The kid is killing me, and by kid, I obviously mean Bubba. Why oh why can’t he give me a Saturday morning to sleep in? Just one? Please?
Our weekly routine works like this. Cool Dad is usually up and moving by 6:30ish. He has to get showered and ready for work so he can wake the kids up at 7, get them breakfast and start getting them ready for school. Me, at 6:55 I roll onto the floor and crawl down the hall to the office where I prop myself up in my chair, and boot up my computer for work. It’s a tough job, but somebody has to be willing to make the long commute.
Cool Dad heads to work and the kids head to school. It works for us.
So, on Saturday mornings I let Cool Dad sleep in. See the above paragraph where Cool Dad WAKES up the children at 7am. So why is Bubba coming in to my room at 6am on a SATURDAY? This is not fair; this is not equal division of kid responsibility. Didn’t Bubba get the memo? We sleep in on Saturdays.
Last night I even announced, “Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s all sleep in. Doesn’t extra sleep sound nice? Dad won’t have to get you up for school tomorrow.”
Don’t think I don’t know what is driving this, but I don’t think it would be fair to take away the Wii on Saturday mornings; it is the only time they really get to play it.
Why oh why can’t I be the type of person that can fall back to sleep after the kiddies wake me up? Luckily I have something productive to do with my early morning…blog!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Waffles...It's Whats for Dinner
We had waffles for dinner tonight, not very original, but really quite tasty. We are the type of family who thinks it is ok to eat breakfast for dinner.
We are not a Bisquick/Krustees waffle family. I like to use my mother-in laws recipe. It is hands down the best one I have tasted. The waffles in this house are made from scratch. One of the few things that are.
Anywho, as I mixed up the batter I started thinking about College Daughter (sometimes I think my mind is like that commercial for the search engine, Bing. I think of one thing and immediately spin off to something totally different, completely losing my train of thought) where was I?? Oh yes, College Daughter. While pouring batter into my waffle iron I remembered why I have a fairly new waffle iron.
It goes a little something like this.
One night Cool Dad and I left College Daughter and her friend Liesl to babysit the little ones. They were approximately sixteen at the time. On date night they are pretty much on their own for dinner, frozen pizza, mac 'n cheese, whatever. Apparently this particular night none of this appealed to them and they decided to make waffles, Grandma's waffles from scratch.
At this point the story gets a little foggy on who did what. The one fact I do know, is that when I came home from my date my waffle iron was GLUED SHUT. Yes, you read that correctly. GLUED SHUT.
I am positive you are all wondering, "What in the world could have caused this?"
Well, let’s just check with our readers. Have any of you ever used POWDERED SUGAR instead of flour in a recipe? Let me tell you what it makes…GLUE.
Hello new waffle maker.
Luckily I still love them both.
We are not a Bisquick/Krustees waffle family. I like to use my mother-in laws recipe. It is hands down the best one I have tasted. The waffles in this house are made from scratch. One of the few things that are.
Anywho, as I mixed up the batter I started thinking about College Daughter (sometimes I think my mind is like that commercial for the search engine, Bing. I think of one thing and immediately spin off to something totally different, completely losing my train of thought) where was I?? Oh yes, College Daughter. While pouring batter into my waffle iron I remembered why I have a fairly new waffle iron.
It goes a little something like this.
One night Cool Dad and I left College Daughter and her friend Liesl to babysit the little ones. They were approximately sixteen at the time. On date night they are pretty much on their own for dinner, frozen pizza, mac 'n cheese, whatever. Apparently this particular night none of this appealed to them and they decided to make waffles, Grandma's waffles from scratch.
At this point the story gets a little foggy on who did what. The one fact I do know, is that when I came home from my date my waffle iron was GLUED SHUT. Yes, you read that correctly. GLUED SHUT.
I am positive you are all wondering, "What in the world could have caused this?"
