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

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.

Indecent Proposal

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

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. 

I Can Do That

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

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?

The Second Time Around

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........

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.

What if.........

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.