29 March 2006

Scary Barbie

For some reason this one never quite caught on....

22 March 2006


My kids climbed into the van a couple of months ago after school. The boys were chatting on about a party and from the excitement, they could easily be peeled from the ceiling of the van. I get an invitation thrust into my full view, "LOOK!"

"YOU ARE INVITED!", I read the oversized letters on the front and opened the note, "YOU ARE INVITED TO A PARTY FOR...blah blah blah. Saturday." Oh, good. It's a ways off. "...blah blah. RSVP. blah blah. Chuck E. Cheese."

I froze. My worst fear realized. A party at Chuck E. Cheese aka the Elvis impersonating rodent from Gehenna. The very place that strikes fear in every migraine prone parent. Who wouldn't want to shell out $5 to $8 to a kid my son barely knows, to then eat a $55 slice of dough marketed as pizza while enduring noise so loud it makes you sterile? That would be me and don't even get me going on the germs lurking there.

R.S.V.P stands for "RUN, STUPID! Viral Pizza place!"

They should just label the machines in bold letters: "FIND THE LOST STREP VIRUS" and next to it would be "DODGE THE FLU" and another labeled with flashing neon lights: "CRAZY FOR PINK EYE". I endure this for my kids and to support Bath and BodyWorks Anti-Bacterial Line of lotions. I just hope my kids realize how much I do for them when they graduate from college, open their own surgery center and buy me a house with a brand new Mini Cooper. I have a Mini picked out in Cool Blue just waiting for the word.

My kids wanted to go to this party and the R.S.V.P. is in bold just looking at me. I had to do it immediately or I would lose my nerve. Actually, I typically R.S.V.P. right off the bat but why they put R.S.V.P. on invitations anymore, I have no clue. No one R.S.V.Ps anymore. Is it a lost art? Do people not entertain enough to know people DEPEND on how many are going to show up? Am I the only one that does this besides the Fly Lady? Please tell me someone else sees this as valuable.

Long story short, I survived the party because we couldn't go. It was the first weekend I found a bright side to the boys coming down with a cold.

20 March 2006


traditional Gaelic drink toast
pronounced SLAWN-CHAH
meaning "to your health" or "cheers"

I had a super St. Patrick's Day. I decided to go with a traditional Irish dinner and made some corned beef. That had to be some of the most disgusting looking pot of boiling stuff this side of toe jam. It had grayish-brown bubbles on top and murky water that it cooked in. Click on the picture to enlarge it. Hungry yet? It turned out well though.

We had it with
sauerkraut, pratties (potatoes) and homemade soda bread. Topped off with a couple sips of Guinness which is indeed a meal in itself. (Motor Oil anyone?). I couldn't finish it. Hubby doesn't drink beer either so my neighbor became the happy recipient of the rest of the bottle.

My kids wanted to try a sip of my measly ¼ glass of beer. Me, being the control freak I am would rather have my kids try a sip of their first beer and hate it. They would then stay away from it. Right? They wouldn't want to sneek it at 15 when they are at a friends house and drink by peer-beer pressure. (okay, let's leave my childhood out of it) We never have beer at our house, unless I buy a rare can to condition my hair or to make beer bread. So, I thought I'd do something smart. The Super Parent outsmarts her kids once again!

My 9yr old and 7 year old tried it. "BLECH!!!!!!!!" I get the same response from hubby. My adventurous 6 year old takes a sip, "THAT'S GOOD!".

Darn his tastebuds! I somehow saw this going a different direction than it went. He was supposed to dislike it! Be disgusted by it. Despise it. Hate it and never try it again until he was a full grown adult. Kids can be so grown up when you least expect it. Needless to say, no more beer for the little hops and barley lover.

We also watched Ronin which has a couple of fantastic accents, along with some fantastic actors. If you haven't seen it, rent it. It's one of my favorites. Hubby and I talk to each other in an Irish brogue on occasion and especially after watching Ronin or The Quiet Man with John Wayne. Accents make me giddy. I wanted to be Maureen O'Hara when I was little. I even took a test to see how Irish I was.

You're 80% Irish

Congratulations, you're a shining example of an Irish lass (or lad).
There's hardly anyone more Irish than you!

How Irish Are You?

16 March 2006

honesty is golden

It is so easy to be brave when you are behind a telephone, an email, a private blog, a mumbled word. The real hero is the one that can throw down their narcissistic and egocentric person, look me square in the face and tell me how they really feel. It's sad when someone is that afraid of truth.

