Friday, August 29, 2008
As most working parents can attest to, you have a "routine". Wake the kids up, get them dressed, toss some breakfast in them (or marshmallows if you are really desperate, you know, so they don't go to school on an empty stomach), brush teeth/hair, eat vitamins, you get the idea. Same order, same stuff, every STINKIN' day.
But on those days where we are running late, they seem to know it and depending on how late we are will depend on how horrible they act. Yesterday was, by far, the worst. Both kids were literally screaming at us while we were trying to get them ready. Honestly, if you had been at our front door listening you would have thought we were dismembering them or something.
And the other thing I have come to realize is that they are like wild animals and they can tell when you are weak, and take full advantage. So I was a man down this morning, with Mark leaving early to get to work, and boy oh boy, the minute those little hooligans heard the click of the garage door all hell broke loose.
I am glad I made it to work safely today. Can't wait to pick them up tonight and see what they have in store for me!
I was pretty excited to hear this, because she's from our state, and obviously well-educated, as I am certain the drinking age back then was 19! Hopefully she has a decent scrapbook from college so she can remember what she did (that's how I keep track of my five years, but moving on).
I think I'll share my blog with her though, as she just gave birth to her fifth child, a son, last April, WHILE being Governor of Alaska. So as super-moms go, she's got the market cornered. I am sure she can relate to the joys and pains of being a working mom, though I wouldn't want to be a governor. Heck then you would actually have to make tough decisions. Yikes!
I enjoy the fact that my toughest decision is whether to spank my kids or stick 'em in time out when they are naughty. I usually just weigh the severity and time limitations of their actions and spank 'em anyway. Yes, I am one of THOSE people. Call CPS!!
However I did turn up one distrubing note on her bio via the AP, and it is cause for concern in my mind. She was born in Sandpoint. But, then again that might make for some interesting things in the next four years if they get elected.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Ten ways to use noodle in a sentence:
Use your noodle!
Why don't you noodle that around for awhile?
I am going to whip you with a wet noodle.
You should have seen his little noodle!!
Have you been to noodle.com? (honestly, I typed it in my browser and there IS a noodle.com)
Oops! I dropped a noodle in the sink.
The kids love swimming with a water noodle.
It was more limp than a wet noodle!
To test the done-ness of a noodle, throw it on the wall to see if it sticks. (courtesy of Mark)
My favorite noodle is fusili.
There! I have done it. Who knew noodle could be a noun, adjective, and verb?
I used NOODLE fifteen times. Take THAT Google AdSense!
Monday, August 25, 2008
If you haven't seen the movie yet, word of caution: it has a social message and is not all that kid friendly. So I was enveloped in two forms of guilt: one for scaring my children and one for living in a world of complete and total gluttony. But I'm over it now. I watched the Olympics on Saturday afternoon and I don't feel so bad. Table tennis is an official sport of the Olympics. So if anyone should be ashamed of themselves, its the Olympic Committee.
I mean COME ON! How is it possible to medal in a sport that is easily played with large cups of beer on the corners? If you can drink WHILE PLAYING, it is NOT a sport. I did hear that badminton is also an olympic sport and while you can drink while playing, I do think it has a little more street cred as a difficult game to play while intoxicated. It is much more competitive than two people slapping a tiny ball across a net on a VERY small table.
And did anyone else watch the coverage of the gold medal match? It was two women from China (thankfully the USA had the decency to either lose early on or better yet not enter anyone into the sport) and the even stopped and showed things back to us in SLOW MOTION. As if it wasn't stupid enough watching these women sweat over a game best played in a college rec room, but then they replayed everything as slowly as possible so we wouldn't miss just how ridiculous this "sport" is. But the good thing was it was easy to see even these women, while Chinese, did struggle at times to keep a straight face.
So back to my original "Summer in Sandpoint" title. The reason I was able to watch the Olympics Saturday is because it was freakin' cold here this weekend. Fall has arrived folks. Guess I am going to have to double up on the happy pills to get through the next eight or nine months of crappy weather. Yee-haw!
And speaking of yee-haw, it warmed up enough Saturday afternoon to head to the "Bonner County Fair". The word fair conjured up images of flashy rides, elephant ears, creepy carnies and trailer homes on display in the exhibit area. Well, in Bonner County, our flashy rides are giant inflatable bouncy toys that kids pay $2 for five minutes of jumping and screaming. We do have the elephant ears, thank goodness. And the trailer homes are in the neighborhood across the street, but they aren't new and certainly shouldn't be on display.
And we do have carnies here, but they are our residents lining up in full force to watch the demolition derby, the most disgusting game that reinforces the fact that we are a culture of excess. Why on earth would a normal person want to watch a bunch of junker cars smash into each other for hours on end while consuming a minimum of 5 gallons of gas per lap around the track? I dunno, but I'll have to ask Mark since he was all fired up to line up with the rest of north Idaho's finest citizens and watch the derby.
However the other obstacle to watching the derby with small children (besides the obvious support for wasting a natural resource) was the noise pollution. So very loud and our children have a difficult enough time hearing us as it is. Last thing we need to do is damage their ear drums any further. See a previous post for a full discussion on listening issues with children. I think I solved the mystery.
