Friday, December 23, 2005

He Sees You When You're Sleeping

I caught my son snooping for his Christmas booty. He tried to justify himself by quoting the Patriot Act.

Time to turn off Fox News.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Fa La La La La!

On the first day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...a new toilet brush for my john!

On the second day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...two scrubby sponges and a new toilet brush for my john!

On the third day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a another new brush for my john!

On the fourth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges, and another damned brush for my john!

On the fifth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and dammit if my john ain't clean!

On the sixth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a new improved battery powered brush for my john!

On the seventh day of Christmas the housewife gave to shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and where in the hell am I going to put another toilet brush you eejit?

On the eighth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!...four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and really, another toilet brush, can we say OCD?

On the ninth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and don't you dare give me another toilet brush you deranged woman!

On the tenth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...ten slightly used pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and I swear, I'm peeing outside from NOW on...

On the eleventh day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...eleven kids for playdates, ten used pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and I will never defile your pristine john ever again, are you HAPPY???!

On the twelth day of Christmas the housewife gave to me...twelve packs of midol, eleven kids for playdates, ten smelly pampers, nine months of swelling, eight OB tampons, seven shower curtains, six cans of comet, five garbage bags!... four swiffer dusters, three rolls of charmin, two scrubby sponges and a hand knit toilet brush cover for my john!

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

A Little Air Up There

I'm trying really hard to blog...really I am!

But nothing comes to me.

I don't even have a decent fart story I can think of. Perhaps I should go about today trying to make a fart story happen so I can tell it to you later. This might require going out in public. You may thank me now for the sacrifices I'm prepared to make for my dear readers and other hangers on.

Four out of the five members of my family have had their turn with the two day horkin' germ. I'm the last hold out. I wonder if I'll come down with it or not? There has been a days rest in between each horkin' family member. If I do my math correctly today would be my rest day and tomorrow I should be horkin'. As long as I get over it by Saturday I'm good. brain is like sludge! I know I have more to say! I'm menstrual again. I need a cookie.

Ginko Biloba can be sent to:

The Absent Minded Housewife Brain Depository
Red Garter Casino Parking Lot
Bendover Boulevard, Bendover NV 89883

Sally Struthers and I thank you.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

Do they still make wooden Christmas trees, Charlie Brown?

Today I went about putting up our Christmas tree. My eleven year old son stated that the tree looked small. It is a small tree, only 5' 8" or so. (Even though the package says it's six foot.) I asked him if he knew the story of our old fake tree. He didn't. You, dear readers and other hangers on, don't know it either. Lemme prattle onward.

Justin and I married in on August 25th. Exactly four months later Christmas arrived. Since we were fortunate enough to start our marriage flat broke, we had $80 to spend on each other for Christmas. We had $20 left of our marital Christmas fund and we'd given up on having a Christmas tree in our first crappy apartment. It wasn't that important anyway, we justified.

We were in a Kmart, trying to decide how to blow our $20, when we found our tree. It was 75% off and cost us an entire $12. You have to sell six foot fake trees 75% off when they are missing four inches. We couldn't just have a plain tree, oh no! We bought 18 velvet bows for a buck, a string of red mini lights for a buck, and ten glittery snowflakes for a buck. With the last of our Christmas budget we started a tradition. We purchased one special ornament. Every year Justin and I get a new ornament, and one for each of our children. The first ornament was a naughty mouse peeking out of a toy chest.

And... because I worked at a grocery store at the time... all the free defective candy canes I could carry home. I managed to get 12 green candycanes on our tree. Three years later these candy canes were eaten by a sneaky kid I'd given birth to.

Justin and I have been together for fourteen Christmasses. Thirteen married Christmasses. We've used our short fake tree every Christmas because it means something. For the last three years I've threatened to buy a new tall fake tree, but I never do it. We'll use this tree until it sheds all it's green plastic needles and all the wire bits wear out. When that happens we'll bury it in the backyard in it's box with it's water bowl and it's favorite chew toy.

