Do you ever notice after the fact that you fell for something hook line and sinker, but while it was happening you didn't have a clue? Welcome to my world.
Pie and I like to read each evening. We each have a book, and we enjoy spending that time together, but in our own worlds. All summer long we read for an hour after Bubba went to bed. Now that she goes to bed a little earlier we don't get as much time, but we still look forward to "girls reading time" every night. A few nights ago the conversation went a little something like this.
Pie, "Mom, do you miss your book club? You know, the one with Mary Ann?"
Me, "Yes, I really miss it. It was a lot of fun."
Pie, "What do you do in a book club?"
Me, "Well, you go and eat some yummy treats and then you talk about a book that everyone has read."
Pie, "So, everyone reads the same book, and you just talk. You don't sit there and read together."
Me, "No, you have to have the book read when you get there so you can discuss it, and see what everybody thinks about the book."
This is where I should have clued in that I was in trouble.
Pie, "Mom, do you think we could have a book club?"
What do you say to that?? No, because I am the worst Mom ever?
Me, "Sure, that sounds like fun" How about on Sunday night we eat some treats and talk about your book."
So, while she was at school on Friday I read Magic Tree House #15: Viking Ships at Sunrise.
So, if anyone wants to join us, we will be eating treats and discussing this book on this fine evening...anyone...anyone? Come on, there must be at least one person out there dying to read this book.
Fine, I will eat all the treats myself.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
An Encounter
I almost didn't notice him.
My eyes were glued to the floor...the shiny linoleum floor routinely waxed and buffed by ServiceMaster...and I refused to acknowledge my own presence there. He, too, had his eyes glued to the floor.
"Honey, what do you think of this?"
I almost didn't answer. Answering would be a sign of defeat. Absolute, utter defeat.
"Umm...looks good."
"Do you think she'll like this?"
"Umm...sure."
He must have sensed the self-loathing in my voice, the small twinge of sad resolution, the hint of embarrassment. He might have looked my way at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to return the glance. Not then. I continued to follow Hot Mom at a distance of about 10-12 feet. I couldn't help myself. She knew the way. Like a scared lamb following the shepherd. Pathetic.
At one point I glanced over to see him looking at the bottom of the large bolts (his wife a good 15 feet to his left). He looked confused. Bewildered. Exasperated. I understood. I looked under the large bolt in front of me. $8.99. I shook my head. What was I supposed to do?
I looked up to see an elderly man coming down the aisle covered in yards of ribbon and colorful swatches with polka dots, paisleys, and toile. The geezer almost looked happy! The geezer's wife hurried up the aisle after him honking like a plump old goose. I didn't like the scene. It hit too close. Way too close.
I glanced over to see him looking at the geezer, too. We both swore under our breaths at the same time. We must have. It was the only thing one could do in that situation. Still we did not acknowledge each other.
I turned away and searched for a television in the corner playing some kind of UFC match. Nothing. I would have given anything for a remote control and a bag of Doritos. Anything!
"Honey, would you go ask the lady at the counter where the poplin and the gingham are?"
"What?"
"The poplin and the gingham. Go ask the lady where they are!"
I nodded. I trudged. I approached the lady behind the counter. She glared down at me from behind her 1973 beehive hairdo (a la Alice from the Brady Bunch).
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, where are the poplar and the gingerbread?"
"The what?"
"The poplar and the gingerbread?"
I got nothing. A disgusted guffaw might have escaped her twisted lips, but my eyes were again glued to the linoleum.
He approached at that very moment. He leaned against the counter just off to my right, his eyes glued to a spot on the counter, and waited.
Disgusted with my inquiry, the B-52 wannabe turned her attention to the newcomer.
"Can I help you?"
The way she said "you" made me feel like a defunct first-grader in detention.
"Yeah," he began. "Where can I find some Muslims?"
No response. Nothing.
I glanced over at the man adjacent to me on the counter.
He nodded. I nodded back. We both looked down at the counter.
Two straight guys at a fabric store at 2:00 in the afternoon on a Friday.