Well, let’s just check with our readers. Have any of you ever used POWDERED SUGAR instead of flour in a recipe? Let me tell you what it makes…GLUE.
Hello new waffle maker.
Luckily I still love them both.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Getting Too Old
"Hey, Hot Mom, my work has decided to host a softball team."
"That's great, Dear. Are you gonna join in?"
"I think so."
"Do they have enough players?"
"Yeah, the team is...um...what is it...ambidextrous?"
"Huh? And they will have left-handed AND right-handed batters???"
"No, you know what I'm saying...bisexual."
"WHAT?"
Hot Mom then may have peed just a little in her pants as she squealed in delight/horror at her husbands total delinquency. She then recovered.
"Umm...honey. I think the word you're looking for is...'CO-ED'."
"You know what I meant."
"That's great, Dear. Are you gonna join in?"
"I think so."
"Do they have enough players?"
"Yeah, the team is...um...what is it...ambidextrous?"
"Huh? And they will have left-handed AND right-handed batters???"
"No, you know what I'm saying...bisexual."
"WHAT?"
Hot Mom then may have peed just a little in her pants as she squealed in delight/horror at her husbands total delinquency. She then recovered.
"Umm...honey. I think the word you're looking for is...'CO-ED'."
"You know what I meant."
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Warm Fuzzy
I am rarely (read never) accused of being a warm and fuzzy person. When it was suggested once that I was a nurturing person my sister spit her drink out of her nose, and said, "In a Nurse Rached sort of way." I am not much of a hugger or a gusher, and especially not in public. I LOATHE group hugs (just ask my nephews).
Sooo, I was a little surprised when Cool Dad told me he was disappointed with my Valentine post. When he read the title I guess he was expecting oohs and aahs over his Valentine awesomeness, and a little more praise about his greatness. I don't want to seem like Cool Dad is not great, but it is like he doesn't even know me. That was about as mushy and gushy as it gets.
So in an effort to be more open,
This is for you Cool Dad, "I Love You!" There it is out there on the WWW for everyone to see.
P.S. Before everyone starts feel bad for Cool Dad. Here is the Valentine's Day card he gave me.
To My Wife on Valentine's Day
Honey, I hope you know that all
of your hard work has not gone
unnoticed.
I've been watching you from the couch
during commercials.
Is that true love or what?
Sooo, I was a little surprised when Cool Dad told me he was disappointed with my Valentine post. When he read the title I guess he was expecting oohs and aahs over his Valentine awesomeness, and a little more praise about his greatness. I don't want to seem like Cool Dad is not great, but it is like he doesn't even know me. That was about as mushy and gushy as it gets.
So in an effort to be more open,
This is for you Cool Dad, "I Love You!" There it is out there on the WWW for everyone to see.
P.S. Before everyone starts feel bad for Cool Dad. Here is the Valentine's Day card he gave me.
To My Wife on Valentine's Day
Honey, I hope you know that all
of your hard work has not gone
unnoticed.
I've been watching you from the couch
during commercials.
Is that true love or what?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Cool Dad is my Valentine
We Heat Wavers had a pretty great Valentine weekend. With Valentine’s Day on a Monday we were able to start our celebration on Friday night.
About four years ago, out of necessity (I forgot it was Valentine’s Day), I implemented the family Valentine party. It works a little like this. All family members’ names are placed into a jar. Each person draws out a name, and presto you have a Valentine. The family then heads to the store, everyone with their allotted money and off we go. After the shopping we pass out the Valentines and this year we were lucky enough to get to go out to dinner too.
Pie bought Hot Mom a necklace.
Hot Mom bought Pie two Barbies.
Bubba bought Cool Dad a Wii game (yes, we are a Wii family now, but that is a post for another day).
Cool Dad bought Bubba a skateboard-don’t even get me started. I am still not convinced he actually stuck to the limit.
Good times!
