Natural Maimy

Cow Eyeballs

2011-12-29T20:12:00.001-08:00

That's a cow eyeball. It's not one of the ones I actually had, because I am too negligent to get pictures that look this great. Plus the kids skewered them before I had my wits about me and pulled out a camera.

Cow eyeballs are one of the many perks of being in private school. It is also one of the perks of having poweful connections in the meat butchering industry.

Our little private school for the gifted and talented allowed me free reign (didn't care what I did as long as it wasn't them) to teach some really fun anatomy classes. As with previous classes that I have taught, some of the children hid crying and some of them worshipped at my cow eyeball goo covered feet. The sweet little ones that ~~I locked in the closet~~ fled to the closet were lucky to be in a non conventional school where you can leave your seat to vomit without having your citizenship docked. The ones that grabbed knives and other sharp objects and stabbed the eyeballs were very fortunate to be in an open minded setting where you can have knives at school and scream bloody murder without the local detective arriving to escort them to kid jail. Although we enjoy local law enforcement in the classroom, we use them mostly as eye candy, not as a threat.

As a teacher, I like to use tactics that cause an emotional reaction, therefore cementing the lesson in the brain. My goal, you would assume, is to bring the children to learning for themselves, causing them to seek further enlightenment. You are wrong. I look for the entertainment side more often than not. I go for shock value, terror, and in the end I hope to endear them to me through this. I look for their acceptance and love and my tools are gratuitous gore, dance routines, comedic video, threats, hugs, explosions, and speaking frankly about perscrition abuse.

My next themed unit will be on government. Do I just stream Rush live or take them to the booking room at the jail? Which one gives me the viceral reaction I'm looking for?

Red Ribbon Week

2011-10-19T14:02:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago The School of Awesomeness (Farm Boy's homeschool co-op) had Red Ribbon Week. Of course Officer Handsome was our guest speaker. We tried the old....scare em straight strategy. Only one child confessed to nightmares after, and one refused to participate completely. The children were whisked off to the land of drug abuse by their fearless leader, where they learned the dangers of meth abuse through pictorial proof provided by a series of mug shots. Meth makes you look old, dirty and you get lots of red sores! The treachery of huffing, shown here....

They also had a long discussion about perscription abuse because it's on the rise. The class watched a video about cancers caused by smoking and heard a woman with throat cancer talk (in a horrible voice!) about what smoking did to her. Then they saw pictures of men who chewed smokeless tobacco, with their lower jaws removed. The nightmares only came from the Faces of Meth mug shots, which really surprised me.
And to really drive it home, the kids wore 'beer goggles', which skew your vision and trick your mind. It illustrated how your reaction time and balance are changed with alcohol use. They seemed to like the beer goggles.

They also came up with their own funny outfits and anti-drug sayings......Sock it to drugs! (silly socks), Throw away drugs! (football uniform), Tackle Drugs (football uniform), Be normal! Say not to drugs! (dressed normally), Black out drugs! (black clothes), Turn your back on drugs! (wore clothes backwards).

The kiddos got a lot of loot from the local police; bicycle flashers, pencils, rulers, badges, finger print and ID kits, and workbooks. They also had the glory of being handcuffed, which they didn't like as much as I thought they would. Maybe that will offset the joy of the beer goggles.

2011-08-31T17:32:00.000-07:00

     As you well know this is the place I like to flaunt my weakness. It feels good to let people know not to expect much when you deal with this hot mess. My newest form of addiction is Pinterest .   It's kind of like crack in the way that it just won't let you let go.
     Pinterest is a lovely site.........hey I should be getting paid for this advertisement! Pinterest is a site where you can catalog, or pin, pictures of your other obsessions that aren't Pinterest. I've been pinning crafts I woud love to do, but who am I kidding, never will. I have been pinning food that I might make a fraction of. I have been pinning interior design for the mansions that I will never own, nor will they have enough bedrooms, bathrooms, living rooms, kitchens.....or doors (how I love a good door! MMM) for that matter, to ever fit every dream I have. I've pinned a zillion funny things or awesome quotes to live by that I savor for that second and then go back to that comfy place in my little dark heart where I don't really live by a higher standard of sweet sentiment. I've pinned fashion out the wazoo. I love pinning. Oh the high I get.
     Somewhere in my stone cold soul I believe there has been a glimmer of insight. I think this pinning thing is making me a bit covetous. Well super covetous. Is that bad? I want to be crafty and chic. I want to look glamourous. I want to eat wicked yummy food. I want a mansion. Is this another satanic ploy to waste my time and dull my senses? Probably. Sometimes I tell myself I am only allowed a certain number of pins...but I never keep to it.
     I'm not saying I'm stopping. I'm not saying you shouldn't start....well because I could really use some company here. I'm just saying I might have recgonized my control is slipping in another area.

Dear Stress, Let's Break Up

2011-08-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Stress,

     We started out together at such a young age. We were together so often. You were there when everyone hollered at Grandma during lunch and made me cry. You were there when I spent 19 years in school and I wanted to be home. You've been with me on dates, with every church calling I have ever had, through all of the pregnancies, with each job.......from the one with cold calls to the ones where people could die at my hand. You stuck it out through renovations and house building. We have paired up for delights such as homeschool and living with a police officer.
     I'm afraid this may come as a shock, or that you will be upset and feel that my actions and feelings up to this point have not been authentic. I feel that it is time to break up. There.......I said it. We are no good for each other. I want to have some space and find out who I am. You put so much pressure on me. I feel like I am smothering. Who are we without each other?
     I hope you read this soon. It would hate for you to find out on Facebook, when I change my status to <3 single.
     I will put your things in a box on the front step.......Tylenol, chocolate (what's left anyway), Coke, the bitten nails, 2 white hairs plucked this morning, Tylenol PM, the journals full of swear words, and the acne ointment. I am keeping the shelves of books that you caused me to buy and the soaking tub as I cannot remove it.
                                                                                                     Sincerely,
                                                                                                              Maimy

B.S.M.K.H.S. In No Particular Order

2011-06-09T11:13:00.000-07:00

So there I was in the dentist's chair yesterday. It's not one of my favorite places, dating back since my youth when my dentist tried to smother me as I hyperventilated......and proceeded to pull 8 teeth without any tooth numby. As I lay there with the laughing gas cranked up, I realized that I felt pretty good. I don't think I have felt that calm in at least a year, at my last illicit drug use. It came to me quite clearly then why people use drugs.

My brain works overtime all of the time. It's kind of like a roller derby in there. Frustration, anger, noise, movement from one place to another at flashy speeds, and I really take a pounding. The only thing I have found to make it stop......besides nitrous oxide, is reading. It gives my brain a place to focus. So instead of doping up I read.

I've noticed I am pretty infantile in my life progression thus far.

Except I am clearly not that adorable. I don't think I have ever properly learned to self regulate. I am driven by pleasure and desire. Sounds kind of naughty. It has more to do with not being able to push myself out of my comfort zone. It's a very small zone. Kind of like a dot on a paper. Officer Handsome can run a 5K after not having run for months. I stoke myself up thinking I can become a runner and within the first moments of feeling my own heart beat above resting speed.....I just wanna throw in the towel. I'm not really in pain, I am bored and a little anxious to get away from myself. Running leaves you not much to do besides think, unless you happen to see a cow birthing a calf while you huff by. Unfortunately odds are that won't happen often. Also, once I saw a fallic symbol spray painted on a road sign and that gave me half a second of laughter.

I find myself a little depressed that I don't make many strides during the day. My brain flits from one place to the next and I never spend enough time on one thing. Also I get really bored with one thing. And I basically hate to do most things because I don't get payoff fast enough. I think about crafting something awesome, but then I dwell while I do it and end up not being able to face the thought of attempting some painting, or glueing or refinishing. I want to deep clean the kitchen cabinets and the kids dressers but the thought of having to focus on such dullness while still dwelling on every other thing that needs my attention, leaves me breathless with the desire to run. Eating and reading you can get a buzz from pretty quickly but besides that ........meh, too much work.

I have concluded that it's about time to tame Maimy. My natural man. I conclude that a lot. She is like living under a brown blanket. She adds more weight, makes it hard to navigate, and makes everything dark.

While I was showering after my laborous run, (I came up with a snappy idea that I could train myself to run with this website....http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml ) I had nothing to do but think some more. That's when I came up with a plan. I have to have guidelines. Even though I like to wing everything, mostly because planning takes effort, I function better with strict rules and expectations. Instead of having a to-do list, because I make terribly long ones once I start one, I am making some broader goals to accomplish during a day.

B.S.M.K.H.S. in no particular order. I am going to do something for my Body, Spirit, Marriage, Kids, Home, and Self, everyday. Example.....I already went running, I will read an article from the Ensign and journal with it, I rented a movie for Officer Handsome and I, I will take the kids to the pool or on a walk and they need individual attention everyday so we will read, snuggle, play games and maybe bake, home......ugh put the laundry away, do dishes, start more laundry, and for myself.......it's hard not to get carried away here...for sure I will read, probably while eating lunch, and then hide from everyone and read some more. Once I can see, feel really, that I have accomplished something I am hoping it will give me enough 'good' feeling to move on to the next task.

For real, people out there.......are you cool being in your own head? Do you have a lot of self control? Where did it come from?

Cruella de Vil

2011-05-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

I was doing dishes this morning when Piglet decided to have one of her bizarre conversations.
Piglet: Mom we got to choose our moms in Heaven.
Me: Why did you choose me? You could have gotten a rich mom, or a nice mom, or a cute and funny mom.
Piglet: You are nice......sometimes. And you are cute and funny. And I don't know any rich moms.
Me: You could have had another dad too.
Piglet: Other dads creep me out.
Me: So why do you think you chose me? What were you thinking when you saw me?
Piglet: You looked like you needed a lesson and I thought, "I can teach her a lesson."
Me: Oh ya, what are you going to teach me?
Piglet: To be nice......or Spanish. Wait what does cruel mean?
Me: To be mean.
Piglet: Ya, I'm gonna teach you not to be cruel.

I guess she feels like not getting her way 100% of the time is cruel on my part. Even I haven't learned that lesson yet. Lesson # 12: You Don't Always Get What You Want......And How To Move On Gracefully.

My Espistle To Gomorrah....Or So You Don't Know When To Call 911

2011-04-09T15:30:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of heathens out there. Myself included. So most of the time I say.....do what you will. But this time I am going to say something. I am going to generalize. In general this is a bad idea. If you can tell I am not talking about you.....then you are right. I am not talking about you. I don't really want a response about how YOU would never act that way. If I am talking about you.....consider yourself warned.
I have a big, BIG,BIG,BIG problem with any citizen that does not have the decency to make a 911 call....or with those of you that can't figure out when would be a good time. Here's a tip....if there is a crime being committed or it looks like someone is in danger a call for help would be appreciated. To help those of you out there with your heads stuck in a dank hole I will make a short list.....
1. Breaking and entering.
2. A screaming lunatic.
3. A person that you can actually SEE entering a vehicle......OBVIOUSLY not belonging to him and then taking property.
4. Someone damaging property.
5. Someone assaulting someone else....yes, even fists are illegal. You don't have to wait for a weapon to come out.
6. People screaming in a public setting...and not because it is BYU basketball.
7. Someone that looks or sounds like they might be committing a carjacking. Big heads up here.....when the keys to the vehicle are thrown so as to distract the criminal.......please do not pick them up and return them to the man with the wild look in his eyes. He is infact, the criminal. DO however feel free to call 911!!

My dissappointment in society runs pretty deep right now. It's kind of like hemorrhaging, pulling up to the hospital with a light heart....finally hoping that someone will save you now, and then finding out that the doctors all have an IQ of 50. Now I know that I can't count on anyone else out there. Every man for himself.

Shakes, Jakes and Pancakes

2011-03-29T20:54:00.000-07:00

This is NOT Jake.....I was too lazy to format my picture properly.....so my friend Google helped.

Every New Year our family sets a big list of family goals. Last year, in a fit of rage when the hubs wasn't around much.......I tore up the 2010 goals and shoved them deep into the trash can. No one noticed. This year one of the goals that everyone but me decided might be acceptable was to get a dog.

I apologize right now for any dog lovers out there. I used to be one when I was little and had my own dog. Now I live in reality. I am not a dog lover. Gasp..... I would rather bear 4 more children and raise them to adulthood. I would rather have a rat. I would rather.....do a lot of things.

Despite the fight I put up, we have a dog. Some of my requirements for a dog were; he could not be mobile...no amublation of any form. He could not eat or defecate. He could not be conscious. He could lay on a dog bed and not move. He could not dig. He could not chew. He could not live in my house EVER. He could not bark. My neighbor upon hearing the requirements for a dog sent me to Cabela's to find a stuffed animal. I did not laugh. I appreciated her insight. Of my crucial demands, these were met; he does not chew, he does not dig, he has a dog bed.

