Happy Fathers Day

You know it's finally Summer when you start to see the Fathers Day cards appear. Regardless of what your relationship is with your biological dad, it's been my experience that God gives everyone a man in their life who deserves to be celebrated. Whether that be your husband, an Uncle, your Grandfather, or Father-in-Law, I bet it doesn't take any woman very long to think of that special man in her life who brings her laughter, joy, happiness, and a whole lot of.....confusion.

It's the kick-off to Fathers Day weekend and lots of my time is spent thinking of my husband and planning his special day. Thankfully there are enough weeks in between Mothers Day and Fathers Day that I've almost forgotten the borderline disastrous weekend planned by my husband and children. (Yep, there's a story here, but I'm not quite ready to share yet....I'm still working this one out with my therapist.) My to-do list for my husband consists of stocking up on Schulers chocolate creme-filled donuts for breakfast and picking up his gift. He requested a box that holds his hose. I have no idea what that is but my plan is to walk into Lowe's, find a blue vested employee, and tell him I'm looking for a box for my husband's hose and hope for the best.

Despite the Mothers Day debacle of 2010, I'm excited to honor him on his special day. With the help of his wonderful dad, he has spent the past couple of months working like crazy on our backyard. He had a patio laid behind the pool, put up a new privacy fence, and just completed a heart-shaped bonfire pit out of stone even though his initial reaction to that request was a big sigh with a dramatic eye roll that he must have learned from our daughters. (Or maybe they learned it from him? Hmmmm.....)

The fact is, my husband deserves a special day more than once a year, and I'm probably not the only wife that feels that way about her husband. I wouldn't have enough time to list all of the wonderful things about him so here are just a few. He works hard to financially support our family, thus allowing me the choice of staying home full-time to be with our children, he doesn't go out with friends because he'd rather hang out with us, he constantly tells us how much he loves us, and he's our protector. (Let's face it, there isn't a whole lot hotter than a big guy in a baseball cap armed with a shotgun.)

Are there things that irritate me? Of course. That's normal. Do I like watching him pull his butt cheeks apart before he passes gas to maximize the sound? No. Does he vacuum his back with my hose attachments? Yes. Is he a die-hard believer that Sasquatch exists? Unfortunately. Did he almost let me die from a nut allergy because it happened during an Ohio State game? Yep. Does he still blame me for missing part of that game? He does. Am I still bitter about the whole thing? You betcha. Know why? Because that's not normal! And I won't even mention how he sprays ants with Windex while he sits on the toilet in the downstairs bathroom.

But he's my very best friend in the whole world and with anything, it's the good and the bad that make up the whole package, and he's my whole package. Sometimes he listens to my voice of reason, most times he doesn't. We're partners in crime and we're in it for the long haul. I knew it from the first time I laid my eyes on him when he picked me up for our blind date our Senior year in High School. I knew it when he smacked my butt like a football player instead of giving me a kiss goodnight when he dropped me off from our second date. And the deal was cinched on our third date when he got me laughing really really hard....and once you find the guy that makes you laugh so hard you pee yourself, you snatch him up and keep him forever.....or risk having some guy running around telling his friends about the psycho he dated who couldn't control her bladder. I chose A.

So here's a big Happy Fathers Day to all of those men in our lives who never cease to amaze us all year round. And never forget how much we love you every single day, not only during your good moments, but even as we see you reach around to pull your cheeks apart.....

Invasion of the Rednecks

Our family's favorite place in the whole world is Hilton Head Island. We began vacationing there when Z was four and A was two and it was love at first sight. This year is my family's tenth trip to the island and it marks our first trip since I began my blog. So here, in diary form, is what a week looks like when our family of rednecks goes on vacation to an upscale resort. I'm sure it's quite a culture shock.....for them.

Friday
Departing our home with our mini van packed with as little as humanly possible. Strictly necessities. That means bathing suits and snacks. The kids know this is their final chance to go to the bathroom because our van doesn't stop until it needs gas. If you've gotta go, you've gotta wait....we stop for nothing.

