Random Thoughts...

Where to begin, where to begin? Ah.
First off...

Thought #1: My family is perverted.
Well, more specifically, my mom n' pop.

Yesterday, I was loading stuff into the back of Dad's truck, bent over just minding my own business when suddenly... I was ASSAULTED.

By the time I'd realized what had happened, Dad was already half way up the drive.

After climbing back out of the pile of boxes I had just fallen through, I marched inside to loudly announce my displeasure.

"Did you SEE what Dad just did!!?", I charged.

"What?", Gem responded listlessly, not even looking up.

"He pinched my bum!", I declared, trying to emphasize the seriousness of the matter.

"So?", she yawned.

"My behind! My derriere! My fanny! My posterior! My tush! My very own, personal bum!", I cried dramatically.

"So that's why he just walked in chuckling to himself.", she surmised.

And then, as if that weren't enough, later that night, when I tried to get some sympathy from mom, do you know what she said?

Do you, KNOW what she said!?!

"Bum-pinchers have been in existence for hundreds-of-thousands-of-years."

And, ya know what? I should have seen it comin'.
There hasn't been a bum-pinching opportunity, in my lifetime, that Mom hasn't taken advantage of.

You have no idea how alarmingly terrifying going up the stairs in front of her can be.

I eventually had to learn to either
A) block her jabs
B) insist that she go first
-or-
C) run like the wind, Bullseye.

Let me repeat. Perversion. Everywhere.

Thought #2: My dad is a fibber.

Do you know those quintessential moments as a child, where you look up into your parent's face, unabashedly waiting for them to explain life's wonders to you?

Because, of course, parents know everything, right?

I have recently come to the conclusion that such a concept is a big heaping pile of BS. I mean a really big, stinky load.

And it all comes back to Dad. The world's greatest fabricator.
You can never tell whether or not you're being lied to. He's that good, the turd.

Seriously. I have no absolutely no idea what's true anymore.

Many a time, I have shared some of my Dad's vast knowledge, with those around me, only to be shot down instantly.

"Did you know that emu's legs bend backwards while ostrich's legs bend forwards?", I'll share with bright eyes.

"No they don't.", the person will say.

"Uh-huh!" I'll insist, "My dad told me so!"

"No.", they'll confirm succinctly, all the while shaking their head in pity and backing away slowly.

Then I make a sad face.
Because this happens often. Too often if you ask me.

So, a word of advice from one who knows.
Though my Dad may put on a good front of supernatural mind-power and all-omnipotence,

He's a FAKE. A FAKER I SAY!
But a really smart and talented faker at that.

Thought #3: Everyone thinks their feet are normal.

Scratch that.
After recently voicing my opinion on the matter, I was shot down immediately.

Apparently, I was wrong.
Everyone thinks their feet are abnormal in some way.

I guess I'm the odd-ball out then. Up to this point, I always thought my feet were perfectly proportioned. Now I am forced to re-evaluate.

*looks at feet*

But, hey. I just thought of something funny.
When I was camping (you know, the infamous scooter victory trip) my sister came up with her family for the day.

We were by a stream which meant that everyone was naturally inclined to play in it at one point or another. So it was no surprise that, as soon as they were released from the confines of the van, my sister's kids shot into the water followed closely by their mom.

Several minutes later, she emerged soaking with a dripping schnauzer in tow.

Noticing her muddy and waterlogged sneakers, my dad comically commented on how, exactly, they had come to that point.

"It was no easy feat!" she voiced loudly.

And, you know me, I couldn't help it.

"Pfft... Feet." I giggled immaturely.

(Feat. ----> Feet.)
Geez. Get with the picture.

How many idiot's we got in here?

All I know is that, when people's middle toe is longer than the rest, I feel like I'm being flipped of. Foot style.

K. I've decided to change thought #3.

Revised Thought #3: My feet are normal.

Too bad, so sad for the rest of  you.

Thought #4: I forgot to post pictures of our Craft Day!

We made paper plate masks, bead & noodle necklaces and crepe paper art.

I did a flower. It was purdy.

What?!? I can't be included in the fun?

Thought #5: Wait... what was my thought? Oh, right.

Thought #5: I am forgetful.

Because I also forget to post pictures of my Box Fort Activity!

Are you oh-so impressed?
I know, I know. I should have gone into architecture.

Except for the fact that after only twenty minutes of playing, their fortress collapsed on them. But minor detail, right?

