1. Bicycle helmets. Who in the hell decided that we needed this crap? When I was a kid, not only did we not wear helmets, but would promptly beat up anyone seen wearing a bicycle helmet. Not only did we not wear helmets, but half the time, we couldn't be guaranteed that our front wheel would even stay attached to our bike as we ramped off the neighbor's tree roots. We are all still alive and accounted for.
2. Disinfecting wipes at supermarkets. Do you have any idea how many of my children cut teeth by chewing on the handle of the shopping cart? None of my children have ever contracted ptomain, botulism, SARS, AIDS, hoof and mouth disease, or even a common cold from chewing on the shopping cart handle.
3. People who mispronounce my name repeatedly. Dari. Rhymes with Jerry, Larry, Barry, Kari. I understand getting it wrong the first time. But please pay attention when you're corrected. No. It's not short for anything. I guess you could say it's long for DURRRHH.
4. People who get so far behind on their bills all year long and wait for their tax refund to get caught up. What are you doing with the money the rest of the year?
5. People who call my house and ask to speak with my mother.
6. People who don't understand why my children's last name is different from mine.
7. People who say, "you don't LOOK like you've had that many kids". Exactly what am I SUPPOSED to look like? Would you be more comfortable with my appearance if I weighed 450 lbs, had a leather handbag for a face and had lost most of my hair?
8. Exes. I don't mean husbands. Ex-smokers. Ex-drinkers. Ex-meat eaters. There's nothing worse than a reformed anyone. I like my cigarettes. I don't drink anymore, but don't want to hear about how you saw the error of your ways and quit drinking to better yourself. And as for meat, well, I get light-headed if my cholesterol drops below a certain level.
9. People who think spanking is child abuse. If a kid refuses to listen to reason, the only recourse is to paddle that behind. Sometimes physical pain is all a child will respond to. And frankly, people who don't spank are the same ones dragging a screaming, convulsing toddler into the toy section at Wal-mart thinking they can bribe the kid into being quiet by buying them something. This will only backfire my friends. If your kid throws a fit every time you go to Walmart-and you buy them a toy every time they throw a fit....what reason would the kid have for NOT throwing a fit? Paddle the ass. My mom would yank us up by one arm in the middle of church if we acted like little jerk offs.
10. People who look for things to be unhappy about. The world is an ugly place. If you don't like it here, MOVE.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
The IRS-'Tis the Reason for the Season
It's been too long since I've posted, and for that-I'm truly sorry. I'm not even sure if I have anything witty to say or if I'll just ramble and type until something comes to me. Actually, that's how I wrote most of my papers in high school.
Tax season is upon us and for most of us, it's a wonderful time of year. The government actually RETURNS some of the money we've lent them all year long. They've borrowed it interest free of course. Not so much as a thank you, just a little letter saying they'll return our money pretty much in their own sweet ass time. My grandfather has a wonderful idea about this whole tax thing. He's always been probably the smartest guy I've ever known (okay Dad, you're a close second). My grandfather still works. Still works EVERY day. I'm not sure if financially he HAS to, or if being cooped up in the house all day with Mamaw is too much for him. Anyway. Here's how he does things.....When he goes to work for someone and fills out his W4, he refuses to have ANY taxes taken out of his paychecks throughout the year. Then, at the end of the year when he files, he figures up what he owes and sends the IRS a check. That way A) they've had to wait all year to spend HIS money and B) they're not using his money all year long interest and penalty free. I mean, talk about reading between the lines and thinking outside the box. He's not doing anything illegal, or even slightly shady. But who else would have thought of that? So, "Hats off Smitty, I like the way you think!"
