Rock Me Baby

Our front door was installed!  It looks better than I had hoped and I love it. So, super excited about that.

Hubby was excited too.  So excited that he insisted it be covered in plastic to protect it.

At first I was confused. Protect...our door? From like, what? Rain? Sunlight? Because I'm pretty sure the door is going to meet the elements. I could be wrong but I think that's like a requirement of doors nowadays.

No, the real plan was to protect the doors from the brick guys, who will be finishing up tomorrow. And will be working around the door. Yeah, THAT makes a lot more sense.

So it's about 8 at night and we're on our way home when he announces that we're going to swing by "real quick" to put up this plastic.

I don't know how it keeps happening, but I keep getting appointed as his helper. The fact that I don't have any kind of mechanical skill, can't identify tools and generally just get in his way doesn't seem to phase him.  He keeps appointing me.

My "job" this time is to hold the ladder. There are all kinds of brick debris around the house and in front of the door, exactly where he needs to be. Instead of moving any of it, we just plunk the ladder down on top of the rubble. So it's nice and secure.

Than the man who is over 80 pounds heavier than me climbs up on this ladder and I'm supposed to hold it and keep it from falling over.

Sounds like a great plan.

It was actually going fine until M came over with a bag of pretzels.

Did I mention that it was 8 and I hadn't eaten dinner and was starving?

So of course, when she offered me some I wasn't going to turn them down.

I'm scarfing down pretzels like I hadn't eaten in a million years and he's doing whatever it was that he was doing and it all seemed to be going so well.

Until he shifted his weight and the ladder rocked kinda violently.

"Are you holding the ladder?"

"Yes....kinda...mostly?"

"What do you mean, mostly?  Are you holding the ladder or not?"

"Well, M came by with some pretzels so - "

"You let go of the ladder to eat pretzels?"

"Well, yeah. They're really good pretzels. Like really good. When you get done you should have some. Seriously, you gotta try these. So good."

And that folks is how I lost my coveted position as helper...

Sleepless Beauty

I'm in a mood.

I feel cranky and irritable and not very nice.

It's because I haven't gotten enough sleep the last few days.  I'm a night owl by nature so I'm used to operating on minimal sleep - what's killing me is interrupted sleep. Which actually feels worse than no sleep at all. 

And it's all my husband's fault. 

That boy is the lightest sleeper on the planet. Once he goes to bed he develops this weird super sonic hearing and any little thing will wake him up. I swear, breathing too hard could do it. Once I was in the living room and I mistakenly unfolded a bag of chips. That was actually a mistake for a lot of reasons but I digress...He stumbles in about 2 seconds after I touch the bag, "What are you doing? What's all that racket?" And I promise  you, this was not some special extra noisy bag - those weren't on sale - this was just a regular bag of chips. A regular bag of chips That. Woke. Him. Up. 

So you can imagine how much fun I have sneaking into the room to go to bed. For a normal person, maybe it isn't so hard but I have the loudest walk. Like 10,000 elephants stampeding loud. I walk hard and heavy. And not quietly. 

It's also super fun when we have storms at night. Guess who is  up all night tossing and turning? All. Night. Long.

I, on the other hand, can sleep through just about anything. Sirens, trains, storms, a semi blowing through the living room - I'm out. You'll have to tell me about it in the morning.

You know what will wake me up though? FLOPPING AROUND!

So I'm in desperate need of a nap.

And an attitude adjustment.

Water Works

So this happened this weekend...

Yes, that would be water.

In our new house.

The water was turned on and the plumber came out to check for leaks.  We had one.  BUT he thought it was fixed.  Until we show up at the house to standing water.  And guess who isn't answering their phone?  Anyone? Anyone?

The plumber! Ding, ding, ding - we have a winner!

He did finally return our call - he was out of town and not getting calls. Which worked out perfectly for him because by the time he called I had already spent all day vacuuming it up.

And cursing him under my breath the whole time.

Wanna Be Taco

With tournaments, Mother's Day, graduation and having company we have eaten out more the last week then we usually do all month.  Seriously, it's like every meal has come from a restaurant.

That's an observation, not a complaint.

