)
I discovered that I was pregnant with Gunny while rounding third base with my t-ball team, the “Angels.” I had never coached t-ball before but I knew that the waves of nausea and sore boobs I was experiencing during practice were not consistent with the type of abuse a coach goes through. Four pregnancy tests later confirmed my suspicions and thus began the joys of my third pregnancy.
My pregnancy flew by without a hitch. Other than the obvious discomforts of pregnancy and caring for a busy family, things went by very smoothly for me and I was able to keep working throughout my entire pregnancy.
When I reached my sixth month, I had a conversation with a friend that I would forever thank her for; it was about the topic of doulas. I had heard of a doula and was under the assumption that only large cities had doulas and they were only used by first time moms. Here I was, an experienced mom who had twice before, gone through labor and the joys of breastfeeding. I already had a great husband and family support system that were there for my labors and deliveries. Why would I invite a stranger into such a private moment? But it was what my friend said and how she said it that convinced me to call Tracey Dahlen.
When I first spoke to Tracey, I immediately liked her. I felt an instant connection and knew that she understood what I wanted for my birth. I had used a minimal amount of drugs during the birth of my older two children and had not liked the “power” they took from me. For this labor, I wanted to be completely drug free and experience the process as naturally as possible. Tracey was completely supportive of this and promised to smack me back into shape should I decided to “wuss out” and beg for drugs.
For the remainder of my pregnancy, Tracey encouraged me along, reminding me to stick to my Gestational Diabetes diet and checking in to see how all my Non-Stress tests went (they were weekly by the end due to Gunny’s large size and unwillingness to cooperate with kick counts). When the final night came, I was so excited to call her because I knew that we were going to be doing something special .
I began my labor at approximately 3PM, with mild but regular contractions. My two children joined me in the bathtub as I attempted to relax and prepare for the birth. Taters used the bath time to rub soap on my swollen belly and put a “no pain” spell on me so that she could have “her” baby sooner than later. I continued to take things easy for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. The contractions were slow and steady, easily managed by the breathing and focus exercises that Tracey had previously instructed me on.
At about midnight, the contractions were closer and more painful. Hubby called Tracey and she made her way out to our house. By this time, I had placed myself on a large exercise ball that felt perfect to bounce on, during the painful contractions. Tracey offered soft words of encouragement and expert touch during the painful moments and this allowed my husband to make all the phone calls and get things ready to go for the impending birth.
The night continued on and as the contractions became unbearable, I began to hum, softly at the beginning and quite loud at the crescendo. Tracey recognized the changes in me and we decided it was time for me to go to the hospital. We arrived at Redwood Memorial Hospital at about 3AM and I was quickly defeated to learn that I was only a few centimeters dilated. Tracey immediately noticed the look on my face and promised that the nurses would not make me go back home – especially since I was now beginning to panic at the idea of another bumpy car ride!
I started on the labor ball and quickly progressed to walking the halls. My contractions continued to be regular and were getting much stronger. Tracey ran interference with my parents and in-laws who had taken their places in the waiting room, with my two children. Hubby stayed with me, encouraging me on through each contraction and putting up with the humming that was progressively getting louder. I remember waiting for Tracey to leave the room so that I could “hint” to the nurses about what drugs might be available. She would then come back in and remind me to not be a “wuss.”
When I finally progressed to between three and four centimeters, I was allowed to get into the labor tub. The nurses reminded me (in an ever so friendly way!) that this was only a “labor” tub and not a “birthing” tub, as they expected me to progress quickly once I became more comfortable. I was only in the tub for a short time before I began to experience a great deal of pressure. The nurses then had me get out of my warm enclosure and head back to the delivery room. Within a half hour, I had progressed to seven centimeters and the doctor had arrived and offered to break my bag of waters. After this was done, things progressed very quickly and the feeling of pressure was intense. The doc checked me again and at this time offered to give me a Pudenal Block as he could tell that Gunny was a very big baby. I looked at Tracey and I remember her telling me that it was ok, and I thought that she looked a little worried too.
