Those %$#^%$@$ Kids!

Two weeks in our new home now and my son has already waged a war with the boys on the other side of the street. He refers to them as the "cussing kids" because they apparently curse like sailors when they are playing at the park. I, being the very best mother in the world, decided to go down to the park when all of the boys are out just to see what we are up against... and if anyone was cussing I was going to grab them by their shirt collar and in my meanest-teeth clenched voice say: "Don't you know who I am? I am your worst nightmare." Then I would throw rocks at them, TP their houses and have pizzas delivered to their house at all hours of the night. You have to know how to fight 10 year old boys...

Yesterday I went down to the park and all the boys were being sweet as pie because there was a Grandma there. I thought that maybe she had heard of the cussing kids reputations and was there to open a can of Grandma whoop-ass on them. I walked over to her, thinking I was walking over to a kindred spirit, a woman who would have my back, a team member, but she had never heard of these boys cussing. In fact, she thought all of these boys were just the sweetest, kindest and most well-behaved boys she had ever laid eyes on. I knew at that very moment that I was going to be dealing with some horrible, terrible, obnoxious boys... the kind that can pull the wool over a little old lady so masterfully. They reminded me a little of myself when I was a kid, but we aren't talking about me here, we are talking about the surly gang of 10 year old misfits that roam my middle class neighborhood looking to get into a gang fight... or something like that.

I staked out the park for a good hour and nothing happened. My back was getting tired of sitting on hard benches and my butt had a permanent diamond pattern embedded in it from the recycled plastic that these benches were made out of. Even when they were well behaved I knew which one was the ring leader. He was a boy that reminded me of the character "Biff" in the "Back to the Future" films. I knew he was just waiting me out and the moment I left the cussing and bullying would begin.

I started thinking of how bad there benches were for people with hemorrhoids, and not that I HAVE hemorrhoids, but I definitely did not want to tell my doctor that the reason why I need hemorrhoid surgery is because I sat on a recycled park bench with little holes in it for so long that my butt started to become one with the bench... so I went home.

Before I left I walked over to the grandma and said good-bye. She told me she would be on the look out for any cursing. I thanked her and as I turned to leave my son tripped and fell. As he did, he yelled "Oh SHIT!" I saw the Grandma lift one of her eyebrows and tisked her little dentured mouth. I grabbed my son by the collar and said, "You don't cuss! I don't give a CRAP who you think you are!" Then I walked home without looking back.

I hate being the new neighbor on the block.


No Wonder City Folk Are So Crabby...

It is good to be back in Nebraska. This is our third tour here and we have come to regard Nebraska as home... although I would never deny Chicago as my true home, because then I would be a traitor like Michael Jordan when he said he would never play for any other team but Chicago and then he went and played for the Firecrackers... or whoever they were. I would never do that. Chicago is in my blood, Nebraska is in my zip code. Now, all of you city folk out there do not raise your nose to me and say "Ewwwww! Cornfields and Dusty Roads and Cows OH MY!" I do not miss DC living at all I tell you. This is why...

This morning my husband had to be at an appointment on base at 8 a.m. I set the alarm for 7 a.m. and he was able to shower, have a leisurely and healthy breakfast and arrive at his appointment 10 minutes early. Nice. In DC he would have had to wake up at 5:30 a.m. and run around like a chicken with his head cut off and end up late to the appointment because there was an accident on I95.

Life seems simpler in Nebraska... calmer. I have come to a conclusion as to why life is smooth here and crazy in DC.

First of all, prime time television does not start until 8 p.m. in DC. That means you have to wait around until 10 to even see the good shows and you aren't even watching the News to see what the weather will be like until 11 p.m. By the time you straighten up the family room, let out the dog, turn off all the lights, throw one last load of clothes in the dryer, lock all the doors, check on the kids and brush your teeth is is midnight! If you would like to have "relations" with your spouse you aren't even getting to bed until 12:07 a.m.

