Silence Is Not Always Golden...

I should have known better. I should have been able to see the signs. Events of the past should really have warned me about such an instance... but I did not listen to my maternal instincts. I simply enjoyed the silence.

Silence. That should have been my first clue. This morning when I was doing school with Hope and Aaron and Mary was in a nap, there was a suspicious silence coming from the seat in which Emma usually is in. She is usually in her seat asking questions like "Momma? What is 7, 8, 9, 10?" or "Momma? Can I have a snack? Can I have a drink? Can I have a million dollars?"

No, this morning Emma decided to play in the playroom with her doll house. This was a welcomed break for me as Hope, Aaron and I were elbow deep in math and it was nice to be able to actually explain a problem without having to stop 10 times in order to wipe a 4 year old butt, or explain that Penguin does in fact start with a "P" and not an "R."

This is where I should have said "Hold on a cotton pickin' minute! Why is the 4 year old quiet?"

When Hope was 4 she was quiet once. When I went to check on her she had pulled half of a wall of newly hung wallpaper off of her bedroom wall. We were in the process of selling our house and she had single handedly caused my brain to explode at the sight of little pieces of wallpaper all over her carpet and a bare wall were once stood little bears having tea.

When Aaron was 4 he was quiet once. When I went to check on him he had somehow managed to get the maple syrup out of the pantry and make a race track all over the white carpet in our living room. That is the day that I learned that maple syrup cannot come out of white carpet... no matter how much you pay the professional carpet cleaning service. We were in the process of moving and were living on base when this happened. This was the day that Aaron became a person of interest with the military police. I ended up on that list as well.

When it finally dawned on me that I should check on Emma, who was being so sinisterly silent, it was too late. I opened the door to the playroom to find a hole in the wall. It was as if she were in Alcatraz and she was slowly making a hole in her cell for escape. Emma had taken her little scissors-the kind that are not supposed to be harmful-and managed to burrow through the wall between the playroom and the bathroom. It is a little peep-hole. If you look though you can see the person who is sitting on the toilet.

As is family tradition, this event happened when we are in the process of selling our home. Now we have a hole in the playroom. I am trying to figure out a way that I can put a positive spin on this for our house brochure. Something like "Newly installed peep-hole in the playroom so that you can always keep an eye on your children in the bathroom. Always know if your kids have actually brushed their teeth or not!"

Lord help me...


Hi, My Name Is June...

I can always tell when it is the end of the month because my jeans all fit a little bit better. They fit better because we have no food in the house and I have been surviving on tuna and flax seed.

I ran out of my caffeine-free diet Pepsi yesterday. Today I am going through withdrawals. You may be saying to yourself, "But you are only drinking caffeine-free diet Pepsi! You may as well be drinking brown water." This is true, but I need that brown water or I will shrivel up and die I tell you. I don't think I even have enough energy to get in my car and drive the 1.2 miles it is the the store to buy more. That would entail me putting on shoes and I really did not want to put on shoes today. Man do I miss flip-flops.

I could drink water, but water is gross. I have never been a fan of water... why start being healthy this late in life?

I could drink milk but milk makes me gag.... unless of course I am eating a bag of Oreo's. Then I love milk, but like I said, we only have tuna and flax seed in the house and if you have ever tried to dip tuna in a glass of milk you would have discovered that it is in no way as exciting or as satisfying as an Oreo.

So now I am starving and going through withdrawal. I should just check myself into Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew. Has anyone seen this show? It is on my favorite channel VH-1. Did you know that VH-1 used to play music video's? Weird.

I don't know what to make for dinner. I did find some egg beaters and sprouts in the fridge. Oh, and chocolate syrup, but the kids had most of the chocolate syrup for lunch so there is probably not enough for dinner.

We have bird seed as well. If we had any peanut butter left I would take all of the empty toilet paper rolls we have-seeing as we are out of toilet paper-and smear them with peanut butter and roll them in bird seed. That would be a good dinner.

I suppose I need to go to the store, but then I would have to put on a coat. I can't stand having to put on a coat. What really are the point of coats? I am still cold if I have a coat on or not.

I am feeling weak. I must get some Pepsi in me. All is starting to fade to black...





I Have No Proof, But No, You Were Not Adopted...