His name is Jake. He is an Irish Setter. He is the size of a colt, maybe bigger. He is 6 years old......score 1 for me. He hardly barks. He is very sweet natured. He is almost what I was looking for except that his heart beats. We found him on KSL and jumped the gun a little when he seemed to be what we were looking for. We don't have a fenced yard......so Jake is a house dog:( Jake loves me and it makes it very hard to not love him back. He wants to sleep with me.....who doesn't though. Let's rephrase.....everyone in the family wants to sleep with me except for Fire. She wants her space. He likes to watch me cook. He keeps me company while I do laundry. He is a good walking partner. Sure I can find things about him which cause complaint....I mean I am still myself after all. Do I love dogs? NO. Do I love Jake? Ya.

I Bit The Bullet

2011-02-17T16:06:00.000-08:00

Er, that is a picture that I took while I was waiting to board my ship to paradise....the boarding happened to be much later than expected.

Something else I didn't really expect. I pulled the eldest son, Farm Boy out of school. There wasn't one big reason. I have wanted to homeschool all of the kids for a long time. He was being overlooked and not challenged. And he HATED school. HATED it. I felt like I owed him to try something else since four continual years of hating 75% of his day didn't ever make him wake up with a different attitude. I knew it would be a challenge. Still...I didn't really expect what I got.

We quickly formed a sweet little co-op of our own with two other families and two fun mamas. The kids are pretty awesome and it is nice to have a group for the male child to hang with, especially around holidays. We meet on a weekly basis and have a fun project which the kids get through with gritted teeth so that they can move on to challenging each other on the Wii (yuck).

For the first few days while Farm Boy and I were on our own, it was like all of the dreams I had about homeschooling.....except for the missing ten other children and the long farm table. I tested him out of 3rd grade and moved him on to some other things that didn't glass over his eyes. He read, he wrote, he did algebra. And then the honeymoon adjourned rather quickly. Despite how terrifying and wicked mean I find myself, Farm Boy is not ruffled or intimidated. I hate it. If I don't have intimidation I have nothing. Even love doesn't pack the punch pure meanness does. Farm Boy and I are a poor personality match. I pray that someday he finds a girl just like his dad that can put up with the shear amounts of stubborn that spit out of him like lava. He has yet to actually win one of our scuffles.....but he is getting close. Ssh don't tell him. I'll flat out let it be known I dream about starting to drink.

All of the field trips, organic learning in situation, brain bending science experiments, leading Farm Boy to find internal motivation, and break out literary adventures......they are in the crapper and I am about ready to flush. I think my expectations were too high. I think learning is so fun. I want it to be amazing and exciting. I think he should pick up on whatever I present him before I am even finished. I think that I don't want to have to stand behind him with a bull whip and physically press him into doing a teeny weeny bit of work.

At this present moment it is 4:38 p.m. mountain standard time. He has done nothing more than eek out a few words of writing. He has yet to attempt his math. He did not read anything. There was no science experiment. He did however move all of the chairs from one room to another, make cup upon cup of chocky moomie for Nugget, play football with Nugget, make two meals for himself, poke me everytime he walked by, help unload groceries, and explain a movie that I haven't seen. And still......still! Even though I want to drown myself or put my passport to good use by disappearing.......I STILL think that for right now, this is a better choice for Farm Boy than going to an organized school institution.

11 Step Program For Those Thinking of Having Kids....

2011-01-06T16:00:00.000-08:00

Yep that's right, she's in white.......

So I smuggled this from FB. My son is telling me right now that if people read this they won't want kids. The following is only partially true. It's actually much worse. But it also doesn't tell the good parts, like watching them sleep (ya, I know.....they are unconscious!), and giving them kisses and snuggles, or when they say, 'I love you."

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.
2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.
3. Go home.
4. Pick up the paper.
5. Read it for the last time.

Lesson 2
Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...
1. Methods of discipline.
2. Lack of patience.
3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.
4. Allowing their children to run wild.
5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.
Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Lesson 3
A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)

2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.

3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.

4. Set the alarm for 3AM.

5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.

6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.

7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.

8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.

9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4 Can you stand the mess children make? T o find out...
1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.

2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.

3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.

4. Then rub them on the clean walls.

5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.

6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

Lesson 5 Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.

2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this - all morning.

Lesson 6 Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment.
Leave it there.

2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.

3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.

4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8
1. Hollow out a melon.

2. Make a small hole in the side.

3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.

4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.

5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.

6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9
Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Barney, Disney, the Teletubbies, and Pokemon. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.

Lesson 11
Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.

This is all very tongue in cheek; anyone who is parent will say 'it's all worth it!' Share it with your friends, both those who do and don't have kids. I guarantee they'll get a chuckle out of it. Remember, a sense of humor is one of the most important things you'll need when you become a parent!

Is Your Mama Gonna Miss Ya Now You're Gone?

2010-12-24T12:17:00.000-08:00

The incident occured Sunday October 31st around 0530. The only witnesses to the crime were the handsome couple toodling down I-15. The children were rendered unconscious from hours of Halloween partying and sugar withdrawl.

Witness statements.....

Officer Handsome: I think a jackrabbit just jumped in front of us.

Lovely Lady: What the *&^%$#@! Aahahaha! Something just flew at us!

Despite the dark nature of the night sky Officer Handsome signals and moves to the right. Upon reaching the off-ramp he completes his stop and exits the SUV with an LED flash light. He examines the bloodless carnage and returns to debrief. Handing over the flashlight to Lovely Lady, he snickers and insists she should find interesting the scene at the front of the vehicle. With much trepidation and a sense of foreboding, she rounds the SUV and finds herself face to carcass with an extremely large, and quite substantially dead owl. Having known this is what she would find, she shrieks with pride, "I told you so!". Then with the fear of God like ice water in her soul.....she runs down the off ramp pawing at the arteries in her own neck and shielding her ears from her own terrified screams. It appears to be a case of suicide by SUV/Cop.

The body remains afixed with a rigid determination to the front of the vehicle. Upon reaching Cedar City and the breaking of dawn across the morning sky, they were able to peer into the dead yellow eyes of the owl. Contemplating removal of the body from the grill, their decision was made by the quickly growing crowd of excited Asian tourists. The handsome couple were forced to move on with the corpse still firmly implanted, amid the flash of high quality Asain cameras.

The couple made many friends as they crossed Southern Utah, Arizona, the sinful and ugly Nevada, into the unsavory village of Barstow California. People love to be entertained as they drive the Godforsaken desert. This day, their dreams were realized. Many hand gestures, smiles, gasps, and screams were exchanged. For the few tenderhearted still remaining in the soul parched Nevada, there were tears shed as the owl triumphantly sped at great speeds, past their waning vehicles.

Upon entering Barstow, the town where life no longer has meaning, the handsome couple prepared to lay their new friend to rest. Lovely Lady retrieved her secret stash of surgical gloves, secreted away in the secret compartment, for a scene such as this that she secretly knew would happen one day. Pressing them into the caring, yet strong and manly hands of Officer Handsome, she exclaimed, "Don't touch that foulness with your bare hands!" The bird was swiftly removed with little trouble, despite it's ability to ride the grill through four states. Pictures were taken to document the momentous occasion. The bird was toed by Officer Handsome just to be sure no signs of life remained after the arduous journey. Nope, it was truely dead. It was time for goodbyes and a few photo ops from the new crowd gathering at the Carl's Jr. Farewell friend that gave us such memories! Farewell.

If I Could Trade Places With Someone Else For A Day.....

2010-12-02T19:54:00.000-08:00

I struggle right now whether to be straight about my answer here or not. There are lots of people that I wouldn't mind trying their life out for a day. I could live with being rich, I could live with having toned glutes and abs. Frankly I could live with being my toddler, which would mean drinking chocolate milk and hanging out naked all day. I wouldn't even mind being the love o' my crush. But if truth be told I would like to be someone.....and I don't even know who she is.......that has the energy to do it all; be a fantastic, sweet tempered mother, a smoking hot wife, a real Betty in the kitchen, the skill to bring all of my home decorating fantasies to fruition, the wherewithall to squeeze in some sort of intense jump training workout, and the baffling ability to be lead by the Spirit in all my doings....to know what it would be like to be able to do the right thing without feeling like every step I took wasn't happening underwater with weights around my extremities....to have peace in my home and in my heart, to not struggle with feeling like I am tempted beyond my capacity at every turn. I don't know who this person is.....but I wouldn't mind being her for a day. P.S. It would really be icing on the cake if she had great hair to boot.

A Letter To Someone That Has Injured Me Recently

2010-11-09T20:35:00.000-08:00

This is another Challenge from my private blog. Who thought this would be a good idea? Probably a teen forwarded this challenge until I somehow stumbled upon it. I gaurantee there are people out there that are publishing their 'smack down' on a pulic site. 'Not gonna do it.'   Plus I'm not really harbouring any seething hatred worthy of a public take down.
My only options are writing a letter to the child that pulled my hair too hard while giving me a great comb through (which I forced the child to do). Or.....this bread bowl.

Dear Bread Bowl,

You crusty little sucker with your pious smirk. Your insides are soft and delicious. You hold things I greatly desire; chicken salad, creamy soups. You tempt me despite the high caloric intake. My weakness for you is repaid with your injurous crust slicing through my tender thumb. You will live long enough to regret this....as I rip you piece by piece to feed to the birds off of the pier.

                                                                                              Ever,
                                                                                                      M

Set Goals You Can Accomplish

2010-10-29T09:37:00.000-07:00

On my private blog I am doing a 30 day challenge. Today I am supposed to be posting my goals for the month. Yeppers, I am going to post goals to accomplish in the next three days. Some of you may feel that is cheating and I should post of all of November. Nah. There is a much brighter possibility that I will accomplish a small list in a small amount of time.
Sometimes when I have to make a To Do list.....I like to add some things that I can already check off. You know, just to get my engine started. Help me feel like I can get something done.
My Short Term Goals For October
1. ~~Get out of bed.~~
2. ~~Dispose of dead bodies.~~
3. Make soup for ward Trunk or Treat party. (This is looking sketchy.)
4. Eat Chinese food. (This is looking like a sure bet.)
5. Launder every stitch of clothing not being worn or having already been put away. (I will NOT make a goal to put all of the laundry away. In essence setting myself up for failure.)
6. Trick or Treat
7. Halloween party
8. Pack clothing, food, toys for 6 people for 7 days.
9. Finish reading Abraham Lincoln Vampire Slayer. (This is also looking like it will have a positive outcome.)
10. Drive to Disneyland:)

My Favorite Super Hero

2010-10-27T12:33:00.000-07:00

In honor of Halloween, my super fave holiday, I thought I would post my all time favorite Super Hero. Yes, her patriotism shines through in this amazing outfit.
I seriously love Wonder Woman. Great hair, snappy boots, small waiste.........and the ability to super jump and make people tell the truth. Ooo ooo, can't forget the ability to change clothes by spinning. I spent hours pretending to be Wonder Woman when I was little. I once made a bionic jump from my bed with such power that I drove my knee into my nose and rendered myself bloody and helpless for an afternoon. I sometimes contemplate purchasing an outfit like that and wearing it all day. I think it would really give me the drive I need to finish the laundry. I pretty much covet her rope of truth. I would love to take people out to an old wooden shack and tie them up and ask them all sorts of questions. Bahaha......the power!
Yep, I'm power hungry and I long for great hair. It comes so naturally to Wonder Woman......and this is why I love her.

Cherry Clafoutis.......Ya, That's What I Said

2010-09-28T12:36:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here having an ADHD moment. I have cleaned about 16 different places and I can't seem to nail it down to just one area. I've finally given myself a pseudo break and I started looking through some cooking magazines I need to get rid of.

I am looking at these pictures of food like some people probably like to look at porn. I can't get enough and I don't want to throw them away. Frankly I want to save them under my mattress.
The problem is that I like food. Ever since having the nuggets my tastes have developed quite nicely and I really enjoy trying new things, new flavors, new combinations. The bigger problem is that the rest of my family including The Man, eat like toddlers. Cut up pieces of meat.....beef, chicken, pork, maybe a cheese stick and some chips to top it off. None of them will eat a thing if it has any kind of sauce or vegetable....most of them don't even like bread. That is a mortal sin.