I'm blaming it on faulty duct tape.

Remove Head From Sphincter, THEN Drive.

Okay, buddy.
Can ya see where the line is?
Can ya see where your car is?

Line... Car. Line... CAR!

Can ya see where your BRAIN is?

Me neither! So pull it out!

*curse word*

(I never say that...)

My brother-in-law has helped me understand that a well-placed 'WENCH!' can go a long, long way.

I really just don't understand. Can ya 'splain it to me?
If, for some reason, you can't visualize your destination between those two pretty white lines and then make it so, you shouldn't have been given a license! I don't care how many tries it takes! Just do it, dang it!

Geez...

What's happened to common sense?
Which reminds me of another irritating thing. No matter how much you love a certain article of clothing, if you wear it everyday it will wear out!

Let's just say that if every time you wear your favorite old hat it requires you to re-wash your hair, something is obviously wrong.

We're not four-year-olds here. We can throw things away, heaven forbid. And don't tell me that you will take it home and wash it! Goodnight.

When my treasures went missing as a child, and it was clearly Mom's doing, I would ask where they had gone and she always used to say, "They went the way of the world."

(Mom! I don't understand metaphors.)

I think I'm going to change to a different strategy with my kids. I think I'll just say, "You can wash a dead animal all you like, but it's still dead!"

That should do the trick.

And now (because I know how you adore my children's activity updates), wah-lah!

Last week, I solely supervised a Art Foam Fun Day EXTRAVAGANZA.

Complete with water slide.

But no, that little area was SO jammed packed. As you can see, I was not expecting that many people to show up for a foam art activity.

Let's face it. I considered sluffing.

 

So I was pleasantly/alarmingly surprised. The kids had the option of making three little animal stick puppets or a creation entirely their own.

Let's just say I had my work cut out for me upon clean-up.
Can we say capital 'M' for 'mess'?

Just pray those little suckers grow up to be responsible adults who know how to park and can throw away old junky clothes.

At least twice and a while.

CDO. It's Alphabetical.

So... remember how I suffer from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?
Not really but kind of.

But hey, wait-a-sec-unt. What does that even mean?

According to the source of all unverified information (Wikipedia) which I accessed via the ultimate source of all knowledge (Google), OCD (IN case you were wondering) can be defined as:

"An disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce anxiety, by repetitive behaviors aimed at reducing anxiety, or by a combination of such thoughts (obsessions) and behaviors (compulsions). Symptoms may include repetitive hand-washing; extensive hoarding; preoccupation with aggressive impulses or with particular religious beliefs; aversion to odd numbers; and nervous habits, such as opening a door and closing it a certain number of times before one enters or leaves a room. These symptoms can be alienating and time-consuming, and often cause severe emotional and economic loss. The acts of those who have OCD may appear paranoid and come across to others as psychotic. However, OCD sufferers generally recognize their thoughts and subsequent actions as irrational, and they may become further distressed by this realization."

Hold the phone... now that's just creepy.
Have they been watching me?

Psh!... I'm just joshin' ya.
(Which reminds me. Who is Josh and what did he do to earn this reputation?)

That doesn't sound like me, right?
Come on. I don't really have strange thoughts. That often...

And I am never repetitively redundant.

Except for, you know, straightening things to 90° angles.
Wiping dust specks from various surfaces.
Checking Hotmail, then Blogger, then Gmail, then Facebook.
In that order...

Okay, fine! But at least I don't have an aversion to odd numbers! That's something at least!

 

The great thing about kids is they don't care how much of a whack job you are! I'm living proof.

This is why I was willing to spend several hours last week (along with my ever faithful boss) filling water balloons. And I didn't even get very upset when they kept popping in my face.

Together, we filled four of these 5-gallon ice cream buckets, a whopping total of 150 aqua bombs. I think I deserve an award. And... the check?

I hauled two of the containers over to the designated area, along with various other water toys and treats, with the help of a moving dolly. It took all of two seconds before they were gone.

Suddenly, there were twenty kids closing in, staring me down with those Bambi eyes.

"Don't worry, don't worry." I assured them, "I'll go grab the re-enforcements from the office."

Walking back, I once again reflected on how cool my job really is. Little did I know that the entirety of my day would consist of water balloons, Otter Pops and ice-cream cones.
Yah. You read that right.

"Hey look!" they all screamed upon my return, "The lady's back!"

It pretty much made my day.

And you know what? I didn't even obsess about picking up all of those teensy-weensy balloon shards.