I woke up this morning in a cold sweat and was unable to get back to sleep. I realized that I am a really bad mom. My children do not have photo albums displaying their milestones. I am a failure.

How did I let this happen? I take pictures of my kids. I have 3 cameras for Pete's sake. I even have 2 photo printers! But I do not have any of these photos in albums with cute paper and witty captions attached to any of them.

My children will all grow up and say "Mom? Why do you not have any scrapbooks of me growing up?" and all I will be able to say it "Sorry... I am pitiful."

When Hope came along I gave it a good try and she actually has 2 baby books and 3 photo albums, but we have nothing after the age of 3 for her. Aaron was born when she was three and I have 1 baby book for him and 1 album. You can see how my success was failing. When Emma was born, I finally filled out her baby book when she was 2 and she has a very small photo album that consists of photos from the day she was born... that is all. Poor Mary. I have a baby book for her, but I have not put anything in it since I scribbled in the date that she was born. She has no photo albums. All of her pictures are either still on a digital camera or on this here computer.

I do have shoe boxes and shoe boxes full of photos. This drives my sister-in-law crazy. She is a scrap booking expert. She even has an entire room in her house devoted to her scrap booking... and when I say that I mean that it is not only called the "scrapbook room" but she bought special organizing furniture for this room from IKEA that makes it look so-what is the word I am looking for?-ORGANIZED!

My children will have to look through Rubbermaid tubs full of old Nike shoe boxes in order to look at the memories of their lives. Not only that, but I will die and my children will say "Do you remember what mom looked like?" because there is not one stinking picture of me around this place.

I have to place part of my photo album ineptness on my mother. The woman who I asked if she had developed the photos she took at my wedding and she looked at me with a blank stare and said "I didn't take pictures at your wedding." and I said "Yes you did mom! I have a picture from someone else and you are in the background taking a picture!" My mother's reply: "Oh, I better go look for that film."

I also do not have a baby book. My brother and older sister both have baby books, and my little sister has a baby book... but I do not have one. My parents must have been too busy-whatever, that is fine. I am not bitter. Sheesh.

The worst part of this "I have to start photo albums for my children so they know that they did indeed have a good childhood!" mission is that I can't start organizing now because we are going to move in a few months and whatever I start will just get lost in the shuffle. I have to make a long-term plan for this dilemma. Is it too early to make a 2009 New Year's Resolution?

If there is anyone out there that wants to start a business where they scrapbook other people's pictures and memories, well let me know! I will pay a hefty price to get these memories put together for my children so that one day when I am old and fragile I can look through them with my grandchildren and show them how much their parents were loved. That is all I want~


Mrs. Peacock, In the Study, With The Wrench...

Last night we played the board game Clue. This is one of my all time favorite games... that and quarters. Anyway, the kids love to play games and every once in a while when the planets are aligned just right and their Dad is home early and their Mom (me) is not threatening to sell them on eBay, we can actually get along as a family.

The game was Carl's idea. Well, actually it was mine, but I suggested it 5 nights ago and it never panned out and Emma has been begging to play ever since and she finally broke us. I even bought an entire bag of Oreo's to go with our game night. This stressed Carl out a bit. He didn't understand why I thought we needed to eat an ENTIRE bag of cookies and actually DUNK them in our milk WHILE we played our game. Honestly folks... I seriously have my doubts about him ever being a child.

In the end Carl lost. He was trying so hard to win because my husband is competitive at everything he does. He blamed his loss on Hope. He said she cheated.

Hope (being her mother's daughter) said "Oh Dad, I don't cheat at board games, I only cheat at life." Sarcasm has never been something my husband understands and this comment distressed him severely.

He turned to me and said "They didn't learn that from me."

Now, I have to ask you... did that just sound like he was blaming ME for my children's cheating abilities? I think so.

In my defense, I believe that you are supposed to cheat at board games. Every kid in the history of the world has cheated at board games... every kid except for my husband of course who is noble and true and who apparently never played board games when he was a kid because his mother thought they were the work of the devil and believed that her children would eventually buy a Ouija board with their paper route money and find out that a ghost named Harvey (who was also a rabbit) was haunting their basement and Jimmy Stewart was their biological father. I mean... c'mon!

