Do Mom's Sweat?

I can't stand parenting magazines. They claim to be supportive of stay at home Mom's and yet I've never seen an article about the stay at home Mom who doesn't work from home. Or the Mom, that rejoices if they vacuumed in the morning and it still looks vacuumed in the evening. Or the Mom who figured out how to one up her child over the dishwasher battle. The battle where Mom puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, but toddler feels each dish looks best dirty, under the kitchen table. I must say I know a lot of stay at home Mom's, but not a single one who could name what was taking place on any given soap opera. I truly don't know a single Mom who even turns on the T.V. during the day for herself. And while I don't know a single stay at home Mom who wears sweats all day every day, I don't think it's all that impractical of a uniform when part of the job is to be a target for flying snot. I do hate the cliche idea of the Mom who sits on the couch all day eating bon bon's. However, after a particularly snotty-cold week, I've made an appointment with myself, 3 years in the future. In September of 2013, I have made a date with my couch. After I send my youngest off to Kindergarten, I boldy plan to spend that day in my sweats, bon-bon's in hand, and Soap Opera on the T.V. Don't Mess.

UNUBWG's

I've always been an UberNerdUltra BookWorm Geek. It's cool, I don't mind the title. My husband, rather than try to help me away from my addiction of all things literature, has chosen to feed it. He could do no worse than buy me the heavenly Ultide gift of the golden trophy, nay, the holy grail of all UNUBWG's. The Kindle. INSTANT BOOKS. Have you not heard of the coveted Kindle? I'm your friend, I won't judge. The kindle allows me to download books, wherever I am whenever I want, and have them within 30 seconds. Since recieving the Kindle, I believe I haven't seen my blessed, blessed husband, because my nose has never left the screen. It's my new little buddy, that I simply CANNOT do without. While blowdrying my hair, I'm reading. Walking, pulling laundry out of the dryer- one handed, because I'm reading. Waiting for Madisen's bus: reading. Making dinner: reading. Oooops.
Did I just pull a plastic plate of dinner rolls, out of the oven just in time for the plate to NOT melt onto the rack?
Yes I did.

It was Jane Austen *shrug* you understand. . .

Shea

Shea: Mom, I have frogs
Me: In your throat?
Shea: Yeah in my mouth
Me: Oh, no! you do sound froggy. are you going to lose your voice?
Shea: Yes. Ursula is going to take it



Shea: When can I be a Mommy?
Me: uh, when you're 27.
Shea: or 28?
Me: even better.
Me: Why do you want to be a Mommy?
Shea: So I can cook dinner.

at first I was flattered that she looked up to me and thought watching me cook looked like fun; but now I'm kinda wondering if she doesn't feel someone needs to take over. . .

MY TREADMILL!!!!!

DEAD like my microwave

DEAD like my garage door

DEAD like my car

DEAD like the ants.


But I had pizza for lunch!!!?!

