Category Archives: Just for Fun

Kid Poops-a-Lot

*talking*

Oh. my. gosh.Becky, look at that butt.
That diaper’s big.
It looks like one of those diaper commercials.
Who understands those commercials?
They only talk to about poop because they can make a lot of money,ok?
I mean that butt!It’s just so big!
I can’t believe–it’s just so round!It’s just so out there!
I mean, *GROSS*
It’s full of crap!

*rap*

I like clean butts and I cannot lie.
You other mothers can’t deny
That when a kid walks in with diaper full of waste
And it hits you in your face
You go numb!
Ya’ gotta be all tough
Cuz you know that that diaper’s stuffed!
Deep in the jeans she’s wearin’
Is goo and I can’t stop swearin’.

Oh, baby, don’t wanna be near ya’
Or even hear  ya’.
My playgroup tried to warn me
’Cause that butt you got
Makes m-m-me so ornery!

Ooh, little Miss Smooth Skin
You say you wanna play with your friends?
Well ‘scuse me ‘scuse me
That diaper’s full of poopey!

I see her playin’
With that diaper swayin’
It’s wet, yet, that’s not the worst it can get.

I’m tired of magazines
Making diapers look all clean.
Take the average momma and tell her that
She’ll say you’re full of crap!

So mommas (yeah!) mommas (yeah!)
Your kiddo got a stinky butt? (Heck yeah!)
It’s time to change it, (change it), change it,(change it),
change that nasty butt!

Baby’s got crap!
(Gerber face with a barnyard booty!)
Baby’s got crap!

 

If that didn’t make any sense to you, you can look up Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-Lot on YouTube. But don’t watch the real video, because when MTV bans your video when it first comes out…um, yeah.

Anyhow, now it is out of my head and I can move on with my life.

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Just for Fun, Kids, Parenting

Moo.

A little over a week ago, we had an activity at church for all of the kids. As it fell very close to the wildly popular (in Utah, but still observed periodically around here) Pioneer Day, all of the activities were centered around things the Mormon pioneers would do. Some of the favorite activities were crushing plates (the pioneers crushed their china to put into the cement that made the temple walls so that it would sparkle)—an activity that I am happy to report that no one has attempted so far at home, and making homemade butter by shaking cream in a baby food jar.

The other night, as we ate spaghetti squash(!) harvested from my garden(!) (I’m really getting into this gardening thing—I recently found just how wonderful zucchini bread is when you substitute chocolate chips for the raisins), green beans, and bread, my kids decided to pull out their homemade butter to go with their meals.

Sean looked at the little jars of butter.

“You know,” he said, “there are just enough crazy people that I bet you could make a real business of breastmilk butter. I mean, it would be all natural, and people are always talking about the big health benefits of breastmilk. I bet there are people that would be totally into it. You could probably charge $100 for a little tub. Just imagine.” He finished with a sly smile.

Of course I could imagine.

“Yeah, I can see it now,” I told him. “Every evening, hundreds of lactating women would wander in from the pasture, head to the barn, and sit all crammed together—hooked up to breast pumps—while eating their evening meal.”

Maybe they’d even get a Harper’s Bazaar and a pedicure.

Of course, it would have to be marketed as BUSTer, and branding would be important. I’m thinking something like Land-O-Leaks with an Indian whose proportions are roughly equivalent to Pamela Anderson on the front.

Someday, when I have my own episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, they will refer back to this blog post. “It all started with engorged boobs and a dream…”

 

This is what happens, folks, when I have had WAY too little sleep. Well, this, and the raging sleep-deprivation migraine that is threatening to settle in…

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Just for Fun, just plain bizarre

Invasion of the Hive People*

When I looked out my kitchen window this morning, this is what I saw walking up the hill:

invasion

I plan on going out later to check for crop circles in the corn field behind us.

 

*In case you are wondering, they came in peace. They even brought an offering of honeycomb from the now combined beehives, which I literally had to stop Caleb from sucking dry.

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Filed under Just for Fun

Treats and Tweets

Yesterday, I earned superhero status with my kids.

Now that I am involved in the Cub Scouts, I am learning all of these cool things to do with little boys. Because, goodness knows, I’m no good at coming up with this stuff on my own. Anyhow, after having a successful activity with my Wolf Den on Wednesday, I used my leftovers to make my kids think that I am the coolest mommy ever.