On Saturday the Achievement Day girls in our ward volunteered to babysit so parents could go out for Valentine’s Day. Talk about awesome. Cool Dad and I enjoyed an evening out eating Japanese food, looking at a 2011 Chevy Camaro (WOW), and looking at books at Barnes and Noble. Love Date Night!
I thought that would wrap up our Valentine’s Day weekend, but Cool Dad surprised me. On Monday night when I came home from school he had chocolates and a book for me.
Thanks Cool Dad.
About four years ago, out of necessity (I forgot it was Valentine’s Day), I implemented the family Valentine party. It works a little like this. All family members’ names are placed into a jar. Each person draws out a name, and presto you have a Valentine. The family then heads to the store, everyone with their allotted money and off we go. After the shopping we pass out the Valentines and this year we were lucky enough to get to go out to dinner too.
Pie bought Hot Mom a necklace.
Hot Mom bought Pie two Barbies.
Bubba bought Cool Dad a Wii game (yes, we are a Wii family now, but that is a post for another day).
Cool Dad bought Bubba a skateboard-don’t even get me started. I am still not convinced he actually stuck to the limit.
Good times!
On Saturday the Achievement Day girls in our ward volunteered to babysit so parents could go out for Valentine’s Day. Talk about awesome. Cool Dad and I enjoyed an evening out eating Japanese food, looking at a 2011 Chevy Camaro (WOW), and looking at books at Barnes and Noble. Love Date Night!
I thought that would wrap up our Valentine’s Day weekend, but Cool Dad surprised me. On Monday night when I came home from school he had chocolates and a book for me.
Thanks Cool Dad.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Letter to the Readers
Dear Readers,
I need a little assistance from you. Cool Dad and I are in a bit of a discussion. It really isn't much of a discussion. Basically I am right, and Cool Dad needs to see the error of his ways. See where I am going with this?
Back to the issue at hand.
We have a rule at this house. Sports=Laundry. Bottom line. Cool Dad can have all the sports he wants he just needs to be folding laundry at the same time.
Enter the problem. Cool Dad has caught the Jimmer fever, but he can't watch the BYU Basketball games, so he is forced to listen to them on the internet. He thinks that since he is not "watching" TV he shouldn't have to fold laundry. WHAT?????
Now you all see why I am right, and Cool Dad is wrong. Let me remind you about above mentioned house rule. Sports=Laundry.
Thanks for Listening.
I know I can count on each of you to help Cool Dad clear up this little issue.
Sincerely,
Hot Mom
I need a little assistance from you. Cool Dad and I are in a bit of a discussion. It really isn't much of a discussion. Basically I am right, and Cool Dad needs to see the error of his ways. See where I am going with this?
Back to the issue at hand.
We have a rule at this house. Sports=Laundry. Bottom line. Cool Dad can have all the sports he wants he just needs to be folding laundry at the same time.
Enter the problem. Cool Dad has caught the Jimmer fever, but he can't watch the BYU Basketball games, so he is forced to listen to them on the internet. He thinks that since he is not "watching" TV he shouldn't have to fold laundry. WHAT?????
Now you all see why I am right, and Cool Dad is wrong. Let me remind you about above mentioned house rule. Sports=Laundry.
Thanks for Listening.
I know I can count on each of you to help Cool Dad clear up this little issue.
Sincerely,
Hot Mom
Monday, February 7, 2011
Wishing I had Chosen Wisely
I chose poorly.
Am I crazy? Don't answer that. "Why am I crazy," you may ask. Remember last week when I explained the whole back to school situation. I believe I said something about really enjoying it, etc., etc.
I chose poorly.
See, it's like this. I am not minding the actual class. Amazingly enough I am enjoying the subject matter (Don't tell Cool Dad. He will want to talk archaeology all of the time, without an eye roll from me). I am discovering that there are certain aspects of archaeology I even find fascinating (not the dirt). All that being said, the one thing that I love the most, is being by myself. Some of you non-mothers are saying, "you aren't by yourself, you are in a class room with twenty-five other people", but you moms out there know that as long as nobody is screaming, "MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM" you are all alone.