I have never experienced pain like I did with that injection. I screamed so much that even the nurse questioned the need for the medication, telling him that I was doing fine until he had started with that injection. I remember the doc apologizing and then stopping – I only went numb after the delivery. After the screaming subsided, Tracey went and retrieved Taters from the waiting room so that she could watch her little brother be born.
With even more screaming, Gunny was quickly born after only a couple of pushes. I felt him emerge with a loud “pop” as his little clavicle had been broken during the birthing process. While Tracey took pictures, Hubby helped Taters cut the cord and then give him his first bath. The nurses were so patient to explain everything to Taterbug, and allow her the opportunity to prepare him for meeting the rest of his family. It was instant love for the grandparents and his older brother, although Gunny looked like a Mafioso, red and swollen. But he was my Mafioso and we loved him instantly.
Thinking back over the process, the thing I appreciated the most was the overall clarity I had over the entire birthing process. I felt so peaceful and so proud of myself and know that it was because of the team we had formed to tackle the birthing process. I only wish that I would have found her about eight years ago, when I first tackled the issue of pregnancy. I look forward to not only the pregnancy but the journey of the birthing process as well, because I learned so much about myself and the strength of my friends and family, when I experienced the birth of my third child.
Thank you Tracey and Happy Birthday Gunny!
If you'd like more information about the joys of a doula, you can visit Tracey Dahlen's site here or her blog, here.
January 11, 2009
435 Thanks
Thank you, dear reader, for putting up with the 435 random and wacky entries in this crazy Momma's online journal. Today marks exactly one year when I begin this blog for the Times-Standard. It's been a fun time and a wild ride, and you've all been there to watch the fiasco I call normal life. Thanks for putting up with me and my family and most importantly, thank you for taking time out of your busy life to read my blog. Let's make it another year, pinky swear?
Tears In Heaven
I'm classifying this posting under the category of "Bargains," although Hubby probably wouldn't agree too heartily with this classification. Let me first explain that I'm now the proud owner of an additional player piano. Yes, you heard that right, I now own two pianos and don't even know how to play. I guess you could say I have great expectations combined with a side of pure OCD pack rat.
In my search to purchase some player piano rolls, I found a lovely lady who was trying to sell her 1919 Davenport-Treacy Cabinet Grand Upright Player Piano. The piano had been completely restored and came with 250 piano rolls - and the price was a steal since she really wanted to get rid of it. When I initially contacted her, I was just interested in purchasing a handful of the rolls but as soon as I laid eyes on it and heard it play, I was sold. Hubby was none too thrilled to learn that I wanted to buy it.
During the whole bargaining process, Hubby made it very clear to me that he was not supportive of my quest to be a mini-Mozart. His gripe was that none of us knew how to play and that we already had a defunct, yet cool, player piano. I argued back that a player piano took the guesswork out of having to learn how to play. Plus, he knew that it was going to drive me absolutely batty to own piano rolls I couldn't play because I couldn't get the original piano working. And, what's better than having a working example of the exact item I'm trying to refurbish?
Ultimately, I knew I'd win this battle because I can be a very hard person to deal with when I'm discontent and pushy. Hubby needs his sanity so he finally agreed.
We went out yesterday morning and picked it up with the help of Grandpa D. Pianos are very heavy and this one was no exception. Thankfully, we were able to get it loaded up and placed it into it's new home with relative ease. Well, it was easy for me because I just sat back and pretty much watched the guys do their thing.
After we had the piano properly seated and the 250 rolls ever so nicely organized, I sat down and showed off the magnificence of the piano. I played Hubby and Grandpa D songs like, "Tip Toe Through The Tulips," "Tumbling Tumbleweeds," and finished with a contemporary, "Tears In Heaven." My dad was all grins and Hubby appeared to be in awe whenever I looked at him. Of course, when he saw me watching him he'd quickly change his expression and give me, "Yeah, it's a'yight."
