Showing posts with label mistakes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mistakes. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Pinterest

     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.

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Cruella de Vil

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.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Shakes, Jakes and Pancakes

  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.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

A Letter To Someone That Has Injured Me Recently

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

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Dirty, Messy.......Life

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.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

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. 

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Kirby Disturbia

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.