IT WAS AWESOME, DELIGHTFUL, GLORIOUS, AMAZING, until this week rolled around. I had a paper due tonight. I stressed and fretted about it all week. What will I write? Will I get a good grade? What in the crap is stratigraphy, and how will I write two pages about it? Oh the stress, and then it hit me.
I chose poorly.
I didn't actually have to sign up for school. I could have signed up for a weekly spa night, or a weekly meditation night. Maybe a weekly movie with the girls, but no, I signed up for school. A whole semester of papers due each week, random quizzes and a final presentation that I am already stressing about.
I chose poorly.
Am I crazy? Don't answer that. "Why am I crazy," you may ask. Remember last week when I explained the whole back to school situation. I believe I said something about really enjoying it, etc., etc.
I chose poorly.
See, it's like this. I am not minding the actual class. Amazingly enough I am enjoying the subject matter (Don't tell Cool Dad. He will want to talk archaeology all of the time, without an eye roll from me). I am discovering that there are certain aspects of archaeology I even find fascinating (not the dirt). All that being said, the one thing that I love the most, is being by myself. Some of you non-mothers are saying, "you aren't by yourself, you are in a class room with twenty-five other people", but you moms out there know that as long as nobody is screaming, "MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM, MOM" you are all alone.
IT WAS AWESOME, DELIGHTFUL, GLORIOUS, AMAZING, until this week rolled around. I had a paper due tonight. I stressed and fretted about it all week. What will I write? Will I get a good grade? What in the crap is stratigraphy, and how will I write two pages about it? Oh the stress, and then it hit me.
I chose poorly.
I didn't actually have to sign up for school. I could have signed up for a weekly spa night, or a weekly meditation night. Maybe a weekly movie with the girls, but no, I signed up for school. A whole semester of papers due each week, random quizzes and a final presentation that I am already stressing about.
I chose poorly.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Blah, Blah, Blah
I have been sick since Christmas. You know...the coughing, hacking, spitting, phlegming, stuffy head, fever, wish-you-could-kick-it-but-you-can't variety of sickness.
The problem with said sickness is that I don't really feel bad enough to stay home, but I don't really feel well enough to go to work...so...I go to work and whine about how sick I am and then when I get home, Hot Mom yells at me.
After six weeks of the yuck, I finally went in to the QuickCare to see the doctor. Now, I say "doctor" with a tongue firmly in my Halls mentho-lyptus-soaked cheek, because the QuickCare doctor that works the 10:00 PM - 7:00 AM shift is more of a...hmm...work in progress. He tells me he went to medical school at a college someplace in Florida (not a school I had ever heard of) then scrambled around a few other ports of call before he wound up here in the blistering heat.
Anywho...I was so sick, I didn't care who saw me, I just wanted them to give me a Z-pack and a keg of NyQuil.
The verdict: A sinus infection.
The treatment plan: One painful shot in the buttocks and then antibiotics for the next 3 1/2 years.
The final word from Hot Mom: "You should have gone in a month ago when I told you to, now it will be...blah, blah, blah.
The problem with said sickness is that I don't really feel bad enough to stay home, but I don't really feel well enough to go to work...so...I go to work and whine about how sick I am and then when I get home, Hot Mom yells at me.
After six weeks of the yuck, I finally went in to the QuickCare to see the doctor. Now, I say "doctor" with a tongue firmly in my Halls mentho-lyptus-soaked cheek, because the QuickCare doctor that works the 10:00 PM - 7:00 AM shift is more of a...hmm...work in progress. He tells me he went to medical school at a college someplace in Florida (not a school I had ever heard of) then scrambled around a few other ports of call before he wound up here in the blistering heat.