Friday, December 16, 2005

Observations of the Week

I visited the deli at the local grocery store on Wednesday. I was going to pay for my purchases there but they were reprogramming the cash registers. The deli clerk points to the cash register ring up screen as proof that he is indeed helpless. It's scrolling TESTESTESTESTESTESTESTEST. Do I read this as "test"? Nope! For the likes of me it's flashing TESTES TESTES TESTES TESTES.

This on top of giggling when I asked the clerk to cut the cheese.


When I got my kids home from school yesterday my six year old son, who is usually bright and sunny, suddenly looked very sad. I asked him what was wrong. He said, "Today in school a fart came out of my bum." I asked if he was embarrassed. His usual bright sunshiney-ness instantly returns and he replies, "No, it was hilarious!"

I agree, farts are funny. Son, be loud and be proud.


Yesterday my mom calls to ask my husband what I'd like for Christmas. He doesn't know. I don't fault him for this as I don't even know. He doesn't even know what he wants either. It's a good thing we are married.

I like practical gifts. My mother in law always asks me what I'd like. One year I said I could use some socks. She got me 6 pair of the nicest socks. She also likes practical gifts. We've given her a frying pan and file folders. Gimme stuff I need so I don't have to buy it myself. GIMME GIMME GIMME! ahem...

I get passed the phone and Mom asks me what I'd like. I'd already told her I wanted a studfinder. Not that I have trouble finding studs already, but sometimes they aren't as self evident as you'd like them to be. Mom asks "what else?" I tell her I'd really like some silicone muffin pans. Mom tells me I'm boring. Mom asks me if I need anything personal. I tell her I need underpants.

I have the feeling I'm going to get a jingle bell trimmed thong and some hemorrhoid ointment. Ho ho ho.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

Salt Shake-her

Justin and I, for the most part, are finished with the Christmas shopping. There was a shopping emergency because my Mom proved to be the difficult gift receiver this year. In a panic I phoned my little sister Jill and she helped me out.

Where I live there is NO shopping. None. You think I'm kidding don't you! With the exception of a grocery store and some casino gift shops, there is very little to buy. My town is consumerism free. You wouldn't think it would be very pleasant, but actually it is. The amount of running around I do is at a minimum and I like it that way.

We schedule 240 mile round trips into Salt Lake City to do the shopping. The drive doesn't feel so long anymore. You would think that driving over 120 miles of salt flats and barren landscape would get dull. It doesn't. It's amazing how much it changes every time we drive it. It is really very beautiful. This is a picture I stole of the salt flats when the salt mines flood them. Only parts of the flats are hardpack. The rest of the flats look tough, but they are mush. Dry salt on top with a layer of mud underneath. When the salt on top is dry enough the salt mines scrape it off. Dorky people regularly decide to get off the freeway to drive on the flats and end up tire deep in mud. It's really very funny.

So, after driving 120 miles to shop, across the flats and the salty goo and dealing with truckers and more dorky folks driving 120 miles per hour, I wasn't leaving SLC without a present for my mother. What did I get her? I'm not telling! She might be reading this!


Shopping is serious exercise. Shup! I'm not just saying this because I'm female! You can't disagree with me about the stress inducing, panic driven, sweat dripping exercise that is holiday shopping. It's hell...

This is why I'm very grateful that while shopping the day after Thanksgiving Justin bought me December's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

The Percussion Massager! I know God loves me because this gadget exists. (Even though no large photos exist and dammit, I'm too lazy to take one.)

Just plug it in and you can literally beat yourself into bliss. It's a Sado Masochistic dream and your defiant muscles will submit! Bad Girl! When Justin uses this on my back my neighbors call the police to quiet my Thor thundergod-like moans and my satisfied screams. I especially enjoy the attachment that looks like a brush-head. It makes my brain googly.

You can buy this and similar gadgets at many fine establishments. I got mine at Radio Shack for $29.99 after instant rebate. The Radio Shack clerk smirked at me. Damned electronics geeks.