My eyes were glued to the floor...the shiny linoleum floor routinely waxed and buffed by ServiceMaster...and I refused to acknowledge my own presence there. He, too, had his eyes glued to the floor.
"Honey, what do you think of this?"
I almost didn't answer. Answering would be a sign of defeat. Absolute, utter defeat.
"Umm...looks good."
"Do you think she'll like this?"
"Umm...sure."
He must have sensed the self-loathing in my voice, the small twinge of sad resolution, the hint of embarrassment. He might have looked my way at that point, but I couldn't bring myself to return the glance. Not then. I continued to follow Hot Mom at a distance of about 10-12 feet. I couldn't help myself. She knew the way. Like a scared lamb following the shepherd. Pathetic.
At one point I glanced over to see him looking at the bottom of the large bolts (his wife a good 15 feet to his left). He looked confused. Bewildered. Exasperated. I understood. I looked under the large bolt in front of me. $8.99. I shook my head. What was I supposed to do?
I looked up to see an elderly man coming down the aisle covered in yards of ribbon and colorful swatches with polka dots, paisleys, and toile. The geezer almost looked happy! The geezer's wife hurried up the aisle after him honking like a plump old goose. I didn't like the scene. It hit too close. Way too close.
I glanced over to see him looking at the geezer, too. We both swore under our breaths at the same time. We must have. It was the only thing one could do in that situation. Still we did not acknowledge each other.
I turned away and searched for a television in the corner playing some kind of UFC match. Nothing. I would have given anything for a remote control and a bag of Doritos. Anything!
"Honey, would you go ask the lady at the counter where the poplin and the gingham are?"
"What?"
"The poplin and the gingham. Go ask the lady where they are!"
I nodded. I trudged. I approached the lady behind the counter. She glared down at me from behind her 1973 beehive hairdo (a la Alice from the Brady Bunch).
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, where are the poplar and the gingerbread?"
"The what?"
"The poplar and the gingerbread?"
I got nothing. A disgusted guffaw might have escaped her twisted lips, but my eyes were again glued to the linoleum.
He approached at that very moment. He leaned against the counter just off to my right, his eyes glued to a spot on the counter, and waited.
Disgusted with my inquiry, the B-52 wannabe turned her attention to the newcomer.
"Can I help you?"
The way she said "you" made me feel like a defunct first-grader in detention.
"Yeah," he began. "Where can I find some Muslims?"
No response. Nothing.
I glanced over at the man adjacent to me on the counter.
He nodded. I nodded back. We both looked down at the counter.
Two straight guys at a fabric store at 2:00 in the afternoon on a Friday.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Domestic Diva
It has been interesting filling my days the past week or so. I have enjoyed the quiet, but I feel like I should be doing more..cleaning closets? Nope, done. Garage? Nope, that is good too. Yard work? Not only no, but no way baby. It is hot our there.
That leaves cooking. Last night I whipped up some homemade bread sticks to go with our spaghetti. Pretty yummy.
Tonight, brownies with marshmallows and cream cheese for the Home Teachers. Yum!
Maybe I better put an exercise routine into my day too to counteract the baking.
That leaves cooking. Last night I whipped up some homemade bread sticks to go with our spaghetti. Pretty yummy.
Tonight, brownies with marshmallows and cream cheese for the Home Teachers. Yum!
Maybe I better put an exercise routine into my day too to counteract the baking.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
No Spitting!
Today is Sunday. I relax on Sundays. It is a day of rest, and I take this very literally. I love that my kiddies are to the point where they can entertain themselves with minimal fighting through the afternoon. This really comes in handy with the rest part of my day.
Today they were taking turns playing on the computer. They were playing on the Friend website while I relaxed on Bubba's bed. The Primary songs from the website were lulling me into deeper relaxation, possibly early stages of sleep, but not full on log sawing like Cool Dad. At one point during the afternoon things got a little loud and I thought I could hear spitting from the office. Since I was in mid-relax I didn't get up, I just yelled, "no spitting". The noises stopped and I resumed my lovely state of rest.
