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. 

Dumb Things That Make A Girl Happy

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

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

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

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?

Airing My Dirty Laundry.....

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.