A Farmer's Wife

On days like today when the sun shines and its the perfect weather outside I dread being at work. I dread sitting behind this little desk tip tap typing on my computer screen. Its days like today that I wonder if I shouldn't have been a farmer...or farmer's wife...

That was an option once, you know. A few years back...I was dating Mr. Chucklehead...it was the drama of the century as he is not of the same religious faith as the majority of my family. There was suddenly a flutter and a flurry of eligible young men that were called to my attention.

One in particular will always remain fresh in my mind. His name is Buster. He is the proud father of eight children. He had a wife who passed away from cancer a few years earlier.

Buster was the choice of my grandfather. He was from a small town, a hard working farmer, of the "right" religion and best of all...because of my elderly age of 30 was the perfect mate because he already had children.

In all the years of my life there are few things my mother and I agree on. Me being all wrong for Buster is one that I thank God for often.

Of course I could see right away that Buster was all wrong for me. A farmer? Not my style. I'm a professional business woman! Not only that, but he was nearly 10 years older than I was and how in the world would we be able to date - we lived hundreds of miles from each other?

All that was a quick fix according to grandpa...I needed a man like Buster...I could just move in with grandpa and why date? Buster needs a wife and I need a husband...?! (I swear I'm not making this up.)

Leave it to my mother to put it in a way that grandpa could understand, "Oh no dad! She can't marry Buster. Those kids would starve...have you ever tasted her cooking?"

Well - I suppose that if the one reason I can't marry Buster is because of my cooking then I shall be glad that I have no idea how to use a crock pot, can burn rice without even trying and wouldn't know a souffle from a succotash.

Mute the conference call!

I swear...some people have absolutely no respect or consideration for others. Its like they are totally oblivious to the world around them and what is happening.

I had to present an online seminar today and I must have repeated 15 times, "Please mute your phone lines so other participants cannot hear what is happening in your personal office space." Sure enough...Mr. Paynoattention in the middle of the presentation starts jibberjabbering with an office mate...

"Hey Charlie! Yup, I'm in a webinar."

Uhhh...no duh...so is everyone else listening to you. Cut the string Chatty Kathy.

An on and on it went until I finally interrupted our very distinguished speaker and repeated in the best "listen up or I'll kick you in the shin" voice...PLEASE MUTE YOUR CALL...

And would you guess that he starts talking about muting the dang call?

"*6 to mute eh? Hmmm...well if we just press this it.... (pause in conversation because he actually had it on mute) .......and then it comes back on and you aren't muted anymore."

Perhaps the electronic waves that center around his universe and computer caused massive brain damage or he may be a "real" blonde...those characteristics aren't limited to women, you know.

I think he is just so involved with his little world that the idea of anyone else being disturbed by his "oh so important" comments just never occured to him.

My colleague sitting next to me was laughing. She thought it was funny...like the time she was on a conference call and all of a sudden she heard a toilet flush.

I'm not opposed to a little tinkle while on the phone if you need to, but for hells sake...learn how to mute your phone!

Just when I had wicked stepmom down...

Its been a long long long long week for me...and if I am being perfectly honest I was absolutely dreading having Chortle and Little Giggle here this weekend. We're in the process of moving, the house is a mess, I have a million things to do and I guess I had decided to be a big grump about them being here all weekend long. Not that there is anything I could do about it, but hey...why not just make things as difficult as possible, right?

Well...I was doing a pretty good job of being cold and standoff-ish. I had the ignore you pose and ice stare down and to top it all of Mr. Chucklehead and I had a spectacular fight...errr...discussion... right before he went to pick them up.

When it came time to eat dinner, I *almost* chose to eat alone later instead of suffering through a meal with whining and chitter chatter and stories of the last 3 weeks at Cruella's house...I mean really...wicked stepmom's don't have to suffer through that do they?! BUT...I relented when Mr Chucklehead used his best *puppy dog eyes* and asked me to join them so we could eat as a family.

He asked Chortle to say the prayer before dinner and darn it all if that kid didn't just melt the heart of the ice queen and cause the Grinch's heart to grow two sizes...

Out of Chortle's mouth comes these words, "God...thanks for giving me such a great and wonderful dad that plays with me and loves me and thanks also for Aaaa....my step...uhm....my mother. My babycakes mommy cuz I really love her too." (babycakes is my *love* name around our house)

He called me mother. For the first time ever...he called me mother...and his babycakes mommy...

And well...after that I just didn't have it in me to play wicked stepmom...

Funny how things like that happen when you need it to the most.

Dejunking

I am dejunking. I just spent the last two days going through my craft supplies and getting rid of most of them. How in the world is it possible to have so much CRAFT junk that it takes two days to go through it.

I've seen worse cases...hoarders, packrats, crafting freaks that save every scrap of ribbon, paper, buttons, bells etc. All to create a fabulous piece of art that will sit in a book on a shelf and be looked at occasionally...

Hmmmm...don't get me wrong. I'm a scrapbooking fiend...well, I used to be, but now I'm a serious craft-tote wielding woman that knows what she wants in a scrapbook page and what she doesn't.

Stickers are my downfall...I hoard them...I love them...I want to paste their sticky stickness all over the place, but not really cuz they are so cute that means they would no longer be mine...I won't have them to look at and love and hold and hug and call them George...

Ok...here is part two...I have a whole under-the-bed tupperware container that is full of sewing supplies. Does anyone reading this blog know me as a sewer? (As in "one who sews" not under the city sewer rat!) No? Right...so why am I carting around a huge under-the-bed tupperware full of material, thread, lace and elastic?

