Category Archives: just plain bizarre

Unintended Consequences

A little under a year ago, my family and I were in a bad car accident. You are, of course, shocked by this revelation since I NEVER mention it here. And I haven’t changed my reckoning of time into BCA (before car accident) and ACA (after car accident. Nope. Hasn’t effected my life at all. (Holy crap, only six more weeks until I have to make that drive to Florida again. This may be a GREAT time to take up alcoholism as a hobby.)

Where was I? Oh yeah. We were in a car accident.

For those who don’t remember, I was the only one in my family who was really noticeably injured in that accident. I still have a large scar on my chest and a smaller scar between my eyebrows. It’s that smaller scar that I have been self-conscious about. Mainly because it had a raised lump on it. And who wants a lumpy face? My doctor said the lump came from a less than stellar stitch-up job by the ER doctors (have I mentioned that I’m not overly trusting or fond of doctors?).

So, you know how I said that I’m on an antibiotic right now? Interesting thing—since I started taking it, the lump on my scar has shrunk. It isn’t entirely gone, but it is almost flat now.

Basically,  it would appear that my doctor was wrong (which still leaves me distrustful and not fond of doctors). I’m guessing that the lump wasn’t from a bad stitch job. I’m guessing (and by “guessing” I mean it seems pretty darn obvious at this point) that the lump was a spot of infection. Which would go along with the fact that there was originally another little lump that I knew was infection because it came out early on.

So today, I am thankful for the UTI that fixed the lumpy scar on my face. Because that isn’t at all an awkward concept.

 

Today, I’m thankful for:

  1. See above.
  2. The fact that Sean got a great deal on a salt spreader. We now have a truck with a snow plow and a spreader that holds 700 lbs of salt at a time. He and his brother are already quoting businesses and getting residential business. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!
  3. The guardian angels that obviously must do overtime on my children. Because the crazy things my kids come up with? There is definitely some divine intervention going on there.
  4. The fact that I get to go to my friend’s Twilight party tomorrow night. Not that I plan on going to the movie. But after the day I had today? Running away for the evening and hanging out with other women? Bring. It. On.
  5. Having my mother next door and her willingness to watch the kids for a bit so I can do things like taking the cat to the vet without them.
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Filed under Gratitude, just plain bizarre, NaBloPoMo, Thirty Days of Thankfulness

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

Truly Initiated Into Parenthood

As if there were any question at this point…

I think, at some point or another, every parent is peed on while changing a diaper. It is one of those things that makes you feel like you are truly a parent.

Tonight, Caleb decided to do me one better.

After all, how many parents can say that they were peed on FROM THE NEXT STALL OVER?

Seriously.

When I told Sean of this amazing feat, he asked me exactly how that came about. I responded with the logical answer which was, of course, HOW THE HECK SHOULD I KNOW? I was in THE NEXT STALL OVER. I couldn’t exactly see the precise mechanics that led to the situation.

The best I’ve got is: If you give a midget a fire hose, it’s bound to get away from him once in awhile.

I’ll be washing my feet before bed tonight.

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Filed under Daily Life, just plain bizarre, Kids, Parenting

If Life Were a Musical, We’d Sing About Fat Fingers

Sometimes, people, the contents of my subconscious completely defy explanation.

As the sounds of children getting out of bed started to fill my house this morning, I awoke from a rather vivid dream. I was at the house of one of my IRL bloggy friends.

Her husband was explaining some of his feelings about fatherhood—in a show tune.

Specifically, he was dancing around the house, looking mildly like someone out of West Side Story, singing about how he didn’t want his daughter’s toys overtaking the “man space” in the garage. This, he explained melodically, was because his fingers were to big to remove small toys from narrow spaces.

Yes, people, I’m a total whack job.

When Sean came out of the bedroom, I told him about the dream.

He didn’t exactly react as I might have expected.

He just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah, I could see him doing that.”

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

Santa Might Frown on That

Partway through this morning, W~ walked up to me out of the blue.

“Mom, if you kill your parents you don’t get anything for Christmas.”

Um, yeah, that’s true.

Given how our morning had been going up to that point, I probably don’t want to know what internal conversation occurred to lead him to that final, somewhat disturbing, conclusion.

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Filed under just plain bizarre, Kids

And the Winner Is…

OK, so it has been no big secret that I really don’t get all of the hullabaloo over the Twilight series. I mean, they were kind of a fun read, if you ignore the dysfunctional relationships, repeated use of the same three words, and cheesy ending to the series.

But the obsession? The twitterpating? Just. Don’t. Get it.

And, of course, up until now, my older sister has been about the worst of the Twi-hards. She thinks I’m dead inside. I think that she’s going through a mid-life crisis. Whatever–we just have to agree to disagree on the merits of the series.

The point of all of this, though, is that she’s no longer the queen of the vampire freaks. Oh no, she has definitely been dethroned.

Yesterday, we had a big Christmas party with Sean’s family. I walked in the front door and his twenty-year-old cousin came running up to me.

“You have to see my new tattoo!” she gushed (although, if she were a character in the books, she would have been glaring while she smoldered it).

Now, this cousin already has a couple of tattoos. The first one was a tiny flower on the side of her foot. Nothing horrible. The second one is a huge, heart-shaped Celtic knot thingy with her son’s name under it. But at least it is on her rib cage and, therefore, usually hidden.

She held out her arm. On her wrist, in thick, black lettering, is the word “Twilight.” She just took the book with her, pointed to the title, and said, “Do that.”

You know, some day she really isn’t going to care about those books. And there is no covering this thing, unless she wants to wear really long sleeves for the rest of her life.

When you can live forever, what do you permanently scrawl on your body?

Yikes.

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Filed under Books, just plain bizarre

Shootin’ the Bull

How the heck do you follow a post about a rogue cow?

With a follow-up, of course.

Naturally, after Bessie went tromping through my yard and down the street, I couldn’t help but wonder how the situation played out.

That’s the great thing about having a mother who is one of your small town’s elected officials. Eventually, someone gives her the rest of the story.

First, it is important that I make a bit of a retraction. It turns out that Bessie wasn’t a Bessie at all. It was a steer. For those of you who didn’t have the advantage of attending a school where the members of the FFA (Future Farmers of America) got all of the best parking spots (believe me, I wish that I was making that up), allow me to clear up some basic bovine terminology.

A steer is a bull that sings soprano. Just think of it as a moonuch.

So, we can no longer call him Bessie. RuPaul, maybe. Or David Gest. Maybe Tinky Winky (which is amusing on so many levels). But not Bessie.

So, apparently, the running of Stan the Steer (RuTinky Gest is just to much to keep typing) didn’t end on my street. Oh no, the chase continued for awhile. It continued for almost a mile in one direction. That direction, unfortunately, led towards a now-closed on-ramp to a major interstate highway. There was much concern over the effects of Stan meeting with one of those cute little trendy VW Bugs. Of course, it is much more likely that he would have had an encounter with a semi, in which case the butcher’s job would have become much easier.

Stan, however, turned away from the (head)light.

Another half-mile or so in a different direction, and Stan found himself in the small local cemetery. He made the inadvisable choice of heading away from the street and towards the back of the cemetery. That is where his run was ended by a deputy’s pistol.

I’ll pause while you digest the irony of that conclusion.

I have no information on whether the FFA sent a CSI (Cow Scene Investigation) unit.

And thus ends the story of Stan the Steer. It is only natural that we search for meaning in such a tragic tale.

cow

Sorry, that’s the best I’ve got.

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Filed under A Scary Look into My Mind, Daily Life, just plain bizarre