In Nebraska, prime time starts at 7 p.m. That means we are in bed a full hour earlier than DC people. The only time a Nebraskan stays up until midnight is on a Saturday night after they have had a couple of friends over, drank half a keg, danced with the neighbor's cat, sang "I Will Survive" at the top of their lungs and passed out on the cool comfortable bathroom floor. Weekends are best...

DC people have to wake up at ungodly hours in order to commute to work. If you have to be at work by 8, you must be out of bed by 5:30. This offers you the time to shower, possibly go to the bathroom, eat a slice of cake left on the counter the night before by a child who decided they didn't like the icing and be on the road for the first part of your driving experience. First you drive your car to the commuter lot where you will drive around for 20 minutes trying to find a spot close to the bus lines but give up and end up parking 3 miles down the road where you will have to huff it double time in order to make the morning bus. By the time you get to the bus lines your find out that you have missed the bus because it was 3 minutes early so you have to "slug" in with a complete stranger in their car which is full of cigarette butts, empty Starbucks cups and a severed head in the backseat. You don't ask questions because you are not allowed to talk (slug rules... look it up http://www.slug-lines.com/) you shrug off the severed head and hop in. Once you are on your way at a fast 35 mph on the highway, you find out there was an accident in the HOV lanes and your speed slows to a turtle crawl. By the time you get to the Pentagon, you still have to run at least 1.5 miles from the entrance to your office in the maze. You sit down at your desk at 8 a.m. on the dot! Success! You planned your journey well.

If you don't want to take the bus in, you can always metro. You would have to get up at the same time and have the same type of morning as the bus/slug people, only when you get to the metro parking lot you will corkscrew your way up to the top searching endlessly for that one lone parking space that may possibly be by the level 3 walkway. You give up and park on the top and then jog down the stairs because the elevator is broken. Once on the platform, your Smartcard does not work so you have to wait behind your turnstile with a line of angry, tired commuters behind you calling you foul names because your Smartcard is stupid. Finally you are let through and you get to the platform just as your train is leaving the station and you look up to read the screen that tells you that the next train is 20 minutes late due to "delays on the Blue Line." Once you are at the Pentagon, you still have 1.5 miles to walk/run/sprint in order to get to your office. Again, if timed correctly, you will make it.

In Nebraska, the only time you will wake up at 5:30 is when your neighbor Bubba's dog starts to bark. You will lay in bed for a moment wondering if you should go shoot it with your son's new BB gun and just when you are about to get out of bed you hear your other neighbor, Jed, open his window and yell "BUBBA! SHUT THAT DAMN DOG UP!" then you hear Bubba say "OOPS, SORRY, I WAS IN THE TOILET! I DIDN'T HEAR HIM BARKIN'" You are back to sleep by 5:34.

Morning commute consists of driving your car from your home directly to your office. You may have to wait in line at the base gates for a measly 3 minutes or so, but that is about it.

So, to recap... I don't miss DC living, but I do miss my DC friends! I will be dreaming of you when you are in traffic this morning. If you ever long for the simple life come on out! I will be sure to let Bubba know so that he can buy a keg and tie up his dog.

Oh-I haven't forgotten to fill yo all in about our housing adventure. I promise to update tomorrow... right now I have to go put the cows out to pasture.


The Misadventures Of June And The Cleaver Clan...

Wow... where do I begin? First of all... did you miss me? I sure did miss you all. Every time something exciting, crazy, crappy, or whimsical happened during our move across country I thought "I really need to blog about this! I should pull into a McDonald's that has Wi-Fi and blog about this." Unfortunately, most of the McDonald's that we stopped at were in the neighborhood of "Deliverance" and we were lucky that they had indoor toilets.

The adventures started with the packers. After the first day of packing I went to make dinner and found that everything was packed in the pantry... including the bread and rotting trash. I started to panic when I couldn't find the baby, but thankfully she was just playing with the chainsaw in the garage and not packed away in a box marked "whines if you don't feed it."

