I think I'll take the time to respond to some comments and emails.
I've mentioned my 35" inseam. I'm a tall girl, 5'10", so that makes half of my body legs. I'm a walking tree. For comparison my husband is 5'8" and has a 30" inseam. Get those images out of your head you perverts. This photo is pre baby #3. Throw some saddlebags up high and you've got a current idea. If you squint you can see a small anklet on the front leg. Justin gave me a wish bracelet when we began dating. He wore it and when it fell off he got his wish. He tied it around my ankle and when it falls off I will get my wish. I've worn it for 13 years and I've never taken it off. Pssst...don't ask me what my wish is because if I tell it won't come true.
I was asked about being from Utah. I was born and raised in Utah County. I grew up in a town with more cows than people. My parents had a small farm where they raised Arabian horses. My little sister and I used to play "king of the hill" on the manure pile. When I was 12 we moved to a much more surburban part of Utah County where I learned that kids my age were no longer jumping rope but "going together". What this meant is that you found someone of the opposite sex to sit with at lunch and you held their sweaty hand. I was never asked to go with anyone because I didn't have boobs. Boobs didn't show up until I was 29. Don't worry, the boobs will be gone again by the time I'm 32.
I've always been an "inactive" member of the Mormon church. This means I'm on the church roll call but I don't attend. My Dad thought it was wrong to force religion to people too young to understand it. When we moved I began attending church with a new friend up the street. Her parents never made us stay for sacrament meeting so we only went to the sunday school portion of church. I did this up until the age of 14 when an older lady offered to help me with my problems in the church hallway. I didn't know I had problems so I asked what she meant. Apparently I had become impregnated and all the ladies in church were concerned with my spiritual wellbeing. I was nowhere near pregnant. Hell, I hadn't even kissed and I didn't have any boobs. A mean twit my age decided to tell her mother a story and that gossipy twit spread it to everyone attending church that day. Later that week I talked with my bishop (a pastor of sorts) and told him that I would not be returning to the ward. He didn't blame me. I got disapproving looks from some neighbors for years. I never got an apology either.
I have nothing against the Mormon church, but I sure do question some of the people in it. All religions have wackos and fundies though. I find faith to be a still quietness in my life that, frankly, I don't want to share with a churchful of people.
Going Ape Costume (link to the right) is my little business. My hobby got big enough and I had to make it legal. (Uncle Sam wants you!) All the costumes in the Gallery section are things I've sewn. The costumes in the For Sale section include some factory items. I model most of my costumes because I'm cheap, including the ape suit on the front page. I use a Kenmore sewing machine and a Bernette serger. Halloween is my favoite holiday and I don't costume for theater. Community theater is the furthest I've gotten professionally and they expect free miracles. Miracles? I don't even have boobs.
Here is a pic of my boys. Kaelan is 11, Alec is 6 and Ryan is 2 months. Email me if you are interested in arranging marriages.
There is nothing in this site that I can identify with. My inlaws are wonderful people! Justin was raised by his paternal grandparents and so Grandma and Grandpa are my inlaws. It must be the need for good gossip that isn't present with Grandma that keeps me coming back to that site.
Not that my inlaws didn't have their moments. Grandpa was an old goat. When a person is a goat it's a common goal to increase their goaty-ness by getting yours. Grandpa spent his whole life mastering this art.
Scene: Grandpa, 82, and Becky sitting quietly at a small round table in a cozy kitchen. They are each hiding behind sections of that day's paper reading. The only noise comes from the rustling of the newsprint. Sections are traded. Coziness resumes.
Almost an hour passes in quietude.
Grandpa: (Slamming down the paper in a profound way, and says in a gruff voice.) I GOT PISSIN' PROBLEMS!
Becky: (Sets paper down, guffawing loudly, moving her hands over her face to cover the blush.)
Grandpa: THEY GOTTA ROTO ROOT ME OUT ONE OF THESE DAYS!
Lights down. Scene ends.
Ahhhh Grandpa...How can I compare that to the worst gift stories on motherinlawstories.com when you give the gift of laughter?
This same old goat had tested me years before when Justin and I were dating. Grandpa needed to know that I was worthy of his grandson. I'd showed up at their house wearing a dress as I was taking Justin to a awards ceremony. The best source of fresh goaty-ness comes from sweet nubile barely legal girls like I was at the time and Grandpa went for it. "Show me dem legs!" he gruffed at me. Without hesitation or even a blush I lifted my skirt and showed him my barelegged 35 inch inseam. He nodded and I dropped my skirts. Nanny nanny na na, no goat for you!