Tax season is upon us and for most of us, it's a wonderful time of year. The government actually RETURNS some of the money we've lent them all year long. They've borrowed it interest free of course. Not so much as a thank you, just a little letter saying they'll return our money pretty much in their own sweet ass time. My grandfather has a wonderful idea about this whole tax thing. He's always been probably the smartest guy I've ever known (okay Dad, you're a close second). My grandfather still works. Still works EVERY day. I'm not sure if financially he HAS to, or if being cooped up in the house all day with Mamaw is too much for him. Anyway. Here's how he does things.....When he goes to work for someone and fills out his W4, he refuses to have ANY taxes taken out of his paychecks throughout the year. Then, at the end of the year when he files, he figures up what he owes and sends the IRS a check. That way A) they've had to wait all year to spend HIS money and B) they're not using his money all year long interest and penalty free. I mean, talk about reading between the lines and thinking outside the box. He's not doing anything illegal, or even slightly shady. But who else would have thought of that? So, "Hats off Smitty, I like the way you think!"
Monday, February 2, 2009
Sick Guys
I want to preface this blog by stating that I am under no circumstances-a man hater. As a matter of fact, I hate man-haters. If ya wanna hate men, go play for the other team. We're all in this together. I think in this day and age having basic cordial respect for one's spouse is as archaic as using the post office to communicate with someone. BUT, when my husband or one of my sons get sick, I want to pour battery acid in my eardrums to numb the pain. I'll be more specific. My husband was throwing up this morning. Didn't take any medicine-didn't make a doctor's appointment-just went to work. This just spells disaster for everyone he comes in contact with. Not that he's contagious, he's just such a @##$%^@$%^ when he's not feeling well. I once told him it was impossible to feel sympathy for him in his time of need because he's such a jerk.
It started with him biting my head off when I made my morning call to him on my way to work. He takes one child and two dogs every morning. I take two children. This situation was a lot more even before HE decided we needed another puppy. But that's another blog entirely. He bit my head off because he was trying to get Ro into school. He'd call me back. About an hour later he calls and is very sweet. This 'being sweet after jerkiness' used to trick me into believing sweetness was to be expected for the rest of the day. I've scored better in trig exams.
Then at lunch we eat together. It starts out with him being very cordial, if not a little quiet. The lunch ended with him screaming at me as I went through a yellow (and YES it was yellow AND it was on a 70 mph road). So, feeling like a 16 year old bringing home the family sedan with a new ding, I didn't say anything the rest of lunch.
About an hour ago, he called to inform me that we're about to start fighting like we used to. Meaning we divide the assets and tell each other exactly where to go. We're about to start fighting like that because I didn't carry the mail into the house at lunch because I had to get back to work. I called to tell him what we had. This turned into a lecture about how dirty my car always is and that he's tired of cleaning it out. This is the same car that logs about 100 miles a day back and forth to my work, his work, the kids' school, daycare center, post office, bank, grocery store, eye doctor, dentist appointment, wrestling, volleyball, swimming with the three kids (and sometimes a dog) in tow. I've never asked that he clean out my car and he rarely rides in it so its cleanliness is really irrelevant. I guess at this point I can start bitching about having to wash everybody's clothes every day and how under appreciated I am. But that would just be me naggin then wouldn't it?
So, WE'RE not going to fight like anything today. Today I choose NOT to react to the jerk off things he'll say because he's too stubborn to just admit he doesn't feel good and wants everyone else as miserable as he is. I won't let him bait me into saying things a sailor working in the oilfield would be embarassed to hear. BUT I will remember the standard that has been set for behavior when one is sick. Because apparently being sick gives one license to be insensitive, overbearing, and just rude as hell in general. With that in mind, "COME ON FLU SEASON" I've got a lot to say.
It started with him biting my head off when I made my morning call to him on my way to work. He takes one child and two dogs every morning. I take two children. This situation was a lot more even before HE decided we needed another puppy. But that's another blog entirely. He bit my head off because he was trying to get Ro into school. He'd call me back. About an hour later he calls and is very sweet. This 'being sweet after jerkiness' used to trick me into believing sweetness was to be expected for the rest of the day. I've scored better in trig exams.
