sick day

put a coat in the dryer
changed a lightbulb
called Mom
threw out 3 expired cups of yogurt
played 140 levels in "Unblock Me" on my iPod

yep, that's pretty much it

a little culture

I LOVE yogurt!

No I don't, but I WANT to love yogurt! Really, I do.

I stand in the dairy section at Kroger and gaze at all the yummy flavors, think about the creamy custard-like texture, and become mesmerized by the myriad of colorful, shiny, foil lids.

I almost always buy a few, take them home, get out my favorite long iced tea spoon (because I eat EVERYTHING possible with long iced tea spoons), take one bite and declare, usually out loud,

"GROSS! Why do I buy yogurt??? I HATE yogurt?"

I always expect something pudding-like, but I fail to remember that yogurt is the nasty by-product of the bacterial fermentation of milk. Not to mention the unfortunate fact that yogurt has 160 calories, as opposed to my favorite dark chocolate pudding, which tastes like heaven in a little plastic cup, yet has only 90 calories.

But I guarantee you, I will buy yogurt again within the month.

Maybe I'm just looking for something in my life with a little culture. :o)

hippo-drone

My daughter is milking this pregnancy thing.
"Kevin, will you carry in my suitcase? I'm pregnant."
"Mom, will you get me a raspberry scone? I'm pregnant."
"Kevin, will you move my car so I don't have to go out in the rain? I'm pregnant."
"Mom, will you do my laundry? I'm pregnant."
Clearly, I have taught her well.

We had dinner at Mom & Dad's house Monday night. (I made yummy chicken & dumplings, for those of you who don't know that I CAN cook!) Anyway, we sat down to dinner and Papa (my dad) asked Kevin to pray. Toward the end, Kevin prayed for his sister, "Thank you for letting Kacey come home safely. Please help her baby grow and be healthy . . . and . . . well, (snicker) sane." His snicker turned into a snort, and the rest of us around the table just lost it.

The previous night we had been watching
"Life" on the Discovery Channel. One scene showed a river FILLED with hippos. Like, HUNDREDS of them. The conversation went like this:
"WOW! Look at all the hippos!"
"That would be a dangerous place to be."
"Yeah, but you can outrun a hippo."
"Not in the water you can't!"
"Well WHY WOULD YOU BE IN THE WATER WITH 400 HIPPOS???"

Exactly.

witches' stands and water buffalo

I was standing in line at Penn Station the other day, enjoying a little Motown (actually playing over the radio, not just in my head like most days) when Smokey Robinson's voice chimed in with ". . . and if you feel like giving me" and I continued with, "a life down in the ocean . . . I second that emotion." Okay, so the line is supposed to be "a lifetime of devotion", but when Kacey was little, and I spent a lot of time listening to the "Big Chill" soundtrack, she heard "a life down in the ocean" and I didn't dare correct it.

During the same time frame, Carly Simon's Concert on Martha's Vineyard became Kacey's favorite. At the age of 4, Kacey played with her Polly Pockets and sang "Anticipation" and "Nobody Does it Better" and "You're So Baned (Vain)". Okay, so not the most lyrically wholesome influences. Sue me. This was pre-Veggie Tales. So she sang "Well you're where you should be all the time, and when you're not, you're with some underworld spy or the wife of the postman, wife of the postman and . . . you're so baned, you prolly think this song is about you."

Then there was the Beach Boys' classic, Surfin' Safari, where the line "Come on a safari with me" became "Come on a far and see". Gotta love it.

By the late 90's, not only had Veggie Tales entered the scene, but so had the Newsboys and my Kevie-poo, and he had his own set of musical misunderstandings. In "Step Up to the Microphone", the line is "one God one body one faith alone, if you don't know, then you need to be told" where Kevin would loudly substitute the line, "if you don't know, then you need a guitar."

And in "Everybody's Got a Water Buffalo", apparently yours is fast but mine is slow. Where we get them, I don't know, but everybody's got a water buffaloooooooooo. The next line is "Took my buffalo to the store," But Kevin never could make the transition from "water buffalo" to regular "buffalo", so he always sang, "Took my water buff to the store, got his head stuck in the door." At least the future drummer in him understood meter and rhythm, even at the age of 4.

At about 8 or 9 years old, I can remember asking my mom what a "witches' stand" was. A what? she asked. "A witches' stand, you know, I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for witches' stand."

Dad shared that as a kid he always asked to sing the "gravy song" at church. "Low in the gravy lay Jesus my Savior."

Recently, a big kid shared that every time he sings "We Will Worship You (There is None Beside You)", he pictures a woman in a Catholic habit as he sings, "There's a Nun Beside You." Unfortunately, now I do too. Thanks a lot, Bret Morris.