Saturday
7am: Breakfast at IHop with a friend from youth group days from a church we attended together as teenagers. (She and I count ourselves lucky that we survived and I have no doubt the church counts itself lucky that we're gone.) She lives in North Carolina and this was our second annual breakfast with her family. A very fun time and well worth the stop in our trip. 9am: Back on the road, cruise control set at eighty, and we're on the home stretch. Hilton Head Island or bust! 11am: Moving C's car seat to the very back seat might not have been the best idea. Going eighty mph in the daylight with a belly full of pancakes isn't a good combination and vomiting has begun....pass back a Walmart bag because this van ain't stoppin.....Noon: I tried to convince the security guard that I'm really a smart person after a minor snaffoo with the front gate. I don't think he's buying it. 1pm: We've been in our condo for less than an hour and the kids have already mistaken their bathmat for a hand towel. 1:05pm: So has my husband. (Sigh) I live with animals. 1:30pm: Z just found two plastic Easter eggs full of candy hidden in our condo. I was surprised and asked him how long he thinks they've been there. He replied, "I'm not sure, but I'd have to guess since Easter." (Smart***.) 2pm: Beach! This is C's fourth beach vacation in her three years of life and she decided that this is the year she hates sand. (Unlike the year we cruised to Jamaica two years ago when she ate it by the handfuls. My how things change.) 7pm: After our traditional ordering of the pizza, we headed to the pool. It didn't take my boys long to realize that when they straddled over the two fountains that were streaming into the toddler pool, it looked like they were peeing. (So of course they proceeded to try out lots of different poses. Would you expect any less?) 11pm: We're ready to crash! Aaaahhhh.....Home Sweet Hilton Head......

Sunday
9am: I asked A if she'd like to join me on a fast walk on the beach for some exercise. 9:45am: She informed me that it wasn't very 'fast.' (We'll just see if she gets any sunblock today, won't we?) 3pm: After completely water logging ourselves at the beach and pool, it's time for a cookout, cornhole, and playground before heading to Harbour Town, one of our favorite traditions. 7:30pm: Our traditional climb to the top of the lighthouse! Hot, crowded, narrow, steep, 110 steps....and I'm claustrophobic.....so once again, my apologies to anyone I may have shoved and/or trampled on my way to the top....or bottom. 8pm: We're at the top of the lighthouse and completely hogging the live web cam as we call all of our family members so that they can see us in Hilton Head. We can only assume they're thrilled to put their lives on hold, go to their computer, and watch us wave at them. 9pm: Coligny Plaza to order our favorite treat. The Chocolate Fudge Brownie Feast! A huge brownie covered in four scoops of ice cream, tons of hot fudge, piles of whipped cream, sprinkled with nuts (or Reese Cups if you're my husband), and topped with a cherry. We order one for my husband and A to share and another one for K & me. C eats from both and Z sits there drinking a normal size root beer float while pretending not to be related to us. Then we devour those suckers while ignoring the stares from strangers....and Z. 10:05pm: We found out the hard way that the pool closes at 10pm and that it's non-negotiable. PS. The security guard still isn't amused with us. No surprise there since we rarely get along with the 'special' personality it takes to be a gung ho security guard that I suspect comes from their deep rooted IN-security from some childhood trauma. I wish them well with their therapist. 11pm: Two flashlights + six family members = twenty minutes of non-stop fighting during a night walk along the beach. (Where's a security guard when you actually need one?)