He tried it a couple of times with the assistance of Taterbug, and I think he liked it a little bit more each time:
The afternoon turned into evening and several more songs were played. I found Hubby to have a particular fondness for "Tears In Heaven" (usually sung by Eric Clapton) and he kept playing it over and over. What started out to be his goofy rendition actually turned into Hubby bellowing out his best vibratos and false ivory tickling, much to the delight of his fans. For someone who disliked my idea so much, he was enjoying himself quite a bit.
Needless to say, we love our new family addition. I just ordered some Billy Joel, Beach Boys, Grease, and Phantom of the Opera piano rolls. Do you know they even have Britney Spears? I just couldn't defile my piano by playing "Oops I Did It Again," or "Hit Me Baby One More Time," no matter how much Tater begged and pleaded. I did succumb to the "Indian Outlaw" song because I love me some Tim McGraw. Maybe Hubby will channel him while he's playing. A girl can only hope.
Chicken Chatter
My feathered rat friends are still refusing to lay eggs where I can find them. As you can tell from the picture above, they've now decided to host a chicken social hour (complete with crowing and lots of clucking) on my front porch, mainly due to the cold weather and rain. Normally, they are very content to roost in our trees and wander the property eating bugs and tossed out scratch, but the in climate conditions have put a wet damper on their traversing.
I have plans for a new coop - well, actually their only coop since they've always roosted in the rhody planted right off my front porch - but the weather and my energy level just haven't cooperated for me to build it. I need to take advantage of these sunny yet brisk days to get their condo built. Maybe they'll finally produce some cackleberries and earn their keep.
I know that Henrietta would appreciate it:
January 09, 2009
The Last Leaf
My poor maple tree is as naked as a jaybird. I found some of it's "clothing" on my back deck and thought it would make a neat pic. The oil residue and slight moss growth give it an interesting sheen.
On a side note, anyone know the meaning of "naked as a jaybird"?
January 08, 2009
A Kitteh Kat Math Equation
What do:
1/2 dozen fuzzy fake mice
plus
One five foot tall cat house
plus
An endless supply of dust bunnies equal?
Not enough fun because they still stole the dice out of the new Monopoly game. Piper tried to act surprised when I confronted her with the chewed on box evidence:
And this incriminating photo:
After they stole the dice, they found my camera cord and proceeded to poke little holes in it with their sharp baby teeth.
Currently, they are climbing my curtains, ears flat back against their head with a wild, spacey look in their eyes. Good grief they are making me tired. I thought Gunny was rambunctious but their extra six legs are really giving me a run for my money.
January 07, 2009
Attention Father Time: Please Go Away!
I can't believe he's almost three.
Father Time - please stop now, and give me back my baby. When you do, can you just make him a little bit more well-behaved? Oh, and convince him that underwear are a good thing 'cuz that would be great.
I'll post more on January 12th - the big day.
A Discouraging Message
I spoke with the nurse today regarding Tater's tests. She appears to have unfortunately passed with flying colors. The doctor still needs to review the results so I may hear something different tomorrow. With the negative result in hand, I allowed her to munch away on some Wheat Thins doused with a little line of Easy Cheese (a nasty habit inherited from her father - I hate the stuff). Within about ten minutes, her bellyache kicked in and now she feels like crud. I read the list of ingredients on both items and I'm at a loss as to what could have caused her to feel so bad (and I did check for Red Dye - thanks Indie).
I'm not going to let this go because I know that something is wrong. Sure, she's a bit of a drama queen, but in all honesty, I truly believe her when she says she's in pain. She has a great pediatrician who also believes her and most importantly, listens to Tater when she describes her pain. I'm not sure what the next steps will be but I look forward to solving this mystery and getting my little girl well again.