Fast Forward about 30 minutes and the phone rings(thanks big sister for interrupting my nap). I ran into the office to answer it. As I start talking I notice that they are both standing at the computer and the office chair has been drug all the way across the room. I pause in the conversation with my sister to ask them why they are standing, and of course their reply, "you said no sitting". I said, "I said no spitting!". Sweet Pie's response, "oooh". With a classic look on her face that seems to say, "well that certainly makes more sense."
Should I get their ears checked? Should I ponder deeply why this particular command was followed while so many others are not? In the end I just laughed hysterically like my sister at the thought of them standing working at the computer for 30 minutes.
Today they were taking turns playing on the computer. They were playing on the Friend website while I relaxed on Bubba's bed. The Primary songs from the website were lulling me into deeper relaxation, possibly early stages of sleep, but not full on log sawing like Cool Dad. At one point during the afternoon things got a little loud and I thought I could hear spitting from the office. Since I was in mid-relax I didn't get up, I just yelled, "no spitting". The noises stopped and I resumed my lovely state of rest.
Fast Forward about 30 minutes and the phone rings(thanks big sister for interrupting my nap). I ran into the office to answer it. As I start talking I notice that they are both standing at the computer and the office chair has been drug all the way across the room. I pause in the conversation with my sister to ask them why they are standing, and of course their reply, "you said no sitting". I said, "I said no spitting!". Sweet Pie's response, "oooh". With a classic look on her face that seems to say, "well that certainly makes more sense."
Should I get their ears checked? Should I ponder deeply why this particular command was followed while so many others are not? In the end I just laughed hysterically like my sister at the thought of them standing working at the computer for 30 minutes.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Top Hat and the Boot
"Whatcha doing?"
"Nuttin'."
"Hey, you're logged in to Yahoo under my name."
"It's probably cause you never log out. Oh, look, you have a couple of e-mails."
"What do they say?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
Cool Dad is summarily logged off of Yahoo by Hot Mom.
-------------------------------------------
I mention this little story to illustrate the pathetic nature of my life now. My life is so full of pathos that my wife will no longer snoop in my e-mail account. She doesn't check my phone records. She doesn't even get a bit upset when I go out to lunch with the hot chicks in my office. I used to think it was because we have such an open, strong relationship, but now I think its because she thinks I have no game.
"Sure, honey, go to lunch with the girls. I'll send breath mints."
What? Is she taunting me with her antagonism? I still have game. I got plenty of game.
My concern is that the game I've got now is Monopoly Junior. And I got stuck with the boot.
"Nuttin'."
"Hey, you're logged in to Yahoo under my name."
"It's probably cause you never log out. Oh, look, you have a couple of e-mails."
"What do they say?"
"Don't know. Don't care."
Cool Dad is summarily logged off of Yahoo by Hot Mom.
-------------------------------------------
I mention this little story to illustrate the pathetic nature of my life now. My life is so full of pathos that my wife will no longer snoop in my e-mail account. She doesn't check my phone records. She doesn't even get a bit upset when I go out to lunch with the hot chicks in my office. I used to think it was because we have such an open, strong relationship, but now I think its because she thinks I have no game.
"Sure, honey, go to lunch with the girls. I'll send breath mints."
What? Is she taunting me with her antagonism? I still have game. I got plenty of game.
My concern is that the game I've got now is Monopoly Junior. And I got stuck with the boot.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Oh Crap, I Forgot it's Garbage Day...Not
We are county folks now. I know you are all visualizing lush yards with acreage and chickens wandering around the homestead, maybe even a little stream running through the property...sorry, not so much.
Even though we are not in the city limits we still have neighbors on all sides, approximately two feet away. In our neck of the woods being county folks means the city doesn't bundle your utilities up in a nice little package and send you a bill each month. It means that you have to go find the gas company, the electric company, the water company, and the garbage company all on your own. Don't forget to pay deposits to EVERY one of them for new service.
There are not a lot of choices until you get to the garbage company. There are three companies desperate to remove your trash, and each of them come with their own garbage plan and rate.
