Thursday, June 29, 2006

Bootylicious

I am officially filing an objection with Yahoo today.

I've been insulted!

I do not have the market cornered in respect to being a housewife
with a large butt
!

There are websites that are definitely NSFW that feature bottoms of all sizes. Why didn't one of THOSE come FIRST???



This search term has me even more offended than the stick out like a sore thumb search term used to find my blog yesterday. No, you will not find "hot ladies pooping on toilet" around here. I apologize profusely.

I'm quite lukewarm during that activity.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Suddenly I gots to pee.

Anyone like yellow?

I got tired of the old template so I've been messing around with a new one. I'm not quite done yet. I'm not satisfied with the header. I wonder if PostIt will sue me.

Anyone want to restrain entertain two of my three boys? They are all squirrelly. It's the reason it's taken me an hour to post the four sentences above.

Just for your enjoyment I will also post a related photo I found while searching for a graphic to highlight the proper use of duct tape. Duct tape used in this fashion is improper and probably painful. But hey, everyone needs a hobby. I guess we know what Todd Morrison's is.

Monday, June 26, 2006

What's good for the goose...

Right at this very moment my husband is sitting near me watching "Weird Science". This movie has made teen boys all giddy since 1985. Who wouldn't be giddy over creating Kelly LeBrock out a couple bras and a spreadsheet program?

Apparently my husband wouldn't be giddy. He says Kelly LeBrock is no longer on the radar because she is not current. I say why does it matter? He says it does and that's final...go fix me a pot pie woman! Justin wants to know why I don't yak about the celebrities he currently defrags his hard drive over.

Fine then! (mumblemumbledamnmenmumble)

Do you know why Justin gets all giddy about Keira Knightley? It's because that young little twerp stole my body! Before I conceived and carried three babies (and therefore obtained a thousand stretch marks all over my tummy and thighs and butt and even between my toes) my bod looked just like this! I looked all bony and flatchested!

Except for the belly piercing...I dislike needles.

Oh Keira Knightley, you pirate riding tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. She's English just like Kelly!

***

...and you thought this post was over.

In the interest of fairness and equality in marriage I'm going out on a limb and sharing my celebrity crushes. You readers and other hangers on must realize what kind of intimacies I'm sharing with you.


I admit it. I find Jon Lovitz sexy.

Nope, I'm not kidding.

Jon's brand of humor is both silly and so intense. He is witty and physically lithe. I like his lips. Hell, I like his whole head.

Oh Jon Lovitz, you wife pickle tickling bowhunk! Why am I so inexplicably drawn? Oh, that's right...It's because you spell your name without an H.

I don't spell my name with an H either.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Why I'm such a good wife to my husband on Father's Day

So, I got home and stuff. Did you think I'd stay away forever?

Crap. Wait five more minutes. I need coffee badly. I'm really sorry.

Anywho...what we all missed while I was away was my third child's first birthday! He was born June 19th, 2005...Father's Day. What an excellent day to be born.

Warning! This post contains descriptive elements of pooping out a baby. If you don't want to read about the juicier bits of childbirth (Which isn't as juicy as the birth story I posted on February 23rd and is definitely much drier than the one I posted on February 5th) then stop HERE. I done warned you again!

June 18th, 2005. I'm a day overdue. Before pregnancy I weighed 125. At the end I weigh 205-210, depending on the bloat. Except for gaining gargantuan amounts of weight I've had a completely normal pregnancy. That day I feel weird...edgy...brainless...and kinda loose down in my hoo-hoo. I've been dilated to four centimeters for two weeks. The elastic in my extra large maternity pants has begun to snap and unravel. My breasts have reached gargantuan proportions considering that I'm usually a flatty flatty two by four. My bras are tight.

We're staying at my parent's home in Utah County because it's only forty miles from the hospital I plan to deliver at instead of staying home and being 120 miles from the hospital I plan to deliver at. Ahhh rural life.

By dinnertime I'd been having random patterns of contractions that stop as soon as I start timing them in earnest. How rude! I invite labor pain over for a party and they leave as soon as they see the accommodations. My Dad keeps looking at me with his eyebrow raised.

Justin wants to go on a drive. I have to pee first. Because I'm an oozy mess it takes me extra time to perform the rituals of potty hygiene. I take this as a good sign. Justin takes this as a reason to knock on the door and ask me what's keeping me. I felt like putting a panty liner across my forehead to keep in my oozing brain. I have a rather large single contraction in the car.

10:00 pm. Bedtime! I'm pooped. Not a single sign of a contraction since the one I had in the car earlier. Bastards.

Poor Justin. Because my body takes up the whole of my parent's guest bed he's been ever so chivalrous to sleep on the floor.