It turns out that I was worthy.
Now Grandma is a widow and she's lonely. You would be too if you spent 60 years of your life someone as gruff as that.
Don't worry, I'm only getting spayed! Otherwise I'm perfectly healthy and relatively normal.
During my last pregnancy I was constantly asked if I wanted a girl, since I already had two boys. You can only give two answers to this question in polite conversation. These are, "I just want a healthy baby." and "Yes, a girl would round out my family nicely."
When the ultrasound revealed a third boy, everyone expected me to be dissappointed. I honestly didn't care what brand the baby was. To not have a preference is wrong.
But, maybe I did have a preference. Though I'm a housewife and I am pretty good at most of the domestic arts, I'm just not a very girly girl. I don't like wearing makeup. I don't like purses. I don't own a closet full of shoes. I bought a can of hairspray back in 2001 and I still haven't used it all. What would happen if I gave birth to a girl is that she'd feel compelled by some kind of pink radioactive force to become a Britney Spears clone. She'd have blond teen queen super powers that it would be futile to parent over.
I'm just quitting while I'm ahead. Do I want a girl? God help me if I ever give birth to anything that will eventually menstruate.
I know a movie is good when I stop paying attention to the costumes. Spiderman good, Gladiator good...The Brothers Grimm...GOOD! (Troy, bad bad bad.) The theater experience was also tip top. An entirely adult audience who stayed quiet and turned off their cell phones, gods be praised.
No spoilers for you. Go give Terry Gilliam your money, he deserves it. Then send me some money because I give such good movie viewing advice. Then send my husband money because he puts up with me.
My little sister Jill has three boys too. Her oldest and her youngest have type 1 diabetes. What this means is that I get to design a T-shirt for their group to wear to the Diabetes walk! It used to be that I just designed for her oldest son, but her baby was diagnosed last month. (And for that lady online, on another forum, who asked me what the hell my sister fed her kids to cause that? Go sit on a stick and spin.)
Because there are two in the family with it now, I have to design with a new theme. There has been a Bob the Builder theme (can we cure it, yes we can!) and a construction worker roadsign theme. This year it's "show me the money!" I'll explain the design more later, when the shirts get printed up. My designs have won the T-shirt prize for the last two years and I have a reputation to uphold!
So, if you aren't cancer walking, or multiple sclerosis walking, or any of those other less fabulous afflictions, join a Diabetes Walk near you! If you would like to support my nephews specifically, let me know. Sending my sister money is much better than sending it to me or Justin.
Twelve years ago Justin and I made a mistake. We decided to get married on August, 25th.
Marriage wasn't a mistake. I LOVE being married. I enjoy my husband in many ways. Living life with him is a lot of fun.
What was the mistake? We chose a really dumb wedding date. Getting away for our anniversary is complicated! Because we have kids, and Justin is a schoolteacher, our anniversary always falls when school starts. Can a schoolteacher take the first couple days of school off? HELL NO! Can we push the kids on somebody the first days of school? Sheesh no!
I should have known this would happen when we married. It was a Wednesday and it fell on the first day of the semester of college. Having nothing to do that day except show up in the afternoon wearing a monkey suit, Justin decided he should go to school. His first class was a women's lit course. He was one of two males in the class. The other guy was only there to pick up chicks. (I hope Justin wasn't there to pick up chicks!) The prof wanted everyone to introduce themselves and say something about their lives. Justin, obviously, chose to share that he was getting married later that day. It was the wrong thing to share.
If there is one quality of single female college students in Utah County it's the need to get married. It's very very very important. Being so casual as to attend class on your wedding day flies in the face of this need. Justin isn't one to be ashamed of what he does, so he justified himself. I don't think, with that group, there were justifications enough. At least the female professor was on Justin's side.
So, tommorow is my twelfth anniversary. Only the rest of my life to go.
Ebay wasn't nice to me the last Halloween season. They pulled my big seller off for being a "mature" item. I'd argue that this item was definitely immature in a lot of ways. You can decide for yourself. Yes, I'm the model.