We opted for the once a week garbage removal with the once a week recycling removal. This all sounds good in theory, until you realize that three companies offer pick-up and the once a week people are on one day, the twice a week people are on two different days, and the recycling is on a totally different day...FOR EVERY COMPANY.
What does this mean to me, except of course that I can't use my neighbors cans at the curb as a reminder of garbage day because they are on different schedules?
It means that there is a garbage truck going through my neighborhood at 6am EVERY MORNING. Causing me to leap out of bed and wonder if the can is at the curb. It is a heart stopper people. Some of you may think I am overreacting a bit, but you are the folks that have forgotten we moved to he**. Do you know what garbage smells like in he** after a week? Try two, not pretty.
So every week begins with multiple sticky notes all over the house, a reminder on my phone, and the promise of a dollar to every kid who reminds mommy and daddy to put the garbage out the night before garbage day.
Even though we are not in the city limits we still have neighbors on all sides, approximately two feet away. In our neck of the woods being county folks means the city doesn't bundle your utilities up in a nice little package and send you a bill each month. It means that you have to go find the gas company, the electric company, the water company, and the garbage company all on your own. Don't forget to pay deposits to EVERY one of them for new service.
There are not a lot of choices until you get to the garbage company. There are three companies desperate to remove your trash, and each of them come with their own garbage plan and rate.
We opted for the once a week garbage removal with the once a week recycling removal. This all sounds good in theory, until you realize that three companies offer pick-up and the once a week people are on one day, the twice a week people are on two different days, and the recycling is on a totally different day...FOR EVERY COMPANY.
What does this mean to me, except of course that I can't use my neighbors cans at the curb as a reminder of garbage day because they are on different schedules?
It means that there is a garbage truck going through my neighborhood at 6am EVERY MORNING. Causing me to leap out of bed and wonder if the can is at the curb. It is a heart stopper people. Some of you may think I am overreacting a bit, but you are the folks that have forgotten we moved to he**. Do you know what garbage smells like in he** after a week? Try two, not pretty.
So every week begins with multiple sticky notes all over the house, a reminder on my phone, and the promise of a dollar to every kid who reminds mommy and daddy to put the garbage out the night before garbage day.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Day in the Life
Things I have done today:
1. Registered the car...by myself.
2. Picked up dry cleaning...by myself.
3. Dropped of paperwork for insurance...by myself.
4. Went to the grocery store...by myself.
5. Cleaned the house without interruptions or fighting.
6. Did NOT re-clean the house five times throughout the day.
7. Had multiple phone conversations without interruption.
Hello all day school. Welcome to my world.
1. Registered the car...by myself.
2. Picked up dry cleaning...by myself.
3. Dropped of paperwork for insurance...by myself.
4. Went to the grocery store...by myself.
5. Cleaned the house without interruptions or fighting.
6. Did NOT re-clean the house five times throughout the day.
7. Had multiple phone conversations without interruption.
Hello all day school. Welcome to my world.
Monday, August 16, 2010
And So It Begins...
Pie and Bubba began the long arduous trek to responsible adulthood once again this year and it got me reflecting on my days as an Acequia Indian. Oh, those were the good old days. British Bulldog during the morning recess. The ever-popular (and inherently un-PC) Smear the Queer during the afternoon recess and a fierce game of tetherball after a meatloaf and canned corn lunch. I miss it. I really miss it.
I remember pulling on the pigtails of Pam Lloyd, picking my nose and flicking it at Joe Fitzgerald, and flicking the ears of Aaron Fernau. Anyway...I miss it. Good times...good times.
But now I hear there are rules to be followed! Real, full-on, OSHA-sponsored rules on the playground. And my kid ACTUALLY has to sign that she will abide by them. I am NOT kidding. I am ashamed to be an American with these rules in our schools. No wonder the Japanese are kicking our collective tooshies.
Here they are:
Monkey Bars:
No sitting on top.
Hang by hands only, no knee spins or flipping around.