First, we tied knots.

I know! Who would have thought that tying knots would be so stinkin’ cool? Apparently, little boys do. Seriously, they have been grabbing my ropes and tying knot after knot (especially Wyatt—that boy has OCD tendancies) ever since then.

The best part, though? We made campfires. In the house. And then we ate them.

Really, it is a cute way to teach a kid about building fires. The plate was their clearing. Mini marshmallows were rocks to make a fire ring. The tinder was shredded coconut, and broken pretzel pieces were the kindling. We used skinny pretzel stick for the logs. And the flames? Candy corn, of course! The kids appreciated this educational activity so much that they insisted that we show it to daddy when he came home. 🙂

tinder

campfire treat

I can’t remember the last time I got so many hugs and heard the phrase, “I really enjoyed our activity” so many times in the same day. Tonight, we are making flying saucer treats in a fire. We’ll see if Supermommy flies again.

Of course, tonight will be Daddy’s turn to be the coolest parent ever. Yesterday, out of the blue, he decided that he wanted to take the kids camping and fishing. After a bit of thought, we decided that it might be best to do the camping in our backyard (we really do have a good yard for it).

After checking the weather, Sean and the kids went out while I was making dinner yesterday and set up the tent. As they were finishing, it started to thunder. After they came in, it started to pour. I think that it rained off and on all night long. My kids were down in the tent this morning with towels trying to dry it out (despite the fact that it had a rain cover on it).  As I told Sean, he’s going to have to suck it up if that tent is still wet. He has kids who have been dancing around the house, gleefully proclaiming, “We’re going camping!” all day long. There is no getting out of this one.

Of course, being almost 7 1/2 months pregnant will make it impossible for me to spend the night trying to sleep on the ground. Poor me. (I would dance around the room and jump up and down if it didn’t require energy and agility that I no longer posses.)

I guess, to fill the void of my quiet evening, I’ll sit in the house and mock him via Twitter.

Yes, I broke down a few days ago and signed up for Twitter. (So if you are wondering who TheMotherGrimm is that is now following you—hi! If I’m not following you, it’s just because Twitter didn’t find you in my Gmail account.) I didn’t do it because of any great desire to do so. I did it because my husband and his family are. That’s right, my husband, who has never “gotten” why I blog. Who doesn’t understand why I read the blogs of people I have never actually met. My husband who can’t find my blog on his own, and only reads it if I pull up a post on my computer and drag him over to it. This is the man who was constantly telling me useful bits of information he was receiving via text message—tidbits like the fact that Neal Boortz found a snake in the bathroom while he was on vacation at the Grand Canyon. You know, things you just CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT KNOWING.

So, see? I had to sign up for Twitter. Otherwise, he’d know more about Gene Simmons’ day than mine.

Of course, the jury is still out on my opinion of Twitter. Honestly, I don’t speak Attention Deficit Disorder. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m not the kind of person who completes a thought in 140 characters or less. It’s like trying to reduce my life into haiku.

I’ve also learned to be prepared if you set things up so the bipolar relative’s tweets to come to your cell phone. Because you may end up with multiple text messages extolling the virtues of ginger. Both the spice and the red-headed island castaway. Although, now that I think about it, he never got to the red-headed Spice Girl, which would have been the next logical step. That may be because he’s ADD, too (and, therefore, loves the Twitter format). He’d probably moved on before he got that far.

So, yeah, life is pretty good. Tonight, I’m going to try not to think about the nonsense from the past few days and just enjoy the peace and quiet. Maybe I’ll even write a haiku about the joys of sleeping mosquito-free.

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Roses Are Red…

OK, enough hints. I’ll come clean. Several of you did end up guessing the name, but by brother-in-law, Matt, gets credit for being the first to get all of the hints and put them together.

We are naming our daughter Violet. I love that is more old fashioned and not common. I love the image of a small, delicate flower.

image

I like that it (kind of) has a family tie (there is a Viola in the genealogy). And, honestly, I’m really happy that we found a name that doesn’t end in the long “e” sound (which sounds way too cheerful with our last name—trust me, I live with it).

So, do you want to know how the clues get you there?

