Scary Nose

Doing my part to make this video even more viral! SO FUNNY and CUTE!

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Grocery Shopping

Today I restocked our house with edible food.

I feel that I have to clarify “edible” because, to be honest, there was a container of fuzzy sour cream and some liquified celery hiding out in the refrigerator when we returned from spring break, but since they are far from edible it seemed wise to head to the grocery.

(Right now you’re shocked and amazed that I almost killed myself with food poisoning a few months ago, aren’t you?  I promise, I didn’t try to eat toxic veggie dip, there was absolutely no fuzz on that dip container… a bloated pea was my only indication that something might be wrong.)

(I just got the bill from the hospital for that little three day stay.  I am continually grateful that we have a magical money tree in our backyard.  Yowsers.)

After I caught up with what we’d missed while being gone on spring break it turned out we needed to go to two grocery stores to get the supplies for our meals.  I always start shopping at the cheapo grocery, Aldi’s, even though I’m still offended that I have to pay a quarter for the privilege of steering their cart through the store (the fact that I get the quarter back if I return it is beside the point).

Dos was in charge of steering the cart in Aldi’s and let me tell you, that was a disaster in the making.  I was engrossed in checking the ounces of shredded cheese available when I realized she was pushing the cart at a good speed toward the glass-fronted cooler.  Fortunately I caught her before she shattered the glass with a well-placed crash.

Tres decided to screech her way through the store.  It was like shopping with a teradactyl.  Just my idea of a restful day of housewifey bliss.

Lest you think that Uno was perfectly behaved, please know that when we hit store #2, Wal-Mart, she decided that her life would not be complete without gum.  And I heard about gum every 45 seconds the entire trip.

It’s true, I timed it.

The truth is you don’t care or need to know that I’m currently in possession of two cans of kidney beans, a container of Mrs. Dash, and some string cheese that I’m hoping was made with hormone-free milk in addition to multiple other things that we bagged one item per plastic sack at Wal-Mart.  Or that I’m particularly excited to try the Apricot Chicken that’s on this week’s menu.

What may interest you is that I realized that, though we received compliments from grandmotherly-types throughout each store, I’ve become THAT MOTHER that community members shake their head over when they see.

Are you following me?  Let me explain.

When I was pregnant with Tres I went to the chiropractor.  When I let him know that I was with child (which typically is of medical concern to a doctor about to twist your body so that your toes are capable of picking out earwax in order to produce gunshot sounds that can be heard three counties away) he asked me, incredulously, “Weren’t you just pregnant?!  Don’t you have two little children at home?!”

“Why, yes, I do.  We just keep reproducing,” I answered.  “No one seems to be able to explain to us how we keep getting pregnant.”

He was quiet for a long moment.  I was all prepared for him to be sarcastic and joke with me about our naivety regarding procreation. But then he clicked his tongue and – in complete seriousness – said:

“Wow.  You’re going to be that woman in Wal-Mart with all the little kids hanging off her cart that I always feel sorry for.”

How do you respond to that one?! I wanted to say that, coming from a man who spends his weekends dressing up in pioneer clothing and spinning wool culled from his personal herd of sheep, I wasn’t sure who to feel more sorry for.

But I didn’t.

My mother did instill some manners.  And it was absolutely OK for him to feel that way.  But I’m scarred for life.

So, that begs the question: Do you always feel sorry for the people with multiple children you see in stores, even if the children are well-behaved? (Because, honestly, if they’re not well-behaved it’s always feeling sorry for them.  I think anyone who sees a family of multiple screaming children believes that those parents are experiencing a version of Dante’s Inferno on a daily basis.  Just sayin’.)

 

***Please rate this post using the star system up by the title.  The ratings magically turn into the top-rated posts are ranked on the right side of the page – which gives new readers a place to start.  I need your help to find the best posts!***

 

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Burns and Romance?

“Though the candle of romance can cause third-degree burns, its gentle warmth is the best way to heat a pot of cuddle chowder.”

What?!  How can this be an actual advertisement?

This was the lead of a Groupon I received today for a bed and breakfast.  The package was a couples massage, one night’s stay and breakfast in bed, which sounds pretty nice.

However, trying to lure me in by conjuring up the image of third degree burns is not the most successful strategy in my mind.

I scrolled all the way through the coupon ad to see if there would be a punch line, but unfortunately, there was not.  Whoever wrote this copy meant it to be taken seriously.

It reminds me of the classic, “This tastes awful! Wanna bite?”

What about you? Does the idea of a third degree burn bring you a hint of romance?

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Getting to Know YOU!!

Now is my chance to get to know YOU a little better!  Answer these questions in the comments!