Slide:
Feet first, bottom down, yawn, sit to slide, stand up at bottom of slide and walk away, salute to Herr Buttinski at bottom, single file in line.
Genral Rules (yes, they spelled it that way...yeah, education system):
No tackle sports.
No throwing rocks or stone (or naughty words)
Do not kick soccer balls (what the heck!)
Genral Cafeteria Rules (yes, they continued to spell it wrong):
Keep hands, feet, and objects to yourself.
12-inch volume voices (I have no idea what that means)
Clean up after yourself
No eating in line.
No looking in the windows.
Do not share food.
Okay, that is it! Do not share food? We teach altruism in the classroom, but you will be punished if we find you sharing your food with the less fortunate.
"But Mr. Smith, I wanted an extra french fry and Juan wanted a carrot stick so we traded."
"You will rot in detention forever then. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaa."
It is going to be a long year.
I remember pulling on the pigtails of Pam Lloyd, picking my nose and flicking it at Joe Fitzgerald, and flicking the ears of Aaron Fernau. Anyway...I miss it. Good times...good times.
But now I hear there are rules to be followed! Real, full-on, OSHA-sponsored rules on the playground. And my kid ACTUALLY has to sign that she will abide by them. I am NOT kidding. I am ashamed to be an American with these rules in our schools. No wonder the Japanese are kicking our collective tooshies.
Here they are:
Monkey Bars:
No sitting on top.
Hang by hands only, no knee spins or flipping around.
Slide:
Feet first, bottom down, yawn, sit to slide, stand up at bottom of slide and walk away, salute to Herr Buttinski at bottom, single file in line.
Genral Rules (yes, they spelled it that way...yeah, education system):
No tackle sports.
No throwing rocks or stone (or naughty words)
Do not kick soccer balls (what the heck!)
Genral Cafeteria Rules (yes, they continued to spell it wrong):
Keep hands, feet, and objects to yourself.
12-inch volume voices (I have no idea what that means)
Clean up after yourself
No eating in line.
No looking in the windows.
Do not share food.
Okay, that is it! Do not share food? We teach altruism in the classroom, but you will be punished if we find you sharing your food with the less fortunate.
"But Mr. Smith, I wanted an extra french fry and Juan wanted a carrot stick so we traded."
"You will rot in detention forever then. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaa."
It is going to be a long year.
Friday, August 13, 2010
MIA
I just wanted all three of the people who read our blog to know that our computer has died. It will be a while before we can post (I am not running to the library every day). Cool Dad is sad because he has a few blogs rolling around in his head that he would like to post.
I asked College Daughter to add this update for me, but she said nobody would miss us...Ouch.
Have a great weekend, hope to be back next week.
I asked College Daughter to add this update for me, but she said nobody would miss us...Ouch.
Have a great weekend, hope to be back next week.
Monday, August 9, 2010
Show Tunes
I’m in love,
I’m in love,
I’m in love,
I’m in love,
I’m in love with
I know I’m no Mitzi Gaynor, and heaven knows I don’t want anyone visualizing me dancing and twirling around the Circle K parking lot like she dances on the South Pacific beaches, but I think you get the picture.
I first noticed “my problem” when I started mapping out my errands based on Circle K locations. Luckily for me there are 17 Circle K’s within close proximity of my house. I tried to fight it, but it is true LOVE. Well, not exactly with ALL of Circle K, but there is a lovely little section in the back of the store where the Frosters live.
For any previous readers you will know that it is fairly hot in my neck of the woods. Apparently I have mentioned this before since my sister has informed me that if I leave my current area of residence I will have to shut down my blog for lack of material, but I digress. When it is 116 degrees outside nothing hits the spot quite like a 79 cent Froster from Circle K. It is 44oz of pure heaven, and who knows I might actually dance my way out to the parking lot next time I treat myself.
I’m in love,
I’m in love,
I’m in love,
I’m in love with
I know I’m no Mitzi Gaynor, and heaven knows I don’t want anyone visualizing me dancing and twirling around the Circle K parking lot like she dances on the South Pacific beaches, but I think you get the picture.