When I was a kid I played board games just about every day of my life. I played them with my best friend Sunny who I know cheated because she always won and so in return I HAD to cheat in order to win now and then also. I cheated against my older sister because, well she was older and already knew how to cheat and win. I cheated against my dad because he wasn't paying attention anyway and I definitely cheated against my little sister because there was NO WAY I was going to be beaten by my punk sister. I don't think I ever cheated with my mom or with my Grandma Pat, but they played games like Old Maid and Dirty Old Lady with me and I liked the names of those games so much that I refused to cheat out of respect.

Cheating is half the fun of a board game. If you didn't cheat in the game of Life, you wouldn't be living in the mansion with a bank account full of money and have neat little pink and blue pegs in your car representing your well-behaved children. If you played by the rules you would have something called "real life" and what fun is that?


For One More Day...

I am reading the book For One More Day by Mitch Albom. I am really enjoying it and it makes me think a lot about my relationship with my own mom and my relationship with my children.

What an amazing concept isn't it? To have one more day with someone we love? I would chose my brother, or my Grandpa Mac or maybe my Grandma Pat. It is a perfect thought.

Anyway, in this book "Chick" keeps recollecting memories from his childhood. Memories of when his mother stood up for him, and memories of when he neglected to stand up for his mother. We all have those memories, and in adulthood we even feel the pains of guilt that come with them.

I remember once when I didn't stand up for my mom.

I played softball throughout my childhood and I loved it. One year I had a hot shot for a coach named Brenda. Brenda was young and cool and she could play some ball. I probably put Brenda up on a very high pedestal... I have no doubt I did. At the end of the season, the moms organized a mother/daughter softball game. I remember laughing at the notion that my mother-the woman who didn't even own a pair of tennis shoes-was going to play ME in softball. Impossible.

Brenda decided to be on our team-the softball players, and not the mom team-the women who had come to every single game and cheered us on and yelled things like "Whadda ya Blind?" at the umpires. Thinking back now, she really should have helped out the parents... but what did she know? She was young and a hot shot. I will never forget what happened when Brenda went up to bat. She knocked the ball wayyyyy far out into the outfield... and who do you think was playing left field and had to run and run and run after that ball with her little white Keds and her polyester pedal pushers? My mother. I can still see her running after the ball and then trying with all of her might to throw it in... it didn't get too far. Brenda scored with a home run off of my mother's inept softball abilities and we won.

I laughed at my mom that day. While I was laughing something inside of me was worried about her. Worried she may hurt herself with all of that running or throw out her back with her attempt at a throw to second base. But I laughed.

I hate that I laughed. My mom came to every single softball game I ever played in from the age of 9 all the way through high school... I think she even made a few in college. She brought jugs full of water and extra coins for the ice cream man. She was there when I wanted her, but even better, she was there when I didn't want her.

I hate that I didn't stand up for my mom. If I ever run into that Brenda (who I am sure is working at the town bowling alley and smokes 3 packs of Virginia Slims a day) I would tell her that she should have played on the mom team.

I should have cheered for my mom... I gotta go, I have an important phone call to make.


The Difference Between Girls and Boys...

On our way to preschool after just eating a big lunch-

Emma: "My tummy hurts."

Me: "You just have to let a big fart out..."


Me: "Well you better hurry up and do it in the car..."

Emma: "MOM!"

Sitting in the car with Aaron at a stop light-

Aaron: "What is that smell?!"

Me: "What smell?"

Aaron: "It smells like sweaty socks and poop."

Me: "I don't smell anything on me."

Aaron: "Oh, it is my pants..."

Me: "Gross"

Aaron: "I must have knelt in something yesterday when I was playing."

Me: "Take them off as soon as we get home!"

Three hours later...

Me: "Aaron! You still have those poo pants on!"

Aaron: "It doesn't smell that bad anymore."

If I hadn't been there... I would never guess they were related.


While The Cat Is Away... It Will Definately Snow.

It never fails...

Ask anyone who knows my husband and I and they will tell you...

Every time it snows...

And shoveling needs to be done...

My husband is out of town...

One would have to start thinking that he had an "in" with mother nature...

He's a slick one he is...


While The Cat Is Away...