Anywho...I was so sick, I didn't care who saw me, I just wanted them to give me a Z-pack and a keg of NyQuil.
The verdict: A sinus infection.
The treatment plan: One painful shot in the buttocks and then antibiotics for the next 3 1/2 years.
The final word from Hot Mom: "You should have gone in a month ago when I told you to, now it will be...blah, blah, blah.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Pizza is a Food Group
I LOVE pizza. I am serious. I really, really love pizza. It is like a food group to me, a total staple in my life. When all else fails, eat pizza. Pizza is good for any meal, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and a midnight snack. I have felt this way for years. Oh the great places I have eaten pizza. Louie's in Sun Valley, Doc N Dan's in Rupert, Grizzly Bear in Burley, Two Fat Guys in St. George, and a Round Table where ever I can find one. I am dying just thinking about it.
As a little girl my dad used to tell me that he would rather take my brother or sister (both teenagers at the time) to pizza instead of me. At least with them he had half a chance of getting one of their pieces. Oh, I do love pizza.
Why does this matter? "Who cares", says you? Well, let me tell you why it matters. I have a child who HATES pizza. I mean really hates it. Won't even consider going out for pizza. How did this happen to me? I am a good person. Why, oh why, was my family stricken with this problem?
Well, I have big news this week. Big news. Sweet Pie going to a birthday party Friday night. She won't be joining us for dinner. I get to go out for pizza(insert Hallelujah chorus)!!
Now I just have to decide where. There aren't that many places here in our new town, but I am willing to try every one of them. I keep asking Cool Dad where we should go, and he looks at me like I am insane. He so does not get it.
As a little girl my dad used to tell me that he would rather take my brother or sister (both teenagers at the time) to pizza instead of me. At least with them he had half a chance of getting one of their pieces. Oh, I do love pizza.
Why does this matter? "Who cares", says you? Well, let me tell you why it matters. I have a child who HATES pizza. I mean really hates it. Won't even consider going out for pizza. How did this happen to me? I am a good person. Why, oh why, was my family stricken with this problem?
Well, I have big news this week. Big news. Sweet Pie going to a birthday party Friday night. She won't be joining us for dinner. I get to go out for pizza(insert Hallelujah chorus)!!
Now I just have to decide where. There aren't that many places here in our new town, but I am willing to try every one of them. I keep asking Cool Dad where we should go, and he looks at me like I am insane. He so does not get it.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
The Rebuttal
As a young child of maybe 8 or 9 years old...or 12...or 15, I remember watching a special movie with my Dad. He would see that the movie was playing and he would let us stay up and watch it no matter how long it went. I am sure that my mother was against it as she had a very strict bedtime routine for us, but somehow my father won out in the battle to let us experience some of Dad's "big boy" culture.
The movie: The Sting.
I loved it. I still love it. And it is something that I share with my father despite its semi-appropriate message (you know...gambling...cheating...scamming, etc.).
So I share Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with my kids? So what? So Buddy was scared out of his wits? He sucked it up and made it through. He's fine. As for Pie...she loved it. I went with the Last Crusade 'cause it's funny and there is no human sacrifice and faces don't melt off. Bud got a little creeped out when the guy ages into dust, but Indy didn't die so he was fine when all was said and done.
As for sleeping that night...they both slept like little angels. Thank you very much.
The End.
Good Dad.
The movie: The Sting.
I loved it. I still love it. And it is something that I share with my father despite its semi-appropriate message (you know...gambling...cheating...scamming, etc.).
So I share Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade with my kids? So what? So Buddy was scared out of his wits? He sucked it up and made it through. He's fine. As for Pie...she loved it. I went with the Last Crusade 'cause it's funny and there is no human sacrifice and faces don't melt off. Bud got a little creeped out when the guy ages into dust, but Indy didn't die so he was fine when all was said and done.
As for sleeping that night...they both slept like little angels. Thank you very much.
The End.
Good Dad.
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