Cuff Me, Part Dos

As I exited Kindermusik, which Gretta absolutely loves, I lingered a while in the parking lot chit chatting with Dubya and J-Lo. We had lots of stuff to catch up on, as we always do, but mostly we were waiting for Lil' Jo to settle down, since I was apparently ripping him away from his mother's womb while she visited the dentist later that day. It's always such an awkward situation when you know you're a perfectly capable babysitter, but for some reason, the kid just doesn't want to believe you, and cries and cries, and the mom gives you that look, like, "are you sure you're okay with this?" . I was totally okay with taking him, but he just didn't want to leave. I don't blame him, she's an awesome mom, she bakes things like German Chocolate Cake Bars, and Ribs and Red Beans and Rice, and Home Made Rolls. I make things like McDonalds Chicken McNuggets, so really, there's no comparison. I should get to my point or this post will be a freaking novella.

So we sat there, chatting in the parking lot, and a Park Ranger Police car pulls up next to my van. I instantly start making smart ass comments to Dubya and J-Lo about how he "found them out" and "oh, now they're hauling you in". I'm so funny. This is when Mr. Park Ranger approaches and knocks on my window. I unroll it just enough to speak through, thinking for some reason he knows me, or knows Sugar Daddy, or something. He asks me to "step out of the car, ma'am." Uh, okay.

So out I go, still thinking in the back of my mind that this is some sort of practical joke, or that Ashton has finally decided to Punk me. He then asks for my Driver's License and Proof of Insurance. I supply his request as quickly as I could, all the while giving off an air of "okay Ashton, I'm totally on to you". He then proceeds to tell me that he has it on good authority that someone saw me pull in to the parking lot, park, leave, and return a short time later. In that frame of time, someone hit the back of his Police Car, breaking off the attached bike rack. He wants to go ahead and do a paint match test, since he has silver to black paint transfer on the offending piece of broken bike rack. I tell him to go ahead, but I never left the parking lot, I pulled in and stayed the entire hour. Besides, it's freaking Kindermusik, there are approximately 319 minivans in the parking lot, 74 of which are silver*.

He starts trying to match up the bike rack with the various dents and scratches** in my van, none of which really match. Then he asks how far away I live. "Like 5 minutes," I say. "How many vehicles do you own?" he asks. "Three", I say. "So, it would be feasible for you to have hit my car, left the scene, driven home, and returned in a different vehicle?" Hmm. I guess I had never really thought of that. Me being the smart ass that I am, start popping off a little. "Well, considering one of my vehicles is a 1949 blue Chevy truck that doesn't run, that's not an option. And the other one is a lifted Dodge truck, so it would have done a lot more than just a little bike rack damage." I'm so funny. Again. He doesn't think so. Finally, he gets it. I'm not his man. I have witnesses to my whereabouts. There is no evidence. He countenace softens and he proceeds to tell us that now it's a felony hit and run, blah blah blah. At this point, it just barely has hit me that I was pretty dang close to being hauled off to the slammer. Now that would have been a good story.

* I may have embellished that statistic a little.
** There was an incident in which I was trying to back out of the snow covered driveway, across the snow bump the plow leaves. I went for it full force, almost made it, and then hit right into both garbage cans that had been placed right in my blind spot. Whose fault is that? Mine? The snow plow's? Sugar Daddy's? The jury's still out. There are also a few scratches from someone, ahem, not me, backing into the garage and not realizing they weren't pulled in far enough before closing the garage door.

Singing In The Rain

It rained yesterday. Usually after a rain storm like yesterdays it gets humid and muggy. This particular day it cleared up and got cold. As in we could feel Fall in the air. And it felt good. I think I'm ready.

This morning I awoke from a good, deep sleep. I was refreshed and ready for the day. This is unusual for me, since I am not generally a morning person. More unusual than that, was the fact that I awoke singing Michael McLean's "Together Forever". A sign? I hope.