  1. The bratty kid from a 38 year old movie is Violet Beauregarde in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I know, I know…it was a book before it was a movie. And the movie was remade a few years ago. But my husband grew up loving the 1971 version of the movie, so that is what he associated the name with.
  2. In the picture, I was wearing a purple shirt with flowers on it. Which reminds me: What the heck is up with the whole “Roses are red, Violets are blue” poem? Violets are generally purple, right? I mean, that’s why they’re called violets. Yeah, yeah, I know. “Roses are red, Violets are purple” wouldn’t work since nothing rhymes with purple. So pick a different flower to put in the rhyme.
  3. A lot of you got that there is a character in Twelfth Night named Viola. I think that Matt and Gay were the only ones that caught on that “viola” is the Latin word for “violet.”
  4. Nobody commented on my last two clues, so I don’t know if anyone got them. The first was the word “incredible.” In the movie The Incredibles, the daughter was named Violet.
  5. In the second sentence of yesterday’s clue, the important part was the word “alias.” People, I’m ashamed to even admit to this one since I think that Ben Affleck is a weenie, but he and Jennifer Garner (who starred in the show Alias) apparently have a daughter named Violet. The association with him may be the only thing the name has going against it for me. I’ll get over it, though.

So, there you go. I’m sure your life feels so much more complete now that you know. I can honestly say that my mental health has improved significantly since we finally decided.

Now, I just have to get my kids on board. Who knew that little boys would have such strong opinions on baby names?

 

*Between when I wrote this and when I hit the publish button, Sean asked me, “So, did we actually decide on Violet, then? I know we were talking about it, but did we say we were actually going to use it?” Aaaaaaaaargh! See, I told you people. He’s still saying we can use it. Honestly, though, I think he is conspiring to drive me completely out of my fragile mind.

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Filed under Baby naming, Just for Fun

Sushi on Ice (and Other Random Bits)

This afternoon, as I was in my car driving to a Cub Scout leader training meeting (more on that later), I was listening to the local news on the radio. They were talking about the death last week of a local high-end seafood restaurant owner while he was taking pictures in Death Valley (how apropos). They mentioned that his public viewing was happening right then—at the restaurant.

OK, people. I’m sure this reveals much more of the inner workings of my mind than I should admit to. That being said…

Have you ever heard of the parties where they serve sushi off of the body of some scantily-clad model? That is where my mind INSTANTLY went. Except the concept is much less appealing (not that the concept is appealing anyhow) when you picture it on an older, dead guy.

Off course, when I called Sean from the car to ask him if he was listening and share this gem from my brain with him, he didn’t hesitate in telling me how messed up I am. Of course, as I pointed out to him, I am a product of my life experiences. I only have so much responsibility for how my brain works. But him? He CHOSE me. So, really, which one of us has the real issues?

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In my church, we are given callings to serve in different capacities within the congregation. Up to this point, the entire time I have been writing on this blog I have been working with the 12-18 year old girls. I love working with teenage girls. This wasn’t the first time that I have done it, and I doubt that it will be the last.

Recently, however, I was asked to accept a new calling. This was because, obviously, God has a really wicked sense of humor. I am now a Wolf den leader. That means that the one time a week that I am likely to leave my four boys for any significant period of time, it is to spend time with eight or so other boys. Eight-year-olds. This, my friends, is what you refer to as a growing opportunity. Because goodness knows that these kids don’t need me and my complete lack of experience with scouting to get them through the program. I should have some clue as to what I’m doing when Noah’s old enough for scouts in two years. Who knows how many other peoples’ kids all mess up in the meantime.

Anyhow, tonight I went for some regional training for new leaders. I have a few suggestions for the organizers and teachers of this training:

  1. Three hours for one meeting is expecting a lot of people.
  2. Meetings should never be scheduled to end at 9:30 pm.
  3. If you choose to go ahead and plan a three hour meeting that ends at 9:30 pm then, for the love of all things holy, END ON TIME! Because, by 10:10, I’m just going to be grumpy.

Seriously, even if you put aside the fact that I didn’t have time to eat dinner before I came, had swollen feet, and am just dog-tired by that late, assuming that what you have to say is more important than anything else 20+ people have going on in their lives is just plain rude. Because, honestly? In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, food and sleep come way before knowing which color the summer pack badge is for each age group.

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Of course, you all don’t care about that. You just want the last baby name clue, right? Tonight, you actually get two. And, since yesterday’s appealed to the classic literature scholars among us, I’ll steer more towards the popular media this time:
 
I’m sure my daughter will be incredible. Being her mother won’t mean I’ll need an alias.
 