We were very sad to leave our neighborhood full of desperate housewives, needy husbands and delinquent children, but we waved good-bye to everyone at the crack of dawn one day and I wondered how many more moves I would have to make with a child crying in the seat next to me because we were taking her away from her friends-the only people who love and understand her because apparently her father and I are evil and we don't care about her one bit and that is why we make her move.

The drive to Chicago was uneventful... that is, it was uneventful if you were my husband. I, on the other hand, had to endure 13 hours of a crying baby, a whining 5 year old and a 13 year old who thought I was the devil incarnate. Good times... good memories.

We stopped in Chicago for a few days and were able to see all of our old relatives assuring our status in their wills. We were also able to see a few of our cousins that we are in competition with for the old people's money. Nothing like the smell of cash that will bring a family together.

Iowa was interesting... we had to detour around all of the floods. I felt extremely sorry for the people who had lost their homes due to the water, but look on the bright side, Iowa looks so nice with it's many lakes. (Too soon to joke? Not sure.)

Toon in tomorrow to hear about our arrival in Omaha, how we thought we had a house but ended up not having a house, how we finally found a house, how we have been in very close quarters with our children and very dear friends who are crazy enough to let us stay with them, and how I still need to lose those friggen 10 lbs. because of all the food we have been eating due to simply driving down the street and yelling "LOOK! There is Runza! We have to eat at Runza!"

Right now I have to go find a new pool to be a member of. We went to a pool today and were promptly kicked out when I flashed a group of 10 year old boys because Mary thinks my bathing suit is really fun to hold on to and pull down. It wasn't so much the fact that I flashed a group of boys, it was the fact that they are all blind now. Someone needs to tell these kids that real women do not look like supermodels in Cosmo... no, real women look more like the jungle ladies in National Geographic (minus the neck rings and the discs in their lips).

Until tomorrow...


Repeat After Me... Baby, It Is Going To Be Soooo Good!

The other day I received an email from one of my faithful male readers. He will remain nameless as I fear he will be virtually tarred and feathered by my female readers for what his complaint was.

It seems he thinks it is very unfair that I did an entire post on what a man should do for his wife for Mother's Day a good 2 weeks before Mother's Day, and seeing as it is only one day away from Father's Day, he cannot believe that I have not reminded all the women out there how to love, adore and serve their husband on this great holiday.

The answer... women do not need to be reminded of Father's Day. We have the capability to remember things. We plan. We already knew what we were going to do on this Father's Day LAST Father's Day.

So there.

But, in my weak attempt to make all of my readers happy-even the men folk-I will let all of you wives out there know the secret to making your husband happy on Father's Day.

Two words... Sex. Food.

It is even better if you tell him that you are looking forward to the sex. Tell him while you are feeding him. He won't know what to do. He may not be able to take it if you tell him that it is going to be GREAT sex. You will have to gage that statement on your man. If he has a weak heart I may omit that little notion all together.

But beware... sex can lead to more children and that is how you ended up promising good sex for Father's Day in the first place.

So to recap, tomorrow is Father's Day. Food. Sex. Not necessarily in that order. Enjoy!


Sofa King...

This is meant to only make you laugh... no wagging your fingers at me and saying "Shame on you June Cleaver!"

If you are we Todd it, don't forget to pause the music below to listen to the video.


The House Needs To Be Cleaned... It Must Be Time To Move.

You never know how much crap you own until 12 hours before a moving company is coming to pack your household goods.

Tomorrow the movers come to start packing our house. That means today is the day that I go through just about everything we own and ask myself "Do I really need this?" I mean, should I pack all the half used bottles of shampoo and the mascara that I bought 6 months ago but decided I didn't like the way it made my eyes look squinty? What about all of my husband's t-shirts from his childhood? Will he ever know if I throw out his lucky little league t-shirt size 7?

By midnight tonight I will be saying things like "Do we really need the plates and silverware? Can't we just buy more when we get there?" It will save me the step of constantly washing the forks and then yelling "STOP USING THE FORKS!" to my children only to walk back into the kitchen and find the sink full of forks. My children apparently think they are too good to use the plastic forks I purchased for this move. Silverware snobs.