Thanks, Mom.

In Which I Liken The Gospel Unto Vampires

You may or may not know that I, too, am now entrenched in the Twilight book series. I read all 4 of them, sans The Host, in a little over a week. But I guess The Host isn't really in the series, so that goes without saying. But I digress. My Mom had just died, and I needed a little distraction. Still living at Chateau Clayton, and enjoying the fact that Gretta thinks Grandpa lives and breathes for her happiness, I took full advantage of my down time and gobbled up book after book. Don't worry, I'm not giving you the reviews. I certainly don't put it up there as "literature" in the classic sense, but it occupied time that might otherwise have been spent crying. Or worse, stuffing my face with chocolate.

Yesterday in RS, Dubya taught our lesson. She's so wonderful. She even had a cellist to add some spiritual punctuation to her lesson. As we are learning about the Principles of the Gospel, it comes up that new members are especially in need of support from the other Ward members. They need them there to shore them up when the spiritual high wears off. To help them through the tough times, and to lead them and guide them through the subtle ins and outs of our religion.

This is when I lean next to my neighbor, Shylo*, and say,
"Kinda like the Twilight series, isn't it?"

She responds,
"Did you just refer to Vampires during our lesson?"

I say,
"Yes. Yes I did. You're welcome."

And the door to Hell is opened.

And to think, a reference to Stephenie Meyer during church, and I'm not even in a BYU Ward!


*Shylo and I sat together during Sunday School. When RS started, she asked if she could still sit by me, or if I would get sick of her. I bet it's the other way around now!

This Is Life

I have a killer cold. If I was a man, it would be a "man cold". And if I was motivated at all, I would put a super duper link to the "Man Cold" on YouTube, but you can "Tube" it yourself, cause I'm lazy like that. I fell asleep at 8:00 last night. It rocked. But I still feel like total crap.
*Oh, alright, I linked it. Geez. Now I need a nap.

Gretta is repeatedly trying to wedge herself under my computer chair. With each and every attempt, she bonks her head, hard, on the frame. And yet she continues to try. Tenacious, yes. Mentally ill, possibly.

I have seen Sugar Daddy a total of 15 minutes this week. No, that's a bad thing. See, it's his busy season, getting everything sorted out to different retailers for their Christmas sales. Which means he works at 5AM and gets in just after 7PM. I know I shouldn't complain because it's much harder on him than it is on me, but it's my blog, so I can complain about whatever I want. And tonight he's partaking in the Cubs vs. Brewers game in Milwaukee, so that means he won't be home until after midnight. I don't feel bad for him, though.

Maggie had her first dance class yesterday. Yeah, I'm such a good mom, I forgot the camera.

Emma missed the bus yesterday. Again. So she was late.

Gretta has a fever, a rash, and a limp. This warranted a trip to the ER, but she checked out fine.

My slutty dog has decided it's much more fun to spend the days philandering around the neighborhood than being cooped up in the house with a sick bitchy mom. I rarely know if she's in or out. And to be honest, I don't care anymore.

Oh, and I've been wearing the same pair of denim capris all week. I change my shirt and bra, of course, and my undies, but the pants, they just keep calling my name. I need a new pair. Or pairs.

Feel free to slap the Mother of the Year award right here.

Cuff Me

I'm a little surprised not-a-one of you has made a snarky-ass comment about my "Note to self" of the week.

I'm starting to doubt my readerships attention to blog detail. First no posts, then this? What will I ever do with you!? (And which would come first there, the ? or the ! {?})

I was going to post about it when one of you noticed, because yes, I fish for post fodder.

But since no one did. Fine. You'll just have to wait.

Hmmph.

Music Days

I have the bestest friends ever. I really do. They take care of me.

Thanks to Dubya and her sweet leadership skills, Gretta is getting Kindermusik lessons. I had no idea how fun this class could be. She loves it. And after just one class, she remembers the "Hammer hammer hammer and See Saw See" actions. I'm sure it's because she's a genius, and not because the class is so much fine. Right.