Then at lunch we eat together. It starts out with him being very cordial, if not a little quiet. The lunch ended with him screaming at me as I went through a yellow (and YES it was yellow AND it was on a 70 mph road). So, feeling like a 16 year old bringing home the family sedan with a new ding, I didn't say anything the rest of lunch.
About an hour ago, he called to inform me that we're about to start fighting like we used to. Meaning we divide the assets and tell each other exactly where to go. We're about to start fighting like that because I didn't carry the mail into the house at lunch because I had to get back to work. I called to tell him what we had. This turned into a lecture about how dirty my car always is and that he's tired of cleaning it out. This is the same car that logs about 100 miles a day back and forth to my work, his work, the kids' school, daycare center, post office, bank, grocery store, eye doctor, dentist appointment, wrestling, volleyball, swimming with the three kids (and sometimes a dog) in tow. I've never asked that he clean out my car and he rarely rides in it so its cleanliness is really irrelevant. I guess at this point I can start bitching about having to wash everybody's clothes every day and how under appreciated I am. But that would just be me naggin then wouldn't it?
So, WE'RE not going to fight like anything today. Today I choose NOT to react to the jerk off things he'll say because he's too stubborn to just admit he doesn't feel good and wants everyone else as miserable as he is. I won't let him bait me into saying things a sailor working in the oilfield would be embarassed to hear. BUT I will remember the standard that has been set for behavior when one is sick. Because apparently being sick gives one license to be insensitive, overbearing, and just rude as hell in general. With that in mind, "COME ON FLU SEASON" I've got a lot to say.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Ski Trip (by popular demand)
Once a year, my in-laws bless all of us by taking us skiiing. And when I say ALL of us I mean there are 12 of us who go. Two grandparents, four parents, and six children. Kids all range in age from 14 to 3. The first day, we ski. The second day, snowmobile tour and then drive home.
The skiing is really pretty uneventful. I don't ski well, so I'm on ski patrol at the bunny slopes. I chase the little guys in other words. Last year my son (who was 5 at the time) rode the lift and skiied all day. After several mistrials (and a stream of profanity worthy of an Osbourne) I figured out it is a lot easier (and less painful) to NOT help the kids off the lift. It actually works better for me to get off and let them get off on their own and fend for themselves. My daughter does beautifully and soon became frustrated with me. Small problem with the 5 year old son-he can't stop and he can't turn. Skis like a demon though. So, I would just pick myself up off my ass-point him downhill and turn him loose. Dad would stand at the bottom so at least he doesn't careen into a stranger.
So this year, the now 6 year old skiied the intermediate slope ALL day. I mean, he was fast as hell (apparently sticking out one's tongue not only increases speed, but improves balance). He skiied with Uncle Mitch who was the hero for the day. My son stopped and turned as if he'd done it his whole life.
Ah, but that leaves me with the now 3 year old son on the bunny slope. We took a lesson. Ro learned to stop. Learned if he was going to fall, just sit down. Learned to keep his head up, but his knees bent. Rode the ski lift all day. After several turns with the instructor, he rode with me on the lift. He's pretty small still, so I would grab the back of his jacket (like a cat picking up kittens) and literally lift him off the lift-and point him downhill. While he possesses the ability to stop, he often chooses not to. I mean, what am I going to do? Fall down next to him and ground him? Spank him while re-attaching the ski I lost trying to turn? He had free reign and everyone knew it. Most people try to get out of his way, but some aren't so fortunate. Like the really nice 50 something grandma taking pictures of a very pink, fluffy, little red-faced skier. Poor woman never saw the 30 pounds of Oh Shit coming at her. My son managed to take out both her feet and send a really expensive looking camera straight to the ground. She was nice. She understood she said. Grandson about the same age. As I apologized, both skiis swooped out from underneath me. The look on her face said, "oh he must get it from his mother".