I first noticed “my problem” when I started mapping out my errands based on Circle K locations. Luckily for me there are 17 Circle K’s within close proximity of my house. I tried to fight it, but it is true LOVE. Well, not exactly with ALL of Circle K, but there is a lovely little section in the back of the store where the Frosters live.
For any previous readers you will know that it is fairly hot in my neck of the woods. Apparently I have mentioned this before since my sister has informed me that if I leave my current area of residence I will have to shut down my blog for lack of material, but I digress. When it is 116 degrees outside nothing hits the spot quite like a 79 cent Froster from Circle K. It is 44oz of pure heaven, and who knows I might actually dance my way out to the parking lot next time I treat myself.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Jake, the Fly
He's back.
What is it with my children and minutia? They are fascinated by the smallest, rinkidinkiest things.
To wit, Pie at age three walked around with a sequin named "Menudo". A SEQUIN! She named it "MENUDO"! She carried it on the tip of her finger for days...even weeks. I think Pie was eventually traumatized when "Menudo" met his (her?) demise at the hands of the vacuum cleaner. Oh, she wailed that day!
Anyway, back to the present. Bubba loves flies. We don't have pets in our house because of various allergies but that has not prevented Bubba from adopting a pet fly called Jake. Yes, Jake. Now, those of you familiar with Bubba will remember that about a year ago, he had a similar fascination with a fly named Jake, but this time he is out of his mind. He will follow this one fly around our house for literally hours with his finger stuck out hoping Jake might perch on it. He is VERY...VERY...VERY still so that Jake will not be scared by him and will see fit to land on him (oh, and not to mention that fly leaving feces on said child bit that I love so much).
Right now as I write these very words, Jake is buzzing around my ears, nose, mouth, and eyes like the demon spawn of Jeff Goldblum that he is, and I can't go swat him with the Fly Swatter of Death all because my child thinks Jake is cute and would be devastated.
I...am...not...happy.
Out! Out! Damned Jake!
Shakespeare, I am not.
What is it with my children and minutia? They are fascinated by the smallest, rinkidinkiest things.
To wit, Pie at age three walked around with a sequin named "Menudo". A SEQUIN! She named it "MENUDO"! She carried it on the tip of her finger for days...even weeks. I think Pie was eventually traumatized when "Menudo" met his (her?) demise at the hands of the vacuum cleaner. Oh, she wailed that day!
Anyway, back to the present. Bubba loves flies. We don't have pets in our house because of various allergies but that has not prevented Bubba from adopting a pet fly called Jake. Yes, Jake. Now, those of you familiar with Bubba will remember that about a year ago, he had a similar fascination with a fly named Jake, but this time he is out of his mind. He will follow this one fly around our house for literally hours with his finger stuck out hoping Jake might perch on it. He is VERY...VERY...VERY still so that Jake will not be scared by him and will see fit to land on him (oh, and not to mention that fly leaving feces on said child bit that I love so much).
Right now as I write these very words, Jake is buzzing around my ears, nose, mouth, and eyes like the demon spawn of Jeff Goldblum that he is, and I can't go swat him with the Fly Swatter of Death all because my child thinks Jake is cute and would be devastated.
I...am...not...happy.
Out! Out! Damned Jake!
Shakespeare, I am not.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Knowing Too Much
So....at the bottom of the blog we count all of the people who read the blog as "People who know too much about us". Well...do you? Do you really know too much about us?
I thought not.
So I offer here enough stuff about us to qualify you to know too much about us. In return I want to know one thing about you that would qualify me to know too much about you. Deal?
Anyway...here goes.
Cool Dad thinks coconut looks like toenails and has the same consistency.
Hot Mom once ran a marathon with only one shoe.
Cool Dad once elbowed a girl in the face on the first date.
Hot Mom is fond of soybeans and tilt-a-whirls.
Cool Dad consistently watches Project Runway and Iron Chef.
Hot Mom thinks Cool Dad is the most handsome man on the entire planet.