So we're off to music class today.

And tomorrow brings dance lessons for Maggie. I worry because dance is so girly and she's, just, well, probably more girly than even dance lessons could be, if that's possible. She is so excited, she already has her outfit picked out for tomorrow. That kid, honestly.

Okay, People

You may have noticed my "Peeps" list on my sidebar. Many of you that read this blog, and comment, are over there. Because I like to give back, because I'm nice like that. Now. Let's see. I have a dilemma.

People, please. There are many of you, I won't name names, Jill and Kelli, who are featured on my "Peeps", but are no longer earning your spot there. It's been a while since you updated. I mean seriously, I know you have lives and stuff, but I also know you have 5 minutes to grant me the gift of being part of your life.

Lest you think it's just you two, notice that there are many of my Peeps that have slacked in the blog department. I feel like there is just wasted space over there now. And frankly, it gives me less and less to do each day, not having those 10 minutes to check your blog. And I like a full life, so indulge me here.

So please, for the love of Pete,

UPDATE YOUR BLOGS!

or you risk being ostracized to outer darkness, and banished from the list of Peeps. Scary, huh?

Oh, and Happy Birthday, Kelli! Your package is "in the mail", or so they say. No, really, it is.

Possibly TMI

There are few things that can remain sacred after 11 years of marriage, and 3 children. You know what I mean. Of course the marriage itself is sacred, but there is a loss of privacy boundaries that just naturally occurs. It's a comfort thing really. It's not a bad thing. Well, at least not all the time.

But sometimes things happen that should have remained private. Like as in remained private forever. And ever.

Yesterday, a new level of "comfort" took place. It certainly wasn't comfortable for me, but it was for Sugar Daddy, and I'm not sure I'm okay with that.

He went, you know, with the door open! Like as in OPEN! While I was a mere 3 feet away! There aren't enough exclamation points to express my utter disgust. But as he was mid, well, whatever, he said, and I quote, "At least this gives you something to blog about."

Yes. Yes it did. And um, thanks, I guess.

You know...

You know you're old when you can drive around all day without the radio on.

You know you're a cool mom when your reputation as a bitch precedes you.

You know you're white trash when you wish your cheek cavities were bigger to hold more sunflower seeds.

You know you have good kids when they make the right decision, and tell you how good they feel about it.

Ahh, being a bitchy old white trash mom does have it's benefits.

Artsy Fartsy

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Warm, at least for this part of the country, and dry, and thanks to Sugar Daddy and his genocide skills, relatively bee-free. That alone could be a post, but I'm more apt to show pictures today. It's been a while, and I've been reprimanded by Kelli who insists I show more pictures of Gretta. Your patience has been rewarded.

Is it just me, or did those first sentences sound all smart and stuff? Wow, 'nuff a dat. Moving on.

Kate had a great idea, and we decided to go ahead and do it right on my driveway. She bought the kids some blank canvases (canvii?) and brought out the paints. The kiddos went all crazy with the cheez whiz and whipped up some real masterpieces.


Maggie showing off her mad skills. She loved doing the dots, and just couldn't stop herself.


And here you go. If I had Photoshop, or the desire to even learn Photoshop, I would totally turn that can into a PBR. Or, more appropriately, Miller Lite. This is Miller country, or so I hear.


My little G. She is so dang sassy. You should see that girl strut her stuff. When she gets going, those arms go swinging, and that diaper shimmies side to side. It's hilarious. One of these days I'll catch it on video. Cause I know you're dying to see one more mom show off how adorable she thinks her kids are. But mine really are. Really.