The answer is this...someday I might BECOME a sewer.

You may now laugh hysterically.

Long live women who wish they were domestic like their mothers. MaryAnne would be so proud to hear that at least I aspire to her domestic Goddess greatness. She truly was amazing. She could make anything...shirts, dresses, pants, shorts, swimming suits, bras...for hells sake! I would perish in nakedness if I had to make my own clothes...

So - the moral of this story is...young girls...listen to your domestic mothers because some day you will want to be like them. I promise...its true.

Liar liar pants on fire...

Mr. Chucklehead finally got ahold of the doctor treating his children. It took a note with the words, "Lawsuit, subpoena and lawyer" to get him to call back, but when he did he also chewed out Mr. Chucklehead for a very interesting reason...

"Mr. Chucklehead, what concerns me is that you refused to provide your children with their ADD medication during your two week vacation with them."

Uh...ADD?
Uh...medication?

What a surprise, Doctor. I had no idea my children were ADD or on medication.

Come to find out that Cruella Deville blames their unruly behavior in the Dr. office on Mr. Chucklehead refusing to give them their pills.

I wish I could send her an email saying Liar liar pants on fire...or another selection of choice words that express my true opinions.

Until then I humbly leave you to tend to a throbbing headache that occured at the mere mention of her name.

The 11th Commandment...

Mr. Chucklehead and I have been talking up a weight loss plan for a year now with little results or action taken. Well...the great diet has begun...as of tomorrow...right after we finish off the strawberry shortcake and whipped cream.

Yes...tomorrow is the day that our lifestyle change will take place and no more shall we suffer under the foolish idea that one or two whoppers won't make a difference (hold on while I just lick the bowl here...)

Yes...tomorrow is the day of liberation where I will tell my fat pants...NO MORE shall I be under your power. NO MORE will I lament that cute shirt that emphasizes the back fat...my back will soon be as smooth as a round curve on this pound cake.

My hair will shine, my skin will be creamy and soft (sort of reminds me of the whipped cream I'm licking off my spoon right now.) I will be a whole new woman.

We' ve got a 1-week meal plan in place. Our first goal...to actually follow the 1-week meal plan. Next week I'll be adding exercise to the meal plan...slowly but shortcakely...I mean surely we'll change our sinful ways.

Onward to skinny jeans and tight shirts.

Ode to the Larson Leap

Mr. Chucklehead broke two toes while on vacation. He and the other men in my immediate family decided that it would be a good idea to rehash the Bonzaii Waterslide Championship for the person who can make it up and over the slide the fastest.

Bonzaii Record 2006
Last summer MC won at 2.9 seconds. Of course you have to defend your title. So - up and over he went ...once, twice, three times the charm.

He limped over to me and said, "I think I jammed my toes."

5 days later we sat in the Orthopedic Surgeon's office and looked at x-rays of two fractured toes. The good news?

No surgery - Between a budding chiropractor, an avid soccer player and an outdoorsman they managed to properly tape the toes together. Taping them began the healing process so they didn't have to be rebroken and set again. There is no way to convey the relief in MC's face when he heard his toes wouldn't be rebroken. Imagine Guido in front of you with a sledghammer poised to crash down on the little piggy that ate roastbeef and the little piggy that had none.

Leap, slide...water surrounds the broken mess I call toes.
But it doesn't get better than keeping your Waterslide Crown.
All is worth the pain.

Beware of Lyme Disease - its running rampant!

Little Giggle is being preemptively treated for Lyme Disease. Now...I use the word preemptive because she hasn't actually been diagnosed with it, but because she got bug bites while on vacation and because those bites are now turning "rash-like" according to her hypochondriac birth mother they must be Lyme Disease.

SO...I'm throwing out a word of caution to anyone even thinking of a camping trip in the near future...

If you suspect that you've gotten bit by an infected black-legged deer tick and are now covered in a severe rash (that suspiciously looks like bug bites) and even if that is the only "sympton" of Lyme Disease you are displaying (others include nausea, vomiting, flu-like symptoms) you should immediately begin a 20-day course of antibiotics because you too have Lyme disease.

This message is courtesy of Mr. Chucklehead's ex-wife...feel free to contact me for further details.
And here I thought that this snorkel gear would keep her from Lyme Disease...she does look sickly doesn't she...or maybe thats just the sunshine glinting off her shoulders...

Yellowstone Vacation

Watching an elk after a picnic lunch









Little Giggle loves the wind...she's being a cloud








I know she loves me...wicked stepmom and all.







Swimming hole!

My pensive princess

Chuckleheads vs Wicked Witch of the West

Thats right...we're back to the crusade against Chortle and little giggle's mom....whom we prefer to call ED...thats right...Egg Donor.

We just had a great 2 week vacation with them and received notification today that they were so emaciated, neglected and sick when they got home that they had to be immediately rushed to the doctor. ED now insists that Mr. Chucklehead give up ALL visitation rights to them and "do the right thing" by never seeing them again.

At what point do you give up? Throw up your hands and say...take them! Ruin them! Destroy their little brains and make them think their father hates them...go ahead!

She verbally attacked us yesterday...physically restrained us from departing as she blocked us with her car and it was incredible how ugly one person can become in such a short span.

She insists that Mr. Chucklehead was trying to kidnap them...Ed is the only person I know that conjur kidnapping charges, destroy a fun 2 week vacation AND put the kids in the hospital in the span of a day. I should send her a trophy...ED of the year....for your hard work in completely destroying your children and preventing them from being productive members of society.

Congratulations ED.