We always manage to make it back to the condo alive and eat perhaps the best meal EVER prepared by my mother in law. Don't kid yourself-she's a wonderful cook, but she could be serving cat litter on a flip flop and we'd devour it. Those of us past the age of 30 who fall a lot (okay, that really just means me. everyone else skis great), limp our poor aching bodies to our bed and thank God we lived and that it's over.
Snowmobile tours are meant to be taken slowly in order to enjoy the stunning beauty of the Rocky Mountains. But, when there are 12 people on 7 snowmobiles, we're gonna tear some shit up. I'm sorry, it is what it is. So, last year, my husband and my daughter rode together. My husband decided to pass no less than four of us on the right only to disappear in a gigantic white POOF. "Please stay on the trail at all times" I seemed to remember someone saying somewhere.... The trails are packed down and a little bumpy. Apparently, just half the width of a rented snowmobile to the right and there's 8 feet of powder snow. When I saw my husband and daughter disappear in the snow cloud my stomach clenched up. And then this little pink helmet appeared in the snow like a poptart coming out of a toaster. She was crying. No-wait. She was laughing. She was laughing so hard she was crying. My husband wasn't quite as amused as now his big ass had to figure out how to UNbury a snowmobile. It took him, his dad, and his brother a LONG time to get it out. It sounded like a bunch of fat guys trying to move a fridge. The tour guide wanted to scold him, but what do you say to guy who's 6'1" and 250 pounds? "Be more careful" was about all he could muster.
So this year my daughter decides to ride with me as there's less chance of a crash this way. Midway through the tour you reach a flat meadow. This is where you're allowed to cut loose and go really fast. But you gotta turn. Which is what I was trying to do when I found myself buried under a snowmobile wondering what the frig just happened? Apparently one should slow down BEFORE turning even if there's a small possibility of beating your husband and son to some imaginary finish line....
The skiing is really pretty uneventful. I don't ski well, so I'm on ski patrol at the bunny slopes. I chase the little guys in other words. Last year my son (who was 5 at the time) rode the lift and skiied all day. After several mistrials (and a stream of profanity worthy of an Osbourne) I figured out it is a lot easier (and less painful) to NOT help the kids off the lift. It actually works better for me to get off and let them get off on their own and fend for themselves. My daughter does beautifully and soon became frustrated with me. Small problem with the 5 year old son-he can't stop and he can't turn. Skis like a demon though. So, I would just pick myself up off my ass-point him downhill and turn him loose. Dad would stand at the bottom so at least he doesn't careen into a stranger.
So this year, the now 6 year old skiied the intermediate slope ALL day. I mean, he was fast as hell (apparently sticking out one's tongue not only increases speed, but improves balance). He skiied with Uncle Mitch who was the hero for the day. My son stopped and turned as if he'd done it his whole life.
Ah, but that leaves me with the now 3 year old son on the bunny slope. We took a lesson. Ro learned to stop. Learned if he was going to fall, just sit down. Learned to keep his head up, but his knees bent. Rode the ski lift all day. After several turns with the instructor, he rode with me on the lift. He's pretty small still, so I would grab the back of his jacket (like a cat picking up kittens) and literally lift him off the lift-and point him downhill. While he possesses the ability to stop, he often chooses not to. I mean, what am I going to do? Fall down next to him and ground him? Spank him while re-attaching the ski I lost trying to turn? He had free reign and everyone knew it. Most people try to get out of his way, but some aren't so fortunate. Like the really nice 50 something grandma taking pictures of a very pink, fluffy, little red-faced skier. Poor woman never saw the 30 pounds of Oh Shit coming at her. My son managed to take out both her feet and send a really expensive looking camera straight to the ground. She was nice. She understood she said. Grandson about the same age. As I apologized, both skiis swooped out from underneath me. The look on her face said, "oh he must get it from his mother".