You can applaud later.

The 'Spit'ting Image of Nasty

Spitting is the most disgusting habit on the whole dang planet.

I'm not talking about when, while mowing the lawn, a stray bug flies in your mouth and, in the process of doing everything humanly possible to remove it, you end up spewing a bit.

That is completely justified. (I would know.)

And of course I don't include babies and their adorable drooly little selves. That's just cute.

I'm talking about greasy teenagers who hack a loogie in the hall on their way to gym. About drawling hicks who persist in spattering the ground with their nasty habit and the filthy side effects of chew tobacco. Of baggy-bum-boys who think it's 'cool' or 'tough' to splutter every step of their life.

And don't tell me that you have an overactive salivary gland! What a lame excuse.

Even cartoon characters can't pull it off without making me cringe.



No one likes you Gaston! Don't let them fool you.
I don't care how 'especially good at expectorating' you are.

Gah.
Makes me spit to think of all the spitting going on 'round here.
-or-
I'm so mad that I could spit nails!

Take your pick.

Last week, I spent two hours one morning making four quadruple batches (yep, that's enough for 40 kids plus some) of play dough at work. I love my job. :)

P.S. Blue food coloring stains fingers. ---> Learned the hard way.

The number of play dough balls came out exactly even with the number of kids, so that was quite serendipitous.

It was fun to teach all those youngsters my favorite play dough shapes like rolling the whole piece into a long snake then spiraling it into a swirly. Or taking half of the mass and forming it into a little bird's nest then rolling the remaining pieces into tiny eggs that sit inside.

*sigh* Such reminiscent moments.

After all, who needs all those new-fangled contraptions? You don't need any to have fun.

Use some imagination!

Make a bird foot.
Some traffic cones.
A rubber chicken.

...and if all else fails...

A projectile to hurl at the nearest spitter.

A 'Whale' of a Tale

So, sneezing.

There is some debate on the subject.

My 'baby sneeze' was recently compared to the common accidental 'snort', produced occasionally while laughing.

Tell me about it. I didn't get the connection either.

The musky office in the which I spend the majority of my time these days, contains an obscenely large proportion of dust. Thus, while hardly working *ah hem* I mean, working hard, I naturally have my fair share of 'gesundheits'.

Anywho. In my opinion, if, when you sneeze, the house shakes, babies cry and grandpa runs from the breakfast table yelling 'earthquake!', something cannot be right.

If a sneeze can be contained in such a way  that it produces the smallest amount of noise, and therefore disturbance, as possible, you should be congratulated. Nobody wants their eardrums burst while being simultaneously spewed because 'repressing a sneeze' is considered harmful.

I don't care what you say.
Holding it in will not cause brain damage.

Plus, word has it that the 'baby sneeze' epidemic is spreading. I can recall at least three people who have admired such a quality lovingly, claiming that 'they too' wish such a sneeze were to be their own.

So there. Point proven.

Yesterday, Wymount welcomed back summer by inviting children, one and all, to 'Come and Play in the Water'. It was a hit, biggest activity turnout thus far.

We made sure that the sprinklers were all up n' running and provided them young-un's with squirt guns, water toys and a large container of water balloons which, as I should have guessed, were all popped by a horde of rambunctious boys before the younger ones even had time to bat an eye.

It wasn't long before they were all running around like crazy people, dousing anyone and everyone within arm's reach. One little boy loved the kiddie pool so much, he just couldn't let his clothes stand between himself and the grassy water.

Thus, several minutes later, a frazzled mother fished one squirmy bare bottom from the pool, diaper and trunks in one hand, screaming naked boy in the other.

Em n' I, observed the battlefront from a distance while passing out Otter-Pops by the dozens. I'm fairly positive most of the kids made off with quite the stash. They'd file up, one by one, and just stand there, gazing up at me, begging for more.

Oh, with the face... and the EYES!
"Alright, alright!", I'd give in.

Then, across the way, something caught my eye.

"Poor girl." I noticed, "She just got 'whaled' in the face!"

I gaped comically at Em, mouth ajar. "Eh, eh?", I grinned while teasingly prodding her in the ribs with my elbow.

"What?", her face questioned quizzically.

"Oh come on!" I challenged disbelievingly, "Whaled-Wailed. Get it?"

The light bulb was not coming on.

"He was whacking her with a whale water toy.", I pronounced slowly.

"Oh..." Em laughed nervously, "That's funny."