January 06, 2009
Gluten Free Shopping Is Painful
While we await the results of Taterbug's blood test for Celiac disease and a gluten allergy, I've tried to remove all gluten from her diet. It's pretty cool to see her no longer in pain and to be a much happier little kid. I'm pretty confident we've discovered the cause of her digestional discomfort and I just hope the tests confirm this. It would make life so much easier to know what is making her feel so yucky.
I stopped by Eureka Natural Foods tonight and picked up a few items to tide her over until we get the results. I about had a heart attack when I began looking at the prices. I also quickly realized what a major life change she'll have should she test positive. I've heard that even McDonald's french fries have gluten but I haven't really found a solid answer on that. Thankfully, I've found gluten free brownie and chocolate chip cookie mix to ease her little sweet tooth. And tomorrow morning, she'll dine on gluten free pancakes. We'll make it work.
Any suggestions on local places for the anti-gluten child? Crazy enough, but Amazon.com has some great prices on gluten free groceries. My brown truck boyfriends might be visiting again, and soon.
January 05, 2009
I'm Falling In Love...
...With my new piano. I went in tonight and opened up it's cranium (the lid thingy - I'm so not technical with names) and looked at the inch of dust I still need to clean off it's numerous tiny innards. Even it's insides are cool - so many pieces and parts, hoses and knobs, I'm just in awe that someone in the early 1900's had the technology to come up with this creature. As soon as I get my books on piano restoration, we'll be ready to waltz (remember - there are no rock-n-roll piano rolls).
After snooping, I sat on the bench and pretended to channel Mozart or at least Sara Bareilles. Instead, I just ended up playing the first few notes of the theme song to Beverly Hills Cop (you'd know it if you heard it), but I really rocked it. Sticky keys and all.
Here are a couple of pics I took tonight. My boys seem to also share my love of this beast and I can see many hours of music in our future.
Gunny pounding the ivories:
C-dubs grimy fingers tickling the ivories:
This is the part I hope still works. It's were the piano rolls go and it appears to be the cleanest part of the whole piano:
Mrs. Grumpy...Revealed!
Gunny and Taters had a top secret meeting last night and I found out the results of their conversation this morning. Taters had left her journal lying open on my desk, which makes it fair game in the parent world, and I looked down to see a face I immediately recognized. Gunny had evidently sought out her services as a crime scene sketch artist and she had provided him with a composite sketch of Mrs. Grumpy. This is what I saw:
The resemblance is uncanny - especially with that cigarette perched precariously in Mrs. Grumpy's fingertips. Please keep in mind that I had to get Tater's permission to post this rendition. This was also in addition to the 23 page letter of release I had to sign in blood, promising that I would not share my findings with the paranormal institute nor would I directly profit from her drawings without first giving her a 50% cut. That's my girl.
Burnt Bologna
What Taterbug says her classroom smelled like today after the bean and cheese burrito hot lunch. Gosh, I don't miss the whole classroom scene so much.
Six Different Ways...
...to say:
Feliz Cumpleaños
Suk San Wan Keut
bil hoozho bi'dizhchi-neeji' 'aneilkaah
Hau`oli la hanau
Tillykke med fodselsdagen
Happy Birthday Aunt Dina! Have a beautiful day filled with anti-wrinkle cream, Preparation H, and some easy to digest fiber! You go girl!
January 03, 2009
Mommazilla ~ The Pianist
I had a late birthday present arrive this weekend, in the form of an old Crown Combinola player piano. My wonderful cousin had this beautiful beast sleeping in his storage unit for the past several years. Not wanting to pay the rental fees anymore, he asked me if I wanted to adopt it. I just couldn't say no to a free piano; it was a bargain music lover's dream! As you can probably guess, the little things like where I was going to keep it, how I was going to maintain it, etc., never really crossed by mind. It's amazing what a bargain high can cause you to do and say yes to.