Thank you Radio Shack percussion massager, I like you, I really like you.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

Today I have no horkin' children in my house. One of my children was horkin' Friday and Saturday. We went shopping on Sunday. Then another of my children was horkin' on Monday and yesterday. Keeping home children from school really screws up my routine. I can't spend all day in the bathtub reading Good Housekeeping.

When I take my kids to school in the morning I have an amazing view to the south. There are about twenty miles of flat grassy plain with the road that goes to Ely cutting through it. This morning the sun was low and big casting a shadow of the entire mountain to the east over this plain. The sunlight around the shadow was a glowing pink. Beautiful. My camera can't catch this view. It's too big.

Holy crap, there are like a thousand birds that just flew into my backyard. My cat is going nuts. They will crap on everything!


I was just discussing with some online friends of mine how Justin and I give the bestest white elephant gifts! We are creative white elephant gift givers. We love to wrap up our unused items and we know the recipient will be thrilled with our thoughtfulness!

Our white elephants have included:

A opalescent sequin vest and silver shoes.
A roll of Xmas print toiletpaper.
An uneaten and still kinda warm taco bell hard taco.
A quart jar of vaseline.
A deceptive CD of Christmas carols. There was no clue given on the cover that it was going to be a very merry disco Christmas.

It's not like we've received good white elephant gifts over the years. I once opened a beautifully wrapped package containing BYU dorm dryer lint and Justin got a VHS copy of "A Very Brady Christmas".

Now, why aren't we invited to any holiday parties anymore? I have a jar of cheez whiz and some "ribbed for her pleasure" condoms I ain't using!

Monday, December 12, 2005

I think my husband should... the one responsible for cleaning toilets in this house.

It's the male's DNA that determines the sex of his children and therefore it's Justin's fault we have three boys*.

*The baby boy that is still in diapers is excluded.


My house is a disaster. It's messy in a disastrous sort of way. It's dastardly how disastrous my house is.

I. Must. Clean.

You. Must. Come. Help. Me.

You refuse! Why???

Friday, December 09, 2005

To Whom it May Concern...

Besides keeping my horkin' child at home from school today, I've been having the fun of reporting a kiddy porn site to the FBI website.

Hey asshat! (yes you, dear reader from Mere, Warrington, UK). When you click "next blog" you need to know that if the next blog has a public sitemeter on it that anyone can see what blog you visited last. That includes the disgusting blog I just reported to the authorities containing barely legal photos of adolescent girls spreading in their underwear and the definitely illegal photos of them topless.


To the owner of the disgusting blog I just reported. Thanks for posting your Yahoo ID, your ICQ # and your email address. I will be forwarding this info to I hope to God they nail your ass. We all know what happens to pedophiles in prison.


To the parents of young girls allowing them to "model" in their underwear in barely legal lavicious poses...if I ever met up with the likes of you I'd spit on you. Twice. Hell has a special spot reserved just for your projected narcissism and underdeveloped parenting skills.


If anyone knows how to email someone who can do something at Blogger please let me know. I'd appreciate telling them what they've got their name on instead of using the flag button.


Now that that little outburst is over...check out my progress on my fairy costume! --->

Pedialyte Ho!

My six year old woke up this morning horkin. Let's pronounce hork properly. Get a phlegm wad in the back of your throat and really force out your breath when you enunciate the H sound. Then over pronunciate the K. Ready? guguuugurgleHHHHHHHHoorrrrKah. Again...very good.

So, since I was up since 4 a.m., I did a little sewing in between kid horks. 5 a.m is an excellent time to drape fabric off your dressmaker's dummy. Dressmaker's dummies never hork.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Tagged for Ten Tidbits.

Blazngfyre tagged me. I sense conspiracy.

Ten random lil facts about Becky that you may or may not want to know:

1. Though I was a home ec major in college I took no home ec in highschool. I was not a Future Homemaker of America. I was a Future Farmer of America. I am not a farmer now.