In any event, life in north Idaho is, if anything, an adventure. I wonder if I lived anywhere else whether or not I would have so many things to make fun of?
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
What I have discovered about the program is that it/they scan your blog for what I am going to refer to as "keywords" and then post ads based on those words. So imagine my surprise when I saw a link to a site for "Sexy Senior Singles". What the hell?!?!
I scratched my head for a few minutes thinking about what I possibly could have posted that would trigger a site for horny old people. Well, my last blog referred to "poker widows". Huh. So it didn't pick up cards, poker, etc and post links to online poker. Oh no, it grabbed the single and only mention of "widows" and added an ad for those hot & sexy senior singles lookin' for love. And a one night stand. But where were the ads for Viagra?
So I got to thinkin' that would it be FUN to see what kind of ads will get placed based on certain key words? At the right of this blog is my latest and greatest poll. You can vote for YOUR favorite key word and I'll use it as many times as possible in a blog to see what kinds of banner ads show up.
You'll notice that for the time being the ads are strictly for weight loss because in ONE blog I mentioned that I had gained a few pounds. I wonder, where are the ads for things like outdoor playsets, golf, prescription medications, ATVs, vacation deals or camping supplies. If I can get sexy senior singles with one mention of widow imagine what I could get with multiple mentions of things like, oh I dunno, "tits"?
And on that note, why no links to websites for plastic surgeons specializing in boob jobs?
Monday, August 18, 2008
I have to say that dinner was a little weird at first. Not because of the company, but because I am not used to being able to enjoy a meal. There was no one climbing under the table, no one throwing things, no one crying, no one spilling milk (although Mark was on beer #2 so anything was possible). It was a very pleasant and enjoyable evening.
THEN we went to the concert, and it was Ziggy Marley (son of Bob). So you can imagine what 85% of the concert attendees were like. Basically we sat and people watched all night long. We did decide that we are going straight to hell because at a Ziggy Marley concert there were just too many people to make fun of.
For example, there was the guy the next row up, clearly on a first date (we believe he got ditched towards the end of the night anyway) who probably put on the one and only tie dye shirt he owned and instead of gently swaying to the music like most people, he kept thrusting his hips like he was having sex with the air surrounding him, and it looked like his first time if you know what I mean.
Then there were all those people who live in the hills of north Idaho who no doubt sold some of their pot plants for money for concert tickets and drove down in their convertible school bus homes to attend the event. And they also brought all 8 of their children ranging in age from newborn to 10. But they needed someone to help walk them back to the bus at the end of the night I guess.
Saturday night was poker night for the guys at our house and I did crash the party. I let them have their fun until I came home from a play date with most of the other poker widows, put the kids to bed and sat down on the only available chair.
BUT first I have to tell you that on the way home I got pulled over for not having a headlight on one side of the van. I mean COME ON, don't they have some domestic dispute to break up or a meth lab to bust in this town? Do they have to pull over a mom in a van with two kids because her headlight is out? Either way I didn't get a ticket, but how embarrassing!
Then we almost ran over a cat on the highway south of the long bridge. I nearly kissed the ground when I got home. So needless to say I put down three beers and played some poker with the guys.
And wouldn't you know it, I beat three of the four men playing (including my husband). It was SO LATE by the time I went head to head with the final guy that I just went "all in" to end the darn game and lost. I so didn't care, it was hilarious beating these guys and having no clue what I was doing or how to play. That really has to piss a really good player off when some dumbass pulls up a chair, drinks their beer and then beats them at their game. It was GREAT!
Friday, August 15, 2008
I sure do love 'em but they are a handful. As you can see Kaylee preferred the dirt pile and Brady enjoyed the mud puddle. I really do think diapers hold AT LEAST 30 lbs of liquid in them. You should have seen that thing when I took it off. Honestly, if we ever have a water issue in the crawl space I'll toss a bag of Huggies down there and take care of it in about 10 minutes.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Monday, August 11, 2008
I have had WAAAAY too many people recently make comments (or in some cases flat out ask me) about the fact that I appear to be pregnant. If I were, A) I would end up single parenting THREE children and B) there would be a lawsuit filed against a physician.
So am I preggers? Nope, just bloated. The problem is that two children later what little breast tissue I have left sags so poorly that unfortunately even the slightest little bit of bloating makes my pathetic little belly stick out further than my sad little barely-B-cup boobies.
And when I say I gained a few pounds, I literally mean like 5 pounds. Can someone problem solve for me why in the hell it goes straight to my gut? I mean really, can't my boobs pick up a pound or two? A pound per boob would be GREAT! Why is it always in my belly?
And as soon as I locate 15 minutes in my day for some light exercise you KNOW the first place I will lose will be: THE BOOBS!
So the next time you see me (or someone else you know who used to be skinny) and you have the slightest inclination to ask them if they have procreated, please refrain! Especially if you ask me, I am likely to go postal on ya!
One more thought before I sign off for the day. I had my first mammogram last year and I do have to make an appeal: please, if anyone out there can figure out how to harness all the breast tissue I had squished into that machine into one cup, I would pay a nearly unlimited price for that bra. I was unaware until then how much breast tissue is underutilized in my current bra configuration.