It didn't help my ebay appropriateness cause that my first auction for big stuffed pillow fake boobies got 80,000 hits and was featured on a morning FM radio show in Armpit, Arkansas. You would think I could have sold the set for as much as the Jesus grilled cheese! Does spiritual epiphany and polyester breasts go together? Maybe not. Maybe the breasts have to be all natural fibers.
I'm debating with myself whether I should list these on Ebay again and risk them being pulled. I could list them in the adult section but then I couldn't take instant Paypal payments. Besides, who goes to the adult section of Ebay to buy big fake polyester boobs? I'd have to list these with pirated sissy boy porn DVDs to get them to sell!
Justin just looked over my shoulder at the screen. He hates it when I share things that are so personal with the internet (re)public. I'm not going to stop you from right clicking these photos and using them in any way you choose. Personally I'd like to see you frame them nicely and display them over your TV sets. I know you'll do me and the polyester boobies proud.
I never found baby tubs useful. I was given one when I was expecting my first baby and I used it maybe twice. Why use a baby tub when it's so much fun bringing the baby into the bathtub with you? It's a beautiful bonding experience.
I prepare the bathwater and undress while Justin undresses our new baby boy. When the tub is ready I plunk myself down in the warm water and Justin brings me the baby. Holding Ryan in the soothing water, I wash his hair and body with lavendar baby shampoo. I make sure to wash in all his sweet baby folds and wrinkles. I lather each tiny baby finger and toe, relishing in the perfectness of his new baby skin. Then, after washing, we settle into the water and he nurses until he is sleepy.
This ritual happens every couple days.
Justin brings me the baby. I take his sweet small body in my hands and sit him against my legs while I recline in the tub. Ryan coos and smiles at me and I laugh back at him. Ryan replaces his coos with a deep rumbling and suddenly deposits a large amount of post digested breast milk in my lap...
"Justin!" I scream. He comes running like I'd discovered an extra arm on the baby. I wish I'd had a camera, the look on his face was priceless.
Sometimes there just isn't enough lavendar shampoo to make all things smell sweet. I'm still not buying a baby tub.
I think I'll blog while I do my Halloween ordering.
Isn't coffee delicious? Life is too short to drink bad coffee, but my frugal tendencies make me want to stretch out the gourmet stuff. Really good coffee can be had if I put one part Maxwell House breakfast blend and one part of the really good gourmet stuff into my reuseable coffee filter. I really recommend a reuseable filter, it allows all the good coffee oils come through into the coffee.
The site I order my Halloween inventory from is lagging. Stinkers. Bandwidth is important. I need fairy wings !
CBS news reports that there is an underground network of women selling their breastmilk for $3 an ounce. I'm putting out over a hundred bucks a day! I googled this breastmilk thing and I find that it's not just babies drinking the stuff, but health nuts and perverts. I'm healthy and disease free, I stay away from the druggies and the drinkies, I keep myself relatively clean...perverts, send me your hard earned sexual gratification dollar! No returns or refunds.
I won't be giving up my coffee. I might pump out a caramel mocha frappuccino flavored milk product but at least the Starbucks and big business won't be getting your coffee dollar!
Being pregnant and then giving birth (they are in that order, aren't they?) has slowed down my sewing quite a bit. Since the baby is so easygoing, (yes, all my children are perfect in every way) I have the time and the inclination to go at it again.
A couple weeks ago I had been working on a design I liked quite a lot for a fairy costume. Blue fabric, with purple accents and feathers and trim...ah lovely. Lovely until I finished the base dress. It hung all wrong. It was awful. What was funny was that it looked great on my dressmakers dummy until I finished the seams. I've never had that happen before! At least I didn't waste a bunch of expensive trim on it.
So, I'm back at this fairy idea with a different pattern. I noticed that the last three fairy costumes I've sewn were purple and blue. Is this Freudian in some way? What am I avoiding? Should I box up the fairy idea for now and go about making another Carmen Miranda? Will my Carmen Miranda be purple and blue?
Speaking of Carmen Miranda, this reminds me of conversations with fabric store clerks. They inevitably ask you what you are making. I've then had to explain who Carmen Miranda, Mae West and Charlie Chaplin were. I'm not talking about gen x or less clerks either. At least when you talk about a lady with a fruit hat, they get it somewhat. I'm of the opinion that being around too many crafting products lowers IQ points. Don't even get me started on "scrapbooking." Gluesniffers!