Muddled Hot Husband

Once upon a time there lived a woman. We won't get into specifics, but she was 5'3" with shoulder length brown hair, and 3 children. 2 girls and 1 boy. This woman had just come in from the frigid outdoors with rosy red cheeks after a full day of sledding with the children. Because it is the weekend the New years resolution of always keeping her home spic and span will be put off until Monday in favor of devouring a delicious new book. Time passes. It is now 6:00 p.m. and her middle child (though no less loved for it) came to ask about dinner. Although this child has just turned four years old, it is possible that she managed to come and ask what was for dinner while sporting applesauce throughout her hair on the top of her head. Okay maybe that happened the applesauce --------------------->
next morning at breakfast, the details are hard to say. Anyway, back to the evening and it's late, and this woman decides that her poor, young, starving children should not have to have pb&j for dinner, nor wait an hour for a full dinner to be cooked. She eye's her hot husband sleeping on the couch. The couch where he had been sleeping for just over two hours (after the long hard day on the sled hill). Enter bright, animated light bulb; flashed just above and to the right of the woman's forehead. Woman walks over to wake her hot husband nicely of course by poking him in the ribs. Husband sits up in a flash, looking from the left to right through his squinted left eye, and confused, ultimately grabs the remote and starts flipping through the channels. "No, no" this woman says, "I did not wake you up to watch T.V. I woke you up because you told me you were going to go get us dinner"
"Huh?" his reply
"you said you were going to get us dinner. I will go get your shoes"
"Bring the white one's" he says, and woman pats herself on the back for now it was obvious that her wicked plan worked and in his waking stupor he was unable to recall or not recall stating he was going to pick up dinner. She comes back in the room and he starts asking questions about where he was supposed to be going. This woman puts his coat around his shoulder's and says,"are you serious, you told ME you were going to go get something. I thought You knew where you were going." The eldest daughter say's she wants to come along and the woman replies she can hurry and grab her shoes and go along. He eyes the daughter wondering whether he had also said he would take her along. The man allows the woman to zip up his coat. Unfortunately, at this point the woman was unable to control her laughter after seeing his completely innocent, and muddled face. It made it unbearable how he was still standing up and ready to head out the door. Now further awake, He turns back and asks if the woman is lying to him. She's forced (through laughter) to confess she is. Ah, well, it was a good joke anyway, she says.
The moral of the story: It still holds true that it's best to make the man believe something is his idea. Even better if you wake him up and tell him his idea.
How did this story end? Seeing himself already dressed and ready to go, this man proceeds to go pick up dinner for the family. And they ate happily ever after.
I love happy endings, don't you?
Don't miss the sequil: The Next Morning At Breakfast

Lovetricity

I realized the other day that I have just about NO pictures of HotSpark on my blog. I don't want him to feel unloved. So I stole this from my friend Kristen's blog. Doesn't he look sharp in a tie??

My One Year Blogoversary!!!

One year ago today, I made my first post. *tear* It's been a short blog year, but full of awesome stuff. Like the time Jenny taught me about blogstalking. I couldn't have killed more free time without her knowledge. Like the day Misty and several others took me wiggle biking. Like the time/s I got to publicly embarrass my husband (which of course I am so, so sorry about). I would like you to celebrate my blogoversary, by having some of my blog friends BLOG FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!! Sheesh. It's been several weeks for most of you, and months for a lot of you. It's hard feeling all alone around here.

My rant is done, so Merry Christmas!! only 3 more sleeps!!




this of course is not meant for those of you who have updated. To you I would just like to say: well done. :-)

Slurp

MMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm. . . . . . yogurt.

"I'm not supersticious, but I'm a little sticious"

I ordered some ants from a company in Utah for my daughters Birthday present ant farm. They arrived dead. Nobody gave them the "Arrive Alive" memo. Dead like my microwave. Dead like my garage door. Dead like my car.

I'm starting to get supersticious

I Am A Pioneeress

Someone is trying to tell me something. The beginning of the week started out strong with me happily microwaving my daughters lunch, when suddenly: said microwave died. I thought it was just a little tantrum, but after several tries, and a few gentle fist pounds, it turns out it's dead. So the rest of the week I have been learning new ways to cook. I feel grateful for this experience, because now I can empathize with the pioneers. Cooking from scratch is hard, but worth it! Cold cut sandwiches are surprisingly good when you have enough condiments. Step one of me being a Pioneeress. Step two happened yesterday morning when I was opening my garage to take my daughter to the bus stop. It opened halfway, then stopped. Wouldn't go up, wouldn't go down. It was a cute little trick for early in the morning. I was so close, because I could walk out side and feel the caressing bite of -3 degree temps, but unfortunately we were unable to get the full experience via our warm van because it wouldn't fit out of the garage. The power in the whole house went out just long enough for Madisen to miss the bus. So I was able to empathize with those who lived way back when; those who had to walk to school up hill both ways in the snow. Madisen's school is 3 whole miles away, and there's a small hill at the end. It was snowing and took me a good half an hour to drive before I was all the way back home. Well, maybe 15 minutes. Step 3 cheerily came this afternoon when my car died. I was picking up Skye at the bus, turned off the car for a few minutes, tried turning it back on and it was dead. Dead like the microwave, and dead like the garage door. So we put on our trek faces, and trudged through the snow and 10 degree weather all the way home. Madisen complained it was far, so I told her to sing. Singing is very pioneer like. The bus stop is at least .20 miles, so I used it as an opportunity to teach my children. I feel now I have learned my humbling lesson, and earned a Mom bonnet in the process. This week of being a pioneer was hard, but I think, after how I've grown as a person, I can honestly say: It was worth it.