Because that means I didn't have to cook or do dishes. Yes - double win! *happy dance*

It is unfortunate though because all this eating out has brought to my attention that I've got to bump our favorite mexican restaurant.  We found this little place that I thought was going to be our go-to place.  But the last few times we've gone it's been...not so great.

This last time, it was just bad. 

I wasn't very hungry so I just ordered a taco a la carte. This is what they brought:

That's it.

Meat in a shell.

I mean, yeah I didn't want rice or beans but can you throw some lettuce in there? Maybe even a little cheese?

This...this is just a sad little shell with some brown stuff thrown in. It is NOT a taco. And don't even go there with the authentic mexican food thing...this isn't an authentic mexican food restaurant.  This is american mexican food restaurant where everything is smothered in a pile of cheese.

Except for tacos, which aren't smothered in anything.

The real deal breaker though was that the chips were burnt. I thought maybe the first time it was just a fluke thing. But no, these were burnt too. And I'm sorry but I just can't go to a place that doesn't get the chips right.  I mean, chips are like 90% of what I love about mexican food.

So the search for favorite local mexican restaurant begins now...

Biscuit Legs

So I took the cooler weather as an opportunity to wear boots one last time. I love boots.  I originally discovered this during my I Hate My Legs phase.  I have ugly legs – they are thick and unshapely. They literally look like a stove pipe. A fat, fleshy stove pipe.

Very similar to this:

Like this, only flesh. And with varicose veins.

In an attempt to downplay this unfortunate feature, I spent a few years wearing dresses that were long enough to cover the majority of my legs.  As a non-Mormon and woman under the age of 80, you can imagine how difficult it was to find cute dresses that met that criteria.

Boots were my solution. My legs were hid, the dresses were cute and all was right with the world.

I’m over all that now.

I mean, I still have ugly legs. I just no longer care that they’re ugly. I'm on to better things, like hating my stomach.

But I still love a cute boot.

So I whip out some boots and…I can’t get the damn things zipped.

I have gained enough weight that my boots no longer fit.

Do you hear me people, I'm too fat for my boots!!

This is a serious new low.

But I am wearing these damn boots!

So I decide to literally stuff myself into them. I'm just going to stuff the fat into the boots. Zip a little, stuff a little, zip a little, stuff a little. Until I finally managed to get them zipped up almost the entire way.  The last little bit required assistance from a few items I found in the kitchen but by God, they were zipped!

About 2:00 p.m. I noticed some tightness. A little squeezing on my legs. Like they were wrapped just a little too snug.  It wasn’t painful, just mildly annoying.

By 4:00 p.m., all I wanted to do was unzip those damn boots and relieve the pressure. My legs looked like a can of biscuits had exploded.  The fat was literally puffing up and over the boots. This cute look had definitely gone awry.

The minute I got in the car I unzipped those suckers. I did it so fast I had both boots done before the car door even closed. It felt so good, it hurt.

Other than an indention across the front of my leg where the boot seam had been, everything seemed fine. I went home, made a mental note to Google “Boots for stove pipe legs” and threw them in the very back of the closet.

The next morning, as I’m running the razor up my leg, I hit something hard.  What the hell?

I have my leg hiked up on the wall so I bend forward to get a close look and I see a row of blisters. Those boots were so tight I am amazed that there was enough room for any kind of friction but apparently there was…and I have the blisters to prove it.

My fat blistery legs in all their stove pipe glory

I could cry about being so fat that my boots are rubbing wounds on my legs. Or I could just decide that I’m going to burn those freakin boots while I eat a box of chocolate donuts. I'll let you know what I decide...

Observations From The Deep Side

I'm sure you didn't notice but I've been trying to do a Monday, Wednesday, Friday post. For no particular reason except that I'm trying to bring some consistency into all areas of my life.

So far, I've done...okay.

I've missed a few days and it gets a little tricky when I post late at night because if it's past midnight it's technically the next day.

Like Monday, I didn't get to the computer until late because I was busy fighting tornadoes.

Okay, actually just the threat of tornadoes.

After our zoo adventure (which was fantabulous, by the way), we picked up M and went home. The girls were outside playing, I was cleaning and the tv was off. We had only been home about 15 minutes when the hubby called about bad weather.

