It's all about the chomping

Okay, let me briefly teach you about ice.

There is good ice and there is goooood ice.

Good ice:

Goooood  ice: .


Any questions?

Some things are just wrong...

I know this might a little controversial to put on this here blog...but I am going to do it.

Please, don't be offended. Don't hate me.

If you disagree with me, that's okay. You are entitled to you own opinion, as flawed as it may be. We can still be friends.

But when one feels so strongly about something, one should be able to express that on their blog.

I am that one.

Sushi is just wrong.

You should not do sushi. It's raw meat people. Raw!! Wrapped in seaweed. And covered in rice. Then it is put in a fridge for a few day.

How is that appetizing?? Just look at it.

No, I have never eaten it. Once again...look at it!! No, I will not try it. Nope, I know I won't like it. I don't have to try drugs to know I don't want to do them. I don't have to burn my finger to know I won't enjoy it.

And I don't have to taste sushi to know it is wrong.

Sushi is just wrong.

Love of my life....

I love my iphone.

Love it.

For so many reasons.

I can call. I can text. I can email.

I can bank. I can calendar. I can photograph.

I can read the news. I can read my scriptures. I can surf.

I can blog. I can map things. I can listen to and buy music.

But mostly I love my iphone because where else can you do this to your husband???

or this...

or...

...what about this...

Oh, yes.

 I love my iphone.

So I Married a Deaf Man: Who's that?

...so I was telling you about our phone issues, right.

If you call me, on the phone...you know...the talking phone, I will talk to you. And it will be fun. And we will have a good time.

If you call me on the phone, the talking phone, and I am talking to you and Hubs comes in, he will ask "Who are you talking to?" To which I will sign your name.

If you call me on the phone, the talking phone, and I am talking to you and Hubs comes in and asks who I am talking to and I tell him it's you,  he will ask, "What are you talking about?"

This is slightly annoying, but I will, in a word or two, tell him.

If you call me on the phone, the talking phone, and I am talking to you and Hubs comes in and asks who I am talking to and he knows it's you and he learns what we are talking about and he is interested, he will ask me to interpret our call for him.

Rude right? 

This is where I draw the line.

Understand this rarely happens...but it does happen.

But....if you call Hubs on the phone...the signing phone (video phone), he will talk to you, and it will be fun.

If you call Hubs on the phone...the signing phone and he is talking to you, I will not ask him who he is talking to. I will look at the TV. And there you will be.

No need to ask what He is talking about. I can see it. No need to ask if he will interpret for me, I can see. 

But I don't...because that would be rude, right?

So now, when you call me on the phone, the talking phone, and I am talking to you and Hubs comes in and asks who I am talking to and I tell him it's you, he will ask, "What are you talking about?"

 And I will answer, "Tampons."

Problem solved.

If you're happy and you know it....

Happiness is.... 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Happiness is...a clean kitchen, a load of laundry in the wash and a book with my baby.

Happiness is...freshly brushed teeth.

Happiness is...snow day.

Happiness is...potty trained!!

Happiness is...new socks.

Happiness is...rolling over in the morning to the man of my dreams.

Happiness is...forgiven.

Happiness is...the first day of school after summer break.

Happiness is...jeans that fit.

Happiness is...family.

Happiness is...getting home after a 26-hours-in-the-car road trip. That's a lot of family.

Happiness is...quiet.

Happiness is...noisy.

Happiness is...good hair color.

Happiness is...a few minutes alone in the bathroom.

Happiness is...money to spend save.

Happiness is...a recipe that works...and everyone likes.

Happiness...is a choice.

Keep choosing it.

Angels, I tell ya

There are times you look back at certain experiences and laugh. There are other times you look back and cringe. This was one of those times.

We (Hubs, myself and 4 of our children) had just moved into a new apartment. My parents and a few siblings had come over to help us get things organized and set up.

My dad was responsible for setting up the bunk beds. He had also, apparently, taken upon himself the job of trying to kill my 2 year old. Yeah he is kinda like that. Okay, not really. Quite the opposite really. You will not find a more careful, caring, slightly overprotective grandparent anywhere. Except for this time.

I saw my dad and Brody, the 2 year old, go back to the kids room. Didn't think anything of it. In fact didn't even think about it at all until later because I was busy organizing and putting away.

When I finally did go back to the bedroom, about 3 hours later, to check out the bunk beds, I walked into the room and saw a screw driver sticking out of the electrical outlet. As in, the metal part was "plugged in" to the wall.

What the...? Who forgot...? How is my child not dead?
Then again, this is the son who had a piano fall on him and only rug burns to prove it. (Some day I will tell you that story.) The same son who almost drowned before my very eyes. The one who was bitten by army ants more than 30 times in 2 minutes. Yes, this is that child....

But a screw driver in the outlet!?
I laugh and cringe at that memory.

What's yours?

Step away from the lunch....

Food police are real.

Did you know that? I had no idea. I thought they were just like the Boogy man under the bed or in the closet. You know, not real.