EHOW

How To Decorate Christmas Tree

Step One: Kick self in bottom for promising children a fun night of decorating Christmas tree on same night husband is sick on couch.

Step Two: Plaster smiles and start anyway with cheery Christmas tunes in background
Step Three: Set up fake Christmas tree

Step Four: Take down fake Christmas tree, so you can set it back up correctly.
Step Five: Instruct children to help fluff tree so that although, you know, I know, and the neighbors know it's a fake tree, we can all pretend we're fooling someone.

Step Six: Keep fluffing
Step Seven: Keep Fluffing

Step Eight: Ignore complaints from children of too much fluffing. Check Plastered Smile.
Step Nine: Fluff again.

Step Ten: Decide the fake look isn't all that bad and quit fluffing before you reach the back.
Step Eleven: Carefully open delicate ornaments so children can thoughtfully adorn tree.

Step Twelve: Turn around to happily help place an ornament on tree.
Step Thirteen: Disguise bad word you were going to say as something else after you see that during the 30 seconds you were turned around your living room turned into a dangerous mine of colorful glass orbs, and sharp loose hooks. (must have been the one year old)

Step Fourteen: Realize you've lost one year old. Realize bare feet were not the best idea. Grab shoes, Grab one year old from inside of tree.
Step Fifteen: Rearrange face so it barely passes as a smile.

Step Sixteen: Ooh, and Aah, over how beautiful the large cluster of ornaments looks on the otherwise tall and bare tree.
Step Seventeen: Grab one year old from inside of tree. Clean up broken glass orb he used as a baseball. Hope frustrated curled lip is observed as a smile. Spend a few minutes helping children spread out ornaments so they are evenly spaced top to bottom.

Step Eighteen: Place Star on top of Christmas tree. Stand back so star doesn't bend back down and whack you in the forehead like it did a few moments previous. Grab one year old
Step Nineteen: Wake up husband for the initial lighting.

Step Twenty: Ooh, and Aah over finished product. Ignore the bottom half of the tree that is now naked due to the one year old.

Step Twenty One: Place one year old in bed. Grab Pepsi. Smile.

Flu Crew

The part I love most about no sunshine and frigidly cold weather is how often our family gets the flu. I'm not counting or anything, but we are going on day 9 of being holed up in the sick house. 3 kids down zero to go. Me and Pete have a bet as to which one of us will go down first. Madisen has been flat on her back for so long, this morning she said she doesn't feel like bending. I don't know what that means. Why is it that you feel so much more maternal when you're kids are down for the count? Is it their sweet, innocent, vulnerability? How pathetically cute they look in their tight footie pajama's? Maybe that they are rendered incapable of the expert toddler trickery that usually turns a normal, well balanced, clean home into a messy mayhem where Mom is standing dumbstruck in the middle of it all, but the children are long gone laughing all the way? Hard to say. The upside of sick kids is you have an excuse to not make dinner that will probably just turn out as glop anyway. You can reward yourself with a night off from being StoveSlave. Blessed Pizza Night. Er, nope. Sometimes you accidently move outside of Pizza Man Delivery Parameters. Oops. Then what to do? We're not THAT rural. We have all the standards of a civilized society: Walmart is just around the corner, and McDonalds just a few streets away, so. . . . . . . what gives? I thought about contacting the city council and DEMANDING they explain this huge oversight, but the pony express doesn't make it's way out here for about a week. My fury might be gone by then. Instead I'll just work on my hermit techniques until this little Piggie Flu decides to take flight. Wish me luck!