Truth is more important than keeping the peace. Its amazing that a supposed grown person can't tell me the truth due to their inability to face or digest reality. They instead use people and discard them when deemed no longer of use. Has this happened to you?

Maybe this is why I married the man I did. He will always tell me what he thinks. I love that. Straight up, no beating around the bush or running to escape reality. Honesty is a beautiful thing.

So, who needs enemies with a family member like this (not speaking of hubby, of course) ?

13 March 2006

cooking in style

I must not have had enough coffee because I saved this as a draft. I'm a dork. (don't even agree with me...)

After requests for shoe pictures, how do you like these stacked boots?

They are so weird they are cool. Kinda like those drink hats with two straws that come around your ears and into your mouth. Weird, yet cool. Like a Van Halen T-shirt. Not hugely weird but cool. Like Michael Jackson. Okay, he is just weird.

My FIL, who is the best by the way, did not like these shoes. "Don't they kinda look like shoes a street walker would wear?" You have to know my FIL to see how funny it was for him to say that.

They are 'those kind of shoes' but only if I wore them with my spandex mini-skirt and fishnet top but the PTA would just complain and complain. (Like OMGOSH! WHAT-EVVER!?) Sunday School would rightly run me out of the building. Maybe not. But they do look good peeking out from the bottom of boot-cut jeans and they make me 6ft 2in. Tall is always good. I can even reach the corn starch without a kitchen stool. It's so important to look stylish and be consumed with vanity when you cook. I bet even Nigella Lawson has a pair of these bad boys.

11 March 2006

come and see

My best-est friend in the whole world started a blog. I have been begging for her to start one and yeah!!! She has, so go and see her.

We have been friends since garble-farble-warble years. She is honest, funny, a one-time Nanny, loves her kids and hubby, devours books as I do and talks too loud at the movies. She keeps me sane!


10 March 2006

to the batmobile!

I can't believe I have gotten so much done.

I said I'd be "gone for a cousins wedding". It's true. I took a leave from blogging because DW was at the wedding. AH-HA! You thought I left but no. I'm not mortgaging my house to fly all six of us to AZ. Besides, I needed to get my poop in a group here at the house. Have I ever mentioned how much respect I have for single moms or dads? You have no idea.

There is no school today for parent/teacher conferences and the kids are absolutely stir-crazy. I have kept myself busy spring cleaning ie, vaccuming the cobweb-city ceiling, turning and vaccuming mattresses, washing window sills, and scrubbing walls all around. I believe the walls had enough dirt to build a sod house...a big one, with a garage...a double garage.

My last couple posts have been on the pensive side so I have to post this tidbit of observation to balance things out.

DW does all the driving when we are out. I don't know why, I guess it's the old-fashioned upbringings he and I have. Yes, he still opens my car door. I even make him dinner and get the paper for him to read first. Three years ago, I did however, finally say no to being barefoot and pregnant. Can you blame me? After four kids I just wanted to wear shoes.

As it goes, last week we were flying down the highway, music going, kids in the back making more noise than a Navy flight deck, DW is driving and I'm going on, filling his mind with my usual banter. Traffic starts to slow once we get into P-town and we end up poking along at 35mph. You get a good view of drivers around you.

This is what kills me....

Pray tell, what convinces people to believe, in broad daylight nonetheless, their car can somehow afford them the security and invisibility to scratch their brain through their nose!

This guy next to us was driving down the road and attempting to touch his cranium from the inside. Practically striking oil. It's not like he's driving around in tinted-batmobile windows with picker's anonymity. (Uncle Joe excluded, of course) Does Picker Bob think he is completely invisible?? I laugh and gross out all at once, 'cause that's the kind of juvenile humor that I love. That gets hubby and I in a fit of laughing and discussing pickers. Boogers gross me out to the point of gagging, much to Wayne's amusement. Picker Bob, on the other hand, cracks me up.

So I figure there are at least 9 to 10 kinds of Picker Bob's in this world.

  • The Rub and Sniff:
Those who take the back side of their hand and vigorously rub the nose while sniffing in. What does this accomplish?

  • The Pinch, Roll and Fling also known as PRF:
PRF's pinch just the end of the nose at the nostril and discard with hand down at side. Yeah, that's not obvious or disgusting.

  • The Miner:
Up to your pinky while scratching your cranium. You should just move to Iraq's oil fields. You'd be a big hit.