Nope. Real.

Just ask the little girl in a Hoke County preschool. She knows. She met him the other day. Apparently, the food police didn't think that her homemade lunch (a turkey and cheese sandwich, chips, banana and apple juice) was healthy enough. So he took it away and replaced it with chicken nuggets. Because we all know chicken nuggets are super healthy.

Who pays these food police? That would be us. We just hire people who have nothing better to do with their time and our money than to go to preschools and take perfectly good lunches and replace them with crappy ones.

Really?

Really??

Since we are the ones paying for these food police, can we also be the ones to fire them? You know, for pure idiosy?

Food police. Sheesh.

I wonder what he had for lunch???

Caught

I was supposed to be at the party. Instead I was parking.

It was my senior year. A good friend of mine was living with us at the time because her family had moved for a new job and  it was her senior year. Who wants to move their senior year? Not me. And not her. So she was living with us.(That's an important part of the story...later.)

A guy from school was having a party at his house and my boyfriend and I went...briefly. We had every intention of staying. But being hormonal and all our intentions changed and we opted on ditching the party, finding a back road and sucking face.

We went somewhere really romantic, you know, an old, wet, dirty back road that lead to a natural gas well. It was muddy, stinky...but it was deserted. Perfect.

Kiss kiss...talk...kiss kiss. Etc. Etc. Etc. About an hour later, we decide we should head back home, you know, it being midnight and all. As we were driving down the road, I see my parents' car heading toward the party house. The place I was not.  Busted. Crap!

"Get out of the car!" I tell him. And out he jumped. If only my children would obey that quickly. I sped home, hoping...no, I'm pretty sure I was praying...that my parents didn't know I had skipped out on the party. Because if they figured that  part out....well, the rest was no secret.

 What I didn't know was that my friend had come home on time...without me. When asked where I was, she told them I was still at the party playing volleyball or something. Not fully convinced, my dad called the party house and the younger sister answered. She informed him I had, in fact left the party hours earlier.

I snuck in the door, tiptoed to my room where my friend also slept. But sleeping she was not. Her face was white and she looked as scared as I felt.

"Do they know?" I asked.

Before she could answer, my mom appeared in my doorway, nostrils flaring, smoke coming out her ears, doing all she can to keep calm. "To the living room...now!" she gritted.

My stomach dropped. My palms began to sweat and I started to cry...because that's what I do. I cry. And cry, I did. It might not have been so bad if it had been Dad who was in my doorway. He was a little more controlled, a little more tender...a little less scary. Mom was more emotional, and blunt and explosive (in a non-violent way).

Mom let into me...as she should have...for about 5 minutes. I couldn't lie, because I didn't know how much they knew and I didn't know if she would know I was lying. So I told the truth. Yes, we had left the party. Yes we were alone. Yes, there was kissing involved. No, nothing like that happened.

By the time Dad got home, I was bawling, Mom was venting and I am sure everyone in the house was listening intently from the back rooms. Once Dad was there and helped take things down a notch or two we were able to talk.  By the end of it all, they were telling me about times they had gotten caught doing similar things.

I can't say I never parked after that.

But I can say I never got caught.

Suck it up!

Some people blog for money. Others blog for their posterity. Still some people are really talented and blog about it so the rest of us can feel like idiots.

Why do I blog? Because my sister told me, "You suck at blogging."

 Now, before you go and start hating her, you must know that she was right.

You see, when I first started out, I was private...as in you only read my blog if I invited you. Yes, I was exclusive. A snob. Truthfully I didn't really understand what public blogging meant. I only had 3 readers: Me (I was there reading everyday...my first follower), Hubs (who still will only read if it's about him) and my sister.

Plus I really wasn't all that interesting....in blog form. AND I only posted once every 2 or 3 weeks.

The blog wasn't all that great and I was okay with that.  

Until the word suck was used to describe it. I was not going to suck at anything.  Not totally true. If she would have told me I sucked at keeping up with laundry...no problem here. Or that I sucked at craft making...no offense taken. My fashion yup...with a capitol S.

But for whatever reason, "You suck at blogging" ignited something deep within me. I may suck at a lot of things, but blogging wasn't going to be one of them.

So I rolled up my sleeves and gall darn it I wrote. I wrote about something. And everything. And nothing. And when I felt like I wasn't getting enough attention I was good enough, I came out of the blogging closet. YUP, I went public!!!!!

And guess what? I really liked it. The more I wrote, the easier it was to express...well... me. In my way. In my voice. And people like me. You like me. (I'm not subliminal at all....you will give me all your money, you want some Diet Coke, you like me...) Two hundred of you like me enough to follow me...with your faces. That is brave.

So Sister, who I love...like a sister...Thanks! Thanks for telling me I suck.

What got you blogging?

This day has finally arrived.

We have poop, people! And I am so happy!!

Yes, I know that sounds a little disturbing if you've never had children. But for those of you who have...you can understand my enthusiasm at seeing poop in the pot.