My husband left this morning for two days. He will be back Friday afternoon. I always have mixed feelings about his leaving... on one hand I am sad that he is away because I don't have anyone to talk to or to cuddle up with at night when I am cold, and on the other hand I am thrilled to be left alone to do as I see fit for a short time. Praise God Above!

The day started out as usual. All of us sitting around the school table bickering about math and spelling, when I decided that we all needed a day off... play a little hookie. Actually, it was ME that needed a day off-to play hookie from my regularly scheduled life.

I headed back upstairs and actually put make-up on and did my hair. I pulled on my new jeans and one of my favorite "I like it so much that I only wear it on special occasions" sweaters and laced up my new pair of shoes. I took a gander at myself in the mirror and actually smiled at how "put together" I looked.

I loaded the kids up in the van and scooted over to blockbuster where I purchased 3 silly movies for them and one very girlie "no man in their right mind would sit through" type of movies for me. Then we blasted over to McDonald's. Now, I have not had any fast food in over 3 weeks. This is very hard for me because I am and forever will be a fast food junkie. I can't help-I love the crap. I ordered the kids their happy meals and myself a Big Mac Value meal. That's right, I said it. I am fully aware that a Big Mac value meal is 21 points on Weight Starvers and I am only allotted 22 points a day, but I did not give a hoot. I needed that Big Mac I tell you. It was calling my name. Who cares if I can only eat plain lettuce and water for dinner. It is sooo worth it today.

After lunch I put Mary down for her nap, instructed to two older children to watch a movie and drove Emma to preschool. I then drove directly to the magical place where they would buff my feet and polish my toes... and make my uni-brow look like a movie star. You can imagine my pleasure.

January is always such a hard month for me. I am coming off of the December high and looking at 5 more months of school for the kids... with me... never alone... at all. I can quickly creep into the doldrums of life and forget that I have to actually take care of myself. I used to be really good at taking care of myself... there was a time when I was getting a spray tan religiously. Today, well I am lucky if I shave my legs once a week.

Enough was enough and I had to blow the stink off of me and fluff my feathers a bit.

So, if you are feeling the affects of January and are starting to look a little like a Yettie, then I advise you to go and get your toes done. Eat a Big Mac. Watch a girlie movie. Everything that you didn't do today will be there waiting for you tomorrow... I promise.


Don't Break My Heart...

My Ken Paves Home Shopping Network hair came in the mail today... let's just say that I look nothing like Jessica Simpson. I look more like Billy Ray Cyrus when he had a mullet. Needless to say, I will be returning my hair.

*Big Sigh*

The Ups and Downs Of Being Me...

I woke up this morning and went about my day not thinking of putting on any make up or even doing my hair. Why really, I only have my children to impress and they have seen me in many different interpretations. They have seen me sitting on the toilet when they barge in to tell me that one of them is bleeding, they have seen me in the shower with sudsy hair when they barge in to tell me that the dog poo'd on the carpet, they have seen me in the middle of the night with my hair sticking straight up and my mascara smeared half way down my face when they scream at the top of their lungs that they are thirsty, they have seen me passed out on a bathroom floor on Christmas even! Oh, don't be so "I can't believe your children have seen you passed out!" with me. The turkey was taking entirely too long and the wine was oh so good and Britney Spears was celebrating the holiday with us. I couldn't help it.

Anyway, the only time I wear make-up and nice clothes in on the weekend when my husband is home. I want him to think I am putting forth an effort... actually I don't want him to look at me and realize that I am just an average housewife who wears blue jeans and a sweatshirt every single stinking day of my life!

I go about my day looking completely natural. It never bothers me... that is until I come face to face with someone who looks absolutely fabulous and I am left feeling deflated and frumpy.

That is what happened today. I went to the store real fast to buy some new jeans. I have been wearing size 10 for the past few months and I only have 2 pair of jeans that have become a staple in my wardrobe and I wash 4 times a week, so I decided that it was time to buy another pair to even out the stakes. Well, while in the dressing room, I quickly discovered that the size 10 Levi's I was trying on WERE TOO BIG! I thought it was maybe a fluke because all women know that no two pair of jeans are the same and you could fit into a size 10 in one pair and a size 6 in another. It is insane. So I tried on 4 more pair of size 10 Levi's and wouldn't you know it but THEY WERE ALL TOO BIG! I had to leave the dressing room and pick out some size 8's. Guess what? THEY ALL FIT! I was overjoyed. I felt like I was on cloud nine...