And now, I go to bed. Ah…to sleep. Perchance to dream. Most likely, though, to toss and turn and creek and ache.

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Baby naming, Just for Fun, pregnancy

Life, As Seen Through the Eyes of Boys

Since my kids frequently do things that leave me on the edge of a nervous breakdown, I try to write down all of the things that they do to make me laugh. It has been awhile since I have shared. So, here you go…the things they do that make me enjoy them enough to keep them alive on all of the other days.

 

File this one under “Be careful what you say to motivate your children.”

One night, as I was working on dinner, I heard Wyatt out in the living room talking to Sean. I wasn’t paying attention to what they were talking about. After a few minutes, Sean called in to me:

“Dear! Do you want to handle this one?”

Great. “What?”

Sean walked into the kitchen, shaking his head.

“How do you explain that the concept ‘if you have a dream and work really hard, you can make it come true’ doesn’t apply to flying with paper wings?”

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A couple of Saturdays ago, Sean was out doing yard work while the kids played in the yard. I was getting ready to go grocery shopping and went out to say goodbye. I looked out to see Caleb sitting on the trampoline—naked and very intent on, um, something.

I went down to fix the situation. I found that what he was so intent on was actually his pull-up. Apparently, in taking it off, he had undone the velcro on the sides and hadn’t been able to get it put it back together. I fixed it and he put his clothes back on.

Don’t ask me why the heck they were off in the first place. Although I’m guessing it started with a full bladder.

That was, after all, the the reason he dropped trough on two separate visits to a local dairy farm lately. While the other kids were eating ice cream and feeding goats, he was peeing on the tires of the farm equipment set up for the kids to climb on.

I wasn’t present for either instance of public nudity. Therefore, it was strictly Sean’s fault.

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Sean decided it would be fun to get a microphone for our Wii so the kids could sing along to Guitar Hero. The first day he hooked it up, the kids were really into “singing” along. At one point, Sean left them to play while he did something else.

When he came back in the room, Noah was going to town on the grunting and guttural sound-making part of Freak on a Leash. And headbanging.

I’m so proud.

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The day after Noah’s birthday party, I caught Caleb eating the icing boarder off of the leftover cake (that one is soooo my kid). Despite understanding this behavior, I told him to stop or there wouldn’t be any icing left when people ate the cake.

He looked at me very seriously.

“Mommy,” he said, “just leave it alone and, tomorrow, it will grow back.”

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Last weekend, Wyatt had a sleepover with Sean’s dad. Being such a responsible mommy, I forgot to pack a toothbrush for him (I did, however, send about four pairs of underwear since it was during a bad time and he had consumed Metamucil, Grape Nuts, laxatives, and about 20 oz of prune juice within the 24 hour period before he went there). Grandpa Tom went ahead and bought him a new toothbrush—a battery operated one with rotating bristles.

This caused some jealousy among his brothers.

A couple of nights later, after we put everyone to bed, I heard the toothbrush. Experience had already given me a good idea of what that meant.

“Uh oh,” I said, looking at Sean. “I better go back there. I think that Caleb is trying to clean the toilet with Wyatt’s toothbrush.”

Luckily, I was able to stop him before any real damage was done. I just hope that I have caught him EVERY time.

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Today, as we were settling at our picnic table to eat ribs and enjoy the beautiful weather, Sean’s grandfather (that would be my kids’ GREAT-grandfather, in case you have a hard time keeping up) stopped by to drop off a birthday card (today marks when he once again becomes the same age as me).

My kids ran over to their Papa Cal, excited to see him. As he took turns picking them up, Noah grabbed the hat on his head and turned it around.

“Are you going to put it sideways so I can be a homey?” Papa Cal asked him.

Noah, of course, happily did so. Papa Cal sat him down.

“Wait! I can’t be a homey until my pants are sagging! Should I pull my pants down a bit so they can sag like a homey?” Papa Cal asked him.

He then worked his jeans down an inch or so. And made “homey” hand gestures/movements. And kind of strutted a bit.

Yes, people GREAT-grandfather.

After a bit more goofing around, Papa Cal said his goodbyes and got in his truck. As he started to drive off, Noah called out:

“Bye, HOMO!”

Thank heavens all of my neighbors were eating inside tonight.

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Filed under Daily Life, Just for Fun, Kids, Parenting