We always manage to make it back to the condo alive and eat perhaps the best meal EVER prepared by my mother in law. Don't kid yourself-she's a wonderful cook, but she could be serving cat litter on a flip flop and we'd devour it. Those of us past the age of 30 who fall a lot (okay, that really just means me. everyone else skis great), limp our poor aching bodies to our bed and thank God we lived and that it's over.
Snowmobile tours are meant to be taken slowly in order to enjoy the stunning beauty of the Rocky Mountains. But, when there are 12 people on 7 snowmobiles, we're gonna tear some shit up. I'm sorry, it is what it is. So, last year, my husband and my daughter rode together. My husband decided to pass no less than four of us on the right only to disappear in a gigantic white POOF. "Please stay on the trail at all times" I seemed to remember someone saying somewhere.... The trails are packed down and a little bumpy. Apparently, just half the width of a rented snowmobile to the right and there's 8 feet of powder snow. When I saw my husband and daughter disappear in the snow cloud my stomach clenched up. And then this little pink helmet appeared in the snow like a poptart coming out of a toaster. She was crying. No-wait. She was laughing. She was laughing so hard she was crying. My husband wasn't quite as amused as now his big ass had to figure out how to UNbury a snowmobile. It took him, his dad, and his brother a LONG time to get it out. It sounded like a bunch of fat guys trying to move a fridge. The tour guide wanted to scold him, but what do you say to guy who's 6'1" and 250 pounds? "Be more careful" was about all he could muster.
So this year my daughter decides to ride with me as there's less chance of a crash this way. Midway through the tour you reach a flat meadow. This is where you're allowed to cut loose and go really fast. But you gotta turn. Which is what I was trying to do when I found myself buried under a snowmobile wondering what the frig just happened? Apparently one should slow down BEFORE turning even if there's a small possibility of beating your husband and son to some imaginary finish line....
Friday, January 16, 2009
Follow This Blog
If you enjoy reading my rants and raves let me know about it....there is a blue link on the top right hand corner that says Follow This Blog. I have this set up so you don't have to be a member or anything. So, let me know how ya feel. I guess if you don't enjoy reading my rants and raves, get off my blog.
The Inquisition
When I asked the Lord to bless me with happy, healthy children, I forgot to ask for dumb ones. When my oldest daughter was four, I became pregnant with what would become her sister. I knew I was going to have a lot of explaining to do once I blossomed (read “swelled up like a blowfish”) in my pregnancy. At the end of my first trimester, I took it upon myself to broach the subject with her. “You’re going to have a little brother or sister,” I told her. In my naiveté, I thought this would be sufficient. Since babies are so fearfully and wonderfully made in their mother’s wombs, why can’t He tattoo instructions on the bottoms of their feet? Anyway, her response was an indignant “Why?” Not having been saved yet at that point, but having a firm belief in God nevertheless, I explained that God had decided it was time for her to have a sibling. “Well, is it in your tummy like on TV?”“Yes, that’s where God puts all the babies.” Simple enough. “Well, how did it get in there?” she asked, clearly disgusted at this point. “Uh, err, well ya see, um, hey.” Not a complete answer, or even complete words. Yeah, that’ll explain it. In my brilliance, I then responded, “God and Daddy put it there.” And with His mercy, that was enough. For then.
Two years later, I found myself in the same situation. Except now, The Inquisitive One was 6 and far wiser than before (thank you kindergarten). After being told she was going to be blessed with another sibling, she simply smiled and said ‘Cool’. Oh, we could only be so lucky…driving down the highway (doesn’t it always happen like this?), she popped off with, “Exactly HOW did Daddy put that baby in your tummy?” And before I could respond she asked, “Why are you making that face?” (Poker faces having never been an aptitude of mine).
So I told her, “You see, it’s very complicated. When we get home, I will talk to your father and we will decide how and what to tell you,” and frankly, I was quite pleased with myself. No less than 7 seconds later, she blurted, “You had sex didn’t you?” in an “Aha! I caught you!” sort of way. All I could say was, “Yeah.” Being caught red-handed, so to speak, I asked her if she even knew what sex was.