  • The Invisible Miner:
This much like The Miner but accomplished while operating a motor vehicle.

  • The Blowers and The Wipers:

  • The Redneck Blow:
I have only seen this done in rural Colorado. Predominately used by men. I don't think I will explain it but it is done only with maximum nasal PSI.

  • The Peak:
Those who roll up their tissue to a spear like point and proceed to pick. Widely used by women because that is just SOO much more dainty and ladylike.

  • Kleenex-tra:
"We put the Kleen in Kleenex"
Two boxes of tissue later, you have the job done. Predominately used by children, allergy sufferers and victims of the last flu. (This would be me)

My final advice? Cars do not make you invisible so Kleenex should never be optional.

09 March 2006

nickname shame

I once embarrassed my parents believe it or not. It's hard to comprehend that a small child could cause such a stir in a local retail store. At the time, I was no more than 5 or 6 years old and a troublemaker at best. My curiosities usually got the best of me in my search for 'Why?". I asked many questions and did my best to wrap my brain around anything that came my way.

On this particular occasion, I found myself separated from my parents at the grocery. Upon being found by a store employee, I was quickly whisked away to the service desk and was asked my name, so as to locate my parents. I had heard my name so many times, that of course, my reply was honest yet, so telling as to my character and curious nature.

The employee attempting to sequester a giggle then stated loudly over the store-wide intercom,

"Will the parents of Emma Monster please come to the front service desk. To the parents of Emma Monster please come to the service desk."

Do you catch yourself calling your children negative names, even in jest? Monsters, Turkey, Tornado, CrabbyPants? I really have to watch myself. It's easy to do but isn't our jobs as parents to reinforce positives and eliminate negatives? Try names like Sunshine, Happy Pants, Superman or Brainiac. It's amazing what difference it can make in your child.

As the story goes, my parents came to claim me amidst the giggles about the store. They were rather mortified that I really believe that to be my name. I was then, no longer Emma Anne Monster. It's such a good lesson. It reminds me In the movie Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts' character talks about how she ended up where she was at in life:

"People put you down, you start to believe it...the bad stuff is just easier to believe.."

I encourage you to give your children positive reinforcement. They might even believe it.

PS. I couldn't wait until Sunday to post this..... see you then!!!

06 March 2006

when it grinds, it pours

Never apologize for how you feel, unless you are talking to God.
Do apologize for your actions based on your feelings, especially if you've hurt someone.


On a less serious note, why is it when you order a latte at $3.25 a pop they give you ¼ cup of freaking foam. I'm not paying $3.25 for coffee-flavored air and a chocolate-covered offee bean with two cutsie stir straws. The coffee baristas typically get it right but today the owner was in. Go figure. I visit a local booth down just a mile from my house. (hurrah for the local guy!!)

I know. I know. $3.25 for coffee??? It comes with a pave' diamond straw, right? I have 2, 4, 5, 20lbs of beans in my cupboard and nearly every weekday I run down there after the kiddies are dropped off at school and I get my coffee. Why? The perk of not having to get out of my car for my addictions is one of those mastercard things. Priceless. Deal my coffee from the curb, baby. Even more ironic, Hubby bought me a ginormous bag of Costco beans and my MIL gave me some flavored caffeinated beans and I bought some all in about 3 days time. When it grinds, it pours. That's what I always say.

I'm typically an economist (read: tightwad). I ration out squares of TP. I wash my clothes on cold and I get farmer's market veggies. Farmer's market veggies also rock my socks. So, I get $12 haircuts just so I can indulge on coffee. That and expensive shoes. I have a theory, well made shoes are expensive, so why not support the economy and not the health care industry which appears to be thriving without my swollen abused feet with the second toe bigger than the big toe. I know. Im a freak.

My advice: Skip the podiatrist and enjoy your new killer shoes while you drink your $3.25 cup of coffee.

Disclaimer: If by chance you are a podiatrist, aka. foot Doctor, please note that I am in no way attempting to smoother your quality of life and your million dollar a year practice. My point is, It's my feet and I can buy if I want to. Buy if I want to. Buy if I want to. You would buy too, if good shoes happened to you. du-du-duh-da-dah!

03 March 2006

a blog you must see

Flexing my blogger power here....

I want you all to check out my blogger friend Cassandra.

I am always blessed by her blog which chronicles her daily walk with God.

She is a wife and mother of 5. Any mother of 5 children has some good wisdom to share!