So, unless I want to make my own very tiny meal with food items that I don't usually keep on hand....er, you know there are only so many things you can do with a hunk of meat and plain white rice (YUCK!), I don't really eat the kinds of things that I dream of.
On our super awesome anniversary vacation (that wasn't sarcasm......I know, it's hard to tell sometimes) we had the best time! But when it came to food we were doing a lot of meat based restaurants. I love some good meat, don't get me wrong. BUT I would like to branch out. Finally, desperate to make my taste buds happy, Officer Handsome took me to a beautiful little French bakery. The food was so beautiful I was near tears. I loved my food. I nearly had an affair right there in front of him. My heart was very close to transfering it's affections. And what pray tell did that handsome man eat? The only normal thing on the menu...a BLT. I literally had to block him out to be able to enjoy my food. It was like eating with someone on a diet. I wanted to give him a little smack on the tush! And not in an anniversary kind of way!

So here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna save my little pictures of pretty food, that I am sure tastes just as pretty. I'm gonna put them right next to my bed. And when Officer Handsome doesn't come home until VERY late at night because he was chasing a nut job down a deserted road in the dark, after she threw some drugs out the window........I'm gonna look at those pictures.

Dirty, Messy.......Life

2010-09-09T20:43:00.000-07:00

Challenged by my dear, dear friend http://liddell6.blogspot.com/ I decided to post about what makes me dirty, messy and loveable:)
This blog has never intended to make anyone feel inferior. I am pretty sure that it never has. I think I am fairly upfront about the fact that I am frantically trying to keep my head above water. If anything you should surf to your next web address feeling uplifted that you are succeeding where I am trodden down in the mud.
Thus I will leave you with 7 dirty, messy, strange things that I accept about myself.....yet find myself adoring anyway!

1) I do not like even numbers as a general rule. I find 4,6,8, etc...offensive in their desperation to be even. I do not like that they try so hard. It is very hard to watch. It makes me uncomfortable. (For some reason 22 does not bother me. Infact I like it.)

2) I have phenominal pregnancies physically if you don't count that my hips disengage and I totter around like a pure bread dog, awaiting euthenasia. Mentally I am a mess. I teeter on the verge of hysterical, raging, mania. As the birth nears I feel like a trapped animal. I also feel like my agency has been taken away and I am being forced to proceed with something that I do not want to be part of. I refuse to return to the doctor just to prove that no one can make me go into labor. I am not a pleasant person to be around.....BUT after I have accepted the fact that I cannot physically or mentally survive without medical intervention (epidural!) and that warm, safe feeling courses through my lower body......there is a time in there that is the very greatest time in all the world. And it is not the drugs I refer to. When that little tiny nugget that is all yours is born, after such intense deranged fear and trama. There is no other time that is more ROMANTIC! It is even deeper than romance. I don't think I have words really to say what I mean. When it is just you and your little baby and your hubby........that is the deepest love and adoration, the safest and most loved I have ever felt. And when I mourn not having more babies....this is the thing I mourn for. Well, that and the irresistable baby.

3) I love to sort money. I seriously L.O.V.E. it. Our family saves all of our change in a huge bucket for our vacations. When it's time to dump it out and roll the coins I am stoked. I love sorting it because there is no guess work. You are either a penny, a nickle, a dime, or a quarter. Really this speaks volumes about me. I like when things fit neatly. I don't like when there are things that I don't know where they belong. Therefore there are stacks of mail and paper on my counter because I am undecided what to do with them. I hate not knowing.......in general, all across the board. Just lay it out for me. Do you love me, hate me, do I irritate you, what should I be when I grow up........the list of things I need to know are exhausting.

4) I did this fantastic workbook which took me months. It literally ravaged my soul. I learned things about myself that I do not like....I do not like them with a firey intensity. I crave adoration. I am lazy and desire only what comes with ease. I have dark recesses so terrible that they are like a red velvet lined coffin. There are parts of me that want only what is impossible, or risk damnation. No joke. And guess what. Although I was trodden down like a wet leaf in the mud.......I liked it. I liked that I could look at all of those things and admit that I knew they were there, but that I am still a pretty rockin' chick.

5) I have hideous, grotesque, Quasimodo like nodules that grow on my scalp. They are not many in number, and not frequent. There you go. I have surgically removed some myself and had others removed by someone more professional. Now for everyone that was soured by my striking beauty and raged with jealousy over my perfection.....you know the sick truth.

6) I love that texting was ever invented. That is because I do not like making phone calls. That is because I am afraid that I will interrupt someone doing something much more important than speaking to me. And while their phone rings, they will look down, see my name on caller ID and roll their eyes. As I have an issue with desperate numbers (see #1) I also do not wish to be seen as desperate. This causes me to act aloof and uncaring when I am secretly not aloof and I care so very deeply. I employ this trick on many people.

7) I once snuck into a Stake dance when I was underage. I find this hilarious for more than one reason. a)I lied to get into a church function. I showed fake ID even. b) I did not dance. c) When I was of age to attend, I could not have been dragged there. d) I did not even attend school dances.....even though I assure you dear readers, I WAS asked. Then why, pray tell did I do something so flat out dumb? Because...and this is the real #7, I succumb easily to peer pressure. When pressured by the right person, for the right or wrong reason....I'll cave, especially if I love you.

Now go ahead and spill your guts on your own blog and PULEASE tell me all the messy little things about you so that I don't have writers remorse.

Indecent Proposal

2010-08-18T12:48:00.000-07:00

I am easily wooed by verbal acuity. Truly it is true. I didn't date much in highschool (gasp). My extreme social phobia and grade oriented obsession kept me busy enough. But I would also like to point out that I didn't know very many funny guys. Superman would counterpoint that is because I didn't know ANY guys. I would then counterpoint that that makes him a very lucky man. He would then laugh in a derogatory way. What I am really trying to get at is though I will never dismiss that Superman is a hot piece of work and I could chew him up when I hear his radio crackle, or I see him in his dress shirts.....it's really his verbal skills that caught my attention. A good laugh with him is almost as fulfilling as a good.......book:) or a supersize box of Jr. Mints. You know what I mean. If he couldn't make me laugh I would have never married him. Blue eyes can't compensate for everything.
Superman and I like to play our little games. "Can you think of any couples that aren't equally matched in looks?" That is our study in the bizarre social phenomena that people match up physically. "What would you do with oodles of money?" That is our fantasy game of traveling the world and funding our kids Ph.D. educations. "What would you do for X amount of money?" This one is also known as 'Indecent Proposal'. It was our latest endeavour. I love these games because it's when my love is at his funniest. I am ashamed to say that I theoretically allowed him to have an Indecent Proposal for only 1 million dollars. I was easily bought. I did however have stipulations. She had to be over sixty and he had to throw up after. I felt like his obvious displeasure was worth a million. He chivalrously said he wouldn't be bought when it came to me. Who knew? I mean seriously.......who knew?
Finally after much heckling that I was easily bought, I had to take back what I said. When push came to shove, for a mere $5,000,000 Superman would kiss an oxpecker (the symbiotic bird that cleans up rhinos and other such animals), or any other animal I could think of. I don't really see either one of us being approached for that kind of dare though. But I will put it out there in cyberspace.....if you've got 5 million to throw away......we'll kiss a 'butt bird' as my man calls it.

Failure

2010-07-13T10:01:00.000-07:00

Well there we were, Superman and I, planted on our little chairs in Nursery. The little darlings were ~~fighting~~ playing sweetly with the race tracks and dolly furniture. The last little boy to arrive brought his own Book of Mormon. He was very excited to have his own book of scripture. We asked him if he wanted to hold it or put it on the table. The overwhelming desire to play with the train consumed his little soul. He put the book down. Then from the corner of the room we hear a tiny little chipmunk voice say 'This isn't a scripture class anyway.' Ah, well thank you special little spirit.....it had only been moments from my last failure and the taste was beginning to leave my mouth......I couldn't quite remember what it was like. But now I do. That's right, no scriptures are being used in our Nursery.

Dumb Things That Make A Girl Happy

2010-07-03T13:50:00.000-07:00

Try not to be shocked......there are some things I am not very good at. I jokingly said the other day that I had just found #3623. The joke is that the number is significantly higher. The first 1000 probably having to do with lack of self control.
The thing I wasn't good at.....actual mountain biking. I have ridden a mountain bike on surface roads and dirt hills for years. I have not, until the other day, ridden on actual mountainous trails. We decided to go camping before the actual holiday rolled around. Thus avoiding a handful of things I don't like; other people, other people, and all of the things that come with other people. Superman graciously lent me the use of his mountain bike. I had wisely left mine at home hoping to avoid the coming situation. Much of my problem had to do with the fact that his legs are a hair longer than mine and I was terrified of a bloody crash involving the 'boy bar' and my body parts. The dirt was very loose and there were lots of large rocks. I learned about applying both the front and back break. Squealing ensued. There are many appropriate times to welp out a good squeal. This, among times such as; making cotton candy for school functions, flying down country roads on a four wheeler with a maniac at the wheel, being tasered in the dark by your spouse, using a got glue gun, being poked with sticks by your children and their friends........
I am happy to say that it ended well. I only bailed into the bushes once. I'm not good at mountain biking. Not yet.
So there I am sitting by the campfire in my layers of clothing, including a fleece jacket, down vest, and some sort of Northface kind of get up. The kids are surrounding me like I am beautiful Glinda the Good Witch and they are little Munchies. Daddy is inside the trailer taking care of everything that I don't take care of when we camp (everything). Along comes one of our camping neighbors with his 10 year old daughter in tow. He asks if our parents are around. I lit up like a firework. You would have thought he just handed me a ridiculously large check and informed me of winning Publisher's Clearing House. I was beyond stoked that he thought I was a child. Granted the guy was trolling for drugs, which is what he wanted to ask our parents for. So I guess he's not really a reliable sort of fellow. Guess what........I DON'T CARE!! Ya, someone mistook me for at least a teenager, AND it wasn't even dark!
This bodes well for my goal..........Live to be 100, look 60, act 15. I have a feeling I will need a lot of time to really work on the first 1000 things I'm not good at......all having very much to do with lack of self control.

Crazy Eye

2010-06-30T16:46:00.000-07:00

Where does the market for this come from. Really........I want an answer.

Nugget #3 just became the second piglet to need glasses. I didn't figure it out until 'Kindergarten Kickout', as she put it. She totally failed her eye test. I take that personally on more than one level. A) It's not acceptable to fail a test. It actually makes me feel dumb by association. I feel like she didn't study hard enough and it's my fault for not quizzing her properly because I am a bad parent. B) I feel pretty bad that my weak genetic makeup spread to my little beauty.

What makes me feel a wee bit better is the fact that she was totally into eye wear as a fashion statement. She had a wild time trying on pair after pair of pink and purple glasses.
The doctor explained that because we had no idea she was half blind in one eye, the other eye had to do all of the work in order for her to see anything. One eye was like a fat couch potato with a hairy back and long thick toe nails. He didn't do anything but sit in a dirty recliner with crusty dishes and beer bottles surrounding him, watching soft core porn. That eye disgusts me. The other eye has sweet little biceps and triceps. Her hammies and quads are cut. Her abs have nary an ounce of fat. She is so perky and toned that she can get away with boy shorts and a hot pink sports bra. I'm pretty sure she has lush shiny dark brown hair. I love this eye. If Hairy Back doesn't get off the recliner and start pulling his weight, we might have to knock Perky Pink out with a roofie. In other words, Piglet's eye is lazy. If her glasses don't start to correct the problem, she may have to wear a patch. I will most likely buy her the heart one pictured above...*snicker*.
Piglet didn't care. She knew she looked just as good in glasses as without. She immediately came home to spread the good news to Superman. "Dad, guess what!!!!!!! I have a crazy eye!!!"