Baby sneezes or no.
I think it's safe to say that my love of puns is not contagious.

It Looks Questionable to Me.

Last week, Em had an idea that bordered on genius.

She decided, post searching all over the Provo/Orem area for someone who would be willing to donate to our cause, to forgo the 'Build Your Own Birdhouse' idea.

Instead, we had an 'Art Day' to rue all art days.
It looked a little (okay exactly) like this:

We had the kids lie down on the butcher paper, then we'd trace their outline and have them color the inside. And when I say 'we' I mean 'the moms' because, apparently, Em n' me are pretty darn scary. Look at these cuspids. Rrrr!

 

These little fellers' were too cute. One (pictured at the bottom left) wanted another Otter-Pop but was too shy to ask us. He just kept givin' us that little grin and hiding behind his mom while the other (pictured at the bottom right) was fearless. Neon foam sword and all.

And of course, I couldn't help but join in myself. Hence, the surprisingly accurate replica of none other but 'yours truly'.
The likeness is uncanny, eh?

As to why I broke my posting streak of late:
I recently returned home from a river rafting trip extravaganza. The young single adults in my area headed down to Green River for three days in order to get their fill of sunburn, bug bites and filthy outhouse stench. Boy, was it fu-UHN.

Upon arriving home, I proceeded to drag myself up the steps and across the threshold. As I lay on the kitchen floor like a lifeless slug, Mom wasted no time in assaulting me, begging for details.

"How was the river?", she prodded.

"Wet.", I responded.

"Was the food any good?"

"Yup.", I snipped.

"Did you sleep well?", she worried.

"So, so.", I mumbled.

"Oh come on." she interjected determinedly, "Were any of the boys cute, at least?"

"Well..." I began to say, "They were until I got a good look at their toenails."

Suddenly, before I could fully come to terms with what was happening, Mom and my oldest sister (who had conveniently phoned the house moments earlier) were holding their sides in fits of laughter, feeding off each other's delight in regards to my response.

"What!?" I demanded intently, "I'm not saying that they should invest in weekly pedicures but is it too much to ask that they at least CLIP every so often??"

Granted their response was mostly unintelligible, I did catch a few snippets between the *snorts* and *guffaws*: something in regards to why 'marriage isn't in my future' and concern as to 'where I came from'.

Needless to say, I wasn't pleased.

I find it perfectly reasonable to demand the same podiatric health standard from those around me as to that I have set for myself. So, call me crazy, but I fully expect the man who slips a ring on my finger to submit to a rigorous foot inspection.

Mind you. It will be extensive.

Space. The Final 'Pun'tier.

I love corny puns.
Doug from Savage Chickens understands this obsession.

Did I ever mention that he is the master of hilarious chicken antics, among other things? Well... now I have.

I also have a confession to make.
I'm kind of a Trekkie. So this comic speaks to me.
Not to mention that it combines three of my favorite things:
puns, Star Trek and sewing. Moving on...

This weekend was more fun than I deserve.

Of course... I felt sick & gross the whole time, none of my family showed up and we were forgotten in the church parking lot, but hey. I'm trying to forget such minor details.

It started off with celebrating Gem's graduation by going on a small road trip where we swam in the hotel pool, went to the aquarium and ate too much of everything.
Then, joy of joys, it was Homecoming: a sort of 'community days' in Lake Shore. It was excellent. I'd say better than most years.

I was bestowed (term used loosely) the honored position of creating the backdrop for the pavilion stage. Namely, a giant tree. Lying out on my living room floor, it looked ginormous! Nine feet by nine feet to be exact. Sadly, it was less than impressive taped up.

That's right. Call me Corinner-Elly.

I cook. I clean. I accept random charity projects from frazzled activities committee members.

And then, as if that weren't enough, I went to the Mormon Miracle Pageant in Manti. That's a story in and of itself though I'm not sure I'm up to telling it again. Suffice it to say that there were entirely too many mis-communications, melodramatic lines and overly zealous hand gestures. But surprisingly, upbeat.

Oh! The activity this past Wednesday was a Bubble Blast. The pictures speak for themselves.

The wind that day was quite serendipitous.

This little fella had the time of his life trying to attack me with the bubbly solution. Luckily, I made tracks before the trend caught on and I was completely covered in suds.

We were surprised by how many actually showed up. There were only a few to start out but then the number practically 'bubbled'.

Did I say I love puns? Well I do.