2. I can usually name which TV shows had spinoffs and what they were. Family Matters with Steve Urkel? Spinoff from Perfect Strangers.

3. I dislike shellfish type seafood. It's not the flavor, it's the texture. The only time I want shrimp is when I'm pregnant. I made it so I won't be craving shrimp again.

4. I have nipple hairs and there isn't anything I want to do about them.

5. I see dead people.

6. During lunch hour in third grade I refused to eat with the cutlery the school provided. I ate with chopsticks which I washed daily and kept in my desk. You can indeed eat jello with chopsticks.

7. I've never had the urge to take drugs, smoke or drink to excess. I was told once that this was because of my good clean Utah upbringing. It's not. In fact my non-urge has no real basis in any sort of morality. I'm high on life.

8. I find Mr. Bean sexy. I also find Jon Lovitz sexy.

9. When Justin and I got this computer I didn't even know how to email. Justin had to teach me. Now I know way more about computers than Justin.

10. When I was four I put a piece of shell macaroni up each nostril. I managed to get one shell out but couldn't remove the other shell. Shell macaroni, when soft, acts like a little suction cup. My parents had to take me to the emergency room to remove it.

The End.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005


There is some notion men like sports on TV. I suppose this is true. I have no idea if there are going to be sports on TV tonight but I do know what IS on TV tonight. I further know that many men will be glued to their boob tubes for this program.

Yup, you know what I'm tawkin'bout. It's the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. 10/9 central on CBS.

People sure are interested in underwear these days. I'll even admit to owning a couple pair. Sometimes I even wash them. Sometimes I even try to sew my son's underwear.

Who doesn't own underwear? You don't? You lie! The Fruit of the Loom apple man is going to stalk you now. Underwear ain't a rare commodity dear...someday you'll get a pair in your happy meal.

Underwear has been around as long as there have been people. Everyone is very concerned with covering their bits in one way or another. Despite the freedom and convenience of the fig leaf, us human's have creatively evolved and that includes our intimate apparel.

We make underwear that covers up near everything...

We make underwear that covers next to nothing. (Seriously, where do you put your skidmarks in these?)

We've stuffed our bits into our dainties, hoping for that boost in animal attraction... growwwwllllll...

And, we wear our underwear in the hopes of having good hygiene and as a defense against univited guests.

Underwear goes everywhere we go. Hopefully it's comfortable.

We even manage to force our underwear on the unassuming naked.

I do rather like the Victoria's Secret Fashion show but not because of the underoos. I like it because of the big wings on the angels. They make me salivate. You ask, why all this posting about underwear? I do have a reason besides VS...


It's only a month after Halloween. I found it in my sewing storage closet underneath the yellow silk flowers and the fuzzy green and yellow yarn. Pictures of what I intended to wear for Halloween coming.

Sunday, December 04, 2005

Ants in my Pants

When my oldest was seven or eight years old (he's now 11) we had some problems with him getting the idea that it was bedtime and therefore, in the interest of actually sleeping, one must stay in their bed.

One particular night he'd been up to:

Go potty
Go potty again
Get a drink
Check a loose tooth
Go potty
Beg for a snack
Get an extra blanket
Brush his teeth...

Needless to say, I was annoyed. I told him to go to bed, stay in bed, or else the duct tape was coming out. He sighs and goes back to his room.

Fifteen minutes later he emerges doing another potty dance. I declare, duct tape in hand, that he does NOT need to go to the bathroom. I didn't care if he exploded, he was going back to bed! He tells me his penis hurts. I roll my eyes. Anyone that handles it that much going potty in lieu of going to bed is going to have a sore penis.

My son dials up the intensity of the potty dance and his eyes well up in tears. I relent. I tell him I'm going to have to look at the penis so I can see what's wrong with it. He's embarrassed, I'm embarrassed. The pain becomes unbearable and he lets me look.

There is an ant on his penis...

And it's biting the hell out of it.