I Had A Pipe Dream

2010-06-02T22:38:00.000-07:00

I had a dream......I'm convinced now that it was a pipe dream. I have longed to homeschool my kiddos. I pictured us going on adventurous outings that I could turn into wonderful learning experiences. We would gather round the long farm table and plan our own Duggar style steel structure.
My dream bubble was popped with the tip of a plastic rifle which was then used to hit the walls and other children. The Nuggets were having a down day. They didn't play with friends. The TV wasn't on. They had to finish chores and were dismayed to find that the only compensation for finished chores was the personal pride they had in doing them. After dishes and vacuuming and doing everyone's hair and feeding all of the puppies, I sat down to make wedding lists and get my craft on making 'kissing balls' for my sister's wedding.
This would be when Hell let loose it's horror. Piglet feels that she is above having to clean her own messes up. Infact she feels it is beneath her to wipe her own tush.....it's just too plebeian. Having only dwelt in our home for 5 years, it seems she doesn't quite understand that I NEVER give in. I sent her to her room and let her know she wasn't coming out until she picked up her 38 pairs of pajamas and 4000 Carebears. She on the other hand is genetically incapable of not getting her own way. Piglet stood in the door way and lured the other children to her just to ridicule and smack them. She cried for four hours.
The Farm Boy did a great job doing his chores but ran out of steam when he realized that I wasn't going to 'take him somewhere to do something'. He shoved the couch across the floor and screamed that he was starving. I assume hunger was the only emotion he was willing to cop to. I felt like I could brighten his day by offering up a monetary reward. I told him that I would pay him 25 cents for every diaper he changed this summer. The real reward for him would be to learn how to be a great dad at the age of 8. He agreed that he would either change the diapers or find a way to potty train the wee Nuggie. But when presented with the challenge of a poopy diaper, the two boys chased each other with the scissors I had been using to make paper flowers out of.....finally locking themselves in the library. Concerned, I pulled myself from the 'crafting' zone I had worked up a sweat getting into. When the locked door swung open I found Baby on the floor with his diaper half pulled down like underwear. Poop covered wipes were strewn on the floor and some how his plush bumbum was still caked with poop as was his foot and hand. I had to fire my 8 year old son from his first job.
The Fire helped me make flowers until she opted to do math worksheets because she didn't want to get involved in anything that seemed weak and girly.
Baby Nugget spent the day eating popsicles and hitting everyone that didn't get out of his arm length in time. Daddy come home for a brief time and Nugget felt he should be able to climb in the back of the police car and speed off. When I had to stop him from pumping his fat toddler legs after the fleeing car, he popped me in the face. This would be the point where I let out a gutteral wail and knew that public school had its good points. My heart broke a little.
The following is a text conversation that I had when I broke down and called the police for back up.
ME: I would like to kick the @sses of your children......only because I love you am I offering up the first swing.
OFFICER BOB: It has been that good of a day?
ME: Yes.I am mostly assured that I am about to turn violent and wipe out the next generation.
BOB: I will call as soon as I am done at the hospital. (He was on a DUI)
ME: (here I said some things not worth repeating)
BOB: Being at home sounds like more fun to me than what I have done.
ME: Well if you saw any kind of blood or vomit I am jealous...only lots of crying, and I mean for hours at this point, some poop on the floor and various body parts not usually associated with poop, slamming of doors, snot and abuse of varied furniture pieces.
BOB: And what did the kids do while you had your tantrum?
ME: While I threw poop and smeared it like an ape whilst wailing like a pig with its throat only half way slit....the children sat with hands folded all in a line on the couch with their hair in perfect condition. It was too adorable to explain. One would have to see it for ones self.
BOB: Wow, just as I pictured it in my head.
ME: Well it seems you know all 5 of us better than we know ourselves.

Luckily after that I was able to laugh it off, read a dirty book, and hold the baby while he slept.

I Can Do That

2010-05-31T14:47:00.000-07:00

I have recently come down with the serious 'I can do that' virus. I would show you all of my recent endeavors except ~~I am too lazy~~ I am too busy to take pictures and then download them. It would help me if all of you would assume that I made something at least as lovely as the picture above.

My sweet baby sister is getting married in nary a month. It has spurred me to begin stalking the blogs of many a creative woman. I have found that with a good amount of E-6000 not only can you stick any two objects together......the fresh scent of rubber and solvent will musk up your home. Nothing can say 'I'm crafty' any louder than that.

Recently I have permanently ~~glued~~ affixed various plates and candle sticks to make some lovely platters with varied heights. My most very favoritest one is a robins egg blue plate stuck to a rusty metal fleur-de-leis. I had such feelings of pride. I felt like this piece really set off my love nest. Topped with my most choice pieces of silver jewelry it became a fantastically handly place to chuck my earings/necklaces when removed. I fairly beamed with unremitted pride. Ah, as we all know pride comes quite heavily before the fall. As I lay propped on my bed of ~~flannel~~ down stuffed silk, waiting for my beloved to kiss me good night......he walked by, took one look at my materpiece and snickered.....rather, snorted and refused to make eye contact. When I asked WHAT could possibly make him laugh seeing as how I had not uttered a word, he said nothing. But I saw his eyes wander back to my awe inspired piece of art. I knew he was laughing at it. I persisted to know what was so funny. Finally, with damp eyes, he admitted that he thought that the stunning jewelry tray I had made, was infact quite handsome. He continued though, with......"It's so nice but it's kind of silly to have it in here. It's on an old dresser and look at your stacks of books everywhere. That piece is too nice for this room."

Ha, well I take that as a challenge. I shall make my room deserving of my astounding works of glass and epoxy!!!! Bahahah!

I'm Goin' To The Chapel And I'm Gonna Get Married

2010-05-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

This is turning out to be a very weddingy year. And since I have had occasion to attend recent weddings and and we just ran into Superman's best man, I have given pause. I have have given pause to contemplate nuptuals.

Bob and I turned yesterday as the bridal party made their way down the aisle. Truly we wanted to see the beautiful bride, and she was. But we were primarily concerned with the flower girl. Adorned in a cloud of purple, hair swept to the side in a tidy and elegant ballerina bun, our fair princess began her decent down the aisle. Her duties were not taken lightly. She did her best to stay with the other flower girl. Piglet covered the floor ahead and her even fairer white/blond counterpart covered the rear. Piglet's lashes batted. They brushed her apple cheeks like butterfly wings. Her tiny pearly teeth sparkled as she beemed at the attendees. Upon reaching my seat, she sent out an 'air kiss' which I caught without much effort. Ah, as far as we were concerned, the wedding was a success and it hadn't even begun.

Soon the vows were being spoken. And that's when I turned on the water works. As I struggle through the dark night woods of a cold hard nature that rarely allows me to show feeling in public, I wondered for a moment what other people are thinking when they cry at weddings. Is everyone truly that hap hap happy for the new couple? Are some of you weeping with a secret unrequited love? Are you sure the wedding is a sham for a green card and you weep for the fear of deportation? WHY are you crying?

I'll tell you why I cry. It happens to be for many reasons depending on the wedding. This particular time I wept because I listened to the bishop speaking and I was rife with emotion over Superman. I hope that he feels like I have kept up my end of the bargain in the last 14 years. (Maimy would like me to add that we were married at the age of 10 for those math wizards out there.) I cried a little at my sometimes sorry attempt to take our very serious covenant.....seriously. I cried because when the bishop said that this marriage was for the period of their mortal lives......I felt my mortality. So, I have to admit, that this time I cried for myself and not for the luminous bride and her sunny groom.

Apart from this time, I have cried for a variety of reasons. I have shed a tear with a full heart because the bride and groom FINALLY found each other and I just knew they were destined for happiness after much unhappiness. Maimy and I blubbered a bucket at one wedding when we were certain that the groom was one of Satan's minion and we feared for the bride's future. I've given a good bewailing over a bride's tender proclaimations and then snorted at the groom's blundering answer. In a rush of judgement, Maimy and I showered a tissue during a second marriage when we were sad for the child whose family had broken up.

As Maimy tends to be excessively self-centered, I would tend to say that most of our lamenting has had to do more with ourselves than with the bride and groom at that exact time. We drum up thoughts of our own wedding day. We become emotionally wrought over the profoundness of the vows and what they mean to us. Sometimes, much to Maimy's chagrin, I am brow beating myself over my eternal damnation for being a shoddy wife. So when all of this snivelling occurs at weddings, what is everyone else crying for?

Airing My Dirty Laundry.....

2010-04-13T22:01:00.000-07:00

I have resentment toward my laundry......it always looks at me with a smug entitled look that I can't stand....like it deserves to be washed instead of lying there in piles.
I don't mind a good sort every now and again.....putting clothes in piles of color is a bit fulfilling. I admit that is a little on the OCD side.
I can even put it in the washer and add all of the fantasticly scented detergent. Let's be honest. I buy for scent.
But then it comes to taking it out of the washer and I find myself staring off into space, distracted by other more interesting things. I could be reading or sleeping or eating or shaving my legs or staring at the wall. I don't like the work that comes along with drying the clothes. First you have to decide if you are going to put each piece of clothing into the dryer. I hang lots of items.....er well, I should hang lots of items. Mostly I drape many items because Maimy is too lazy to go to each bedroom and collect hangers. Then, if I am really on a laundry roll, I run out of room. This dilema will not cause Maimy or I to break down and get hangers. It's just too unpleasant and frankly taxing on the system to troll the closets for hangers, plus my ADD will kick in and I will get distracted by some other chores rolling their eyes and waiting for a turn.
May I complain here about taking the clothes out of the dryer? How many times is it legal to 'fluff' the clothes because you forgot they were there? If my clothes were my children.......well I won't go there.....'neglect' would the the optimum word here. DCFS would get a report that I left my little darlings in a car with the windows up.
Let's say I finally get to the stuck up, self righteous clothes that made it through the dry cycles. And they are smug, let me tell you. Now they feel like they deserve to be put away, and promptly.
I like to make them wait a little. Take them down a notch or two. So I sling them over the upstairs railing....sorted by person of ownership of course. And just because I like to show them whose boss.....I may let them stay there for more than a day....sometimes with hangers inserted into their little necks. That's right.....I tease them......and then let 'em sweat it out.
I know you'll be surprised here, but Maimy hates to hang the clothes in the closet. She gets a little anxiety ridden. I like to color code my closets. That is perfectly normal and acceptable behavior. If you haven't tried it, I highly suggest you do. But if you start to run out of hangers or the clothes start to press against each other in a snug, personal space invading sort of manner......well, I breath a little more heavy and I start to feel unsettled. It's just too much work for clothes with an attitude. And once it's done, it will be no time at all before they are back in the laundry room.......right where they started, with a little "I told you so," smirk pasted all over their dirty little faces.

The Second Time Around

2010-04-01T23:00:00.000-07:00

So that's about all I remember from the second baby. Superman hid behind a hunting magazine for a few hours and pretended I wasn't white knuckling it 4 feet away.

I've never claimed to have a handle on my emotions. When I came to the realization that I may have to deliver the second child....I bluntly told Dr. D that I would not return after the 36th week of gestation unless I was knocked out cold and unawares. Living up to my end of the bargain, I refused to make further appointments or discuss the possibility of giving birth.
Duty had called loud and long. Superman was at the 2002 Olympics keeping us safe from terrorists. This aloneness really helped me compartmentalize...I found it quite easy to pretend that I was not 9 months pregnant.
Dr. D, realizing that I truthfully intended to never return, called in a little treat to the pharmacy. He felt that if he could, in fact, render me unconscious, someone could perhaps drag me to the hospital. Superman returned from his post in time to pick up the drugs just as the contractions began. Knowing that I would put up a struggle if he suggested that medical attention may be imminent....he brought home a little bottle of sleepy dust.
Anxiety has long been a companion of mine. I am curious ....... does anyone else have that thing where the fear of what is to come in the morning stops you from going to sleep because the dreaded event will come faster? Well that is about where we were sitting. I knew the contractions were leading somewhere. I tried to play it down, but I am sure that trying to lock myself in the bathroom piqued Superman's keen senses. Night was coming on and he knew that he was going to have to get me to the hospital by morning. If he could just get me to eat the little doggy treat stuffed with Ambien.......home free. I wasn't giving up without a fight. On one hand being drugged and comatose would really aleviate the intense sense of doom...but the sooner you go nighty night, the sooner you are propped up on a table naked. Not in the good sense....where you are dancing to boom chicka bow wow and making cash hand over fist, but the bad sense where there are blood and guts falling out of your bottom. Superman calmly and lovingly tried to get me to partake of fruit. Nu uh. He became testy. At one point he held me down. Feeling backed into a corner I took the little pill and put it in my ear. It pains me to admit that childish act, but you really have to understand how much I hate every part of labor and delivery........I hate it right up to the point where you are one year post partum. You would think a man trained to detect deceit would have picked up on this......it took some time. Finally when I didn't pass out cold, he became suspicious. After grilling me under a 100 watt light bulb in a dark room and smashing my fingers in the desk drawer, I copped to the fact that the drugs were in my ear. The only thing I remember after that was everything taking on a blue cast and not being able to use my legs. I became cognizant at the hospital when the nurse in her best cheerleader voice chirped, 'Oh my heck.....are you so excited to have a baby today?" I immediatley burst into tears and said, "NO!" She hooked me up to an IV anyway.
Superman, not learning his lesson the previous time, lent me his fingers to grasp while the anesthetist used a screwdriver to give me an epidural. Once he regained the use of his bloody hand, he picked up a hunting magazine and didn't speak to me again until it was baby birthin' time. He requested more ringers be hung on the IV pole in order to block his view. He didn't understand yet that only one of us could be scared witless...and it was my turn. Luckily, my babies have been coached from the pre-existance and they are able to birth themselves, as I am useless with fright. The Farm Boy appeared quick as a blink:)

Mommy, Tell Me A Story........

2010-03-28T19:12:00.000-07:00

I hope I don't get sued for that picture.......I'm not claiming I took it. That is not me, however I have felt like that before.