If you're from this state, you know to expect bad weather. I've never really freaked out about tornadoes.  They're very dangerous and can be deadly but it's just part of living here.

It's a little bit different living in a tin can though.

We had storms last week and the entire place felt like it was about to tip over - and that was just strong wind. I can't even imagine if something serious were to come along.

So I called the girls in, we packed our "survival bags" and went to the designated city shelter, aka the high school.

That was an interesting experience.

Since there wasn't an immediate threat (although it was a bit unsettling when the sirens went off. Just a warning siren but still, there is something ominous about that sound) and there were people camped out in the hallways I took that as an opportunity for some random observations.

1. I was disciplining M2 and made my "Not A Happy Mommy Face" - this is a finely crafted expression that includes big, open eyes and thin, pursed lips and words that are clipped and Spoken. Like. Separate. Sentences.

I originally signed up for the "How To Make Not A Happy Mommy Face 101" while I was still in the hospital immediately after giving birth. Everyone said it was too soon but I was determined to prove them wrong. Unfortunately, I couldn't do it. Each time I would try, it turned into the "Awwww, She's So Little & Perfect Face". The instructor gave me a disgusted look, a failing grade and told me to come back when she began talking. I was back when she was 3 and I not only passed but was asked to be a guest instructor. I have that face down. 

So during the exchange, a girl sitting next to us was watching me intently.  Without taking her eyes off of me, she says to M "Your Mom..." and I"m sure she's about to say "is mean" or something like that but then I hear her finish with "has the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen." And without missing a beat M says "Oh, you should see my Dad's - his are even brighter!"  And while he does have some pretty baby blues, I'll be signing up for that  "Hey Don't Steal My Thunder Face" session next week.

2. For the love of God, if you're a woman who doesn't wear a bra inside the house, listen up! I happen to wholeheartedly agree with you. I walk in the door, set my purse on the desk, walk directly to the bedroom, take off my wedding ring and take off my bra. Then I take a deep breath and relax. FREEEEEDOM!

So we're cut from the same cloth. I get you. But here's the rule, and it's an important one, you MUST NOT under absolutely ANY circumstances walk out of your home that way.

Don't. Do. It.

You'll be tempted. You'll dread putting the bra back on. You'll wonder if you can disguise it with a baggy sweatshirt. You might even try to tell yourself no one will notice. NO, NO, NO. Have some decency, suck it up and put the girls away.

But there are always rebels.

This rebel was easy to spot because her boobs were literally swinging. They hung down lower than mine, which is an impressive feat in itself, but apparently were light enough to kinda...float. Like with every step there was this wild side to side circular type movement somewhere around her navel. I knew I shouldn't stare but I couldn't help it - it defied gravity.

Heavy enough to hang (and hang low) but light enough to swing in circles. How? How is that happening? I was mesmerized. And severely grossed out.

And I get that we had bad weather coming in but please, you had time to grab that bra. You know you did. But just in case, may I suggest that for the remainder of tornado season, just keep one near the front door. Or perhaps in the car? Even if you threw it on over your shirt, it's still gotta be better than nothing.

3. I saw a dirty toddler running down the hall in nothing but a baggy diaper. No shirt, no shoes - nothing. He was immediately followed by an identical copy. Same thing. Two dirty twin naked babies.  It was awful. The people that appeared to be "parents", and I use that word loosely, were both fully clothed and had shoes. Lucky them.

M looked at her friend with an appalled expression and said "Oh my gosh! Did you see those kids, they don't have anything on but diapers!"

Of course, I said "Honey, let's not be judgy. We're not gonna worry about what other people do."

Oh I was 100% judging them. But my goal as a parent is to create humans that are actually better than me.

Hypocritical?  Yes.

But at least I had my bra on...

Zoo Daze

Today was zoo day with M2.

School field trips are always interesting. It's like playing Russian Roulette - am I going to get extra kids?  Is it just gonna be me and my kid?

I'm always scanning the line - that one looks nice, I could do that one. And that one. That one's okay. Oh, there's  a booger eater - yeah let's skip that one. You're fine. You're fine. That one looks like they're about to cry - pass. You're good. Good. Good.