1. What kind of swimsuit to you wear? Bikini or Tank?  Banana Sling or Trunks?

2.  If you could go anywhere right now for one week, where and why?

3. Guns are good or bad?

4.  Home-brewed coffee or Starbucks?

5.  Most embarrassing childhood memory?

6. Big news story that stays on your mind?

7.  Mac or PC?  Are you going to go for the iPad?

8.  What’s your dream job?

9.  Favorite breakfast treat?

10.  Dinner or supper… what do you eat around 5 p.m.?

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Why Having A Toddler Is Like Being at a Frat Party

This is a complete steal from the blog, Suburban Snapshots from June 2010. Please go visit her blog to see for yourself! It travelled around Facebook like a virus and made me laugh out loud a few times.  Hope you enjoy!

 

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.

9. There’s always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

 
9. There’s always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

 

8. It’s best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.

 

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone’s going to start banging on the door.

 

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.

 

5. You’ve got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.

 

4. There’s definitely going to be a fight.

 

3. You’re not sure whether anything you’re doing is right, you just hope it won’t get you arrested.

 

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.

 

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

 

Your additions?

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Baby Warmers

There are fashion trends that make sense and some that don’t.

I’m confident that the jegging, skinny jean, and character t-shirt will never become a staple of my closet.

But now I’ve discovered leg warmers for babies.  What?!

With all the research I’ve done in cloth diapers I’ve come across many, many variations of the 80s legwarmer, special for the infants.

The websites tout that they keep the baby warm (undoubtably true), protect from scratches when they’re crawling (again, true, true) and spice things up as a fashion accessory (um, not so sure about that one).

What’s wrong with a pair of knit pants?  Can someone explain the need for baby legwarmers?

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Dreamer

My father has always had very, very vivid dreams. My entire life we have gotten good laughs out of him retelling his dreams. Usually he dreams about protecting my mother from something or trying to stay out of danger. During these dreams he has frequently moves from the dream land to the physical.

For instance, once, many years ago, he was dreaming that he was caught in a crowd of protestors on a university campus. Their leader was getting confrontational with my dad and he started throwing punches to protect my mom.

Except that it was a dream. But he still threw punches in real life, resulting in my mom getting a big, black bruise when he slammed her with a left hook while fighting his dream nemesis.

She wasn’t so happy about being woken up from her own slumber with a well-intentioned wallop.

Another time he dreamed he was in a room with large wooden beams crossing the ceiling. As he was watching one of the beams started to fall, quickly, and my dad knew that he had to get out of the way fast if he wanted to avoid being pinned by that beam.

Once again, his dream world intruded upon the physical world and my mom woke up to him howling, pinned in between the bed and bedside table where he had hurled himself to get out of the way of the falling beam.

As my dad ages it seems like his dreams are becoming even stronger and more varied.

Earlier this week he dreamed that my mom asked him to go and get the rocking chair from the spa room. That particular rocking chair is covered with stuffed animals.

It appears my dad didn’t ask any questions of my mom in the dream about why she needed a rocking chair moved in the middle of the night – he just went to work.

My mom woke up the next morning completely surrounded by stuffed animals. They were heaped across the foot of the bed and snuggled up next to her, surrounding her in a comfortable pool of polyester blend loveys.

Turns out my dad took four trips from the spa room to the bedroom with armfuls of stuffed animals in order to make my mom happy and follow her dream-proclaimed mandate.

Ah! He’s a good guy. And… if you ever start to wonder, I’m pretty sure my imagination is genetic!

After I told this story to another friend she shared a funny story from another couple:

“Reminds me of the story my friend told of when she was staying in the spare bedroom of her sister’s home after a move.

They had just moved and the room was filled to the ceiling with boxes. She awoke frightened to death because her husband (who is a sleepwalker) was stuffing her in a closet yelling,”Gotta save you from the train! Gotta get off the tracks!” Her screams finally woke him up.

I don’t that she was ever the same after that….”

What crazy dreams have you had?

***Please rate this post using the star system up by the title. The ratings magically turn into the top-rated posts are ranked on the right side of the page – which gives new readers a place to start. I need your help to find the best posts!***


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Clowning Around

Yesterday we went on a grand adventure to Costco, the mecca of all bulk purchasing stores.

I am ashamed to admit we did not buy toilet paper.

Lizard said that he would seriously consider marital separation if he had to share the house with any more rolls of toilet paper, as he has already put toilet paper rolls in every drawer, closet, nook and cranny of the house and we have a full, unopened package of 36 rolls still in residence on the floor of the guest room.

Though I usually argue that toilet paper is a consumable product and therefore worthy of purchase every time we go to Costco I decided to play it safe this time and leave the toilet paper out of the cart.

After we enjoyed the beauty that is Costco we ate at In-N-Out, Lizard’s favorite restaurant ever, and headed home.

Uno and Dos were full of sheer giddiness from the excitement of the adventure and the five gallons of frozen yogurt they had eaten with the endorsement of Grandma and Grandpa.  Short of flinging handfuls of glitter in the air for a time of raucous play, nothing was going to live up to the excitement level they were experiencing.