The nuggets ALWAYS ask for a story. Usually while I am driving and listening to Nickleback as loud as I can so that I don't have to hear their shrill little voices. So here's a story they like to hear. It truly illustrates that I am unfit to bear children.......

Once upon a time I was pregnant with my first baby. In order to kill the rumors that I was pregnant when I got married......I waited four years to pop out my first piglet. I had been through college. I had a great job doing fantastically important things. Meh, what the heck, the car seats and strollers were so enticing....and the itty bitty clothes.....ugh, it was all so overwhelming...I was sucker into having my own nugget.

I didn't handle being pregnant very well. Satan's grasp on Reagan from the exorcist looked a lot like...erm well nothing....when it comes to comparing my behavior with hers. At long last the day of doom was impending. Dr. D said it would be beneficial if I would consider induction since my little bundle of joy was due two days before Christmas and I had an hour and a half drive to the hospital. By the end of all of my pregnancies I was like a coyote trapped in a leg vice. I would have ripped off the arm of anyone that came within range of my teeth. So, I declined the offer to willingly subject myself to intense pain. Superman tried his darnedest to change my mind. He is so sweet......and so niave, at least he was this once. He sort of cornered me in the Dr. office and made me schedule an induction. Basically I agreed so as not to cry in front of the office staff.....plus I was really hungry and wanted to go eat. I knew....oh I knew, that I would never acutally go through with it.

The day I knew I would die (which is how I looked at it) arrived. Everyone knew I was going to the hospital. I couldn't take the pressure. I couldn't handle that everyone knew I was about to deliver a baby. How could I possibly preform under such duress? I couldn't. I cried uncontrollably until I was supposed to leave for the chop shop. Then I made Superman call and unschedule my induction. (This is the great thing about being an adult......no one can make you do anything you don't want to!! It's very empowering!) Then, because everyone called to find out about the baby and instead found out that I had a nervous breakdown...continued to call to give me their opinion/support. I admit to hiding in the bathroom......in the bathtub. I threw the phone out and closed the shower curtain. Yes...I am an adult. I made Superman play secretary. I begged him to tell everyone to leave me alone and never, ever speak to me again. They tried to tell me I couldn't stop labor, but haha they don't know me very well. My poor mother, in a state of frenzy, tried to lure me out of the bathroom with a cheese burger. This actually worked. But I made her leave the house before I unlocked the door, stuck out my hand, and pulled the cheese burger into the bathroom.

What I was not counting on was that intense anxiety can put you into labor. Within a very short time I began to feel what may have been contractions. I pretended they weren't happening because.....well, I wasn't going to give birth after all. Superman in all of his duty bound glory, had gone to work when I pretended that I was not in labor. I made the mistake of picking up the phone during what may have been a contraction. By some sick twist of fate, Superman's dad called. I think he could tell I was gritting my teeth. Sensing that things may not have been as kosher as I said they were, he said he felt like I shouldn't be alone. Ah, sh*t. I mean seriously. This was the worst moment of my life to not be alone. I so wanted to be alone. You can really compartmentalize when you are alone, duping yourself into believing nearly anything. So the dad comes and makes me leave my little haven. I have one exceedingly painful contraction infront of a person I don't want to be sick infront of. I could hardly sit on the truck seat.

I am dragged into the in-laws. I am put on display in front of their children, like a sick animal in the zoo. For hours we watch horrible medical mishaps and painful medical procedures on the big screen. The children feed me Pepsi and chocolates as I lie swollen and anxious on the floor. The contractions have stopped, just like I knew they would. No labor and delivery for me! Superman visits. I try to express through gritted teeth and raised eyebrows that I am dying to go home and be alone. He leaves me there. Blah......the hours pass. I eat more chocolate. Finally, out of desperation to hide from the beadly little eyes, I hit the ladies room. When I know that the peeps in the other room are getting nervous about my condition I have to stop inspecting my pores and go back out. Somewhere between the bathroom and the living room, approximately 5 steps, my mental barrier was over ridden by nature, and I went into full blown labor. My little sister to this day will say that I made some awful noises and I may have cried. All I can remember is that those poor children stared at me with gaping eyes as I bit the back of the recliner I had fallen against. Honestly so did the parents. They didn't know me very well and I don't think they had any idea what to do. Finally I had the dad page Superman (The ungodly days of no cell phones. It was like the dark ages. How did we even function?). Didn't work. Superman was working a canyon road. When I resorted to biting myself, the dad finally wised up and called dispatch. That got the cops to roll. Superman busts in, mouth agape, eyes huge. We leave the prison from which I felt I would never escape. We go home. I had secretly packed a bag for the hospital just in case.....I actually had to have the baby. He grabs the secret bag once I tell him there is a secret bag. I lay on the floor by the baby swing, I am sure seemingly like a cow that has been hit by a car and not killed. I assume that looked bad because I ended up in the partol car speeding out of town. Big Guy tries to convince me to stop at the local hospital. No no no!

I am trying to hold my clothing off of my body so that the pressure of the light cotton on my very tight abdomen, doesn't kill me. Superman, although great in any bloody situation, cannot handle his own bloody situation. He will not look at me. He will not speak to me. I am pretty sure he didn't touch me. I beg him not to slow down. I would rather die in a car wreck than have another second of pain. Fifty minutes later I am lying across the nurses station screaming. The heathenous wretch that attends to us thinks I am being a bit extreme when she finds out we are on baby numero uno. I will not allow her to help me change my clothes. After my legs fail me, I am dragged to a bed and thrown up with the finesse of a cowboy tossing hay bales. The nurses evil gargoyle hands prod until they find out ......hmm I think that's a baby head, and ew, golly that was a huge burst of water! She tells Superman he almost had to deliver his own child. He smells blood. He turns white. He runs from the room. In the confusion I still get the drugs. Previously I am convinced that the epidural will climb my spine instead of descend, paralyze my diaphragm, and kill me. I am now willing to risk it. At some point in my screaming and thrashing about, someone has put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. As the numbing drugs begin to take effect, the cuff closes on my arm, cutting off circulation. I screamed even louder to alert the witchy woman to the fact that the epidural was going up, not down as intended, and I was about to crash. With a superior smirk on her face, she pointes out that the cuff was just really tight. Just for kicks my blood pressure crashed anyway because she didn't give me enough fluid. All the hubbub didn't take more than a few minutes. Then nursey recalls that there was a baby trying to dislodge itself from my body. She, ever so kindly, turns on 18 mega watt lamps, rips off the bedding and tells me not to push.

Dr. D makes a quick appearance. He asks if I am ready to have a baby. I am not. Nine months was no preparation. I need to rethink what I am about to do. Dr. D. doesn't really care, considering it is 3 am. He wants to go back to bed. So I try to make a controlled pleasant face, which I have been practicing in the mirror at home. I didn't stop to consider the huge streaks of mascara running down my face may make me look ridiculous. And then before I have time to work up anymore tears on behalf of my own mind numbing fear.....tada......a soggy, loud piglet. A total stranger, in a wee little body, smelling like blood, or Heaven, if you roll like that, is having an angry fit over the bright lights and the big city. My little Christmas present. I swear, as much as I hate being pregnant, I would do it over and over and over again for the kids that I have.

Stage Mother

2010-03-13T12:51:00.000-08:00

Who out there would have thought that I have the personality to become a 'stage mother'? I am sure you've seen this obnoxious gal at a variety of events......the chick at the gymnastics meet that has put her toddler's hair into knots so complicated an accomplished old sea dog couldn't get them out, the baby's hair is strained at the roots, scalp barely able to hold on to the follicle. Said child has glitter and makeup galore......and mother is uptight and pushing the child to excel beyond what her short, roly, two year old legs are capable of. How about the parent that goes ballistic at the soccer game and goes to fists with the coach out on the field? I would like to tell them to get a grip......it's only a game!
Little League season is starting here. Our lives will be held at gun point until June by the rigid schedule of games and practices. Truth be told.....I don't really like have my life run by a sport. You should get the feeling here that I'm not really even a fan of a game that I am not personally playing in. Watching other people play sports is very much like watching another person play a video game........it's lame. But when Maimy and I go out on opening day, when our girl is on the mound or up to bat.....Maimy can literally lose control. (If it ever comes to the point where we are prosecuted for assault on a ball field, I WILL pretend I never posted this.) If we are your friend in our regular lives, yet you have a child on an opposing team. We are not your friend now. Do not approach us at the ball field. Do not sit on our stands. Do not sit where we can hear you......especially where Maimy can hear you.
I have the heart of a marshmallow. I try to do my visiting teaching. I bring treats to nursery and read the little tykes stories. I kiss and cuddle all 25 kids in my class at school. I hope people don't look at me and hate all of the other Mormons they know just because they know me. But please allow Maimy this one moment (or 2 months) of firey emotion. She wants to win. She doesn't want you to win. I will cheer. She will scream. We will bash the umpire.....with enough restraint as to not be lead away in handcuffs. When The Fire pitches, Maimy might, in a loud voice, give her tips on what to do better. When The Fire is up to bat, Maimy may become vocal when she wants her to swing. We will only allow her to cry if she takes a fast pitch to the kidney......you know "There's No Crying In Baseball!!!"
I'm already getting uptight.......Maimy can feel baseball in the air.

What if.........

2010-02-13T09:35:00.000-08:00

I love to play 'what if'. It's my favorite thing to do on a road trip. Turn Rush Limbaugh on to a low hum, pop off the shoes and pull my feet up in the seat, and it's time to reconnect with Superman. I like to talk to Bobby and I hope he likes to talk to me. He's a pretty funny guy. If he weren't verbally adept I think we wouldn't have made it very far.

"Bob, what if you weren't funny?"
"You would still love my for my physical prowess."

"What if I went on a mission? Do you think you would have waited for me? I don't think you would have."
"Um......I would have waited. A) I was obsessed.....and might have died if you went on a mission. B) And this is no credit to you.....No one else would have married me. You should probably bear a great deal of shame that this is what you ended up with. Besides my wit, highly attractive nature, and my above average fertility rate........I didn't bring much to the table."

"Bobby, what if I became a doctor?"
"You wouldn't have made it."
"Friggin thanks a lot!"
"No....I mean you are smart enough, but I don't think that's what you were meant to do. You would have finished med school and then stayed home to be a mom. That's what you were meant to do. Look at your Nuggets. You couldn't live without them."

"What if we weren't married and we met in an elevator? Would you kiss me?"
"Well, Bob, that depends on if you were married, because I don't think you would kiss me if you were married to someone else. You are too good."
"Ha. You would kiss me anyway."
"What? Why do you think that I have no scruples?"
"You couldn't resist me. I know you would kiss me in an elevator if we were strangers. Hahah.....look at you. You know it's true. I can tell just by looking at you."
(I decided to try to kiss him in an elevator and pretend we were strangers. Attorney General Mark Shurtleff destroyed my opportunity and horned in on my elevator ride. Damn the man.)

"Bobby, what if we never met? Do you think your life would be a lot different? I think you would be an Lt. somewhere on your way up the ladder.......or a defense attorney. I think I ruined your life."
"Well I definitely wouldn't be a road troop anymore. And you would be married to a tank top wearing zoo keeper."
"No I wouldn't!! I would be married to a doctor....the one I met in med school. Wait, no I wouldn't. I wouldn't like his schedule either. I would be married to a funny genius that had a lot of time off."

"What if I moved down here and we met in highschool? Do you think you would have liked me then?"
"Ya. I would have. You were smart and funny...... I don't think you would have liked me though. I was too shy."
"No joke."
"People thought I was stuck up."
"You are."
"No....I am very nice......extremely nice.....but I have parameters.....like small groups are better than large groups. Any way.....I did suffer from extreme male phobia in highschool. Which I have grown to realize I am grateful for. I would have done anything for a guy after one kiss. You should be happy I kept my lips to myself. I was saving myself for you. Don't you feel bad you kissed all of those girls?"
" (Snort) Haaa, just because you didn't date ANYONE and therefore didn't even have a chance to kiss someone, doesn't mean you saved yourself for me."
"Yes I did meanie. I am a fantastic kisser. It's one of my only fantastic traits. Lots of people would have kissed me."
"No."

"Bobby,, what if I were a cop?"
"You don't have enough frass."

The man kills me. He knows me well enough to know what I am thinking about just by the way my heart beats. It's sort of creepy.......in a good way. Happy Valentines Day Bobby. I love you.