Father's Day, June 19th, 1:00 AM. I wake up with a pounding headache. It's not caused by high blood pressure. Pregnancy has messed up my chemical makeup and I'm experiencing hay fever in the form of headaches. I never get hay fever normally. I go to the kitchen, drink a big glass of water and swallow back a couple of Tylenol. In my previous pregnancies I didn't feign to swallow any sort of medication. This time around I fully enjoy the benefits of Tylenol. The headache quickly abates and I manage to fall back asleep.

3:30 AM. Contractions wake me. I get out my cell phone and use it to time my contractions. Five minutes apart! I time for a half hour before I decide that this is it and we're going to the hospital. I rouse Justin. He wakes my parents. I run a brush through my hair and put on some clothes. This pregnancy, sleeping naked is a matter of survival.

4:00 AM. We're off. The drive north to our hospital takes around 25 minutes. That's five whole contractions. The drive is so short because there is no traffic! Had I had to go at five in the evening I would have been stuck on I-15 for a good hour.

We check into the hospital. I have to pee...oh god do I have to pee. When I'm done they have my gown ready and all the nifty belting used to hook up the monitors. My little sister arrives and then my parents arrive with my sons. I'm monitored for a while so they can verify whatever they need to verify. I'm admitted. The TV in my room gets turned on to the old Double Dare gameshow. Awesome. I'm only measuring five centimeters.

I spend the next hour filling out forms. Justin would have done it but his handwriting is really awful. I'm able to fill out the huge stack of forms until I get to the last one. I'm finding that I have to breathe through contractions more and more. Justin fills out the last form, the birth certificate form, and decides then and there that we are changing the baby's middle name from Wayne to Harrington. I doesn't matter one way or the other to me. Both names are after Justin's grandpa who passed away a month before. The baby was one contraction away from being a Wayne.

6:00 AM. Labor is still proceeding normally. I'm measuring 6 centimeters. My family and I are joking about farts and sex between contractions. I get up to pee about every half hour. Peeing relieves some of the pain. My Mom and Dad decide they are hungry and they take my sister and my sons to the IHOP just up the street. They don't bring me back any.

Justin and I spend that time walking around the hallways. We interrupt the admitting nurse while she eats her cheerios out of a styrofoam cup. She doesn't offer me any either. Every so often I lean on the rails in the hallway and kind of squat. I'm so demure.

8:00 AM. Labor is finally getting a little more tough. I can actually feel my cervix peeling back much like a banana. My family and I are still joking about farts and sex between contractions. I labor in a lovely waterproof easy chair. During pains I make long soft sighing moans...moans that might have made any normal person feel all sexy-like if they weren't coming from a 210 pound laboring woman in a faded gown. I have to pee....again. I sit on the toilet and realize that what I'm feeling isn't bladder pressure so I return to my waterproof easy chair to moan some more.

8:25 AM. I feel the urge to push. I'm happy about this because I haven't hit transition labor. I'm still able to joke about farts and sex. I tell Justin to go find my labor nurse.

She comes in and hooks me up to the monitor. She checks me and is surprised to find me complete and not screaming in pain. I wonder how I'll joke about farts and sex while I push. Justin takes the boys to the waiting area. It's a swell waiting area with a TV and pregnancy magazines and a big fish tank. My nurse calls the on call doctor. It seems that my male OB/GYN decided to take Father's Day off. That stinker! How dare a man with five kids of his own take Father's Day off! Oh well, he's forgiven I guess.

The on call doc arrives. It only takes her a few minutes because the hospital's obstetrics offices are located right in the same building. This woman is awesome. She positions herself while I hand my sister my camera.

I start pushing like a freight train. No need to count to ten. I've never been more aware of how effective my pushing is. After ten minutes and three contractions I command my sister to hold one of my legs. She has no choice in the matter...my mom had the other. My dad was watching from his seat on the delivery room fifty yard line, right up front. The only way he'd get a better view was if he delivered the baby himself.

8:47 AM. I'm surprised when the head pops through. I didn't think I was quite there yet! Turns out that I tore but that's OK. He's born! He's gooey and pink and mostly hairless. They toss the poor kid on my tummy and I don't quite know what to do with him. The on call doc asks if anyone wants to cut the cord. Um ewww. The doc cuts it.

9:00 AM. Everything is cleaned and I'm stitched. They work so fast! Justin and the boys come back in the room to be introduced. Ryan Harrington weighs in as my largest baby at 7 lbs 4 oz and 20 inches long. I give Justin his newborn son and wish him a happy Father's Day.

Ryan is a funny baby. He is a constant smile. At the moment he's just getting the hang of walking. He says "No no" and "Bye bye" and "Ca Ca" and "Cracker". He has a poopy diaper at nearly the same time every day.

Happy First Birthday Ryan. Something tells me that raising you is going to be a real hoot.


Thursday, June 15, 2006

Mamacita Peluda

There is much to do today. Tomorrow we meander into Happy Valley, Utah. Our families seem to want to look at us in person.