After my disappointing results on the pedometer I called my neighbor and said "I NEED TO WALK!"

You will be happy to know that by the end of the night my step total was 11,609!

Thank God for good friends who keep saying "move your ass!"


How Many Steps Is It From My Couch To The Fridge...

I was reading on-line a few weeks ago that in order to maintain a healthy lifestyle you need to walk up to 10,000 steps a day. That is about 5 miles give or take a few hop, skips and jumps.

This kind of information sends my brain in overload and I end up with sleepless nights wondering just how many steps I do take in a day.

So I ordered a pedometer and received it about a week ago. I usually do not remember to wear it until around 10 o'clock in the morning and by that time I am sure I have walked about 25,000 steps so it is pointless to put the thing on my hip and start counting.

This morning I made a point to put it on right when I got out of bed. I picked today because I did not have any errands to run and my chore list was at a minimum. I wanted to know how many steps I took just being me... with no walks through the mall, no grocery store extravaganzas and not even walking to the neighbor's house to borrow some cage-free organic eggs. I wanted to know how many steps I make sitting on my rear basically.

Well, no wonder I can't friggen' lose these last 10 lbs. Me, on an ordinary day (making dinner, vacuuming the family room, folding laundry) sucks! I only took 3,380 steps so far... and it is 7 pm! This is usually the time of day that I sit on the couch and do nothing... but I have only walked 3,380 steps! That realization just took the fun out of being a slump on the couch.

Now I have to go for a walk... and I can't stop for 6,620 steps! Basically I have to double my daily expulsion of fitness in the last hours of the day.

This is a stupid pedometer. I was much happier when I lived in step ignorance.


Just One Stomach Virus Short Of My Goal Weight...

A week ago I jumped on the scale and decided that I needed to take drastic measures. I turned to my husband and said "I have to lose 10 lbs. in two weeks and YOU are going to help me! Do not let me eat any bread and any sweets! Promise ME!" Now, you have to know that making a request like this to my husband is much like making a deal with the devil. He will be watching me like a hawk.

He turned to me and said, "OK, but you can't be mean to me when I ask you why you are eating a brownie at 10 o'clock at night with a cookie chaser."

I want to lose these last 10 lbs. because I will then be at a weight that I feel comfortable. Notice I did not say "a weight where I will feel like a Supermodel" No, I would have to eating nothing but laxatives for that to happen.

I was doing pretty good with my prison warden induced diet when Emma got sick on Thursday night. It was not pretty. She had caught a serious stomach bug that was wreacking havoc on her little body. I knew she was not feeling well when she stopped talking constantly. For two nights she slept with me and I cleaned up more poo and vomit than any mother should ever have to clean up.

By Saturday night Mary had the virus, then Hope fell and then I took a nose dive into the liquid fire that involuntarily would shoot out of my body. With no warning! It was awful.

Carl went to dinner with friends Saturday night and came home and walked straight into the bathroom to throw up. My husband sick is about the most pitiful thing in the world. At first he was all "I must be having sympathy throw ups. This is all your fault." and then by 2:00 a.m. as he is lying on the bathroom floor whimpering he would cry out, "WHY! What is happening to my body? What is this disease that I have? Will I survive? I think I am going blind. Oh sweet Jesus... I can see the light!"

He also shakes his feet when he is sick so the entire time I am lying in bed trying not to throw up he is lying next to me shaking his foot which in turn is shaking the entire bed and making me feel like I am sea sick and I start looking for a 2 foot piece of wood plank and a sledge hammer so that I can go "Misery" on him. It is that bad.

Today we are feeling better. We thought Aaron escaped this sickness, but he just asked for a Pepto. He is sick like his Dad... he truly believes he will not survive such an attack on his body. Lord help me.

The only good thing that has come out of this situation is that I jumped on the scale this morinig to find that I have lost 6 lbs. Yes, I am aware that this is because I am severely dehydrated so please do not be a joy kill and leave a comment telling me that I will gain it all back when I start eating again.

Let me enjoy this for the moment....