The Crimson Tide

2010-01-19T22:04:00.000-08:00

Yes.......that is a cloth sanitary pad :) Why is it so cute? I mean really. Who will see this besides you and the inside of your undies? Not to mention.......how long will it stay this cute? Which then begs the question....do you REALLY want to clean and reuse?
Maimy and I contemplate this question and others like it as we sit bleary eyed with fatigue, angry for no good reason, having wept greater than 5 times in a twelve hour period. As we write, we also consume an extra large BK fry, an extra large BK Coke, rest our elbows on what appears to be a four month pregnant pooch (in reality an amazing amount of bloat), try to reach around our tender lady lumps, and mindlessly scratch at our deteriorating skin condition.
Ah, the joys of womanhood. Brought to you directly from the two miniscule ovaries smack dab in your pelvis. How is it that two little balls of power, each under two freaking inches, can run (or is it ruin?) your life from the time you are thirteen? Every day, every week, these two little puppies can make you happy, sad, angry, hungry, bloated, hot for a handsome man, vindictive, demonically posessed, giddy, thin, weepy, and give you cravings Gandhi couldn't have fought?
Week #1 The Crimson Tide, aka The Red Witch, Aunty Flo, My Visitor, Bloody Mary, Riding the Cotton Pony.....etc.
      Pull out the ugly panties girls. Stay close to the potty and open your baby name books for those clots large enough to qualify for a name. Don't forget the mind bending cramps. Who among us doesn't live for this week?
Week #2 The Thin Week
     This is the week where your skin looks decent, your hair isn't greasy, your bloat has shed and that spare tire and full on banana nut muffin sitting on your hips are a shadow of what they will become in the weeks ahead. You finally love your man and don't want to rip off his arms and blugeon him with them. This chicks, is the week we live for.
Week #3 Ovulation Celebration
     Ah, finally the shooting pains and semi uncomfortable cramps that signal your fertility is at its max. Unfortunately your tender pelvic region makes er......fertilizing painful in certain circumstances (read positions). Dang those little balls of egg. They never give up. Week #2 is really just there to taunt you.
Week #4 The Depths of Hell, Crossing the River Styx, PMS or for you sorry sisters PMDD.
     This is where Maimy and I sit right now. We were wondering if we suffer from PMS or the more sinister ugly sister........PMDD. It is normal during this week to have varying degrees of cravings, salty and sweet. Generally the cravings take over the suffering body and as if in a trance Maimy and I NEED (yes, we classify this as a need not a want) chocolate, coke, potato chips and french fries. It's just a fact of life. We also have varying degrees of anger. People close to us may use the word 'rage'. This is when you are most likely to hear the empty, yet hostile threats such as; 'I will rip off your arms, use them to beat you, and then shove them down your throat', 'One more sound and you will be pulling the teeth I punched down your throat....out of your rear end (rear end is only the clean version)', 'If you don't stop fighting I will run screaming into the night and never return', 'Heaven help me but I am going to break your bones', 'Touch me and I will rip your face off'. These are mostly Maimy, considering I am a tame little puddy cat. One or both Maimy and I can be found openly crying in public places for reasons severe or........not so much ie, the death of a fallen officer, leaving Max while I go to the store, loud noises, a sad book, a sad movie, talking about a sad book or movie, accidentally hitting my fists while boxing a pretend speed bag, not liking my hair, not liking my clothes, not liking that I am angry, not liking that my husband is at work, having my husband leave the house, being asked the same question more than once........really the list goes on. Frankly anything, great or small during this week could make me a) cry or b) be consumed with rage or c) both. And the sick thing is, the only way to stop PMS is to........er, ride the cotton pony. Life is sick and twisted.
Maimy and I are a little despondent to see the facts laid out so formally. Maybe it is the PMS, or the sleepiness from the double Whopper that we don't want to own up to. She and I are going to bed, where if we lie on our backs and suck in our gut we look only mildly bloated. Then we will close our eyes and dream of Week #2 where thin is in and our mood is pleasant.

Eat, Pray.........Sweat

2009-12-19T21:36:00.000-08:00

Maimy has been on a roll lately. She convinced me to stop working out......among other things. She is wildly persuasive and soothing when I let her be. She always seems to know the right things to whisper in my ear to make everything seem alright. Alas, I had a moment of nagging conscience. I had an insane burst of......lets better ourselves. Even though Maimy had advised against it......I began reading The Miracle Of Forgiveness. Life seemed bleak.....like going up a down escelator.........in a wheelchair. It hurt. It hurt to tears. It hurt to 8 hours of tears. Maimy said it was only PMS. I hate to give her credit, but I think she was partially right.
I decided the best way to exorcise Maimy was to exercise the heck out of her. We went back to Tae Bo, but not in the morning. Maimy feels sluggish without 6 square meals and a few Cokes to really ground her. So one evening we donned some terribly ugly workout clothes to match our ugly mood and red rimmed eyes. As I made full body contact with a public floor, 45 minutes into one form of Hell on Earth, with Lady Gaga belting out Poker Face.........I realized that for that short time Maimy had fled AND that it was distinctly possible I didn't comprehend the full spectral meaning of Poker Face. Maimy couldn't take the cramp in my firm, firm gluteus, the heart rate above 65 beats, or the sweat between my boobs. Even though hours before I had been feeling at my weakest in possibly years.........I KNEW I could beat that little hussy if I really wanted to.

A Difference Of Opinion

2009-12-10T17:37:00.000-08:00

Yes, I will be insinuating that SHE (right down there) is me! HE however, may or maynot be Superman ;)

While one nugget points out our gooshy parts, another has a differing opinion. Thank you Fire for your kind words to Maimy and I. You made our day.
Maimy and I have been tandemly salivating over a cream colored wool trench. We both felt like it was an article of clothing we could not live without. Sadly.......it was more than I would agree to spring for. Maimy on the other hand knows that Superman has a soft heart when it comes to her desires. After dropping subtle hints, (I had to put my hand over her mouth in order to keep them subtle) Superman realized that what we needed for our birthday was 'the coat'. Luckily because I refused to let Maimy give specific instructions, Superman was able to find 'the coat' $30 cheaper than the one Maimy and I spied. 'The coat' came home as our birthday gift, which we received early!!!
Before you could say 'Bad Maimy!' she had the coat ripped from the bag and slung across her slim, yet muscular (in a very feminine way) shoulders. Enter the Fire. "Mom, you look just like that girl on Mr. & Mrs. Smith! Well, except you don't have a gun in your garter." (No longer a problem, Love.) While Maimy gloated in the glory of that well placed compliment, I screamed, "When did you see Mr. & Mrs. Smith?!" The answer: While they were home with Dad.

Out Of The Mouths Of (Blunt) Babes

2009-11-29T17:42:00.000-08:00

No, that's not me........ The machine of torture however is the Ab Circle Pro. We disconnected the cable (dish) about a year and a half ago. I thought I was keeping the nuggets safe from the depraved world. I'm not....Besides the fact that they go to school with children of depraved parents (another story) they also see TV at their various grandparents' houses.
Tonight during Sunday dinner the telly happened to be on (boo). Soon this contraption of death shows its ugly face. The lovely lady (and piping hot man) are swooshing their respective tails back and forth in order to rip their midsections. My lovely, lovely little nugget looks up into my adoring face and tells me with glee and no shame that I need the Ab Circle Pro. Upon asking for clarification............Piglet, with the excitement of Dr. Rey on Dr. 90210, pinpoints with the precision of the mad Dr. and his felt tipped pen, the areas of my middle that could use sculpting. I gaped at her, nearly expecting to see the black marks readily available for the plastic surgeon to follow. Having my innocent little baby happily tell me I need ab work didn't really make my day. If I were normal it may have even been motivating. But Maimy and I are sitting at our tightest.....and frankly we don't care. We will now be purchasing loose fitting shirts.....;)

Maimy Is Good For Something After All

2009-11-13T21:48:00.000-08:00

I have been trying with little success to halt my friendship with Maimy. I am a slave to her whim. Everyone I know has someone like Maimy.......even though they seem to have bettter control. Superman has treboR. treboR hardly shows his mischievious little face. It can be a downer.

I have come to realize though......Maimy has her place. She helps me in my struggle to forgive. When I understand that someone else's Maimy had an overwhelming desire to do something ridiculous, stupid, selfish, self preserving.........it is easier to stand in their shoes. It's a bit easier to forgive.

Today I am thankful for Maimy.

Reiki

2009-11-08T15:01:00.000-08:00

Well....Maimy has been down in the dumps lately. She misses Superman, which in any case doesn't make her heart grow fonder.........it makes her angry. She's overwhelmed and missunderstood. She has too much to do and very little desire to do it. I started giving her extra vitamin B and an immune/energy booster drink.....and like anything else that isn't Chinese food.....she didn't respond. Maimy questioned whether speed would do her any good but Superman said that eventually she would crash and undo any headway she had made. It didn't seem like a good idea.
Two of my friends happened to tell me about Reiki and emotional healing at the same time. I'm wondering if they sensed Maimy simmering right under the surface. I'm not saying that Reiki and emotional healing are the same thing here. But they both seemed interesting. As it turned out Reiki was MUCH more afforadable. As it turned out...Reiki was free. I could help out someone trying to get certified and I could try to exorcise Maimy.
I made the appointment for later in the afternoon so that I could try to accomplish what I hadn't in the previous days..........er that would be anything. Maimy whined and dragged but I was able to accomplish some laundry and putting away Halloween decorations. We dropped the nuggets off with Goose and headed to our first Reiki session.
The Reiki Chick is an R.N. trying to certify in order to use it in conjunction with nursing. I was hoping for an epiphany. I was hoping to leave without Maimy.........or at least have her subdued to a coma like state. We laid on our backs. We were given the instructions to relax. We could talk if we desired .......or not. I didn't want to. I wasn't sure if Reiki Chick had to concentrate to pick up some kind of signal or what. As it turns out I think she was rearranging my messed up energy. She scanned our body without touching us. Then she began the hour long session by putting her hands on our head. Now, there I lie, desperate for a good reason to kick back and shut my eyes. Do you think that I could rest? No! For the same reason that I can't sleep, I can't rest motionless. As soon as the hands touched me, my eyelids began jumping as if Mexican Jumping Beans had slipped in before my eyes shut. Explosions of purple light burst like grapes on the insides of my eyes. I began listing the zillion things I still had to do for the rest of the week. And all the while trying to pretend I am relaxed. I tried not to move. I tried not to breath. I tried REALLY hard not to swallow. Only when she reached my feet, after nearly an hour, did my thoughts lapse into that strange state right before you fall asleep.
Reiki Chick was not snookered by my attempt at faux relaxation. She said she could tell I was tense and pretending to relax. She also said she wondered if I have ever had anything wrong with my throat because she picked up something there. I think it may have been me trying not to swallow, which made me realize how much I had to swallow. She also said she kept seeing an apple. Half of the time I was envisioning me cutting up apples because that is what I had to do as soon as I left and picked up Piglet and Paws. She also sensed 'Sweetie'. I think she thought someone must call me that. Sadly I live in a state of existance where I am only called derivatives of 'Mom'. I do however call the kids and their friends 'Sweetie'. Hmm.
I sat up from my session and felt like I had just been awakened mid nap. I didn't feel clear and my face was SO flushed.
I think there may have been at least a thin sheet of Saran Wrap between Maimy and I. I didn't holler at the nuggets, finished a ton of laundry, cut up all of my apples, made dip, carpooled, read beddy bye stories.......all in a haze of contentment. It only lasted until the next day though.
I think I will give it one more try. Pray for my eyelids to behave themselves.

Halloween or MidSummer's Eve With Hef

2009-10-27T19:41:00.000-07:00

While Googling Halloween costumes, this was the only non pornographic one I could find.

Maimy loves Halloween. So do I. We relish the scary bits! Fall is the most beautiful and charming time of year. Plus, what's more fun than not being yourself for a little while? Superman knows my undying love for this season. Even though he doesn't genuinely like it himself, he likes us enough to get involved. This year he procured tickets to a Halloween charity ball. Maimy doesn't have a problem vamping it up. I on the other hand, just couldn't. I had to find away to keep Superman comfortable as thanks for taking Maimy and I. So we settled on him dressing up in an OLD military uniform and I dressed up as his little lady from the 40's.

The nuggets loved it. Daddy looked like he looks nearly everday and they said Mommy was so beautiful. (This could mean they hadn't noticed in the previous years of our lives together that I am friggin stunning. I think they realized I usually don't wear that much makeup. I kind of felt bad for my dowdy self.)

Superman and I knew that in a party town like this we were walking into a wet party. And even though we had an inkling, I don't think we truly expected to find the lingerie fest that we arrived at. When did Halloween morph from awesome, gruesome or even cute to a party at the Playboy Mansion?
If you can conjure up a mental image of me in a snow suit like the one from The Christmas Story, you will understand how over dressed I was compared to nearly every other girl there. We saw; Little Ho Peep, Poke Me Hontis, angels in their skivvies, lots of devils, a simulated naked man with what appeared to be a potato falling out of the crotch seam of his fake naked body suit (I have to be frank......Maimy found it hilarious.), Jesus with a prostitute, various playboy bunnies/hookers with pimp in tow, and a sailor (sailorette?) that basically only had her midsection (aka boob crease to pelvic bones) covered with her lycra sailor dress..........ah the list goes on.

