R and R

School starts on Monday and I feel like the summer somehow got away from me.  I also have two really busy birth months coming up and realized I may not see my kids for days on end.  My best solution to top off the summer and collect my wits before the storm, was to get the heck outta town.  Given that it was me planning the vacay, I wanted to use it to force my kids to go to another national park with me.  The main attraction?  Timpanogos Cave.

Hannah asked me as we left how long it would take and I didn't want to tell her that on the website it was described as a strenuous hike estimated to take 1.5 hours just to get to the cave.  I considered lying because just a few weeks ago, you would have thought she was being murdered on our stroll through Cress Creek.  However, she promised to complain LESS if I told the truth and true to her word, the hike was tolerable.  

It was quite strenuous indeed!  Here I am at the 1/4 way mark acting appropriately:

And perhaps not so...

It was close to 90 and it was uphill the whole 1.5 miles to the cave.  3/4 of the way up Lily yells:  MOM YOU PEED YOUR PANTS!!!  This was news to me but I looked down to find this:

Uhh.  Nope.  That is pure groin sweat.  For one millisecond I was embarrassed but got over it when I thought about all the other suckers we had left in the dust. I felt even better at the top because this old fat lady did that hike in about 50 minutes!  I EARNED that crotch sweat!

Right before the top there was this majestic biffy that was carved right into the mountain.  This was perfect for Hannah who had been prairie dogging a poop for most of the hike.  While she went about her business, I went about resting...  and bothering her:

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of pooping time, I asked what Hannah's ETA was and she screamed out, "Mom I'm pooping!!!  Just go on ahead!"  Her yell billowed out of the biffy and rolled down the mountain face.  I'm convinced most of American Fork, UT heard her outburst.  After a few more minutes, she stormed out, yelling how she had to pinch off early because I was being a butt.  The fireworks were quite satisfying.  In my defense, it seemed like a long time for pooping.  I told her maybe she needed more fiber in her diet.  Let's just say she was not amused.

The caves were interesting and I was so impressed with how well my kiddos hiked both up and down the mountain.  As a reward, I took them to an arcade.  As my reward, I took them to Fruit Way.  I try to drive down at least once a season because we don't get fresh peaches in Idaho Falls.  We get green, hard little bastards that we have to ripen on the counter.  Nothing beats a fresh peach and I feel so strongly about it that I only buy them once a year from the orchards in Utah.  Look at me.  I couldn't even get in the car, nor let my lover put the last box in before I took my first bite:

As of this post, I have eaten about 15 peaches in the last 12 hours!  

When you factor in all the swimming the girls did at our hotel, I consider this to be quite the successful getaway.  I wonder if Hannah's pooping any better with all the peaches she's had.  Maybe I'll go ask her...

I'm Gonna Blow!

The sex machine and I went out to eat a few nights ago at our local neighborhood Olive Garden.  Depending on what my lover eats and from where, he sometimes gets hit pretty hard by the Gastrocolic Reflex.  The simple explanation for this reflex is that when your guts have food in them, you need to have a poopie right quick after eating.  Our Olive Garden is right by a Walmart - as in, next parking lot over.  We rode the motorcycle over for some important supplies (chocolate and tampons most likely) and as soon as Jared parked, he was hopping.  "I gotta poop!" he informed me in a panicked tone.  We walked in the door and the front restroom was blocked for cleaning.  I laughed out loud because man was Jared getting uncomfortable.  In a split second, he headed for the back bathroom and this is what I saw:

This view is significant because Jared is always either next to me or behind me - never in front.  His short legs just can't keep up with my long stride so at best, he's beside me.  If I'm in a hurry, he just eats my dust while trailing behind me at his own pace.  I knew that poop must be screaming his name if he had the ability to outpace me!

I sat outside the back bathroom for what felt like forever.  I watched dudes come and go and wanted to hug each of them out of sympathy for the poop bomb they were breathing.  My man has some major stench when he's in true form.  Pay attention to the dude going into the John:

He came out about one minute later and I figured only three different scenarios could have played out:

1. Man that guy can whizz faster than any human alive!
2. I bet that disgusting idiot didn't wash his hands after touching his penis!
3. I bet that poor fool caught a whiff of my man and is now going to find a corner to die in!

Unfortunately, I was trying to play it cool despite the fact that I was sort of spying so I couldn't find out what really happened in there.  Since I secretly believe that the majority of men don't practice good bathroom hygiene, I tried to memorize his face so that I could avoid touching anything his penis fingers may have contaminated.