Anyway, that's it for today. I know I was supposed to do Fun For Friday, and highlight a Noorda Notable, but since I missed a day posting, I thought I better do a make up day. Maybe I'll surprise you with a post tomorrow. I know! Can you imagine? Me, posting on a Saturday? Crazy talk! Since Sugar Daddy is working all day, I may just have to make time and put up a funny little Notable. Are they really that funny? They are to me. Maybe not to anyone besides my family, but at least it gives the rest of you insight into why I am the way I am.

Later!

White Girls

A few weeks ago, we attended the Latin Festival in Chicago's lovely downtown. I love the city. I would totally live in the city, waterfront of course, if I didn't think my kids would be the whitest girls around, or have the possibility of being one of 27 Public School students shot this year. Really, 27. So far. And school's been in, what, like 4 weeks? Damn guns.

But here are my chica's. They were loving the festival. They loved the music, the food, and the Manzanita Sol. In fact, Emma hounded us to buy some for a week afterward. She has good taste, what can I say.

After the festival and all the appreciation that comes from people watching, we headed over to the Shedd Aquarium. We have a season pass, so we thought we'd swing in for an hour or two before we headed back to the parking garage. As an aside, did you realize ( I did not) that it costs $25 a day (!) to park in the downtown area? Crazy! While watching the Kimodo Dragon to make it's move on the strategically placed prey, I had a little anxiety moment. Too.Many.Strollers.And.Kids.In.Baby.Bjorns! Really, they have that stupid petrified dinosaur looking thing in a room the size of my closet, and they expect us to enjoy that experience? I guess it's a good thing the aquarium is remodeling this winter. So needless to say, after that I needed a dose of serious medicine, so off to Baskin Robbins it was. Ah, serenity. Doesn't that word remind you of Fergie's "Big Girl's Don't Cry"? Me too.

So that's it for today. And yesterday, apparently. Man, I can't remember the last time I was too busy to sit and blog for a minute. I guess I should start taking advantage of the post-date posting option, huh? I'm hoping to get my camera battery charged up, and put up some wicked cute pics of a new little bizzeenass I have going with neighbor Kate. We are just so darn creative, it's scary.

I Haz Skillz

If you thought that my skills were limited to, say, crafting, blogging and word craft, you are sadly mistaken. It seems I have a new title under my belt. One that I'm not sure I should tout, but what the Heck, why not?

Thanks, Kate.

Dang, That's Early

5:00 AM

On a Saturday.

This better be good.

Did you see what time it started? You didn't?

8:00 AM

On a Saturday.

What place in line do you think we were?

Fun For Friday

Let's begin this weeks Notable with a little preface. More into family history, which I know you are super excited about.

My Dad has a little bit of a wild streak in him. And I use the word "streak" lightly, here. It's so funny to me that a prude like my mom was never corrupted by him. No, she wasn't. Nope. No way. But oh boy, between my dad and his streak, Stevie and her antics, and Fred egging them on, there was no hope! For many, many years I was told that certain things were off limits to kids. The Hot Tubs at Lava Hot Springs. The Lake Powell beaches after sunset. I'm sure there are more, but I just can't remember right now. Of course, now I understand why we had been told these places were off limits, they had the right idea keeping us away! But once in a while, every so often, my dad would shed his protective skin, and "show some hair", and we would see more than we wanted. Many times Stevie was right behind him at the shoreline, waiting for him to take off skiing into the distance, and at the exact right moment, down go the drawers. I don't think this ever caused him enough anguish to even bother pulling them back up for a few minutes. So thanks to Nikki, here is another Noorda Notable. Enjoy.


Notable: Who can forget the many FULL MOONS we were privileged to see on our many water skiing trips. Full moons do look best over the water you know. Do you remember or were you to young and not easily impressed? (If you need a memory jog ask the fam) I believe I witnessed my first full moon of this variety in the presence of your family. (Oh, and can't forget the presence of Stevie and FRED)

Can anyone say HIT IT!!

For Today

Today's post can be seen over at the Cancer Sucks blog. It's just so much easier to add a link than it is to copy and paste. So click on over, and enjoy.