Cool Dad proposed to Hot Mom in the midst of a makeout session.
Hot Mom was mighty impressed with the proposal.
Cool Dad wore his underwear backward on the day of his proposal because he is an idiot.
Hot Mom was mighty impressed.
Cool Dad went golfing on his Wedding Day.
Hot Mom...again, mighty impressed.
Cool Dad wanted Bubba's middle name to be Indiana.
Hot Mom thought that was a swell idea.
Cool Dad was actually invited to participate in this blog.
Hot Mom will never change the password.
Okay, folks, I expect you all to go down to the comment section of the blog and give us confidential info that will blow our socks off. Do it. Do it now.
I thought not.
So I offer here enough stuff about us to qualify you to know too much about us. In return I want to know one thing about you that would qualify me to know too much about you. Deal?
Anyway...here goes.
Cool Dad thinks coconut looks like toenails and has the same consistency.
Hot Mom once ran a marathon with only one shoe.
Cool Dad once elbowed a girl in the face on the first date.
Hot Mom is fond of soybeans and tilt-a-whirls.
Cool Dad consistently watches Project Runway and Iron Chef.
Hot Mom thinks Cool Dad is the most handsome man on the entire planet.
Cool Dad proposed to Hot Mom in the midst of a makeout session.
Hot Mom was mighty impressed with the proposal.
Cool Dad wore his underwear backward on the day of his proposal because he is an idiot.
Hot Mom was mighty impressed.
Cool Dad went golfing on his Wedding Day.
Hot Mom...again, mighty impressed.
Cool Dad wanted Bubba's middle name to be Indiana.
Hot Mom thought that was a swell idea.
Cool Dad was actually invited to participate in this blog.
Hot Mom will never change the password.
Okay, folks, I expect you all to go down to the comment section of the blog and give us confidential info that will blow our socks off. Do it. Do it now.
Monday, August 2, 2010
And They're Off
Day two of our summer vacation(I know two days doesn't really seems like a vacation, but when you are telling small children lies to make is seem a lot cooler, well...it is what it is) started at Balboa Park where we visited the Timkin Museum. We have an overwhelming desire to make our small children walk around museums with their arms folded, speaking in hushed tones. Someday they will thank us for their appreciation of art, and if not, we can reflect on the few times in their lives when they were actually quiet.
After the museum we headed to the Harbor. We spent a few minutes walking around the USS Midway. Although we decided to save touring the carrier for another day, we still enjoyed our visit. There is a great tribute to Bob Hope as he entertains the troops, along with a tribute to a very famous photo. Yes, Bubba is looking up the ladies skirt. I am pretty sure his dad encouraged that.
Click Here
The second half of day two was spent at Del Mar
Cool Dad and I enjoy a good horse race, so we were anxious to introduce the kiddies to the track. I mean who doesn't want their kid to go to school and write a report on their summer vacation, including terms like, win, place, show, exacta, quinella, and trifecta. It's really just a well rounded education. We are hoping Farm Girl will add a chapter about us in her parenting book: Museum in the Morning, Ponies in the Afternoon.
Bubba's favorite horse of the day was Rule the Storm because of course, it "RULES THE STORM"! Cool Dad's favorite horse of the day was Asno Del Caramelo or Candy Ass. Nice, Cool Dad, way to get our blog a PG-13 rating.
I am also throwing in a few pics of the children at the beach. Cool Dad was too busy making up things in yesterday's post to be bothered with pics of blue children covered in sand.
All in all a great "summer vacation".
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Summer Vacation
Two days.
That's is all we could afford on my government salary and the joy of hotel points.
So...after being chided by Hot Mom for playing two hands of Texas Hold 'Em on Facebook, I loaded up the van and headed to San Diego with Hot Mom and the two kiddies in tow.
First destination: Mission Beach.
Let me take a moment here to digress. Mission Beach on a Friday afternoon in late July is a demolition derby of tramp stamps, wife-beaters, geriatric granolas, and latte-induced hyperactivity. The parking attempt alone was fraught with angst, terror, and lots of irritation from the kiddies as the beach loomed in the distance.