And then you land on the one. 

You know it immediately- the "bad" kid. I know you aren't supposed to say things like that about kids but the truth is some kids are just little shits. And they usually grow up to be big shits.

Please, please, please don't give me that one. 

So this morning I was pleasantly surprised to find no easily identifiable little shits. I'm thinking I've hit the holy grail. This. Is. Perfect. There isn't a bad one here - we are set!

I'm assigned a cute little blonde girl.  I try to talk to her but she isn't much of a talker. She actually kinda looks scared. Or a little nauseous. I couldn't decide.

Just as we're about to leave the teacher pulls us over and is about to say something when she looks at the girl, pauses and asks if she needs her inhaler.  This is mildly alarming.

Then she whips out this huge mask-like device. This is not just an inhaler. It's the Mercedes of inhalers. It's a MegaDelex Inhaler 53S. The teacher turns to me with a half-smile and says "Don't worry, she knows exactly how to use this." Which is good, because I don't.  It's also ironic since she assists her throughout the entire process.

Yeah....I'm thinking this is not a hands-off type activity.

And ya know, I'm not 100% comfortable having someone else's kid to begin with. There's just something I find inherently strange about being responsible for someone else's child. I gotta watch them and keep them safe...it has the potential to get messy.

So I'm really hesitant to be responsible for one that may need help breathing.

Especially since I would not have asked if she needed her inhaler. I wouldn't have known to - I didn't see anything that would make me think she needed it.

The teacher obviously saw something I didn't, which is concerning.  You wanna send this kid with someone that's not even observant enough to notice she's having trouble?

I did note the girl didn't tell her teacher she needed it, the teacher asked her. But why wouldn't the girl ask? If you're having trouble and you don't ask your teacher who you know, are ya gonna feel comfortable asking me?

So before we get too far from the responsible adults, we kinda need to figure out what we're doin here.  What's our code? Am I asking you every 10 minutes if you need your inhaler?  Am I waiting for you to ask me for it?  Or am I just supposed to wait until you're a slight shade of blue and then throw it at you with a "Good luck, kid" as I run away to find help?

The entire time she's inhaling into this contraption I'm thinking I do not want this kid to have an asthma attach when she is with me. Despite the misconception, I am not good under pressure. If something happens, there is no calm and collected. I'm gonna freak the hell out. And then crumble into a pile of uselessness.  Crisis, mini-crisis or even anything just mildly bad - I am not your girl.

Sure I'm capable of reaching into a bag and pulling out an inhaler and giving it to her. And if you give me 10 minutes I will Google the instructions and maybe even be capable of helping her to use it. It's the worst case, what if  things don't go right scenarios that were scaring me.

And the panic must have been evident in my face because after a few bad coughing fits the teacher decided it was better the child stayed with her for observation.

I think we can all agree that was for the best.

I mean really, I'm a 40 year old woman that still likes to ride the carousal - I can barely be trusted with myself...

Take Two: Part III

I have an update on my waxing experience.

I promise this will be last time I mention anything related to my lady parts for a while. But I got a terrible wax job.

You know how I was so happy that it didn't hurt that bad? Well, maybe it should have hurt. Maybe it didn't hurt because it didn't really work.

I don't really know what protocol is but I didn't look at the salon. I don't know, besides the fact that I was just trying to scramble to put my clothes back on, it seems kind of awkward to do a self-examination while someone is standing there.

So it wasn't until I got home and checked things out that I realized things did not look so great. I look down and it's immediately What is this??

She may have been thorough with my backside but she definitely wasn't with the front. And that's the only part I care about. They are supposed to pluck out any stray hairs - and she did. Like two. Oh honey, nooooooo there was way more than two there.

And you have to grow it out to have it waxed, so it's not like they could be missed. Those suckers are obvious. And ridiculous looking.

So I ended up with something similar to this:

Pretty, huh?



*In case you don't know, that's a picture of Stimpy from the late 90's cartoon Ren & Stimpy. Which I was not allowed to watch but somehow managed to watch anytime I was at a friend's house.  It was totally inappropriate so we loved it.