Don't insects have bedtimes? I brush the ant away and tell him to go to bed. I manage to save my guffawing until after he shuts his door.

The next day I venture into his room to clean up whatever food he'd snuck in there to cause the ants.


At the beginning of this school year my oldest son declared he was too old to wear underwear. I was picking him up from school and this revelation brought him to wracking sobs.

I told him that even I wasn't too old to wear underwear and that not wearing underwear wasn't going to be an option...ever...not even when he's 40.

It took another few minutes of wracking sobs to reveal that he didn't want to go commando but that he felt he was too old for tighty whities. Tighty whities are for babies. He wanted to now wear manly boxer shorts.

I told him his style of underwear was up to him (afterall, I wasn't wearing his underwear) but he'd have to wait for a trip to the store to buy some boxers.

It was at this point I made a "mom" mistake.

I had the bright idea, since I'm a seamstress and all, that I could pull some fabric out of my stash and sew him some boxers! He looked at me like I was insane. I'm not really insane, just randomly dumb...

Whose mother sews their UNDERWEAR for them?

Obviously, my son's mother. I'm going to be a great mother in law someday.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Flow it, show it, long as God can grow it.

I've been so damned girly lately.

I purchased a can of hairspray today. Aerosol. (What's the term for this? Oh yeah, I'm old schoolin'. Yerrr.) I have not purchased a can of hairspray for years. The last brick walls of my teenaged rebellion have fallen.

I know, I know. It's an oxymoron to be a teen rebel against hairspray. Especially since I was a teen in the late 80's and early 90's. I should have been properly inundated with hairspray and mousse and teasing and hair fluffitude. I resisted. I resisted because my mom is the queen of Aqua Net. We once teased her that if we added up the costs of all the Aqua Net purchased for her use over the last 40 years of life she could have purchased a large yacht. My mom has very precise hair.

I didn't exactly want un-precise hair. I just wanted a do that I didn't have to, well, do. This is why I kept my hair Demi Moore in Ghost short from the ages of 12 to 18. When I got a haircut I could tell the stylist exactly which attachment to use on the electric clippers. I even eschewed hair stylists in favor of an old fashioned male barber in my highschool years. My very short hair naturally fell exactly where I wanted it and it was never a mess, ever. Hairspray? Pshaw!

Yet, all the years I kept my hair boy short I had a recurring dream. I'd dream about suddenly growing yards and yards of silky brunette locks. Masses of long hair reaching out and enveloping people in follicle enhanced love. Only when I began growing my hair did these dreams end.

So...over the next several years...I let my hair do it's thing. Except for a few trims I grow it to waist length. That's nearly three feet of brunette hair with a few grey ones in there for good measure. I stayed far away from perms and mousse and hairspray. I enjoyed my very long naturally flowing hair in many ways. (It's a great toy in the bedroom, ahem.)

Last year I decided my long hair was making me look less womanly and more like a very tall 12 year old. (Not that my flat chest had anything to do with it.) I made an appointment with a hair stylist and cut over sixteen inches of my hair. Chop chop. My braid got shoved into an envelope and off to Locks of Love it went. I left with an adorable pageboy and an adorable mistake.

The dreams came back.

Despite knowing that donating to Locks of Love was a very nice thing to do, I MISSED MY HAIR! I missed buying gallons of Pantene conditioner! I missed pulling it out of folkses armpits when I hugged them! I missed pulling it off my freshly chapsticked lips on windy days! I missed the feeling of it on my nipples during times when it's appropriate to be completely naked! I missed my identity!

So, I start the growing. Growing is helped by my third pregnancy. I'm at a point now where I feel my hair is where it should be and the dreams are gone again.

And it's hairspray that has made me feel less like a nineteen years gone 12 year old. I've recovered womanhood with the discovery that when I put a little curl in my hair I can keep it bouncy with a little spritz. When I get to big spritzes I'll let you know. Nah, I didn't buy Aqua Net. I got some other brand.

Mom, you'd be so proud of me.

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