Maimy convinced Superman and I that since we were the only dry couple there, we should just get on with the fun and act like we were sloshed. So for the first time in our lives together.............we fast danced! Yes we did. Maimy even let the devil whip her with his tail while she shook it like Shakira on the dance floor.
Superman and I had a fantastic time. We will never forget the woman that danced like a wounded flamingo, or the many crotch shots and leg humps we were so blessed to witness.

I really do love Halloween. I really do wish that it wasn't turning into Whoroween. Seriously, keep in it in the bedroom folks.

Maimy Lacks Compassion

2009-10-15T08:18:00.000-07:00

I remember back when I was little. When I was sick, there was no one I would rather have than my mom. It could be that I was concentrating more on puking into my hair than I was my mother's attiutde, but I never remember her being gruff.
Maimy lacks compassion and patience when it comes to puke. I will be sure in the future to make sure the kids know it is Maimy that is screaming,"You are going to throw up whether you want to or not!! Put your head over the toilet/garbage/bucket/tupperware!!! DO NOT throw up on my sheets!!". She isn't very soothing. If the children happen to remember this in their later years I would hardly want the blame. I prefer that my voice remain even and sweet, possibly tinged with the sounds of warm honey.
The nuggets have a deep and dark fear of allowing themselves to puke. Each one will scream out like they have been stung by an army of wasps, chanting, "I don't wanna throw up! I don't wanna throw up!". Ah, nonetheless, child, your body doesn't care what your mind thinks. You will puke. In recent puking activity we have had Piglet puke on the new carpet. Actually putting your head over a receptacle shows acceptance in their minds. Farm Boy woke with a shriek and tried to pull his head away as I had him lose it into a diaper pail. His disdain for vomit caused him to pull away and string the said emmission onto his pj's and sheets. Paws, for a wee one, had enough strength to pull from Maimy's fierce grip, turn his head away from the garbage and reach for Mama. Paws, Maimy and I (and our bed!!!) were showered with popcorn and curdled chocolate milk. Maimy said some choice words and left Superman and I to bathe and cuddle the pale, whimpering lump of baby.
Maimy didn't show up again for quite sometime..........that is until I found the bedding in the dryer, tangled in a damp reeking knot 5 days later. Maimy was back and at her best.

Maimy

2009-10-11T14:49:00.000-07:00

I am closing my personal blog to only those invited. This blog will remain open and consist of my ramblings about Maimy.........my evil BFF and our mortal struggle to someday part ways.

My BFF (Meet Maimy)

2009-10-10T14:36:00.000-07:00

My BFF (best friend forever) is a bad influence. I hate everything she stands for...........but I can't seem to break ties. We've been together our whole lives and I don't know what I would do without her. Every single thing I do wrong is 100% her fault.

From my first moment of consciousness I can't shake her. She doesn't want us to get up, especially if it is because Paws wants a cup of milk. Uugh, that girl sets me on edge. Of course I have to do all of the work and drag both of us out from under the down comforter and stumble down to the basement to wake up the big guys. 'She' thinks we should just holler from upstairs, but it hasn't ever worked.

I am dedicated to making lunches at least three days a week. School lunch is an atrocious amount of money for an eeeh meal. BFF hates making lunches in the morning. I tried to tell her that it would be easier to start it the night before, but she REALLY likes to put things off.

By the time getting in the sport van to hit the road rolls around..........she actually wants me to leave the babies at home because she doesn't want to strap them in car seats. I can't believe her. BFF is one freaking lazy chick.

I am semi committed to working out a few times a week. I can't take looking like I put on 20 pounds. I will never actually know that for a fact because I don't let BFF weigh herself. That is forbotten at our house. It's about the only rule I can hold her to. She and I strap on our brand new, heavy duty sports bra and hit Tae Bo. BFF HATES Tae Bo and it's all she talks about the WHOLE work out. There have been a few times that she actually talked me out of going. We went back home and cuddled with the baby in bed. I had to enroll her in Tae Bo because the only way she will workout is to have someone yelling at her.

BFF really lacks energy and drive. When we are home during the day with the kids she doesn't want to help put the laundry away, unload the dishwasher........even though Max is willing to help, go to the store (she truly despises putting away the groceries), or mop the floor (she can't get past the fact that she has to sweep first and move all of the chairs........plus I like to hand mop and dry and she says it hurts her knees). Really, can you even stand her? BFF doesn't even like to shower. It's like pulling teeth. Come on........showering is necessary to even feel human. But she says she hates having to get out and put on lotion, six kinds of hair product, makeup and then style her hair. I secretly think she doesn't even like to raise her arms above her head, but I can't get her to admit it.

Eventually it's lunch time. BFF waits all morning for lunch. I try to make her wait until at least 11 am, but there have been a few times that she convinced me that 10:30 was just as good. Even though she is dying to eat, she doesn't really want to fix anything. She would eat Chinese food everyday if I let her. On one hand I can't blame her. I am about 95% sure that the rice noodles she loves are spiked with meth. I don't think an addiction level as high as BFF has could occur from mere food. I have her held off to only eating out once a week. She is still wringing my pockets dry.

BFF could spend the whole day with a book. No matter what pressing matter is at hand she carries one everywhere. Her book fettish is only rivaled by..... nothing, not even the rice noodles. In fact, the more she has to do, the harder it is to get the book out of her hands. The only things I can't get her to read...............are the things she is supposed to read.

I realized that if I were going to feed the kids a) before 8:00 pm b) something besides a pb&j or c) not cold cereal........that I was going to have to plan. BFF is the LEAST organized girl I have ever met. She doesn't want to plan ahead. It makes her out of breath. She actually told me once that she doesn't want to do anything that causes her to sweat, increase her heartbeat beyond resting heart rate, and that makes her uncomfortable physically or emotionally. I have goaded her into crock potting here and there, once with the promise of using a whole stick of butter because she loves butter.

When it's time to start getting ready for bed, BFF really puts up a fuss. The kids need to be showered and she hates it. First she doesn't like their whining. She has an amazingly low tolerance for noise. Superman once gave her a box of earplugs for Christmas. She also doesn't like water on the floor of the bathroom. I tried to tell her it makes it easier to mop when the puddles are that big, but once she has bed in her sights...........she's like a cattle stampede....unstoppable. If the kids make noise, take too long, laugh, run through the house naked, leave towels on the floor, spank each others wet bottoms, spill Victoria's Secret lotion on the carpet, or leave their dirty clothes in the bathroom, she thinks it's okay to tell them to go to bed without a bedtime story. I keep telling her that is a bad punishment.......even the 'experts' say never to take reading time away........but she's a tough cookie to convince.

Paws likes to push my shirt up and lay on my stomach when he's tired. BFF actually will go along with this one because she can do it in a prone position. But once you get her laid out like that, you can't get her back up. If only I could convince Superman to cuddle with Paws sometimes....... She claims she tired, but if the day went the way she likes, I can't figure out what from. I'll tell you who is tired..........ME.

BFF is exhausting. I get so sick of battling her at every turn. Everything is out of her comfort zone. She reminds me of a trickle of water...........just dripping and running around the resistance. I question all of the time what happened to the BFF of everyone else that I know. They seem to have ditched the little hussies..........or maybe they never got that attached. BFF has a demon like personality. I wonder if exorcism could part us?

My New Motto

2009-10-10T14:32:00.000-07:00

I do love a clean house......really I do. I just can't seem to get from cluttered to clean. I start off in one area and bounce around distractedly from one room to another. I have ADD in the cleaning area of my brain. I'm pretty sure if I were to have a CT scan it would show a pile of books, papers, laundry baskets and a wee farm full of cows, just like it had been copy and pasted right on to the cleaning part of my brain (that is in the hypothalmus or is it hypocampus?).

I sometimes wonder if I could get a diagnosis and medical coverage. Maybe my health insurance would pay for a maid. I wonder where that would fall in the DSM IV?

Until then.........I say, "A clean house is the sign of a wasted life.".

My Ticket To Hell

2009-10-10T14:19:00.000-07:00

Superman just saw Lance Armstrong on TV and said.........(paraphrase) 'I could ride a bike all day up hill and love every minute, even the agonizing ones.'

I said....."When the last punch on my ticket to Hell is finally punched I am pretty sure there will be a stationary bike waiting for me.........set on up hill."

How can two people see heaven and hell so differently? I guess it makes sense.....he will be in heaven and I will be in hell and we will be in the same place.

Facebook is Satan's Handtool

2009-10-10T14:14:00.000-07:00

I'll outright admit that I am a Facebook addict. I'm not proud.....just like I probably wouldn't be proud to admit I was a meth addict. Nevertheless, the truth. FB has it's good points. It's easy to get updates on your pals........and you don't have to do it by phone (another gimmick used by the horned one to aggravate my life.) Keep up with the chicks from out of the area. Honestly.....a great spy tool. Look up those people you just want to see what's up, but you don't want to SEE.

The downside is that FB smacks of high school, better known as the worst time of ones life, whether you want to admit it or not. You probably weren't at your best in high school. If you think that you were.......I'm really sorry for the life you have lead since then. FB kills off all of the flowers of high school such as math, biology, and English and leaves the weeds; drill team, pep rallies, the hallways, the bathrooms, cone ball, classes taught by coaches, pot between class. You know what I mean.

As with any addiction, copping to the problem is the first step. But until I am only getting out of bed to check FB or cruising the streets with my air card looking for an unprotected connection....I'm still using. Pathetic. Maybe when my teeth start to fall out I'll learn my lesson.

How Surprising!

2009-10-10T14:11:00.000-07:00

I really try not to publicize my opinions on this blog. I try to protect myself from conspiracy, weapon removal, person of interest, or a dirty background should I a) adopt or b) run for political office. But this time I can't contain myself.

There I was...........sitting in a hotel room glued to the flat screen. Since our recent T.V. diet, consisting of ......no T.V.......once we were in front of one, we couldn't pull ourselves away. We were watching House Hunters, waiting for Paws to finally plunge sleepward. I love House Hunters, and it was pretty late at night so I didn't have a big selection. Having already had a heavy dose of The Soup, I was sated and just staring ahead. Now commercial wise I know there is some garbage out there when you hit late night viewing. But considering that I was only watching HGTV, not something baseless and nasty like CNN, E, or the Comedy channel, where I know they are corrupt and lacking moral judgement.......I felt safe.
I won't give the name of the heap of dung I saw......free advertising passed out among my staunch million readers.....just wouldn't be right. I'm pondering the age old question whether the family on T.V. should go for the farm house with lots of land and large house that needs updating or the move in ready at the top of their budget. I vote for the move in ready. The melamine kitchen in the farmhouse it going to cost a pretty penny to replace. Time to cut to a commercial. HGTV really knows how to leave you hanging. No wonder I am an addict. The commercial has a couple at dinner. He is ignoring her, texting, not talking, being boring and self centered. I'm thinking that this is a blind date. Then the guy gets up to leave and we find out that the couple is married. The words to the website you are supposed to look at comes up and there is a wedding ring rolling around in the words. Then I think maybe it was a really bad jewelry commercial.....like he should make up to her that he is a dolt, with a nice piece of bling. Superman and I look at each other and wonder what we just saw. So Superman with his many talents, whips out the laptop. Soon he is laughing. I still think it was a really cruddy jewelry commercial. Nope. It was a commercial for adultery. If you are stuck in a marriage and divorce isn't an option, you can still find your soul mate to cheat with. Just tap your keypad, put in your criteria and if you don't have a hot fling to your satisfaction......money back.

There are so many things I could say...........but I will just leave it at that.

Trying To Get Down To The Heart Of The Matter

2009-10-10T14:06:00.000-07:00

Even if, even if you don't love me any more. Thanks Don Henley. What I'm really trying to say here is that auditory issues aren't my only problem. You could make a fairly firm case for me falling somewhere on the Autism spectrum. My inability to cope with sick and unnatural things spills over sensory boundaries to tactile peculiarity. Come on now...........I know some of you have the same thing going on down at your house!

Velour.............
Better known as Satan's track suit. This stuff is made purely of hebee gebee's. When I was little I had this shirt that I called my spaghetti shirt. It was royal blue velour and had rainbow colored lines on the stretchy knit material cuffs. If I wore this shirt I was P.O.'ed for the day! I can't bear the feeling of velour rubbing on my hands. I could literally crawl out of my skin. My kids have had baby outfits made of velour..........if I ever dress them in one..........yeah, I have to wrap them in a blanket in order to hold them so that I don't get any direct skin contact.