Just when I was about to ask an employee to go in and see if my lover had died pulling an Elvis, Jared strolled out.  As if a closed bathroom wasn't enough punishment, I guess he had to wait for two brothers who were hogging the two toilet stalls.  The older one kept saying, "are you done David?"  or, "David, have you finished?"  and "David...  David...  David... Are you done David?"  Jared wanted to yell at the older kid and ask why he had to hog the stall while waiting for David and to David he wanted to yell:  "DAVID, GET THE HELL OUTTA THERE!  I GOTTA TAKE A DUMP!"  This delightful description left me in tears as I laughed my head off in Walmart.  It didn't get any better as I told Jared how badly I felt for every man that strolled into or out of his death stench.  He grinned, giggled and said, "Oh I know.  It was bad!"

We finished strolling around Walmart collecting our equipment and then the unthinkable happened:

You are looking at me just realizing that my own Gastrocolic Reflex has set in.  Unlike my hubby, I very rarely will EVER poop in a public place.  I have some serious issues leftover from my childhood and I avoid splashdown unless I'm in a private bathroom or in my home.  Seriously folks, there have been at least two instances in which I have considered pooping my drawers and cleaning it up later in an effort to avoid public pooping!  Thankfully, the only pant soiling I have ever actually done has been completely on accident - knock on wood!  We finished checking out and I made it home to poop in peace, but was grateful to Olive Garden for the exciting evening I had.  Dinner and a show!  I should have left a bigger tip!

I'm Your Only Mummy

Jared and I have some pretty strict rules as far as movie standards go in that we have made our girls wait until the day they turn 13 to watch PG-13 flicks.  Occasionally, the older girls have broken that rule and if they watched something scary, I could count on them wanting to sleep with me for weeks, and they could count on me having no sympathy for them.

I have wanted to avoid the lazy trap with my younger kids - you know - when the mom and dad get worn out being enforcers on the last few spawn so their youngest kids run around like axe murders and develop nasty meth habits?  Unfortunately, it really does get exhausting being an enforcer and sometimes I feel pretty lax even though I've only been in the mom business 16 years.  Therefore, when the kids all wanted to watch The Mummy a few Sundays ago, I didn't have the energy or desire to say no.

The Karma I have endured for slacking on my enforcer role has been awful!  My four year old baby, Bub was scared witless by that stupid show!  She won't go down into the basement alone anymore.  This poses a real problem because I don't bring clean laundry up to drawers until it's nearly time to start filling the baskets back up with dirties.  Judge all you want, but I detest laundry.  The natural consequence for my hatred of laundry is that my kiddos have to travel two flights for skivvies.  I just found out today that Bub has been stealing undies from her older sisters in an attempt to avoid the basement.  Here she is after lily caught her red handed and after I told her to run down for her shorts because for the 100th time:  MUMMIES ARE NOT ALIVE!!!

The worst part is I can't get upset with anyone but myself; she's only four and I let her watch the freaking Mummy!  We had to send someone down with her to help her get her clothes because the little freak is terrified!  I tried asking Jared why this is such a big deal.  That movie is totally not scary.  He gave me a condescending look and reminded me that I'm forty.

I'm not sure how much longer the basement strike will continue but this is my official apology to the universe.  I get it!  I screwed up!  No more PG-13 movies  for the little ones for a few more years!  Now can we stop the insanity please?  I really don't want to be pushed into bringing my laundry upstairs until I'm damn good and ready...Even if I have single handedly traumatized my baby with a fake movie mummy!

Time Warp

My sweet lover was on a tirade this evening about people who post "remember this?" on Facebook.  I'm not on Facebook so he had to enlighten me that it's a way for people to reminisce about their past.  He got pretty hot discussing how he doesn't give a flying flip about toys and other nonsense from his childhood.  "Move on people!"  

I found this very interesting coming from the dude who last week couldn't stop raving about vinyl records.  I told him I blame him for the record player which now resides in my daughter's room.  I bitched and moaned for 5 minutes about how stupid vinyl is and what walks in my room?  This:

She's trying to convince me how great an Elvis record from the 70's still sounds.  I yelled at her to get that crap outta my room - that Elvis has NEVER sounded good, vinyl or otherwise.  In defiance she pulled out the big guns:

WHAT?!!!  I stuck up for her taste in music last week but the Bee Gees?  Apparently it was only three bucks.  I think she got ripped off.  Whoever was selling that POS should have paid HER at least a hot 5 to take it off their hands!  Having a Bee Gees album near any other music devalues the property in my opinion.  Here's my selfie to show how angry I am about my flesh and blood owning actual disco music:

What has happened?  Am I living in Bizarro world?  All my babies have been hunkered around that new machine listening to old music for two damn days.  Next thing I know they're going to start wearing bell bottoms and smoking doobies while I'm at work.  I feel like I'm the only sane person in my house right now and it's scary.  