Anyway...we found a safe haven for Odie (our van) and Cool Dad slipped in to the back seat to again slip into his chic swim trunks. Once that debacle and the subsequent hubbub over what to take to the beach and the constant lame cries from Hot Mom about the 63 degree temperature, we tackled the beach.
Awwwwww....
I love the beach. 63 degrees and all, the beach is awesome. Hot Mom curled up in sweat pants, a parka, two down sleeping bags, and a Snuggie while Cool Dad and the kiddies hopped right in to the frothy surf. IT WAS COLD! But...we endured it, we conquered it, and we made it.
Here is a brief recap:
1. We collected our fair share of seashells including one live crab, one live clam, and several dead fish.
2. We created two fairly lame sand castles and one fairly awesome sand fort (we built it in the no go zone where the lifeguards demand access so we got in trouble, but it was still super cool)
3. I succeeded in getting the lips of both of the kiddies blue. I think Bubba got hypothermia and Pie is still shivering but a dad has to do what a dad has to do.
4. I tried to teach Bubba how to pee in the ocean, but failed. Apparently he is quite a proper little pee-er.
5. I awakened Hot Mom from her long Summer's nap just in time to take her home.
So...we then went back to the motel, cleaned up, went to Fuddrucker's, bought Hot Mom a book cause she realized at the beach that she had already read the book she brought from the library (likely story), returned to the hotel, and then WENT SWIMMING again.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Yes, we went swimming at the motel.
I think it was at this point that the ambulance arrived to fish me out of the pool in my catatonic state and wheel me back to the motel room on a gurney.
I passed out slightly thereafter and remember nothing more.
Stay tuned as Hot Mom will recap the events from the second day of SUMMER VACATION.
That's is all we could afford on my government salary and the joy of hotel points.
So...after being chided by Hot Mom for playing two hands of Texas Hold 'Em on Facebook, I loaded up the van and headed to San Diego with Hot Mom and the two kiddies in tow.
First destination: Mission Beach.
Let me take a moment here to digress. Mission Beach on a Friday afternoon in late July is a demolition derby of tramp stamps, wife-beaters, geriatric granolas, and latte-induced hyperactivity. The parking attempt alone was fraught with angst, terror, and lots of irritation from the kiddies as the beach loomed in the distance.
Anyway...we found a safe haven for Odie (our van) and Cool Dad slipped in to the back seat to again slip into his chic swim trunks. Once that debacle and the subsequent hubbub over what to take to the beach and the constant lame cries from Hot Mom about the 63 degree temperature, we tackled the beach.
Awwwwww....
I love the beach. 63 degrees and all, the beach is awesome. Hot Mom curled up in sweat pants, a parka, two down sleeping bags, and a Snuggie while Cool Dad and the kiddies hopped right in to the frothy surf. IT WAS COLD! But...we endured it, we conquered it, and we made it.
Here is a brief recap:
1. We collected our fair share of seashells including one live crab, one live clam, and several dead fish.
2. We created two fairly lame sand castles and one fairly awesome sand fort (we built it in the no go zone where the lifeguards demand access so we got in trouble, but it was still super cool)
3. I succeeded in getting the lips of both of the kiddies blue. I think Bubba got hypothermia and Pie is still shivering but a dad has to do what a dad has to do.
4. I tried to teach Bubba how to pee in the ocean, but failed. Apparently he is quite a proper little pee-er.
5. I awakened Hot Mom from her long Summer's nap just in time to take her home.
So...we then went back to the motel, cleaned up, went to Fuddrucker's, bought Hot Mom a book cause she realized at the beach that she had already read the book she brought from the library (likely story), returned to the hotel, and then WENT SWIMMING again.
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Yes, we went swimming at the motel.
I think it was at this point that the ambulance arrived to fish me out of the pool in my catatonic state and wheel me back to the motel room on a gurney.
I passed out slightly thereafter and remember nothing more.
Stay tuned as Hot Mom will recap the events from the second day of SUMMER VACATION.
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