Mamma, Mia

My mom, she was the bomb. I still hate saying "was", by the way. But she really was. I guess a couple of weeks ago, a family friend, Perry Montoya (doesn't that totally make you want to say "my name is Perry Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die"?) That was a lot of punctuation right there at the end, wasn't it? I hope it was correct. Anyway, he called and said for Bingham High School's 100th anniversary, they wanted to put up a display of my mom's old Minerette clothes. Minerettes are the drill team for those of you uninitiated in the BHS-speak. She was Minerette president her senior year. She was very proud of that.

So the display is up, in all it's glory, in the Alumni room. If you're in the vicinity, swing on by and take a looky look. Also, be sure and check out Troy's mullet in the class of '89 SBO picture. He's a total ladies man, right Larissa? I think Jill has a pretty good legacy there as a cheerleader and a songleader, although I'm still not positive as to what the difference was. I, on the other hand, left a legacy of, well, zilch. Not a fan of the high school days. I was a gymnast and a diver, but then I figured out that a cool car and big boobs made life much easier than being athletic. Totally missed the whole "prepare for your future now" lesson in Humanities. Oops. Then there's Meg, the traitor. The first of the Brown family legacy not to graduate from BHS. But she paved her own road, and for all the right reasons. She still does that same thing today when it comes to life, so good for her. We love her anyway. So there you have it. Just because I know you were dying to know my family and our High School legacies. You're welcome.

Sucker Practice

Emma gets to play sucker, I mean soccer, again this year. She loves it. She really does. Me, not so much. I have such a deep appreciation now for all those years my mom sat through gymnastics meets, and swim meets, and diving meets, and cheerleading camp, and softball games, and even church volleyball games. I remember thinking that she probably had nothing else to do, so I felt like I was doing her a favor by getting her out of the house. How wrong I was.

Games aren't so bad. I enjoy the "competition" of it all. If you can call a group of girls swarmed around the ball laughing until they get their chance to kick it once a competition.

But the practices. Oh, the practices. Wow. Where to begin? First of all, the field we practice at is at an elementary school almost 30 miles away from our house. At 6:00 PM. Which means with traffic it takes us almost an hour to get there. Once we get there, we have to park. Usually a spot is around, but then there's the walk to the actual field. I kid you not, it is another 10 minutes. And mind you I'm pushing a stroller, carrying a diaper bag and a purse, Maggie usually has some sort of toy or blanket, we have to bring coats now, and what else? Oh yeah, the bulk of this 10 minute walk is through the mud. Stroller+Mud=Bad, bad things.

So by the time we actually make it to practice, I have had it. But we still have an hour to kill. And I use "kill" lightly. Last night, I don't think Gretta stopped screaming. You all know it, the Pterodactyl squeal she does. It's so pleasant. I'm sure it doesn't bother the other parents one bit. So we started walking the track around the field. Maggie takes off running, and takes a full on header onto the pavement. Blood, screams, and fat lips later, both kids are crying. What can I do? I laugh it off as one of those moments that is so going on the blog. And here it is. I keep my word.

I do love that Emma loves soccer. She is very talented. And I know she is healthy and happy. I guess in the scheme of it all, that's what really matters. So I'll continue my trek to practice every Tuesday night, and I'll do it with a smile, because that's what my mom did, and that's how it should be done.

And just so you know what kind of day it's gonna be at my house, I found a booger (not my own) on my mouse this morning. Yep, a click and stick kind of thing. Nice.

Veggie Tales

Many of you may or may not know of my fear of veggies. One type in particular. I am very afraid of raw tomatoes. Raw tomatoes are the bane of my existence. Okay, I may be exaggerating a little here, but it's mostly for effect, so cut me some slack. But seriously, they frighten me. The smell, the texture, the feel, it all just makes me cringe, and gag a little.