I have to do the laundry.
Get a new filter for my fish tank because the old filter suddenly made a wheezing noise and keeled over.
I have to finish sewing this thing for this guy who pays me to sew lots of similar type things.
I have to finish sewing adorable little girl baby clothes for my impending grand-neice.

and...

I have to shave off my beard. (Since our families want to look at us, not my whiskers.)

Shaving isn't exactly the proper term for what I will be doing...I have to daintily remove the coarse black hairs growing ever so sprightly from my jawline caused by a tantrum my ovaries seem to be having.

If you may recall, I've discussed my body hair removal before. It was an interesting experience that I am absolutely not repeating on my face. That's why I use June's Bestest Housewifely Doodad!

(I didn't forget!)


The personal hair remover thingy! (As seen on TV)

I didn't buy mine from TV though. I have a thing about buying doodads off TV. Mine was a cheap knockoff impulse buy from our local grocery store. I was willing to venture two whole dollars in the cause of hair removal.

My problem in removing my facial hair using other means, like my husband's triple blade razors or depilatories, is that when my five o'clock shadow shows up it shows up ingrown. I don't know about you but I tend to dislike ingrown hairs on my jawline making me look like I'm suffering teenaged acne again. That sort of thing confuses my husband's students.

This nifty product doesn't cause ingrown hairs! You get fairly close detailed hair removal without any real sharp bits tearing up your face. It's pain and bodily fluid free. It trims up one's unibrow real perty. I personally stay clean for a few days before I have to buzz my face again.

It takes one AA battery. It's been my experience that anything handheld and portable that takes one AA battery is worthwhile.

You can find the personal hair remover on TV and pay way too much for shipping and handling but I'm fairly sure you can find them at any personal care section of any grocery, department or drug store near you. Men, this is NOT a good anniversary present, m'kay? Let the ladies buy these for themselves.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Pa! Pa!

Lately my fantastic husband, Justin, has been puttering about the internets on the Internet Movie Database. This site is awesome. It's filled with all the movie making trivia that Justin so enjoys. It makes him popular at parties.

When I want to torture my children I turn the TV to "Little House on the Prairie". Yesterday was as good of a torture day as any. Justin's on IMDB when I switch to PBS and he looks up the actors in the series. He's presented with this photo...


Half Pint?

He says this is NOT how one wants to see Melissa Gilbert but I say why the hell not? She doesn't have to be dressed in calico all the time!

Apparently Melissa Gilbert enjoys her sensuality. If you've got cleavage, then dammit, show it off in formal wear. Buhbye pigtails, hello double sided tape!

Nellie Oleson would be jealous...

Not jealous of this photo however...

They cut off the camel toe.

The real Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't favor showing off her cleavage but she was still a sexpot, dontcha think?

Hawt! Almanzo, you're da man.

Oh Melissa Gilbert, you Screen Actor's Guild leading tart! Why do you attract my husband so? Sorry, dumb question. Anyone that used to date both Rob Lowe and Tom Cruise gets hot points. I think.

(This post was written with my husband's protest as he is not in the least bit attracted to Melissa Gilbert or her cleavage. I am required by the obligation to marriage to post this little disclaimer. That and I don't want to sleep on the couch tonight. When I tarted Mo Rocca I was this close....Anyway, Justin really likes Tyra Banks. )

Sunday, June 11, 2006

I am Moley Russel's wart...Buck Melanoma.

In nearly thirteen years of marriage you'd think I'd be as familiar with my husband's body as I ever could be. I thought I knew all it's features well...I mean I've seen the man naked a couple of times. If you showed me a photo some of my husband's body parts I'd know they were his easily. It's delightfully off-putting discovering a new feature that's always been there and didn't suddenly appear because he's in his late thirties.

Last night, when Justin and I were teasing each other while watching TV, I discovered a mole between his little toe and his slightly bigger toe. It really was a mole, it wasn't toe jam.

This was hilarious to me.

If ever I was called to identify Justin's body by just his right foot I could! Yes, coroner, that's the hidey mole I discovered in the summer of 2006. I've named it Phillipe.

Justin is not allowing me to take a photo of his hidey mole so I can show you all.

***

Last Friday was the last day of school for my kids. It was also the last day of school for my teacher husband. I have two months of having the whole bunch of us in this little house, this very little house, to look forward to.

Each of us has our own summer cup with our names on it. If you cannot find your cup you must drink out of either the hose or the toilet. You choose. Mom and Dad don't need to be washing five zillion cups a day.

Friday was also the day that my oldest son graduated from sixth grade. Justin and I aren't fans of the pre-graduation. We are of the mind that graduation happens when they throw your butt out of high school and college. We made a small exception this time around because they are throwing my kid's butt out of elementary school. Next year he will be attending the junior/senior high combo school next door...the same school Justin teaches at. (Our town is not so large to warrant two buildings to house a separate jr. and sr. high.)