As I was walking out of the store whistling to myself and fantasizing about the modeling contracts that would be coming in for me, I bumped into one of the mom's from my 4 year old's ballet waiting room. She is the perfect mom. The one who ALWAYS looks put together with her perfect nails and her perfect make-up (I wouldn't doubt it if those eyebrows of hers are tattooed on) and her perfect hair.... did I mention her perfect size 4 frame? Yes, so there I was standing like an Amazon woman with my old jeans on and my Oklahoma sweatshirt in front of little Miss Perfect. The thing that really irritates me is that she is actually very nice... so nice that I can't help but like her (she must be Irish-we can sniff each other out.)

We exchanged our greetings and off she bounced into the store (to probably buy a pair of size 4 jeans) and I climbed into my minivan. I pulled down the mirror and took a good look at myself.

Tomorrow I am going to do my hair and make-up. I may even go get some fake nails put on... and I just called the "permanent make-up" salon to get an estimate on my eyebrows. They said they could do it for $400.

Maybe I'll just go to a tattoo parlor and get a big ol' tattoo on my butt that says "KISS MY..." I mean, get a tattoo on my SIZE 8 butt that says "KISS MY STEADILY SHRINKING..." Yeah, that's it.

One day, maybe even tomorrow, I'll be beautiful.


Folding A Fitten Sheet 101...

OK, first things first. I know I said I would post this on Saturday, but certain things happened that made it impossible for me to do so. I tried... but alas, it is now Sunday night and I am finally getting to it.

I started off in the exact manner that I always do when I fold a fitted sheet. I wake up and pull all of the sheets off all of the beds and haul them downstairs. Before the dryer's buzzer goes off letting me know it is time to fold the dreaded fitted sheet, I pull out a little Heiney. It is a fitted sheet people, this is not easy. I don't even know if I could do it without alcohol first.

But then, just before I was about to crack it open and start chugging and folding... my mother-in-law called. This is where I got a little side-tracked.

After the phone call I forgot all about the folding editorial and decided to put my Heiney away and hit the hard stuff. My mother-in-law does this to me. No kidding. Thank God for the Russians. Hello Roddy Doddy Voddy!

But... while looking for my friends the Russians, I came across this lover of a bottle. After this, I have to say that all hopes of folding a fitted sheet was forgotten. I am ashamed and I apologize... but I had a really good Saturday night! YeeHaw!

OK, so after waking up Sunday morning with no sheets on the bed I decided that I better get to folding this fitted sheet. Yes, I realize that if I were just putting the sheets back onto the bed I would not fold them, but this is for your benefit. My husband did not understand my reasoning either, especially after I yelled "Don't you dare put that fitted sheet on the bed! I have to fold it for my blog!" He just shook his head and muttered something about you people paying me or something like that... ANYWAY, here are the sheet fresh out of the dryer. (Well, not so fresh, a day later in fact, but I did have it on wrinkle guard for almost 24 hours.)

After you haul all of those sheets up to the bedrooms and trip over a few Lego's and curse at the dog, toss that almost fresh sheet on the bed. You need a bed for this, or a ping pong table... which ever is available. You need a good area for this exercise.

Take your fingers and place them in two of the corners of the sheet. Fold up the other side of the sheet and stuff your cornered fingers inside of those corners as well so you have a half sheet with the corners hugging each other. I am aware that I am folding this sheet inside out. I could tell you that I do this to keep the side that I sleep on inside and therefore keep it cleaner... but honestly it is inside out because I am too lazy to right side out things. Ask my children. They have drawers full of inside out folded clothes.

After you have your corners united, lay your sheet flat on the bed and fold it in thirds.


Then it is easy peasy to fold the sheet so that it looks all nice and tidy. Isn't that just wonderful? Can you just picture my linen closet? So organized and folded? Are you jealous?

If this folding is too difficult to understand, you can always do what I usually end up doing... especially after that Vodka, and just roll the stupid fitted sheet up like a jelly roll.

And then stuff it in the linen closet.
Isn't it a relief to realize that I am not perfect? I hope you feel better!