Her tenderness toward God is so poignant. A real blessing to read, which I do and often.

She really should have more people coming by her blog.

Go see her! You will be blessed.

Animal Crackers and Cocoa

Barbie girl in a Barbie world

I bit the dust and now have a new toy. Ten reasons I love my new Motorolla RAZR cell phone:

  • It's a girlie phone and my other one got broken.
  • I gives me cool ringtones, like Mary Mary, the Cure, Coldplay and the Ramones but not played at the same time.
  • I can check my email and see who commented on my blog.
  • I can take pictures.
  • and send the naughty ones to hubby while he is at work. (get your mind out of the gutter so mine can float by..naughty within reason)
  • I always think of the group Aqua and their song, "Barbie Girl" when I use it. Come on Barbie, Let's Go Party!
  • I have cool phone wallpaper of pink Japanese Orchids.
  • I can play a game while sitting in the carpool lane waiting for the kids to get out of school.
  • It gives me a picture of the person calling if I took one.
  • I feel like Paris Hilton except, I'm a chestnut brown. And not slutty. Well, and I am not so skinny I need like, 20 cheeseburgers stuffed down my gullet to look normal. Oh, wait, and I despise yipper dogs and..well, okay dumb analogy.
Did I mention I love my phone?

01 March 2006

coffee nips

As a teenager I had a hankering for candy. Not any candy, mind you. Coffee candy Nips to be exact. Golden, little, sticky globs of goodness that stuck in your teeth and gave you a sugar rush. I ate so many of these growing up. I believe even my body composition in High School was 92% Coffee Nips, 3% McDonald's with the remaining percentage in sugar, spice and everything nice with a dash of chocolate and coffee. I still don't know how I modeled swimsuits during this time in my life. Dern that metabolism. I sure miss it.

Nips are the most perfect, mouth-watering, substance on earth. So euphoric in fact, that there was never a time that I wouldn't walk the 15 minutes down to the store with my sister, Globegirl to replentish my stockpile. Stockpiles are good because you never know when you will have a craving for something yummy. (right Heth?)

One day, Globegirl and I walked on down to the store, wide-eyed with drooling anticipation over our upcoming sucrose-induced coma. Now the store wasn't our usual 7-11 but when you are looking for candy, any store will do. This was a little corner store, with the usual fare of convenience goodies, coffee, gum, 4 year old green bean cans at $4 a can. You get it. It was clean, well stocked and run by a very kind, older Japanese couple. They spoke broken English but enough to communicate with their customers. She usually ran the cash register while he was perpetually in the back room.

"Do you have any coffee Nips?", Globegirl asked the woman behind the counter as she greeted us with a smile.

The woman's smile quickly disappeared and look back at us blankly. She just stood there and said nothing. No-thing.

"Um Excuse me? " she repeated, "Do you have any coffee Nips?" The woman at this point is motionless and has this look on her face like GO AWAY! but still she says nothing.

Now Globegirl and I look at each other and I take over, hoping she can understand our need for candy. I'm still a teenager at this time and of course, believed that by her lack of response, it means to speak LOUDER and SLOWER in hopes that she understand.

in·san·i·ty - noun
Definition: To do the same action over and over again hoping for a different outcome at each attempt.******

"MA'AM? DO YOU HAVE ANY COFFEE NIPS??" I try asking, enunciating every syllable in a louder voice than my sister had used.

I have learned since that when you don't understand another language it does not help to speak louder and slower. Not understanding a language does not classify you as an ignoramus or shall we say 'IQ Challenged'. By this time her husband has come from the back room and the couple are look at each other speaking in Japanese and in low tones at that. The man looks up at us quickly and glares.

"Geez, What is their problem?" I think to myself.

"No," He replies quickly as he motioned me away with the flip of his hand.

"Okay. Thanks," was all I could say, taken back by his odd reply. Globegirl and I paid for our sodas in ignorant bliss and made our way out quickly. We had no clue what had made them act so weird. Not until years later.

********"Nips" - Proper Noun
Definition:Delectible candy often desired by teens that have no clue they have been misunderstood and were erroneously believed to have insulted a Japanese couple by calling them an ethnically derogitory term widely used during WWII. Socially unacceptable in this day and age (and rightly so).*********

If I had been, say 40 years older, I might have understood the cultural faux paus we had committed. The sweet, little Japanese couple didn't quite catch what we were saying because what they thought they heard was, "Do you have any coffee, Nip?"

A comma can make all the difference.