Monday
9am: You'd think the beautiful view out the gym window would take away the pain of the elliptical workout.....you'd be wrong. 11am: Unbelievable huge waves today!!! We weren't real surprised to see our lifeguard heading our direction. That usually happens at least once a year and since we had C out in ten foot waves in her inflatable whale, we kind of expected it. But when I asked him if we were doing something wrong, I was surprised when he said, "No, I just wanted to try these rad waves!" I resisted the urge to use words like, "Righteous, dude, and gnarly." Instead I said, "Totally" and gave him the hang ten sign. (All credit for my extensive surfer lingo goes to Crush on 'Finding Nemo.') But the waves were a little too 'rad' for me. My first clue was when I was thrown down face first and realized my boobs were not only exposed but dragging behind me in the sand. I figured I should get out before a small child tried to use one as a flotation device. 5:45: I ate a column of oreos by myself and spent an hour bonding with the bathroom. 8pm: We rode for two hours on a twelve mile bike ride. We could have gone faster but my husband kept jumping off his bike and running onto the golf course to gather stray balls. 9pm: At the pool! 9:15pm: K: "I need my goggles for the hot tub quick!!!!" (Uh oh......)

Tuesday
7am: While having my coffee a large frog hopped by my chair....in the living room!!! (Remind me, is it good luck or bad luck when a frog crosses your path?) 8:20am: Time to leave for my massage! (This is technically 'work' for me. It's called research, people.) 9:45am: Forty-five minutes into my ninety minute massage I was pulled from the depths of my semi-conscious state by the sounds of a bird whistle. I'm not a fan of nature sounds during a relaxing massage so I was immediately annoyed with his c.d. Then I noticed that the strange bird call perfectly coincided with each of my exhales. I was finally forced to face the embarrassing realization that the bird sound was coming out of my own nose. (Crap, is that embarrassing.) 10:45am: Security gate debacle #2 but this time I'm not even tempted to convince the 'In-security' guard that I'm super smart in real life. After all, I'm not the one who needs the therapist. (Please refrain from commenting if you disagree.) 12:15pm: While sitting on the beach, C announced that her ear hurts. 1:15pm: Ten trips to HH and we're just now seeing the inside of their Urgent Care. (Not bad!) 3pm: Amoxicillin and drops are prescribed. (FYI: It's true when they say people move at a slower pace in the South. Do they not realize that we're on vacation?!? So hurry up for crying out loud!!!!) 6pm: On our way to the Hilton Head Diner for a cheeseburger that my husband had last year and he's been talking about it ever since. 7:30pm: Slow service with a sub-standard waitress and when my 'deluxe' cheeseburger was delivered to me plain I was a little perturbed. I asked her where all of my toppings were and she informed me that you only get toppings when you order fries. (Huh?!?) I turned to shoot her my very best 'WTF face' when my husband suddenly apologized to her because of my misunderstanding. (And that's when the fight started......) Note to self: The next time a frog crosses my path, go back to bed immediately.

Wednesday
10am - 12pm: I parked my beach chair in the waves while my family slept in. Heavenly! 4pm: Z successfully passed his driving test before vacation, therefore our family now has three licensed drivers. In the interest of confidentiality, no names will be used in this portion of my entry. We have drivers #1, #2, and #3.....and today, driver #1 accidentally hit a guy riding a bike as driver #2 chatted on the cell phone in the passenger seat. Okay, technically #1 just barely bumped the guy's back bike tire. No injury, no damages, but that didn't seem to make the bike rider feel any better about it. Driver #1 waved an apology but the guy on the bike put his shocked and angry face up to #1's window. Driver #2 continued their phone conversation and tried desperately to avoid eye contact with the angry face in the window. Driver #1 explained, "I said I was sorry, I don't know what else you want from me" and drove away. (Yet another Hilton Head first because shockingly we've never in our our ten years hit anyone on a bike. So much for that record. Also in the interest of privacy, I won't tell you which driver # peed their pants from laughing so hard afterward. 7pm: Riding our bikes to McDonalds for milkshakes. (Let's hope for Driver #1's sake that Karma is a myth.)