Tune In Tomorrow... That Always Makes Me Want To Say "Tune In Tokya." Disgusting...

OK, since so many of you loved my cake cutting technique... I have decided to answer an anonymous commenter's plea for instruction on the correct way to fold a fitted sheet. I will be doing this tomorrow as tonight is Friday and that means "date" night for the ol' hubby... which means tomorrow is laundry day for the sheets.

Be sure to tune in to some of the most helpful fitted sheet folding this side of the hemisphere. If you fold on the other side of the hemisphere you have to do it counter-clockwise.

I am off to go pick out my outfit...

I Love You VH-1...

In a time when writers are on strike and ultimately the economy will suffer because of the lack of new programming for viewers to watch, I have to stand up and cheer for channels like VH-1. The sheer genius of television shows that they put on not only stimulate the brain, but also compel a person to feel better about themselves, and ultimately feel better about humankind as a whole.

The other night as I was reading a magazine (because there was nothing on television except for American Gladiator), I came across the most wonderful news I had heard since Carl told me he installed an extra pulse on the shower massager.

Brett Michaels is once again looking for his Rock of Love and Chachi Arcola is no longer single but married and pregnant!!!!!!

Contain you excitement. I know it is hard to control yourselves. When I read that they will BOTH be premiering new shows on January 13, I about pee'd myself. I jumped for joy and declared that there really is a God who is sick and tired of watching boring reruns like the rest of us. A God who not only likes bad reality television shows about washed up 80's icons who still think they are too hot to handle, but also a God who really loves women like me who still rip off their bra and toss it at the television screen as the mere glimpse of Brett Michaels in a cowboy hat with his tight jeans and pouty lips.

I don't know about you, but I will be firmly planted in front of my television with my hair spiked and my bandannas wrapped around my wrists (sadly, when I was a teenager I was able to wrap my bandannas around my thigh... they don't make bandannas like they used to.)and my frosted eyeshadow on. I may even pull out my leather pants for the occasion.

Yes 80's Rock fans... there is still hope. Enjoy!


Blond Ambition...

I need to stop watching television... at least until the writer's strike is over. I am bored with reruns so I spend my time watching the Home Shopping Network. Usually this is not a big deal and I have only purchased 2 items in my entire life from HSN. One was when Carl and I were first married and we bought a handy little grill for steaks that you had to stuff newspapers in the bottom of and light with a match. It cooked steaks like a champ and we used it all the time until it caught on fire and almost burned down our apartment complex. Ahh, memories.

The other purchase I made was those stupid "Slim in 6" DVDs that would have worked it I liked sweating, but if you have read me long enough you will know that I abhor sweating and anything that makes me sweat, so needless to say, those DVDs were a waste of time.

Well, today as I was flipping through the channels, I was compelled to stop and stare wide eye'd at the television. Ken Paves was on and he was showing us how he uses hair extensions on Jessica Simpson.

I was freakin' enthralled!

Right before Mary Claire was born I went to a new hair stylist and instructed her to cut off all of my long hair. I thought I needed a new look, when all I really needed was to give birth. I have regretted that day for over 8 months now and am growing back my blond ambition. It sucks and most days I wake up, look in the mirror and gag.

Ken Paves is the answer to my prayers. Yes readers... I bought me some hair extensions today! Next week I may buy me some elastic pants...

I am no stranger to fake hair. I bought my first fake ponytail years ago and wore it until I looked like Britney Spears on a bad day. Last year I bought another fake hair piece, only this one you put on to give you a nice up-do. It is versatile, as in I have worn it with jeans and I have worn it to my husband's 20 year class reunion. Coincidentally, I was with my sister-in-law for both fake hair purchases. We have also bought jewelry from strange men on the beach and made prank phone calls together. We are a perfect pair.

So my new hair should be here in a couple of weeks. I am so excited to go from a hair grower outer to a VaVaVaVooom hair woman.

I may just put on my Daisy Dukes and eat Tuna all day in my new hair. I can't wait to be a dumb blond! My husband will be thrilled!

Friends in Blogsphere...

Click on over to read Maggie-beth. She is much more entertaining than I am today~and her pooch is too stinkin' cute!


Oh Mother... Please.