Sponges........
Okay I can't fathom that could be used for contraception.......what a diabolical creation. Sponges were not meant to be touched by human hands. When I own a robot to do all of my chores I will then buy her sponges. Until then I do not use them. Right now I have to stop blogging to ball my fists so I can't possibly feel sponge.................ugh. Dry sponges are even worse! Whose with me on that one? Let's hear a little cheer. Sponge also covers many forms of synthetic foam material. I can sleep on an egg carton mattress per say, but only if someone can get it onto the bed and covered with a sheet before I touch it.

Packing Foam.......
You know the kind made of a zillion little foam balls pressurized together and molded into a shape..........that stuff makes noise when you touch it. Not only will I not touch it because I do not want to illicit either the squeak or the rubbing sound (grit your teeth, you can get through this...) but I don't appreciate being in the same hearing range of ANYONE touching the foam. These are the times at Christmas when I excuse myself and go to the bathroom and contemplate my true skin age until the packing foam is discarded.

Socks........
After years of self talk and fits of rage I can now wear socks without going off the deep end. I try not to wear them........but sometimes you just have to man up and put on a pair of socks. When I was little I can remember days when I had to wear socks and I could barley function for the day. They are so restraining I feel like I have to fight someone near me just to get free. The WORST thing you could do with a pair of socks on your feet...........get in bed. Oh OH OH!!! Oh just stop the mental imaging........ggggggrrrrrrr. That is like being in two jails at the same time. The socks are already there and THEN you have covers on your feet. That is like putting a plastic bag over your head......how can you even breath?

Dirt...........
Thank goodness for garden gloves and work gloves. Dirt on my hands......oh the dryness and tightness of skin. If I ever find myself in such a situation.........I'm shuddering hold on..........I have to ball my fists up so I can't feel the skin pulling. This might have some bearing on the 12 open bottles of lotion around the house.

Warm air on my face...........
It feels like suffocating. Warm air in my nose, gag, in my mouth yuck. I have to shut the vents in the car so they warm air can't penetrate my orifices. It's like breathing some one's saliva.

Mechanical Pencils........
Okay this is mostly an auditory issue. I like mechanical pencils because they come in such cute designs and they are always sharp BUT.........they make a high pitched noise when you write on some kinds of paper with them. This is a true statement. So in many cases it's better to err on the side of a pen.

Chalk............
First of all if you touch it there is that dust like film that makes your hands dry. Yes that is a problem. Then the sound.......I think that sound is probably played on the airwaves of Hell. The rubbing sound is the one I am talking about, not the high squeak you get now and then.....that's nothing. It's the RUBBING that I can't deal with. I always felt immense peace when my teacher would put that little sleeve on her chalk. Then I knew it wasn't touching her hand. It was the only way I could fathom becoming a teacher.........I knew I didn't have to bare hand chalk.

I know there are other people out there that agree with some of these, or something LIKE these. Don't think I'm the only nut. I'll have to cover my social issues at a later date just to reaffirm that I do fit somewhere on a social spectrum disorder in the DSM.

Verbal Assault

2009-10-10T14:02:00.000-07:00

I'm probably really putting myself out here........revealing my kryptonite....but are there ever any words that really rub you the wrong way? We have banned words in our house. I'll only give you a few because I can totally see people using these against me. I beg you not to. They send me into a state of frenzy.
#1 Poo

I can handle POOP but not sans the P. That is just SO stinkin' ugly. I mean seriously I hear adult say this even. How can you consider yourself an adult and say this word? There are so many other possibilities.....crap, defecate, spoor, dookey, shat. Come on world......lets let this one go......no more poo. (Sheesh, I almost can't even type it.)
#2 Moist

This word makes me want to vomit. All I can think of is spit when I hear this word. Spit in the corner of your mouth......spittle flying out of an open mouth, snot, mucus drainage, pus. Please, no matter how good my meat or cake is NEVER tell me it is moist. I don't even care if you say 'Man lady, you make a damp pork chop!' or 'That is one wet pudding cake you got there!' Lets all make a pact now to steer clear of the word moist. Oooh I still see spit stringing from dry chapped lips.....make it stop.
#3 Belch

No joke, that is one step away from puking in your mouth. I'm not even that offended if you let one rip.......just call it something else. Or better yet don't even name it.
I know that I have auditory issues. Really, I am aware. The ugly words are only the tip of the ice berg......I get insane over hearing food. I may actually commit a violent act over the sound of someone chewing ice. I have had to ban the chewing of cereal and popcorn while I am near. I have been known to put a pillow over my head to stave off the sound of taffy in ones mouth. I'm making myself sick right now. Bananas.......you can't help that they are soft and sticky...but they are, and that is exactly how they sound in your mouth. I almost can't eat them myself just because I am tempted to swallow the whole bite just to avoid the chewing sounds coming from my own mouth.

I don't even think behavior therapy can help me.

Kirby Disturbia

2009-10-10T13:55:00.000-07:00

Meet Kirby.......he's my new Kirby. If you haven't had the pleasure, something akin to the fruit on the tree of life, of a Kirby demonstration..........let me put out a warning: DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR TO THE WOLF ON THE OTHER SIDE. MAY CAUSE MARITAL DISCORD.

So here's a bit of free marital counseling and some knowledge to tuck into your gray matter until you need it.

My new best friend Fabio (his real name was very similar!!!) knocks on my door in the middle of the freezing winter day. Thinking it was the neighbor, Piglet rushes the door (in a cheerleader outfit) and we throw it open. Side note on how I look: College hoodie, pony, no makeup, no shoes, jeans (expensive ones), baby attached to my torso.........baby's hair looks like the origingal Charlie from Charlie and he Chocolate Factory.

Fabe shoves a spray bottle of cleaner at me and begs me to let him in so he can earn $50 by giving me a demo, whether I buy or not. Then he dashes from the house to get 'The Kirby'. He comes back with his supervisor........ Before I know what is happening the super ditches Fabe out here in the country and takes off, leaving the boy and the vacuum.

I am treated to the luxury of watching Fabe vacuum my brand new carpet with a dust meter and black and white filters. He sucks up a lot of contractor dirt!! Not really surprised.

He pours baking soda into the BRAND NEW carpet and nearly makes himself vomit from the dust (kind of funny, kind of gross). Then he rubs it in so you can't see the white mound that he just poured out (ouch). I vacuum with my $100 Hoover (not the badger kind). Of course I know that I didn't get it all even though it looks like it. The 20 black filters show that sure enough, there was still baking soda in the carpet.

Next Fabe and I travel to 'the sanctuary'. He tells me that my mattress has doubled in weight from skin cells, dust mites and dust mite poop. I cringe. Fabe vacuums. Sure enough, the old dust meeter shows oodles of dead skin and what I can only assume is dust mite and their spoor. He asks if I don't sleep well unless I change my sheets. I say, even if I lived in a lavender field, I still wouldn't get a full nights sleep. Fabe says that's because I can't breath from all of the dust mites. I know it is because I sleep with an infant.

As we vacuum, we commiserate. Fabe can't believe I have been married for 13 years I am the mama of four young uns. He uses flattery..........Satan's flattery. I know I am being duped but I let him tell me I have a great body for a mommy and that I only look 25. I ask him how much Kirby school it took to teach him what to say to suspicious housewives. He says none.

Fabe thinks he's got me hooked. He calls his supervisor to tell him to come back and strike a deal with me. While we wait, he shows me the carpet cleaner, which also turns into a blower, a dog groomer, a paint sprayer, an Electrolux range, a life preserver, a can opener, a floor sander, a snow plow, a pack mule, a hang glider, and a pocket fisherman.

Supervisor shows up and this is were Fabe puts on a slinky dress. Time for Deal or No Deal. I choose from a variety of money cases............oooh I hope I chose the lowest!! Super hands me the cost break down. I nearly excrete yesterday's breakfast in my cute jeans and shout it at the same time. I say there isn't a chance on earth I'll pay close to $3,000 for a vacuum, I'm saving for two perky boobs.

Super says he'll cut me the wife alone deal and give me the carpet/upholstery cleaner for free. For those of you counting that's about $300 bucks. I say..........negative. He says he'll give me a child discount because he can see that I take my job seriously and kids obviously make messes faster than even Superman can clean them up. That's $100 per child. He thinks I only have 2. I ask him the most children he has ever given a discount for. He refuses to answer. I press. He brings up the fact that I belong to a religion that values children. I say that has nothing to do with the number of kids I have............but I do have more than 2. He thinks I am lying for the discount. I say, if I were going to lie, I'd have more than 4 kids, I'd have 13. He still thinks I am lying.

He calls the mysterious man on the phone. The Man says if I pay cash I can have a 5% discount. That's less than $200. I try to tell him my brother-in-law would have sold me one for $1200. He laughs. We go back to Deal or No Deal. Since Fabe and the Super and I all care for each other............3 hours of bonding does that to people, I want Fabe to get his commission but I don't want to pay for the vacuum. I say how about $1800 even, free supplies for a year, free carpet cleaner, and Super covers the tax, plus the 5% pay cash discount. Super looks pained (I think it's a put on). Fabe glitters in his slinky dress. Super puts in a call to The Man, he turns it on speaker phone accidentally (right). The Man doesn't want to cut the deal but Super pushes because I am a wicked bargainer (wink, wink). Super asks Fabe if he is willing to take a commission cut just for me. Fabe bristles and glitters. I think about his 3 year old and the failing economy in Oregon. I want Fabe to get his cash. If he makes the sale fast enough he gets a $50 bonus. We agree. We shake. I tell them not to trust my handshake because I am no gentleman. They laugh. I mean it. I sign my Yankees check and grudgingly hand it over.

Super takes off with the check and leaves Fabe stranded again. Fabe has to familiarize me with my new purchase.

Now that the glittery dress is off and he is back to his missionary look and argyle socks, we can sit on the floor and get to know Kirby. I learn how to do all of the attachments and make sure the belt is secure. I get quizzed. I do well. I invite Fabe to my next girl's night. He accepts. I invite him to live with me. He accepts. Super still hasn't come back for his sales boy.

Super comes back and assures me I got the deal of the day. I take a blood oath not to tell anyone the price I paid for the vacuum. I ask if that is so I won't find out how badly I was taken for. Super laughs.........of course not. I got a great deal, he just can't do that for everybody.

The day has passed without my knowing. I accidentally leave the kids at school. I call Jodi to see if she can save the kids from passing bandits and bring them to me. She does. Having been held captive for the better part of the day I now have the psychological syndrome where I side with my captors. I try to sell a Kirby to Jodi so I'm not the only one that makes an eighteen hundred dollar mistake that day. Jodi knows better. She says no, but she is glad to hear Fabe is coming to the purse party I'm planning.

Later that evening..................Superman sees clues to my Kirby affair; the left over filters Paws stole, the Kirby owners manual, the free Kirby citrus cleaner. "What's all the Kirby stuff for? You didn't buy a Kirby did you?" My guilt spills forth in a hysterical laugh. Superman can't tell if the thought is so ridiculous that I laughed or if the laugh is the chuckle of guilt. The kids rat me out and tell him how much I spent. He becomes very quiet. He stops moving. This is how I can tell he is unhappy. He chats to me like a girlfriend and moves constantly on normal days. But not the day I bought the Kirby. At bed time he shuts the door to our room. He has no romantic interest in me, he wants to discuss Kirby alone. Soon I find out how much it costs me per minute to vacuum, how many bullets he must dodge to pay for Kirby, how many vacuums I could buy instead, the hours he could have been spending at home instead of at job #6, the next vacation to Disneyland just magically turned into a Kirby. I cry with shame. He is so right.

Soon all of the cancellation paperwork is filled out in quadruplicate and my name is signed on all of it. Superman is calling Michigan police to see if these people even have a business license. He comes up with a plan to pull them over and give Kirby back.

Soon Super has returned to our house. No Fabe. It's down and dirty now. Super tells Superman he knows that because of his 6 jobs, he may not want to spend that kind of time and money on Kirby so he will cut him a better deal..............even though I am a great bargainer. We play good cop/bad cop. I am the bad cop, the really bad cop. Super looks pained. He says he doesn't want to cause a divorce. He gets The Man on the phone again and explains that we want to return the vacuum. The Man is not happy, he offers a better deal. I say no. I am not happy about being swindled in the first place. Jason concedes that Kirby is a good vacuum and the new style has a hot shade of orange he knows I will appreciate. I still say no. The Yankee checks come out again. I refuse to sign one. Super gives us a deal but explains that Fabe is SOL and so is he. He can't even take his wife to dinner now. (If he even has one). Superman signs the check. Kirby stays. Super gets in his SUV with my old Hoover and scuttles off to swindle another day.