**This clearly calls for a vote. What do you think? Who hit the bike rider? Go to the top right under the picture of the brownie feast if you'd like to take a guess**

Thursday
10am - 4pm: Typical day....Beach followed by the pool. (A quick soapbox moment if you don't mind: Kids need a vacation too! So will the over zealous dad who was pacing around the pool all afternoon with a notebook as his three young daughters, sporting professional swimming goggles, did continuous laps of the butterfly stroke and practiced flip turns, please just let them play and have fun?!?! Better yet, get in and play with them! And the same goes for the mom forcing her son to practice speaking French by the pool. Not everything has to be educational! Thank you. Soapbox removed.) 7pm: This evening on our bike ride we noticed a 'No Trespassing' sign on the golf course. Hmmm....wonder if that's new? 9:30pm: I told a young teenager in the hot tub that she looks just like the actress who played 'Sabrina The Teenage Witch.' She seemed pleased until K followed it up with, "You look like the witch on 'Bewitched' too." (For future reference, one comparison to a witch can be a compliment, two comparisons to a witch has the potential to give a young girl a complex.) So when Z jokingly said, "Gee, why don't we tell her she looks like the witch off 'The Wizard of Oz' while we're at it," I decided we should go back to the room before we inflict further damage.

Friday
Our last day! We're a little sad but a little excited to get back home. We spent the morning and early afternoon at the beach and pool and the rest of the day cleaning, packing up, and taking some final pictures. With exception of Z tossing a Frisbee up onto someone's third floor balcony and taking out a solar light with a football, it's been an uneventful day. (Better go knock on some wood now.) We'll end our vacation with our traditional stop at Golden Corral and a final souvenir stop before beginning our night drive back home. 7pm: Driving across the bridge. We had a wonderful week but it's time for us to go back where we came from.....and the island rejoiced.

RETREAT!!!

Here's your official ((((TMI ALERT))))......don't say you weren't forewarned.....

The word 'Retreat' is defined as:
1. A place affording peace, quiet, privacy, & security......OR
2. The act or process of withdrawing, especially from something hazardous, formidable, or unpleasant.

Now let me tell you about the Marriage Retreat we attended last weekend with our church.......

My husband and I have been married for seventeen years and have four children ranging in age from sixteen down to three. 'Crazy' doesn't begin to describe our lives sometimes and as with most busy couples with busy kids, we're lucky to squeeze in twenty minutes of alone time and that's the very last twenty minutes of the day when we can barely keep our eyes open.

Recently our church provided some neat opportunities for couples. In March, a wonderful couple offered a marriage class. It was so much fun and very informative. Childcare was provided and for an hour on Sunday evenings for six weeks we got together with other couples and laughed and learned together. Our final night of class was topped off with ballroom dance lessons. (Believe it or not, we took ballroom dance lessons last winter.....that's a whole different story.....and although you might not ever hear my husband admit it, it was a lot of fun.)

On the heels of the marriage class, another wonderful couple planned and organized a Marriage Retreat at a very nice hotel for a Friday and Saturday. We've never been on a nice Marriage Retreat, so when they approached us to ask if we'd go we jumped at the chance. We immediately arranged for our kids to stay with my husband's parents, he scheduled the day off, and we took the kids out of school to allow us time to get there nice and early and really enjoy the experience.

We were the first to arrive at the hotel at 1pm and the organizers rolled in shortly after. We got our key and headed to the room to take full advantage of a hotel room alone. (Who's with me?) A while later we decided to grab our retreat packets on the way to the pool. While I was receiving our information, one of the organizers pulled my husband aside......when he returned I asked him what that was about and he casually told me that they wanted our room key to decorate it. (Here's a good rule of thumb: if you want to surprise a couple and decorate their hotel room, that idea should become void if the couple has already 'used' the room.) Everything in my world went to slow-motion. I looked up to see two of the wives in the glass elevator and it was slowly ascending to the top floor toward our room. Before I could even call him an idiot, I broke away from him and bolted toward the other glass elevator and repeatedly pushed the up arrow in hopes that it would help the thing arrive faster....it didn't. With my hands and face pressed against the slowly moving glass box I was trapped in, I could see the women enter our room. (Four letter word of choice here.) By the time I got out of the elevator and rounded the corner, the women were already leaving our room and one of them was on her cell phone. (I could only assume to the prayer chain.) With my stomach cramping, I entered our room to find roses, rose petals, and chocolate kisses spread all over our bed.....which would have looked wonderful on a made-up bed. By the time he caught up with me I was sitting on the toilet sobbing and he saw the weekend flash before his eyes, I'm sure. Eventually, he talked me down and I even managed to show my face again in public. Which brings me to what happened next......