Oh hello Hope... you look nice. Where are you going? The Hannah Montana concert you say? WOW! You are one lucky kid. You are so calm though Hope. When I was your age and going to a concert, I was screaming out the window and making rock signs with my tongue and fingers... but that was a long time ago. I was much more wild than you are. Have fun... don't do anything I wouldn't do.

I'll bail you out of jail if you need me to.

Please-contain your excitement. Sheesh.


Catholic Calisthenics

Today at Mass...

Emma (sitting back down after kneeling in prayer): "Momma, my kneelers hurts, I can't kneel anymore!"


Cake Cutting 101...

finicky made an interesting comment on his blog and on here about the fact that he will never try and cut a birthday cake again. the Mom asked the proper way to cut a birthday cake in order to get enough pieces for all to eat... and then to leave some for that late night kitchen raid.

I cut a birthday cake the same way my mother cuts a birthday cake. It is simple and genius. Everyone gets a piece-maybe even two. It gives you everything you need-cake and icing. There is not a lot of cake for those little rug rats who only eat the icing and there is not a lot of icing for those strange human beings (my husband) who will only eat the cake and not the icing (I know, I know... I blame his mother.)

I decided to give you a play-by-play on how to cut a cake the June Cleaver way. This brought me to a strange predicament though. Since I am on Weight Starvers I surely could not bake a cake and show you how to cut it because I would end up eating the cake and I have already borrowed my points for the next month or so. I needed to stay strong so I came up with the brilliant idea of making a diagram cake. Sure it is not as yummy, but it works. I don't want to hear one complaint about me not using a real cake. You are not here to eat it with me so there.

Before I did all of this, I had to shower. I could never let all of you see me before a shower. I even put on makeup for you... that is how much I love you.

OK-on to the cake cutting...
First thing, find an apron you like. I used to think aprons were for old grandmas. Once when I was young (and horribly thin) I went to a military wives tea at the Commander's home. The Commander's wife answered the door with a little apron on and continued to wear this apron throughout the tea. I went directly home and told my husband to kill me if I ever started wearing aprons. Well, I have gotten over my fear of aprons and now I am old now and have become an apron whore. I will not tell you how many I have...

OK, now that you have your apron on, lets cut it shall we? The cake... cut the cake.

Here is the cake I will be demonstrating on... I apologize that it is not chocolate and does not have icing. This is really depressing.

First you take your handy dandy knife and cut a radius line. (Remember, radius is half of a circle, a diameter is across the entire circle.) Look, this picture looks like my butt. I could have just photocopied my rear upstairs on the copy machine for this demonstration. Thank goodness this is a family web site.

Then you cut slices in the cake. Here we already have 5 slices! Wow!

You can always make your slices thicker for those pesky kids who scream out " I want a BIG piece!" or for your own personal slice of heaven.

Now let's compare my way to the traditional method shall we? Notice how many more slices I have gotten out of the cake? I am so smart. I bet my slices have fewer Weight Starver points as well. I probably could have actually baked a cake for this demonstration...

Even if you do go ahead and try and slice the cake the old way, you may get the same amount of pieces but you run the risk of having very thin slices that will fall apart and get entirely too soggy with ice cream. My way gives you a sturdy slice of cake that stands up to most ice cream scoops... even homemade.

The best part about my cutting method is that when the party is over and everyone is in bed, you can slip down to the kitchen and cut one of your slices in half again for a little sumpin' sumpin' before you fall into a sugar induced coma. Mmmmmmm! I love me some guuuuud cake.

So there you have it. Try it. If you have any other questions I would be happy to help you out. I know how to fold a mean bath towel, and my vacuuming skills are crazay!

I hope I helped~go forth and eat cake!


The Card Nazi...

When I was a kid, my mom had a system. It was a system of weeding out lazy Christmas card givers. Each year she would write down a check mark in her handy dandy notebook if she received a card from you. She would compare this checked list to the list of people that she sent cards to... if you did not send a card to my mother in three year's time you were knocked off of her Christmas card list faster than a speeding bullet. My mother did not fool around with this. She was serious about the time old moral tradition of receiving in order to give... or something like that.

Well, as my Christmas card list get larger... the number of cards we receive gets fewer and fewer.

Do people not like me? Am I annoying? (please do not answer those questions in my comment box.)