I'd also like to draft the pattern for a Wonder Woman costume. The movie is coming! That means moolah in my pocket if I come up with a wearable version. I'm sure the classic Wonder Woman costume will still be popular, even if they change it for the movie. (Unlike Halle Berry's Catwoman, which simply sucked costume wise.) I'm thinking PVC fabric. It also means that I have to lose the last mumblemumble lbs of my pregnancy weight so I can model the thing. I wonder what I'll do for boobs by then?
But then, photo editing software will both give me boobs, and erase my stretchmarks. It can even magically make my costumes not purple and blue.
HEY YOU JENNIFER CONNELLY SEARCHERS! I KNOW YOU'VE SEEN UNDERBOOB BUT STICK AROUND TO READ MY BLOG A LITTLE WHILE. I'M FLATCHESTED, BUT I'M FUNNY! OR CARRY ON...ONE HANDED...SIGH. (Added Jan 14, 2011)
I've committed a social faux pas. Actually, Justin and I both commit these social faux pas-esses.
Justin wants to see movies in the theater. I want to see movies in the theater. We don't see movies together at the theater. We don't often have a babysitter so we take turns! Going alone to a movie theater when you are immersed in married couplehood is apparently a sin. I have the convenience of a permanent date and I don't take advantage of this? Silly woman!
I LIKE doing some things on my own. I don't have to share my movie nachos and raisinettes! I am not pressured to cut a hole in the bottom of the popcorn container for peewee type thrills! Uhhh...
Today I paid my six dollars to see Dark Water. This movie was slow as mud which makes the title all the more appropriate. The foreshadowing was so obvious that nothing was a surprise. Spoiler alert if you haven't already seen this, but Jennifer Connely croaks at the end and I was happy about it.
Oh Jennifer Connelly, you maze tramping tart! Why do you arouse my husband so? Alright, dumb question. She's really intelligent and stuff.
It's a good thing I went to the movie alone or Justin would have seen Jennifer Connelly get wet. Faux pas THAT.
Justin loves me. I know this because he wags his tail like a hyper puppy dog when I tell him it's spaghetti night. Or, he could just be using me for my spaghetti sauce. I'm sure he loves me though. I'm not just a friend with benefits.
I was thinking of my housewifely-ness today. Being a housewife is creative work that requires a myriad of high tech tools. (Snicker) I'm nominating, as August's "Bestest Housewifely Doodad", The Little Green Clean Machine.
Whatever did I do without you, my little green friend? You cost me 70 dollars, yet you are worth a million! You tackle cat barf on my carpet with ease! Thank you Little Green Clean Machine. I like you, I really like you.
Obviously, buying a minivan has clouded my thought processes and ruined my proclamation in my first post about NOT talking about cleaners. Sigh. I like the new van though! It's swell. 2005 Ford Freestar. I can't wait to use the Little Green Clean Machine on the lovely upholstery inside.
And Jill, dearest sister, don't you dare bring home anything in a baggy on Wednesday. That's just nasty.
Hello CATHERINE BELL searchers! I'm happy you've found my jiggly little corner of the internets. Are you looking for even more purient posts? I know you are! Try the story of HOW I LOST MY VIRGINITY. Less jiggly...but way more memorable.
Y'all come back soon, y'hear?
(edited March 13, 2010, now onto the Aug. 8, 2005 post.)
I read my husband's blog daily. It's my wifely duty. See link.
Today Justin relays a dream he had in the JAG tv show setting. He says he's broken up about the show ending. This isn't the case. He says it is but it's not, ok? The truth is that he looks almost exactly like Patrick Labyorteaux, JAG's comedy relief lawyer Bud. I'd be broken up if my doppelganger was out of work too. This is the reason I do not watch JAG. Two Justins arouse me to levels so high that I literally pass out exhausted with the remote in my hands.
I tell you, it's uncanny! I know, these photos don't do justice to the comparison. Trust me though. Yes, Justin could pluck his eyebrows some. If he did I expect his soul would go with them.
Then again, Justin could be upset that JAG is ending because of this...
Oh Catherine Bell, you military tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She's got a lovely smile, don't you think?
Excuse me...I have to go pry the remote out of Justin's hands. He's passed out on the couch again.
We started the day early. Driving almost two hours into Salt Lake for a 10:00 am doctor's appointment makes early mornings necessary. I farkin HATE getting up early. All you early birds? You suck.