After we swam, my husband decided to take a nap. (Apparently, all those cannon balls in the small pool of five feet of water exhausted him.) I decided to go downstairs to find the workout room. (And truth be told, to secretly hunt for a tampon machine, as I began to wonder if the room-decorating-debacle wasn't solely to blame for my stomach cramps.) No luck on the machine, but I hit pay dirt on the workout room! It was awesome and fully stocked with every machine you can think of. I had the place to myself so I opted to do my cardio routine....ten minutes fast on the bike, ten minutes on the elliptical at a steep incline, and ten minutes of sprints on the treadmill. It was just the solitude I needed to regain my composure, get out some frustration, and watch the dark clouds moving in as rain pounded against the windows and bolts of lightning seemed to get stronger and stronger. I was on my final rotation and sprinting on the treadmill when one especially strong bolt of lightning struck.....and knocked out the electricity.....(FYI: If you're running on a treadmill that suddenly loses power, you will fall down. There's just no way around it.) Down I went, face first, rolled off the back of the machine and for the second time that weekend, wondered what the heck I was doing here and cursing the word 'Retreat.'

Praying the security cameras went out with the electricity, I slipped out of the gym and tried to get an elevator. It took me all of five minutes of waiting to realize that elevators run by electricity. Who knew? My only other option was to climb the five flights of stairs to our top-floor room. So a mere four hours after this 'Retreat' started, I was in a hot stairwell and I looked like death warmed over: hot, sweaty, cramping, skinned up knees, runny make-up, nasty sweaty pony tail, and passing nice clean couples from church who were headed to the welcome reception, and probably wondering who beat the crap out of me but were too polite to ask. To top it off, the electricity kicked back on just as I reached our floor. (Of course!)

When I keyed into our room, my husband was up and getting ready, and announced, "Oh man! You're so lucky you weren't up here! The electricity went off while I was asleep and I woke up hot and sweaty! It was awful!" (Dude, how can you even look at me and say that?)

Down to the reception we went....my husband to get snacks and drinks....me on my secretly-find-a-tampon-machine attempt number two. (Insert 'Mission Impossible' music here......) Score! So amongst several women that I knew who were chatting and washing their hands, I discreetly slipped a quarter in the machine behind the bathroom door....the empty machine....then tried to discreetly get my stuck quarter out of the machine and was promptly rewarded with the door swinging open into the backs of my feet, legs, and butt with a loud slamming sound as my body hit the tampon machine and all eyes turned toward me. (So much for discreet.) Off to the front desk I go where I had no choice but to ask the man behind the desk for a tampon.....That's right, a man....who then proceeded to ask me if I wanted large or extra large which brought back the memory of my husband going to Walmart for tampons for me, approaching an employee, and telling her that he needed "the biggest thing you've got" and all I could picture was a giant box of pool noodles.....so I chose large in hopes of avoiding being handed a pool noodle on a string.

I finally made it to the reception and walked up to the bar beside my husband and asked for a mixture of pineapple, orange, and cranberry juice. The bartender asked me if I would like vodka with that and I said, "Yep, I would." My husband turned to me in shock and said, "You don't drink!" To which I replied, "I do now....."

A scroll down memory lane.....

(Several people have requested that I include some of my Facebook status updates in a blog entry. Out of curiosity, I scrolled down my entire wall which took me to December 2008, and began reading.....WOW! The memories, both good and bad, came flooding back. This is way better than a diary! So here is a compiled list of some of my favorites......)

