Rodeo

This last weekend we attended a fair and rodeo in the town where I grew up. Two words: Rural. Idaho.
We looked at the 4-H animals, ate some food, and watched the rodeo.  Caroline (3) had a hard time watching the rodeo, so Dan ended up taking her to ride the Ferris wheel at the carnival. That ride cost $8. Really. I'm in the process of buying my own Ferris wheel 'cause we are in the wrong business. Except Dan would have to shrink about a foot in height, smoke a cigar, and call everyone, "shweetheart." And never bathe. Hmm. Let me rethink that one.

The Rodeo was good. Except for the crowded conditions. And the lack of back rests. And the screaming, restless children I call mine. But Pierce (6) got to see real, live cowboys. At the fair, Charlotte (2) got to see pigs in an up-in-your-face kinda way, which did not go over well. She started shaking and yelling.  But I saved her. Hey, when you're only a couple of feet tall, and so is the pig, well.... this stuff happens. And it did. The place reeked, so we didn't dwell for too long. We chalked the whole thing up to experience.  As in, "this is where your bacon comes from," experience. Shocking to kids, but your meat once grunted. And moo-ed, and baa-ed, and clucked. See, experience. I now have a houseful of vegetarians.

This trip is an annual one for us. We make the 3 1/2 hour drive just to see guys bounce on the back of horses and bulls. Somehow we find that entertaining.

And we look forward to it every year. 

Shady Characters

It seems that lately I have garnered some fans from China, or thereabouts. While I appreciate the comments, I do not speak any of the languages originating in Asia. While you, my fans, may read English, I do not read characters. I delete these comments. If you are offended, please understand why. I don't have a clue what you are saying, and that creeps me out.
My next goal is to generate more comments in English than Chinese.

Wish me luck. 

Road to Independence, One Fruit Snack at a Time

I'm attempting to raise independent kids. Kinda tough when they are 6, 3, and 21 months. But you gotta start somewhere, right?

I start with fruit snacks (I know, MAJOR misnomer, but they're still yummy). They come to me wanting me to open their package, a package containing flavored, gummy sugar, a package that begs to be ripped open and devoured in 30 seconds. Or less.

I charge an opening fee. If I open it, I get to take a little of whatever is in that package. They hate it. If they are struggling with opening a package, they'll say, "Will you open this? BUT DON'T TAKE ONE!!!". But I do anyway. I have to. Otherwise, they will feel comfortable coming to me when they're 16, asking me to open their potato chips. Or Snickers. Or whatever it is that teenagers eat.

It's all for their own good. And the good of my sweet teeth, because I know I have more than one tooth that likes sugar.

So, my little sweeties (it's ok, you can roll your eyes here), you can thank me when you're in college and you are able to open Doritos all by yourselves. And with a tear rolling down your cheek, you'll think, "I have my mom to thank for this moment." Sniff, sniff.

I will be accepting my Mother of the Year award anytime now; I can feel it.

Hiatus

I'm unemployed.

My mom called me up a couple of weeks ago to see if she could make the 3 1/2 hour drive to pick up my kids and take them to her house. Um, ok! So, I guess technically I'm not unemployed, but on an involuntary vacation.

Life is good.

I took a really long shower today. I shaved my legs. I enjoyed the absence of banging and screaming.  I didn't have to worry if my kids had escaped and were wandering the streets half dressed. There has been no fighting over the bean bag, no head whopping, and no "I hate you, Mom!".  No Wonder Pets!, Dora, or Batman on TV. No one begging for food, telling you "you will kill us if you don't feed us." No time-outs, consequences, or awards. No hugs or kisses. No sweet little lips lined with peanut butter and jelly being wiped on my pants. No one saying, "Look at me, Mom!".  No singing time. No playing. No reading. No giggles. No smiles.

It's kinda quiet around here.

Then again, it's kinda quiet around here.

Come what may and love it, right?

Come what may and love it!

Redneck Party Wrecker

We bought a TV antenna, 'cuz we be white trash like dat, so we could pick up the free, basic channels in HD. My mouth hit the floor when I read this:

"WARNING: Do not attempt to install if drunk, pregnant, or both.  Do not throw antenna at spouse."

Dang. There go my weekend plans.

I'm Gonna Eat Until I Die!

The world's fattest mother has a higher aspiration than just being a large momma.  Normally I would say that aspirations are good. Admirable. Applaudable. But her recent aspiration makes me squeamish. What is it? Drum roll, please. Rrrrrrrrrrrr........she wants to be...rrrrrrrrrrrr......the world's fattest woman. She wants to weigh 1,000 pounds (are your eyes popping out of your head yet? Just weight. I mean, wait). Shes does have a concern, though.  Now that she has a child, keeping up with that kid will keep mommy's weight down. Down to 600 pounds. Six HUNDRED. If that isn't crazy enough, her partner supports her in her endeavor. "He's a real belly man...". Really? The this-belly-will-smother-you-and-suck-the-life-from-your-lungs type of belly man? Um, Ok.  

The biggest glutton prize goes to you, ma'am. Hands down. Or belly down?

Wicked What?!

Pierce (5 1/2), being upset at me, exclaimed, "If you don't do what I say, I'm going to call you a wicked monkey for the rest of my life!"

Ooh-ooh ee ah! That's monkey for, "I'm wicked."