Well, of course she did: “naked lovin.” I felt the need to explain no further.
Two years later, I found myself in the same situation. Except now, The Inquisitive One was 6 and far wiser than before (thank you kindergarten). After being told she was going to be blessed with another sibling, she simply smiled and said ‘Cool’. Oh, we could only be so lucky…driving down the highway (doesn’t it always happen like this?), she popped off with, “Exactly HOW did Daddy put that baby in your tummy?” And before I could respond she asked, “Why are you making that face?” (Poker faces having never been an aptitude of mine).
So I told her, “You see, it’s very complicated. When we get home, I will talk to your father and we will decide how and what to tell you,” and frankly, I was quite pleased with myself. No less than 7 seconds later, she blurted, “You had sex didn’t you?” in an “Aha! I caught you!” sort of way. All I could say was, “Yeah.” Being caught red-handed, so to speak, I asked her if she even knew what sex was.
Well, of course she did: “naked lovin.” I felt the need to explain no further.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Great Adventures of Tracy, the Hyperventilator
My friend Tracy babysat two of my children for six years. She kept my son since he was six weeks old. I actually met her while pregnant with him, and my daughter was two. She had at first told me she didn't keep newborns. As our friendship progressed, she called me at work one day to tell me, "Stop looking for someone to watch that baby, I'm going to keep him". No, "hey Dari it's Tracy" just cut the crap and get right to it. That's my Tracy.
Well, my son was born and Tracy and her husband Ed come to the hospital. Ed probably would have paid a small fortune to be anywhere but there. But, you don't argue with Tracy and Ed had been trained well.
I believe Byron was about 3 weeks old the first time Tracy watched him. As I dropped him off Tracy asked, "Do I need to buy bottled water to make his formula?" I tried not to smirk too badly when I said, "um-do you have a sink?" She said, "well, yeah". I prodded her further by adding, "well how about you run some warm water out of that son of a bitch and make that baby a bottle?" Tracy has probably the best laugh I've ever heard come out of an adult. She wiped the tears off her cheeks and said, "I'm so glad you're not THAT mom". And no, I most certainly am not THAT mom.
Fast forward about 2 years-frantic call from Ed (well, as frantic as Ed gets anyway). "Dari, it's Ed. Byron was playing outside and fell out of the swing and bumped his head pretty hard. He's got a knot, but he didn't cry until I dug the dirt out of his nose". So I asked, "well, is he okay?". Ed replied, "Hell, he's fine. But I think Tracy may need an MRI".
Just keep breathing in and out Tracy, and you'll be fine. Love ya!
Well, my son was born and Tracy and her husband Ed come to the hospital. Ed probably would have paid a small fortune to be anywhere but there. But, you don't argue with Tracy and Ed had been trained well.
I believe Byron was about 3 weeks old the first time Tracy watched him. As I dropped him off Tracy asked, "Do I need to buy bottled water to make his formula?" I tried not to smirk too badly when I said, "um-do you have a sink?" She said, "well, yeah". I prodded her further by adding, "well how about you run some warm water out of that son of a bitch and make that baby a bottle?" Tracy has probably the best laugh I've ever heard come out of an adult. She wiped the tears off her cheeks and said, "I'm so glad you're not THAT mom". And no, I most certainly am not THAT mom.
Fast forward about 2 years-frantic call from Ed (well, as frantic as Ed gets anyway). "Dari, it's Ed. Byron was playing outside and fell out of the swing and bumped his head pretty hard. He's got a knot, but he didn't cry until I dug the dirt out of his nose". So I asked, "well, is he okay?". Ed replied, "Hell, he's fine. But I think Tracy may need an MRI".
Just keep breathing in and out Tracy, and you'll be fine. Love ya!
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