I'm preparing for my "No more cussing" Resolution by taking full advantage of my last day because this #I'm preparing for my "No more cussing" Resolution by taking full advantage of my last day because this #$&*%'ing computer keeps #$%&#'ing shutting down!
amp;*%'ing computer keeps #$%&#'ing shutting down!

I'm surprised at how long it takes for a bathtub full of snow to melt. Maybe we should have taken our baths first.

I'm finally getting some pain relief after a cortisone shot, muscle relaxers, and a lecture from the doctor to my husband to wrestle someone his own size.....

I wish American Idol had a sniper with a tranquilizer gun so that every time Paula Abdul stood up she'd be taken down like a wild monkey.

I'm happy to say the new trampoline is finally intact....sadly, I can't say the same about my "No Cussing" Resolution.....

Was going to take C outside until I saw a cat blow by in the wind.....

Never knew Hungry Hungry Hippo was such a violent game until I played it with a two year old.

I'm bathing suit shopping today. If the Lord would like to return this morning and save me the horror and humiliation, He would have my full support.

T'was a dark rainy morning, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The kids got on the bus as I waved a goodbye, I put the sheets in the washer and the towels are all dry. C is nestled all snug in my bed while visions of coffee dance in my head....

We might be permanently banned from our favorite Mexican restaurant after C's behavior there this evening. (I promise she was yelling "Get my rice!" Unfortunately, that happens to sound exactly like "Kiss my ***!")

Perfect trip to Hilton Head Island until an 8 foot shark circled my family. Experts say to stand very still and he'll swim away. I chose to run from the water screaming "Shark!" and found my approach to be just as effective.

90% of the time, my husband is a gentle giant who never raises his voice or intentionally frightens anyone. Unfortunately, the census bureau lady who's been stalking us for seven months just got to experience the other 10%.

Had fourteen 2-3 year olds in Sunday School this morning. I'll be in therapy if anyone needs me....

I'm thankful for a husband who is really good at grocery shopping and who understands that I'm just really good at pushing the cart.

Just saw my husband use the hose attachment to vacuum his back....there are some things I'd just rather not know.....

Nothing brings a household to a screeching halt like the losing of a pacifier.

Heard that the 3rd Sunday in July was statistically the lowest attended of the whole year....apparently the 2-3 year old class didn't get the memo.

Need to write a letter of complaint to Sesame Street. I have a sobbing two year old because Ralphie the parrot freaking flew away. What were they thinking?!?

Oh crap!! Coffee with Fiber One Cereal....BAD idea.

When Z mentioned seeing a black and white cat in the garage, he left out the part about it being a skunk.

My "Chauffeur" job is kicking into high gear this week. (Someone needs to inform Z and A that it's customary to tip the driver....especially on those rare occasions when I actually bring the car to a complete stop at the drop off.)

Pretty sure you have to stop calling it 'baby weight' when 'the baby' can identify the numbers on the scale. Back to the trainer I go....

Spent the day with C in the pool....one of us refused to wear a bathing suit.

K: "Mom, does God call you Fred?" Me: "Uh, not that I know of. Does he call you Fred?" K: "Yep!" Then she sings, "I am a friend of God, He calls me Fred!" (Now I kind of hope He calls me Fred, too.)

(Now's your chance to cast your vote....scroll back to the top and let me know what you think! The majority will decide if this becomes an occasional feature on my blog.)

Weight....and limits.....

Up until I gave birth to C, I regularly worked out in a gym. Five days a week, I never missed a day, even all through my pregnancy. After C arrived, I realized it was going to be nearly impossible to keep that up with a newborn. So by the time she was seven months old, I decided I was going to have to improvise and bring the gym to me. I needed an elliptical machine.