Is it the high cost of stamps and the fear of getting shot at the post office that keeps people from sending out Christmas greetings?

I don't know, but I have had enough! I decided to monitor our Christmas cards this year. I sent to everyone on my list (I apologize for not sending out Christmas letters to all of you who emailed me... it was getting expensive and I had to decide between you and a Christmas ham. The Ham won.)

I printed out my Christmas list and got out my red pen and started checking away. Now I have come to a dilemma. Do I stop sending to my Great Aunt on my Father's side who is blind and deaf because she has not sent me a card is 3 years, or do I keep her on-even though she can't read my letter and she can't hear it when someone else reads it to her. Hmmm. And what about my mother-in-law who seems to think she is exempt from sending out a Christmas greeting... do I knock her off the list as well? What about childhood friends who have stopped sending cards and some distant cousins of whom I have never met and have not received a card from them since 1993? Do I say "so long sucker" to them?

As I was sorting through my list I realized that I may very well have been discarded from their list for some unknown reason. It was not because I stopped sending cards to them, it was apparently because they want me to stop sending to them!

Next year it looks like my list will consist of the neighbor's dog (who left a nice Christmas greeting on my front lawn) and my college, who sent me a nice Christmas greeting with a plea for money.

Thank God it is January and I can stop being to cheery. No Card For You!


On The Road Again...

Well, it looks like the Cleaver household is going to be packing up and moving again. Such is the life of a military family... once you get all of the moving boxes unpacked and you begin to make lifelong friends, you move.

We are heading back to Omahaheho. Where the beef is in abundance and the cornfields are a plenty. I can't wait to sink my teeth into a Runza Hamburger!

We own a house in Omaha... but because Murphy rules in this family, we have renters with a iron-clad lease in there so it looks like we will have to find another abode. I will be sure to drive past my house several times a day and stick my tongue out at our renters. It would be easier if I didn't like them, but they are very nice people... who are living in my house and making me find another house to reside in even though I own a house there. Whatever.

So not only will we be packing up and moving in the next few months, but we will get to do it all over again in a year when our renters move out! Can you say "FUN!" There is nothing I love more than having sweating overgrown men handling all of my dishes and unmentionables and packing them in boxes and ultimately breaking things and stealing my husband's 1962 February issue of Playboy when June Cleaver was the centerfold.

So, if you are interested in buying a house in the DC area, contact me because we have a great little Colonial that is in need of a new family.

Also, if you have a house in Omahaheho that is up for rent and are in need of a nice Irish family to move in... contact me as well. I promise that we will keep the parties down to a minimal and we won't park our RV in the driveway.


Curse You Weight Watchers! CURSE YOU!!!

Today I decided to sign up for Weight Watchers online. I did this because I am a list and tally person. I love to write things down-it is a mental dysfunction of mine. I will wake in the morning and make the most wonderful "to-do" list and set out to accomplish everything I have on the list... even if it is 50 pages long and has things like "paint the entire house" and "re-sod the front yard." I do everything in my power to cross off the tasks on my list. It is a rush when I can look at a list and see more check marks than to-do's on it.

That being said, I figured putting a point system on all of my food and then tallying what I have eaten through the day would be fun. I foolishly thought it would be a whimsical thing that would give me pleasure.

Well, here it is only 4:30 p.m. and I only have 6 points left for my day! I have not even eaten dinner yet... but I only have 6 points left. I have made the most wonderful spaghetti and meatballs and it smells delicious... but I only have 6 points left and spaghetti and meatballs are 16 points.

Who thought of giving spaghetti and meatballs 16 points? That is unfair!

Sure, if I hadn't eaten 1/4 cup of chocolate disks that I have in the cabinet for my chocolate fountain this afternoon I would have been able to eat the yummy spaghetti and meatballs, but once I popped one of those little chocolate disks in my mouth, I could not stop myself. Stupid chocolate.

Now I don't know what I can eat for dinner. I suppose I can eat some hard-boiled eggs while I watch my family eat the spaghetti and meatballs... or I can just eat the damn spaghetti and use some of my points for tomorrow. Yeah, that is what I will do. I am sure I will have more will power tomorrow.

I wonder how many points a loaf of garlic bread is...