Just when I thought I'd have to break the Bee Gees over my knee, my youngest pulled the record player off the dresser on accident.  Nothing broke unfortunately, but at least the freak show migrated back to Kayley's room where it belonged.  I can't take much more of this.  Maybe an iTunes gift card will help...  You can't buy vinyl with that can you?

Performance Anxiety

This blog has really become a nuisance.  I started it mainly to become rich and famous with legions of followers so that I could retire with a vast pile of Bitcoin. Unfortunately, I'm five months in and the only thing I've become is neurotic and paranoid trying to keep my creative juices flowing.  It's too much pressure!  I posted about the stupid record player (which has arrived already because of my secret love Amazon) and have been frantic for the last five days trying to come up with something fantastic.  I started taking random photos to see if I could work them into my dialog.  Like this one:

This is a bathroom shot of how awful I felt after consuming 10 pounds of watermelon and 2 servings of peaches and cream at my mom's.  Unfortunately, every angle I pitched just made me look like a dumbass for eating 10 pounds of watermelon and 2 servings of peaches and cream so I abandoned it.

I thought about this one:

This was me taking advantage of Sonic's Happy Hour yet again, but I go so often it's not news anymore.  I did appreciate Bubs unscripted slushy photo bomb though.

Whenever my back is against the wall I get desperate and mean.  My only viable option at that point, is to pester someone long enough that they give me something to blog about.  Thankfully the teenagers are reliable bait!  My first opportunity came when the eldest wanted my thoughts for a church lesson she was assigned.  I felt guilty for about ten minutes over my response, but as usual, I got over it:

I LOVE that she cursed at me.  I know I should have lectured her but I could just envision how crazy I make her with my shenanigans so I let it slide.  Plus, I'm hoping she'll get a bad rap with the mothers of the teenage boys she hangs around with and no one will date her again.  I'm still obsessed with her titties and want them unspoiled until college when I no longer can do anything about it anyway!

I probably could have left it at that but poked Hannah awhile for good measure. She was babysitting for me and I wanted my little ones to be alive when I got off work:

I was really hoping she'd call me out on the French kissing comment but she didn't care.  She was more concerned about me not blogging all about her crush, Patrick.  I told her all the hand holding she does is just a gateway to pregnancy but she reiterated she didn't want me blogging about Patrick.  Where am I supposed to get new material if she just blows my creepiness off?!  Just for that, here's the hand holder himself:

That face looks pretty harmless, plus Hannah doesn't have much mammary to tweak, so I think I may have dodged bullet one.  Also, I'm not sure what proper etiquette about posting pics of strangers is, but since I'm not making a dime on this blog, and because apparently Patrick comes from a DECENT family that would never read my posts, I think I've dodged bullet two.

So that's it!  I've got nothing else for you!  I'm disappointed with myself legion of fans.  Maybe I've peaked.  Maybe the well has run dry.  Maybe I need to blog about my dysfunctional bladder to get myself back on track.  Just don't give up on me... I couldn't take the rejection!

Nostalgia

I'm forty and as my kids point out...old.  I personally don't feel old and unlike many of my peers, I hardly ever wax nostalgic.  I see the future in front of me and embrace it.  I don't save many things from my past and I drive my lover crazy with how quickly I trash things if I see them lying around unused.   It's not that I don't have happy memories, it's just that most inventions have revolutionized our lives and I just don't see the wisdom in looking back.

My opinions  are in direct contrast to those of this guy:

Yep, my daddy.  Here he is washing Dexter the three legged cat after his week hiatus being lost in the shed.  My dad can't let go of ANYTHING.  If you doubt me, he's saving a pair of underwear that he wants to be buried in. These underwear came from his 20's and I have no idea how he thinks we're going to cram him into them - provided they don't disintegrate the moment they are exposed to air.  I will admit his nostalgic trips interest me completely, but it's his house filling up with useless garbage, not mine.