Yesterday it was not in the pot. It was in the pants. Twice. Less than enjoyable.

But today, all on his own, with only about a billion bribes, he did it. He made it. To the pot. In the pot. And I am doing the poopie dance...still.

This is it for me. The last time I will have to debate whether the undies are worth saving or not. Because let's face it, sometimes it's worth the $6 just to not have to do the dip-and-swish. 

I've got a few more days to go, but we are over the poop in the pot stage. For whatever reason, that seems to be a little scary. (Not as scary as the alternative...at least in my opinion...but then again I am not 3 years old.)

And so today marks the first day of the rest of my life.

Well, at least my diaper-less life. I'll take it!

That's just plain awesome.

We have a new tradition. It semi-started last year but became full fledged this year. We make homemade shirts for the Super Bowl. Homemade as in "going to Hobby Lobby, choosing a T-shirt and getting fabric paint" shirts...

...not to be confused with the "go Jo-Anne's, buying fabric and a pattern that you don't really understand, and spend hours and hours making a shirt that you wouldn't be caught dead wearing" homemade. 

Right.

 

So we made our shirts on Saturday night. It was a lot of fun.

Briggy got so into it. He would squirt paint, then brush it around, then squirt some more of another color. It actually ended up pretty great. We were all praises and encouragement. Lots of fun.

We woke up Sunday morning and my boys insisted on putting their shirts on before church. When it was time to get dressed, there was no taking off Briggy's shirt. "No. I am wearing this shirt." I told him he could wear it the minute he got home. "No." He suggested wearing his church shirt under his Super Bowl shirt. 

I was finally able to convince him that he could wear his shirt under his church shirt...unbuttoned. Ugh. Some fights just aren't worth fighting, I tell ya.

But all through the first hour of church I tried convincing him how great it would be to button up his shirt. He wasn't having it.

I tried one more time. "Briggy. Are you sure you don't want to button this up."

"No, Mom.Those guys," pointing to the boys passing the Sacrament, "might see my shirt and say, 'Hey! That's awesome!'"

Yes, he was really proud of his shirt.

...waiting.

Waiting.

That's what we are doing.

Hubs has been working on getting his masters. In Linguistics. Yeah...he is pretty smart. Not boring though.

However, three semesters in he has decided, "Ehhh. I'm not really wanting to be a linguist anymore." Good for him to recognize he isn't happy...ya know...before we spend another bucket load of money.

Instead he has applied for a job. Whoot! We are excited to move into the next chapter of our life. This last one was kinda dragging.

But now we are waiting...and waiting....and waiting.

"We will let you know, either way, by the end of this week." So he calls them back at the beginning of the next week...."Oh. Nope, sorry. We haven't gotten to that point yet. But we will let you know. Either way." Ugh.

And so we wait.

I wait.

Wait for some normalcy in my routine at home. Don't get me wrong. I love having Hubs around. He is fun and interesting and nice to look at and all of that. So you can see why I would be distracted from my mundane, monotonous, morning routine.

But even though it is boring, it is necessary. Vital, even, for my life to have some semblance of sanity. Those first two hours... scriptures, exercise, dishes, and shower...I have to have them. Sadly, if they don't get done, no matter what else does, I feel I have not been productive.

So you can understand why the waiting is so excruciating.

I am torn between loving and hating my husband. Okay, hate is a really strong word. But I am afraid if we have to wait much longer...it just may come to that. Okay, not that. But sometimes there are worse things than hate. Torture comes to mind.

I'm just sayin'.

But what else is there to do....

...but wait.

Some Feb fotos...

Just adding pictures for posterity. As you were.... 

You would too if you had the chance

I left.

I left without saying anything. 

And I came back.

Just like I said I would....if I would have told you I was leaving.

But when a girl has a chance to go on a road trip with her seven sisters, how can she turn it down? Yes, I did say seven sisters. 

That's a lot...

....of girls...talking...laughing. A lot of late nights...good times...memories. A lot of fun!

Why?

Because of the sweet, spunky, 92 year old gal with the red shirt sitting in the middle.

Some call her Katy.  We call her Grandma.

I know that all you think your grandmothers are the best, but that is only because you haven't met mine. She is amazing and I love her so.

She fed us, talked with us, remembered for us. Gave us temple cookies, one-eyed kisses, and played a mean game of Around the Horn.

She pulled us some taffy and drove us around town, and even let us eat chili with her at the senior center.

It was a blast!!

I know you missed me, and I did you, but Grandma is always worth the trip.

Always!

P.S.Here is a little something she has on her bulletin board in her kitchen. I thought I would share it with you.

"God grand me the serenity

To forget the people I never liked anyway,

The good fortune to run into the ones I do,

And the eyesight to tell the difference."

Oh and....

"May those who love us, love us,

And those who don't love us,

May God turn their hearts.

And if he doesn't turn their hearts,

May he turn their ankles,

So we will know them be the limping."

(Authors unknown)