Sears was having a big sale on all of their exercise equipment. One evening my husband and I left the kids at home and headed out to find the one I liked. As usual, it didn't take long for a salesman to latch onto us once he realized we were in there to make a purchase, and he was more than happy to take us around to let me try them out. After about an hour, I had it narrowed down between two and I could not make up my mind. Both had good things about them and the price was just about the same. My husband asked the salesman what the weight limit was on each machine so that he could try them out and help me decide. The salesman didn't hesitate and said, “Oh, at least 1,000 lbs.” So, he climbed aboard the first machine. This drew the curious eye of two young Mennonite boys who stopped to watch my Linebacker-sized husband attempt an elliptical machine. He started gently cycling the pedals and pumping the arm handles and it was going well. In an effort to seal the deal, the salesman encouraged him to take it up notch. On to level two he climbed. At the salesman's urging, (or taunting), it slowly turned into levels three, four, five, and six. At this point he was sweating profusely and the Mennonite boys were wide eyed and pretty impressed. Finally, the salesman said, 'Take it to ten!' and my husband, who is always up for a challenge, (or dare), obliged. That's when the pedal and arm handle on the right side flew off the front, just as the pedal and arm handle on the left side went flying off the back sending him straight down the middle in a giant split as his arms flew up in the air as if to yell 'Ta Da!'....except that's not what he yelled. The young brothers took off running in what I could only assume was fear for their lives or shock at the word they'd just heard. The salesman helped him to his feet apologizing profusely and blaming it on any and all stock boys employed by the Sears Corporation. That might have been part of it, but on further investigation, he was stunned to learn that he overestimated the weight limit by around 700 lbs. I'm sure he was equally as stunned when that's the machine I ended up buying. (But I demanded the five year extended warranty.)

As we were finishing up our purchase, my husband felt a light tapping on his back. He turned around to see that the two little boys had returned with three more of their siblings and one of them excitedly asked him if he could please do it again. He refused. Every party has a pooper.....

Thou shalt not drop the 'F-Bomb' on Mother's Day

Two years ago, my husband got me a new weedwacker for Mother's Day. I'll let that sink in for a moment.....my Mother's Day gift was a weedwacker. It's not that I complained that I was the one who did all the yard work, and I'm not the type that expects a gift on any occasion. But something about opening that freakin weedwacker on Mother's Day didn't sit well with me. And it didn't help when he saw the look on my face and said, "This one doesn't plug in so it will make your life a lot easier." (What would actually make it a 'lot easier' for me was if he would do the yard work! But I didn't say that.)

The problem with my "make-my-life-easier weedwacker" was that I didn't possess the skills of starting it by myself. (Clearly this "super-easy" weedwacker was made for a man, but little did they know.) Since it doesn't plug in, it requires a heavy tank of gas that rests under the handle and adds about ten extra pounds. So no longer could I simply turn it on, but I had to find a way to balance the contraption on one leg, hold the handle steady and trigger down with my right hand, and yank a pull chord as hard as I could with my left hand. "Gee, that does make my life easier!" The bottom line is, I could not start that freakin weedwacker by myself. That required me to beckon my husband outside every time I needed it started. That process entailed waiting for him to wait for a commercial, get something on other than his boxer shorts, and trudge outside as he loudly commented on how "hot it is out here." (See why I grit my teeth?) To make matters worse, I also seem to lack the capacity to keep the stupid thing running after he starts it.....it doesn't die right away, mind you.....it waits until he's back on the couch in his boxers. Every. Time.

That was two years ago. Last year on Mother's Day, I ended up doing the yard work after church. No complaints. I find it very relaxing to ride the lawnmower around an acre of land and I don't even mind the trimming, as I chalk that up to productive cardio. But then it came time to drag out that horrible piece of machinery......my nemesis.....that freakin weedwacker. (Notice the term weedwacker never stands alone anymore.) And I made the same mistake I make every single time. I attempted to start it by myself. Several times. Until I was hot, sweaty, and pissed and then yelled my husband's name in my very best devil voice and waited for him to appear in the front yard. Let Round two of our ritual begin. He started that freakin weedwacker and right as he disappeared into the house, it died. And that's when I completely lost it in the front yard. The meltdown to end all meltdowns. Right there, in the front yard, in my bathing suit, on Mother's Day 2009, I had a knock-down-drag-out-F bomb dropping-testimony-losing tantrum and I literally beat the crap out of that freakin weedwacker. A couple minutes later, I stood there dripping with sweat and breathing hard, and that's when I heard it.....the clippety cloppety sounds of horses hoof beats on the road directly behind me. I slowly turned around to see a caravan of Amish Families trekking by our house with their mouths gaping open and horrified looks on their faces, confirming forever their stance against technology. Glad I could help.