My son, being the dramatic little git he is, wears his suit to the graduation. He was the only graduate in a suit. The rest of them wore commemorative Tshirts that we had no knowledge existed. I lie...two of the girls in my son's class wore lovely glitzy dresses. Anyway, here is a photo...

He wore white socks with his suit. One must only be stylin' to a point.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Kid, stick to french fries...

I have a cute little backyard. I've got a patio set out there and a large rose bush and some pansies and a spot where I'm growing pumpkins and some lawn.

I often leave my sliding glass door open so my baby can toddle out there and play on the porch. He likes to pick the pansies. He used to like eating pansies... (Pansies are edible! Not that I let him sit there and eat pansies.)


He used to like eating pansies until he got his first taste of fine french cuisine living in his own backyard! I caught him gnawing on a rather large, not at all dead, definitely gooey, mostly likely uncooked, garden snail. Hold the garlic. Big grin on his face.

I have issues with this.

First of all, I live on the Salt Flats. Did no one tell my garden snails this fact? Snails and salt no mixey! Secondly, snails are sneaky ass creatures. They may move slow but they hide...in my pansies no less...They have paid me no rent. Thirdly, I can't put down a bowlful of beer to kill the garden snails without attracting casino patrons, teenagers or the neighbor's dogs. This bud's not for you. Fourthly, why are snails so derned appetizing looking!? I mean, who wouldn't pick one up and gnaw on it?

You wouldn't? Guess you don't take after me as much as my kid does.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Warning: This post contains adult language.

I've got steer poop under my fingernails. Snifffffff....

Yes, I've been gardening all day long! We took out a largish patch of grass this morning. That patch has never grown well. The grass that does manage to grow only does so in snaggly bunches, much like a teenaged boy's whiskers. We lovingly fertilized it. We religiously watered it. We read it bedtime stories. It was bad bad bad grass and we grounded it.

We removed the sod and shook the dirt from it's roots. There was a gardening bonus as we cracked one of our sprinkler pipes with a shovel. Not a bad repair but it meant that not only did the steer manure I'd used to sweeten the soil get under our fingernails, but all over the backs of our pants while fixing the pipes.

Meh, shit happens.

I spent the dusk hours putting in bedding plants and listening to my neighbors down the block snap at each other about anything and everything. She'd boss him on how to do menial tasks and he'd snap back justifications.

"Kurt, go park the car!"
"But I'm not done vacuuming the trunk!"
"Move it! Good Hell!"
The car engine starts and he proceeds to park the car six feet away from where it was parked previously.
"Kurt, you can't park in front of the fire hydrant!"
"The cops don't care!"
"Move the car goddammit!'
Engine starts again....

I had a difficult time not pointing and laughing at them.

Those aren't the noisiest neighbors I've ever had. By far the noisiest were a newly married pair I lived above in Utah County.

Both were still teenagers. They learned how to be adults from highly illegal in Utah porno movies.

Our apartments shared a dryer vent. It was through the vent that I could easily hear their everyday conversations. I'm not one that will drop the F bomb unless I do it for the most impact. Not that I object to it...It's just not my style. These two used it in mundane conversation so liberally that you'd think the dictionary only had one entry.

"Did you fuckin' pay the fuckin' phone bill honey?"
"Yeah, I wrote a fuckin' check...and you know what the fuck else? Meat at the store was fuckin' 4.99 a fuckin' pound! Holy fuck!"
"Fuck! Did you get any fuckin' steak anyway?"
"Fuck no, I bought chicken."

I had to constantly cover my children's ears. That wasn't the only reason. Besides learning to speak like a porno, they made other porno sound effects.

Five to six times a week....for hours... I swear to God.

You've never heard such screaming. If I didn't know any better I would have called the cops because somebody had to be getting slowly murdered downstairs! Hadn't they learned the art of completely silent sex yet? Wait...no...they had no kids. Hell, they still WERE kids.

Finally that pair moved out. They'd lived way beyond their means and it seems that rent wasn't on the priorities of things to do with their income. Things were very peaceful after that. Fuckin' A.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Beany Weenie


My fabulous husband made the most delicious chili last night for dinner. It had three different meats, two different beans, tomatoes, onions, peppers, spice and mushrooms. I kept sneaking spoonfuls out of the pot which got me banned from the kitchen. I slunk off to the yard with the weedeater. Finally the dinner hour arrived and I had a large bowlful with a dollop of sour cream. Eat, grunt, eat, grunt...burp.

Justin....

YOU SO OWE ME FOR EATING YOUR DELICIOUS CHILI AND THEN PUTTING UP WITH DIGESTIONAL DISTRESS ALL MORNING!

Johnny Cash has nothin' on me.

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