Dad recently purchased a record player and bought some old vinyl records to play on it as well.  I appreciated listening to "Bunya the Witch," a record from my childhood, but couldn't STAND the static inherent in old record playing.  He pulled out some Oklahoma from the original Broadway run in the forties, and then we listened to "White Rabbit" by Jefferson Airplane.  I love that drug anthem and for two seconds I thought my dad was totally kick ass cool for living through the sixties.  However, I'm pretty sure there were no drugs, sex, and very little rock and roll in his life, so really, he's only partially cool for surviving such an odd decade.

Dad and Jared tried to convince me how great it was listening to vinyl and I told them to shove it.  Digital all the way for me man.  Besides, endless listening pleasure and no record scratches with a digital copy!  The issue may have died there if it wasn't for my dad pulling out a new record of Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.  (BTW Bubba called it a giant CD!)  I had no idea you could buy NEW vinyl and my oldest, a Beatles aficionado, was mesmerized.  She came home that night and purchased a record player and then bugged to go to the mall for this:

The only good thing about this (besides Hannah's photo bomb) is her choice in music.  Her daddy and I have raised her right and I would like a medal for my efforts one day.  For you uncultured swine, you are looking at the Beatles and The Who.  I asked Kayley why she was spending her money this way and she cited history, nostalgia, and used the word "cool" a lot.  I told her this nonsense was stupid, especially when I found out new vinyl is 20 bucks a record.  Hell, you can download the entire "Who's Next" album on the left for 9.99 on ITunes!  Here's her response:

She's saying "stu" right here.  As in, "it's not stupid!"

She blabbered all the way back to the car about how great lousy vinyl is.  I think there's a lot of suckers in the world and my sixteen year old is one of them.  Music technology is your friend my daughter, but if you insist, feel free to travel back in time to the 70's and suffer through disco WITHOUT your iPod!  Go back to the 80's and ride around on your big wheel in your underoos carrying your giant boom box on your shoulder!  Live through the 90's with your portable CD player that skipped with the least provocation and TRY to enjoy your favorite Radiohead album!  I'm perfectly happy with the music advances I've enjoyed over the last 40 years and can't believe there will be a record player in my house again!  

Oh well, I guess some of us were born to be old and grouchy and unable to leave the past behind.  Others of us will be eternally youthful and look with excitement to the future.  I'll leave it to you to decide which I am, but please don't ask me what Instagram, Twitter, or Hashtag mean...  I just can't keep up with you young whippersnappers!

The Solid Gold Lamb

I went to my first 4-H auction yesterday.  My dad agreed to go to support a client's daughter and invited me along.  For those who do not know what the auction is all about, it is essentially a way for people to donate lots of cash for kiddos who are interested in raising farm animals.  Some folks keep the animals they purchase at exorbitant prices, but most just resell them to be butchered, or used for whatever other purpose someone might want a farm animal for.  Even though I have spent most of my life in rural Idaho, my family does not own land and the only animals we have cared for have been cats, dogs, and the occasional rodent.  Therefore, I never had a reason to attend a livestock auction of any kind and man have I been missing out!  I was mesmerized by the auctioneer:

He was just like any auctioneer I have ever seen in any TV show I have ever watched.  It was fantastic!  I wondered how they learn to do their job.  Is there an auctioneer school?  Do you practice in a mirror at home until you feel confident you can trick people into spending more money with your voice?  Does he come home and use it on his kids?  I fantasized how I would talk to my kids if I was an auctioneer.  In my head it sounded thusly:  "Ba ba badeee dee stop slapping your sister....  ba ba badee deee do I hear 10 spankings for sassing me?  10, 10, I have 10, now 11, can I hear 11, 11.....  Ba de dee daddy come beat your daughter please,  Can I have 11, 11, last call, I'm gonna sell it, and....SOLD  10 daddy spankings for sassing mommy!"

I was having a really hard time watching and listening both to the auctioneer and paying attention to the kids parading their animals around the ring for all to see.  There was just so much going on and I enjoyed myself immensely!  Finally, the little girl that my dad had agreed to help sponsor was parading her lamb around.  Her uncle came to talk about my dad's final price because you need someone to bid you up at these auctions.  Heaven forbid your livestock goes at a reasonable price after all!  Once the price was set, dad and the uncle drove up her price until her lamb named Lily (who was worth about 160 bucks according to market price) sold for, well, let's just say she sold for a helluva lot more than 160 dollars.  He bid so high I asked if the lamb was made of solid gold.  He even donated the lamb BACK to the girl and her family's farm so that she could visit Lily whenever she wanted and now would have plenty of money to start the scam all over again next year.  Here's the cutie, the solid gold lamb, and my folks:

My dad is such a sucker for kids.  Especially kids he likes.  I told him I thought it was sweet how much he was willing to donate for others and he told me to remember all the great things the girl could do with that money.  My response?  "Yeah, she'll use it to raise another solid gold lamb for you to buy next year!"