I've always wanted a piano although I have no clue how to play one and can't carry a tune in a bucket. I seriously make small children and animals cry when I sing or attempt to play a musical instrument. I have given music the good old college try and even took a semester in college playing the viola. I was banished to the horse stall for practice sessions as my playing gave my mother migraines. I do have one musical instrument that I play very well - prodigal if you will. It's the song flute and I was the best in my third grade class. Here's a pic of my mentor:
I don't know what it is about pianos that I love. Maybe it's the shiny white keys or the sweet sound tinkling from it's belly when the right person pulls up to fondle the ivory. They're just cool. Add to the fact that this certain model has the "player" feature (no, that does not mean it picks up other "loose" pianos with ease), I can totally fake like I know what I'm doing, with just a few easy pumps of the pedals.
This old thing still plays but is in need of a lot of love and tenderness. I've ordered a few books off of Amazon that promise to show me how to become a piano refurbisher extraordinaire. Hubby isn't holding his breath that I'll actually make it work any better than it does now, but I'm going to prove him wrong. If I can't do it, I have a perfectly working phone that will allow me to call for help.
I've ordered a couple of piano rolls off of e-Bay so we're ready to rock - well, actually waltz since they really don't have any Britney Spears or Metallica piano rolls. My kids are going to be in for a pleasant shock when they hear what real music sounds like. I'm hoping to find some more rolls so if you know of anyone looking to unload some, give me a holleh.
I'll post photos as I progress or digress depending on how things go. Wish me luck.
How Did We All Make It?
I found this on the 'Net and thought it would provide some interesting points to ponder, of then and now. What do you think? How in the world did we all successfully grow up in one piece?
According to today's regulators and bureaucrats, those of us who were kids in the 40's, 50's, 60's, or the 70's probably shouldn't have survived.
Our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paint.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets, ... and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets. (Not to mention the risks we took hitchhiking.)
As children, we would ride in cars with no seatbelts or air bags.
Riding in the back of a pickup truck on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and not from a bottle. Horrors!
We ate cupcakes, bread and butter, and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but we were never overweight because we were always outside playing.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle, and no one actually died from this.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then rode down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the street lights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. NO CELL PHONES!!!!! U n t h i n k a b l e !
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo 64, X-Boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, video tape movies, DVD's, surround sound, personal cell phones, personal computers, or Internet chat rooms.
We had friends!
We went outside and found them.
We played dodge ball, and sometimes, the ball would really hurt.
We fell out of trees, got cut and broke bones and teeth, and there were no lawsuits from these accidents. They were accidents. No one was to blame but us. Remember accidents?
We had fights and punched each other and got black and blue and learned to get over it.
We made up games with sticks and tennis balls and ate worms, and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes, nor did the worms live inside us forever.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's home and knocked on the door, or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them.
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment!
Some students weren't as smart as others, so they failed a grade and were held back to repeat the same grade. Horrors!
Tests were not adjusted for any reason. Our actions were our own. Consequences were expected.
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke a law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law.
Imagine that!
January 02, 2009
You Say It's Your Birthday. It's My Birthday Too!
It's my berfday, as Gunny would say. I've hit the ripe old age of 33, can someone please put me out to pasture? Seriously, stick a fork in me because I'm done. I don't wanna age anymore so I think this will be my last one. I know I should have stopped at 30, or maybe even 26 (that way I could still rent a car if I needed to), but I guess 33 will have to do since I procrastinated.
I know I shouldn't complain too much because I have had more memorable birthdays. On birthday #13, we had my Grandmother's funeral (Mrs. Grumpy). I was getting birthday wishes with my mourning tears. There was also birthday #24, where I had a week old Taterbug to contend with. Sore boobs, a screaming infant, and incredible exhaustion made that day a keeper. And who can forget the incredible birthday #30, where I was hugely pregnant with Gunny and spent my evening having a non-stress test at the hospital with contractions that eventually stopped. So yeah, I really shouldn't complain too much because today's #33 is going to be a good day, and hopefully, a good number for an age.
In case you were wondering what sort of fascinating things have happened on my birthday, here's a link. Check yours' out as well.