Yesterday we (neighbor Kate and FFU* Noel) decided to take the entire bushel of tomatoes I bought and make Mom's salsa. I needed their help, mostly to deal with the raw tomatoes. But due to kid issues, running to and from school, naps, and pooping, I ended up having to deal with the tomatoes for a time. I came to one conclusion: they look like testicles. You may realize this is the second time in about a month that I've referenced testicles. Maybe I'm obsessed (Sugar Daddy wishes!) or maybe I just have a sick mind. Let's just say I'm not obsessed, so make your own assumptions.


So we went from these beauties

To these beauties in only 8 short hours. Granted, there are these couple of dozen, and the other few dozen Noel and Kate took. But how cute are these jars? I just fell in love with them as soon as I saw them. I drove an hour each way to get them, and they were worth every penny. They are made by Weck, and the clips just did it for me. I think Sugar Daddy was a little miffed at the cost, but what the hay, it was worth it.


And after all that work, we all felt like this. Poor G, she was just done. She literally fell asleep where she was playing. Poor little thing. She slept here on the kitchen floor for over an hour while I closed up all the jars. Honestly, it was kind of nice to not have her tugging at my pants and pulling them down. Apparently she was a little sleepy. Plus, she didn't feel good. Obviously.

So now it's chips and salsa all around. And fajitas. And tacos. And enchiladas. And anything else you can pour home made salsa over. Yummy.

*FFU- Friend From Utah. Noel and I knew of eachother in High School, but weren't close friends. She was a year older than I. At our first week in our new Ward here, she tracked me down, and ever since then we've been fast friends. The Lord definitely works in mysterious ways.

Tickle, Tickle

I love my back tickled. So, so much. So much, in fact, that I've been known to beg Sugar Daddy to tickle me through an entire movie. Luckily he likes to tickle my back. Okay, I know he doesn't like it, per se, but he does it, so whatever.

I blame Stevie for my love of tickling. When I was a kid, we used to go boating all the time. Sounds like fun, huh? Well, me being the anxiety ridden child that I was, I was scared to death of the boat. And the wind. And the clouds. And I could go on and on. But alas, Stevie was there to comfort me. She would let me ride in their boat, sit on her lap, and she would tickle my back while we cruised along the shores of Lake Powell. So obviously I've related this act to being safe and relaxed. Which makes perfect sense when paired with a spouse, right? Right. Enter Happy's Body Trip back "massager". Totally not a massager. More like the best tickling machine ever! Seriously, this thing is like 100 fingernails all at once! I was in heaven through all of Michael Clayton. And considering it was a good "thinker" of a movie, it was definitely worth it's weight in copper.


And of course, since they were positioned right together on the end cap, we had to endulge in the Head Trip, too. Very nice. Very niiiice.

Funky Funk

Here I sit, adorned in my super sexy sweats, and my "CANCER SUCKS" T-shirt.
I indulged today in a little retail therapy in an attempt to make myself feel better. I raided Sephora, and scored some seriously crazy mad samples. I made home made pizza, bought an entire bushel of tomatoes, a gazillion other items of produce and cute imported German canning jars, and still I feel the funk setting in.

I think most of it has to do with the fact that I'm currently watching Stand Up For Cancer on EVERY.SINGLE.CHANNEL.

S∆4C

And really, it kind of pisses me off.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about having a cause. Hell, I still wear my CS T-shirt to the bus stop every morning. I even wore a yellow wristband for a while. But when suddenly you realize the empowerment is all for naught, it seems so, well, naught. Donate your money, people. Please do. But then don't come crying to me when your mom dies anyway.

Okay, I didn't mean that last part. You can still cry. But doesn't it seem so shallow? Do any of those "celebrities" even know what a real battle is? Have they had their liver shut down? Have they turned ugly shades of yellow? Have they been so weak they can't even lift their heads? I doubt it. So don't give me this literal song and dance and ask for help when not one of them gave a crap about us when our mom was dying.

I'm done.