Despite my cynicism, I would totally attend another one of these things.  I cannot believe how interesting and fun it was to watch!  Animals pooping, squealing, mooing, dragging kids around, and again... that auctioneer was fabulous.  Just as the night was about to end I thought it couldn't get any better but Jared saw this goat who went for 500 bucks: 

He said to me, "that goat has an honest face!"  I thought maybe I had heard him wrong and said, "It's a damn goat!"  His response?  "A damn HONEST goat!"  I guess 4-H can work miracles with the white trash crowd and turn them into philosophers.  I wonder if I took Jared to a few more of these beauties if it might drive his love of professional wrestling away... Worth a shot isn't it?

Hidey Hole

This is my 15 year old, Hannah.  You know, the grouch? 

One need only read some of my other posts to understand what a miserably unhappy individual this beautiful young woman can sometimes transform into.  She only likes to participate in three activities:

1. Hang out with friends
2. Avoid her family at all costs
3. If forced to hang with family, stay inside her room alone

She spends so much time in her room that I have begun to call it the "Hidey Hole."  Look at this place.  It is decorated in a Strawberry Shortcake theme and I think that Hannah still likes her.  Hannah's appreciation of fun loving and upbeat Strawberry Shortcake makes no sense to me given her emotional state.  I keep expecting her to ask to have the Hidey Hole painted black so that her angry soul will feel more at peace there.  I'm always telling Hannah to come out of the Hidey Hole, clean the Hidey Hole, or go back INTO the Hidey Hole if she is getting on my last good nerve.  I'm trying to train Hannah regarding the respectful treatment of others, but so far, I have failed miserably.  I have finally decided that she is her own person and that I should embrace her differences, but when she decides to be a snarling, angry, hot mess, she is pretty tough to take.  I probably only have myself to blame since I told Jared the other day that I have five bitches in training.  Kayley and Hannah (the two oldest) said, "You're the Queen Bitch mom!"  I'm not sure I have that title in the bag yet because Hannah is giving me a run for my money!

Hannah is at her grouchy best when she is forced to spend quality time with the family.  She goes nuclear if that quality time involves exercise.  I don't understand this particular behavior because she has gone out for track every year since 7th grade!  Nevertheless, despite my complete understanding of the exercise quirk, I took my chances anyway and hauled the kids to hike Cress Creek on Sunday.  This is such an easy hike that the sign outside the entrance point calls it a Nature Trail rather than a hike.  It is even handicap accessible for the first several hundred feet!  All five of the "bitches in training" whined and complained as if we had been walking for hours.  Hannah wanted to stop and turn back about halfway through and I threatened to take her IPod for 2 weeks if she didn't finish the hike with me.  My punishment for my insolence?  Angry glares directed at my back and Hannah trailing behind me by about 6 feet to show how unhappy she was with the whole ordeal.  I tried to take a pic of her death stare because it is art in motion.  Hannah got wise and showed me this instead:

Undeterred, I waited until she turned around, but only got a side view:

She then stomped off onto a completely different trail to avoid me altogether.  I tried to document how lovely the hike was to prove that I am not an abusive or unfeeling mother.  Unfortunately for my lover, he left his sunglasses in the car on a very sunny day so I got the squints in my selfie:

That's the South Fork of the Snake River BTW.  I love living in Idaho.  It's such a beautiful state that I want the girls to appreciate it but they just refuse to put up with my outings!  Thankfully, the hike was only about a mile long and Hannah, acting like a horse headed for home, caught up to the others and hightailed it back to the van:

I asked Jared why he made all these babies.  I have always liked him and love to be wherever he is.  Why did he create five kids that spend all their time complaining about everything we do together and trying to get away from us?  As usual, he had no reasonable explanation or excuse for his behavior and tried to make it sound like we had decided on making our children together... AS IF buddy!  It ended up working out because everyone stopped whining when the exercise stopped and Hannah ran to the Hidey Hole as soon as we landed back at our pad - peace and quiet at last!  At least I only have to put up with 14 more years of this baby raising nonsense.  Then I can spend all my time with the only person that DOESN'T ever try to get away from me!  This guy:

Gosh he's delicious.  No wonder he was able to trick me into birthing so many babies for him!