I do enjoy my six week postpartum checkup though. This is when the doctor tells me I'm allowed to resume all of my normal activities, hint hint wink wink. The doctor performs pelvic exam and a pap schmear. All the fun and none of the commitment. Then, because my OB/GYN is feeling especially gushy, he gives me a side hug. I love a man that will cuddle with you after the main event.
We follow this with shopping and lunch. The brief rides in the roasting oven hot car cause us to need to spend two hour visits in each air conditioned store.
My older boys start getting antsy pantsy. Run here, run there. Touch this and that. Twirl shuffle mumble scream. If there was more booze in Utah stores it would drive me to drinkin'. Why don't they sell Prozac over the counter?
I buy two bras at Walmart. When you live so far from a Walmart it morphs into a magical fairyworld of a place, worthy of respect and awe. Three full rows of bras! Three full rows and not one of them is a 34 D. Yes folks, my once perky A cups have also morphed into the magical fairyworld proportions of drooping footballs. Excuse me while I moo. I pick 36 Ds with the intent to take them in around the band.
The ride home is HOT. Kaelan (my oldest boy, 11) whimpers because he's the only one in the world that should not be subject to such heat. I have the patience of a gnat and let him know his whimpering is not appreciated. The baby sleeps. Boo (the middle boy, 6) sleeps. I sleep laying over the baby's carseat. I'm only half suprised Justin didn't sleep while driving. It wouldn't have mattered if he had, that road is pretty straight back home. Air conditioning, blah right.
I lay down as soon as we arrive home. Nope, don't feel good. The headache starts and Justin brings me ibuprofen. The baby snoozes and I snooze. Then, there is scampering across my arm. I wake and see a BIG ASS SPIDER on my arm. I scream and fling and the spider lands on my sweet sleeping baby. Normally I'm not afraid of BIG ASS SPIDERS but they really shouldn't be scampering on me in bed and then landing on my baby when I fling them. I pick up the baby and spider lands on the bed pillow. I flip bed pillow and spider hits the wall and then lands down at the baseboard. This all happens in the space of time it takes Justin to get to the bedroom when he'd heard my scream. All I say to him is "big spider!" and point. Normally I'm not afraid of big spiders, but he is and he hates them. I'm just not awake or lively enough to do anything about it. He's the man though, and sprays it with window cleaner until it submits and then Justin pops him like a zit in tissue.
My poor head can't take the sudden rush of spider induced adrenaline and gives in to pain. PAIN. I haven't had a migraine in a year so the powers that be decide I'm well overdue. Justin brings me more ibuprofen. If I can catch the migraine before it gets too bad it will go away, but if it's well on it's way nothing is gonna touch it and I have to wait it out. This one I wait out with the usual pattern. Throbbing pain, then nausea, then the vomitting. After that, I can pass out thinking that God is a bastard. Luckily the baby is sleeping six hour stretches in the night which means I can stay passed out for a while. When I wake the pain will be gone leaving a foggy brain too big for my skull pressure.
My husband spends the night on the couch so he won't disturb me.
I wake at 6 am to nurse, then at three hour intervals after that. I manage to get up at noon with a migraine hangover. I thank the bastard god that I don't have migraines for days like some folks.
Eight months ago, constantly having words on the tip of my tongue was blamed on "my dumb pregnant brain" but since giving birth to my third child in June, I can't use that phrase anymore. My usual wit was tempered by hormones and the growth of boobs, saddlebags and body hair. Will my mind return? Will I shed the body hair? Will the title of my blog always be so pertinent? Can I at least keep the boobs? Sigh...it took me three days to name this blog because I couldn't think of the words.
In my forum readings I came across a post by a housewife hesitant to make new friends with other housewives because they had nothing to offer in the way of companionship except constant talk of children and home and children and cleaners and children. Apparently this is caused by a biological agent added to the water in suburbia as the syndrome is fast spreading.
"My dumb postpartum brain" will not pull a fast one on me! I will remember there is an outside world! I will remember politics and philosphy and pop culture!
I feel the syndrome tugging at me. We are buying a MINIVAN next week. My husband and I slashed our palms and gave the blood oath "Minivan, never!" when we began married life. We even celebrated our declaration with a trip to Toys R Us and hiding all the Barney toys. And here we find ourselves, parents of 3 children, 3 BOYS and we need a vehicle with three rows of seats so we can separate at least one boy from the rest.