I don't do the yard work anymore. Not just because of that incident, although that certainly contributed. Somehow I lost my yard work mojo over the course of the last year. I started hitting things, my husband had to change our mower blades four times, Z took up the sport of golf and I lacked the ability to notice little white balls scattered in the grass, and things got dangerous out there. My husband finally put his foot down and announced that he'll be doing the yard work from now on, and so far, he's lived up to that promise.....with exception of one thing.....he has yet to use that freakin weedwacker.

I wonder why? It always made my life so much easier.

May as well teach em young........

Along with everything else they're responsible for, it seems that Elementary school teachers are also determined to expose our children to a fact of life.....death. How else could you explain their obsession with classroom pets?

A classroom pet is a tragedy waiting to happen. There's no way around it. It's not like they can choose an animal like a dog or a cat because that's unrealistic. So their only options are pets with the shortest life expectancy rates. ie; hamsters, birds, fish, or the dreaded guinea pig.

Here's the scenario. Buy a small caged rodent. Expose defenseless caged rodent to thirty small children with dirty fingers and loud voices Monday through Friday for nine months. What about the weekends, you ask? Well, we'll just let the small children take turns taking it home! What could possibly go wrong?

It was 2002 and it was toward the end of Z's second grade year. The classroom pet was an albino long haired guinea pig named Snowball who, despite the odds, had managed to stay alive until April. We had a black lab named Sadie. (See where this is going yet?) Let's just say that Snowball didn't even survive three hours at our house. My first reaction was to find a secret replacement. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a long haired albino guinea pig on short notice?!? I had no choice but to call the teacher at home. (To be honest, I waited until Saturday to give the impression that he at least made it one night in our home.) She was very sympathetic and understanding. Then she requested that I bring in his body Monday morning so that they could have a classroom funeral....um, about that....Crap. I was really hoping to avoid revealing the cause of death but she wants the body?!? I couldn't very well send in the few chunks that were left of Snowball, now could I? They're second graders, not Anatomy students. After a long awkward pause, I explained that there wasn't a whole lot left to send in and what was left could do some psychological damage. She decided that the best option was to tell the class on Monday morning and have a memorial service, sans the viewing. Thankfully that only left six weeks of Z being referred to as 'the kid who killed our classroom guinea pig' and then they had all summer to forget. The following year when A asked if she could bring home the classroom fish for spring break we answered with a unanimous "NO!" (We had cats, people.)

It's been eight years. K is in the fourth grade. Classroom pet of choice....hamster. (This hasn't been a good year for classroom pets at our school. The guinea pig in the high school science lab didn't survive the winter.....who knew there would be so many consecutive snow days in the month of February? Ooops.) But back to K's class hamster. They got him in September and named him Snickers. Her first question was if she could please sign up to bring Snickers home one weekend. We finally caved and told her if Snickers was still around in May, that she could take a turn. (What were the odds of it surviving the whole year, right?)

Well, it didn't. It seems that Snickers #1 was "really smart" and could open the cage and escaped during his first home visit over Labor Day weekend and was never seen or heard from again. (I suspect cat, but whatever.) Oddly enough, Snickers #2 through #5 were also "super smart" and they ended with the same fate as Snickers #1 by Christmas break. Several more attempts, a new cage, and a new name seemed to do the trick and tomorrow afternoon we'll be responsible for keeping 'Hershey #2' alive until Monday morning. At least it won't be a shock to the kids if 'Hershey #2' doesn't live to see Mother's Day....as a matter of fact, it will be more of a shock if he does......