So really, maybe losing weight isn't the answer, but getting a good bra is!
Friday, August 8, 2008
Have you ever noticed that children hear things like "who wants ice cream?" or "who wants to go to the park?" or "who wants a puppy?" but if you use the same volume, tone and inflection to say things like "time to brush your teeth" or "time to go to school" they act like they don't even know you are in the room?
It's like they have their own computerized word recognition system that bounces words back out of their ears like "bedtime" or "no" or "stop kicking your brother". They are pretty sophisticated systems, really.
I also notice that they are programmable, so when I go out of town for some reason and Mark has to single-parent, if I promise the kids I'll bring them back a present if they are good & listen, they turn down the filtration system and most messages are received.
I really wish the National Association of Pediatric Physicians (if there is such a thing) would commission a study on this phenomenon. It is quite puzzling to me, as there also seems to be an unrecognizable and highly complicated pattern which really makes communicating important messages like "get your shoes on this minute" very difficult to convey.
Another really strange thing is that they do tend to hear words they shouldn't while still managing to filter out those that they should. For example, "you need to eat your frickin' breakfast right now before you have to stand in the corner" but what they hear is "frickin' breakfast" and oddly enough they repeat it. Over and over. While running laps through the kitchen.
I am just amazed at this complicated and highly sophisticated listening/hearing program they have. Somewhere along the line we do lose it, though if you ask Mark, mine is still alive and well.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
And IF my neighbors read this blog (I think they might, the last 2 nights have been 4-wheeler free) I do apologize if I hurt your feelings. That doesn't mean I want to you ride your machines around, just that I didn't mean to be so cranky about it. Maybe hillbilly hell was a little extreme to title that post....
My dear husband woke up with a hangover today. The man can't hold his whiskey & 7-up apparently. He has been having a drinky-poo each night this week (it is month end so he is having to do that ghastly accounting stuff) to let go of the day.
Last night he made himself one, and then while I was refilling my bailey's on ice, I made him drink #2. Which was honestly mostly whiskey, but he swore he couldn't taste it. Guess I make a mean drink.
In any case, I got out of bed at 6:15 and jumped in the shower. By 6:45 I was dressed, made up and starting to brush my teeth. Lazy bones was STILL in bed nursing a hangover and asking for a beer-driver (a friend's surefire hangover cure-all cocktail of beer & orange juice).
THEN he tells me he needs me to iron his clothes and take the garbage to the top of the driveway. Why on earth, in all the years we have been together, would I choose today to start ironing his clothes (nevermind taking out the garbage-AS IF!)?
He slept in, whined about a hangover, and forgot about the garbage. What could possibly motivate me to help? Well, the promise of a boat could go a long way, actually.
But then again I would ALSO be responsible for getting the two children ready to go, and as you are aware this blog is partially about CHAOS. Need I say more?
I do love the man, and can't imagine why he married me (I feel like such a lucky girl). After all, I don't cook, I don't clean, I don't iron his clothes or make his lunch, and worst of all I have no boobs. Why, indeed?
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Just when I think I am going to get a break in the noise, (they ran a "course" on the PAVED road behind my house, down and around the corner still on a paved road, and through their own property which created a giant POOF of dust with each turn) they were only trading vehicles.
Is it just me, or is the purpose of a 4-wheeler to drive it in a place that is NOT easily accessible by traditional transportation such as a road bike or a car? Correct me if I am wrong, but isn't the noise pollution and negligent consumption of a natural resource grounds for a ticket? Attention Bonner County: here's an opportunity to raise money to finally pave that horrific dirt road that runs to the front of my house.
Needless to say, this isn't going to help me sell my house by complaining about my hillbilly neighbors who have no other entertainment apparently than driving their noisy toys behind my house. I just can't fathom driving a 4-wheeler in a subdivision. Call me crazy.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Once we wrestled (croc-hunter style) the kids into and out of the tub, then into their PJs, and literally tossed them in bed, it was time to pack (after Bailey's on ice).
So rewind to last Sunday. We came home from our "family vacation" in time to have to shove everything laying around into as many vacant spaces with lids, covers, etc so that we could show our house which is for sale on Monday night.
As you can imagine we had to hurry and didn't really pay attention to where we put a lot of things. Well some of us anyway. Fast forward to last night.
After about a half our of searching for my daughter's hiking boots I started to turn a litle red (and quite angry) thinking that they were left in Mark's brother's suburban on Sunday along with his wallet and sunglasses (and yes, somehow that was my fault).
Once I channeled my inner sailor and really started cussing it up Mark asked what I was looking for. I told him about the boots and told him I'd looked in the garage, her room, the cars, the little bins in the mud room where we keep all our shoes, under beds, etc. He suggested I check in the laundry basket in our room.
Well, what do you know, there they were, underneath a box of gun ammo, running shoe inserts, three pairs of MY shoes, and some shaving cream. Who knew the most logical freakin' place for all that crap was, of all things, a LAUNDRY basket. Can't wait to see what else I find in the other one.