I was trapped in the backseat of the Suburban in between Uno and Dos where I could also stuff bits of beef jerky into Tres’ mouth when she squawked.

All this to say it was a bit dodgy in the backseat and I got desperate.  So we played pretend.

There we were, driving down the interstate, playing pretend.  This version involved designing our dream vehicle.

We finally settled on a pink golf cart designed to look like a clown wearing glasses with a speaker disguised as a hat that played Imagination Movers as it tooled down the street.

(Personally I think that playing mariachi music would be much more charismatic than Imagination Movers, but, hey, why fight the battles?)

It took awhile for us to get all the design aspects right, which I then asked my husband to bring into splendid reality for your viewing pleasure.

And Lizard, the photoshopping jedi, recreated it.

I suspect we’ll be getting calls from all the golf courses any day now for orders of this design now that it’s been released to the general public.

Eat it up, folks, eat it up.

What about you?  What crazy games have you played to keep the kiddos occupied?

 

***Please rate this post using the star system up by the title.  The ratings magically turn into the top-rated posts are ranked on the right side of the page – which gives new readers a place to start.  I need your help to find the best posts!***


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Commando

Every time I go in public with the ruffians it is inevitable that there will be a bathroom break.  We stake out the handicapped stall (after all, what woman with three kids five and under isn’t impaired, at least for awhile?!) and take turns heading to the potty.

It never fails.

The ruffians go first because their bladder control is more questionable and then I go.  But, of course, they are done and careening around the stall like pinballs.  On the worst days it happens:

They open the stall door while Mommy dearest is sitting on the throne.

I immediately cower down into the smallest ball possible while screeching and hope that no one is looking.

But what are the going to see? My bony knees peeking out at them?  After all, I am a person who only removes my lower clothing when going to the bathroom, as I understand is common in my circles.

As I was pondering this I wondered what other scenarios create cringe-worthy heaps and I thought of another one: the naked dart across your own house (which is situated in the country where the nearest neighbors are approximately 16 miles away).

It does not matter that no one is there to see you.  Should you have a naked crisis, perhaps realizing that a foundation garment is in the dryer and you are in the shower across the house, you give a whole new facet to the word, “commando.”

You dart from sofa to recliner, hunched over to cover your critical points, glancing worriedly toward the windows.

If you have a glass sliding door, forget about it.  You’re terribly exposed in the crossing there.

The best choice is to either drop to your belly and military crawl out through the line of sight or go to the farthest point possible from the slider and ninja creep across the wall, hoping the glare of the sun on the sliding glass door will work in your favor against any would-be Peeping Toms who’ve been staking your place out in hopes of catching a glimpse of your hoo-ha.

Maybe it’s just me but I struggle with reveling in the shell that God gave me.  I blame Adam and Eve.  All was going just great until they got all sneaky with the apple and next thing they know they’re wearing palm fronds around their bodies.

Don’t even want to think about the chafing that caused.

What about you? Do you relate to the potty exposure or naked ninja house attack?

***Please rate this post using the star system up by the title.  The ratings magically turn into the top-rated posts are ranked on the right side of the page – which gives new readers a place to start.  I need your help to find the best posts!***


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Hall Pass

There’s a new movie hitting town called “Hall Pass.” The basic premise is that there are two couples who are feeling bored in their marriages and the wives give the husbands a “hall pass” for a week where they can do anything they want and act as though they have no obligations. It’s their chance to be single again.

In order to publicize the film they commissioned a study in the UK. The study found that while the concept that marriages tend to go through a rough spot around year seven (the Seven Year Itch) many marriages are now hitting that spot around year three.

(“The Seven Year Itch is now the Three Year Glitch“)

According to the study the top 10 love busters to blame for the Three Year Glitch are:

1. Weight gain/lack of exercise, 13 percent

2. Money & Spend thriftiness, 11 percent

3. Anti-social working hours, 10 percent

4. Hygiene issues (personal cleanliness), 9 percent

5. In-Laws/extended family – too much/too little, 9 percent

6. Lack of romance (sex, treats etc), 8 percent

7. Alcohol – drinking too much, 7 percent

8. Snoring & anti social bedtime habits, 6 percent

9. Lapsed fashion-Same old underwear/clothes, 4 percent

10. Bathroom habits – Stray nail cuttings etc, 4 percent

Now, call me crazy, but I’m not thinking that the people polled were looking at marriage the same way I do.  While I can’t deny that significant weight gain or loss or underwear found with granny girdles or banana slings might be a bump in the road in some relationships, I’m thinking that marriage should be about more than toenail clippings and difficult working hours.

What do you think?  Do you identify with these findings?  What are the small things that you’ve learned to love about your spouse?

***Please rate this post using the star system up by the title.  The ratings magically turn into the top-rated posts are ranked on the right side of the page – which gives new readers a place to start.  I need your help to find the best posts!***


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