Okay, so you know you have your own little ballad blunder stories. Care to share?

And while we're sharing, can ANYBODY give me a line completion for the E.L.O. song, "Don't Bring Me Down ___________"???

And don't try to tell me it's "Bruce" unless you can give me a reasonable explanation as to why.

mega-manure and mega-shark

So I was enjoying SuperGator, still dressed in my "It's Saturday, I'm home alone, and I'm not putting real clothes on" sleep shirt, when a green pickup pulled into the driveway. Not recognizing the man walking to the front door, I decided to put on pants and go say "hello". Turns out he is a new neighbor from across the road and he happened to observe that one of our horses was out. Yippee. And maybe you noticed the really good part in the first sentence: I'm home alone. I thanked him politely, returned to the den, and weighed the pros and cons of equestrian hunting versus continued movie viewing. After watching a few more annoying tourists meet their demise in the toothy grip of the prehistoric alligator, I went on a house-wide search for my off-road shoes, grabbed my denim jacket and headed out. Lucky for me, I have great neighbors, and this sweet man had gone to get a bucket of corn and returned to help me lure "Heigh Ho Silver" back onto our property and into the corral. Also lucky for me, it has rained a lot the last few days, so walking through the horse lot was much like wading through knee-deep brownie batter. Only the brownie batter smells like, well, something brown, but not brownies.

By the time I got back into the house, SuperGator was over, and I missed the ending. I have no idea if the girl in the pink thong lived happily ever after or not, and it may haunt me for hours. However, something new appears to be on in its place. What's this? Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus? Yes! I know this is a completely stupid waste of a good Saturday afternoon, but it's like a train wreck - I can't seem to look away. It's almost over anyway, and then I'll do something productive.

I promise.

miracles and monsters

Miracles are happening in my house. Much like the turning of water into wine, all the clean clothes in this house are turning into dirty ones. And like the widow's jar of oil that never emptied, my laundry basket seems to have the same blessing. Never empty. And if the neverending hamper phenomenon isn't enough, it seems my bedroom mirror has been replaced with Dorian Gray's portrait. I'm just sayin'.

So as I was putting away some of the miraculously clean laundry this morning, I passed by Kevin's room just as his iPod alarm went off. I stuck my nose into his room and said good morning. "Uurramm" he responded. "Sleep well?" I inquired. "Uurramm" he repeated. I then reminded him that if he used his tongue and actually moved his lips, there are a myriad of other sounds humans are capable of making. He raised his head slightly off his pillow, moved his lips AND his tongue to say, "PBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBT!!!!!" and proceeded to make raspberry noises at me. And since I had been out of bed for two hours, raspberries sounded like a pretty good breakfast choice to me. So I left him to roust himself out of bed, returned to the Shrine of Downy to sort 71 left socks from 68 right socks, then went to the kitchen to have a bowl of raspberries and put on some chicken to cook. Yeah, cook. I told you miracles were occurring.

See, I was at Reigh Anne's last Sunday, and she had one of those refrigerator chalkboards where you write out your week's menu. You know, something like the board on the left: <----- If I had one on my fridge, it would look something like the second one. Now, in all fairness, we don't eat dinner together. I don't think we have used the kitchen table for anything but sorting mail for nearly 3 months. Greg works nights a lot, and when he's not working, farm chores keep him outside until after dark, so cooking is not one of those goals to which I aspire often.

So as I was savoring my bowl of raspberries (God's nearly perfect food, second only to the Sunset Roll at Tokyo Sushi), I became mesmerized by the dramatic fare Kevin was watching as he devoured his bowl of Captain Crunch (ironically, another of God's nearly perfect foods). It's a Stephen Baldwin film, but I didn't recognize it. How can this be? "What channel is this?" I asked, and since Kevin had a mouthful of Crunchberries and decent manners, he punched the display button on the remote to show the SyFy logo. Continuing to be intrigued by the acting quality of this film, which I would later learn from imdb.com has only a 3.1/10 rating, I asked the name of this flick. "Shark in Venice", was the reply. "Shark in Venice?" and as I watched a sweaty Mediterranean bad guy hold a shockingly helpless girl hostage in some delapidated warehouse, I wondered if this feature presentation had been misnamed. Just then, as the 4th of the Baldwin boys shouted something witty like, "Hey you, let her go!" a giant Great White jumped out of a nearby Venetian Canal and chomped the villain in half, leaving the Damsel-in-Distress unharmed. Whew. SciFi, where have you been all my life? I mean, I've always been a fan of Mystery Science Theater, but apparently there is an entire genre of B-movies I have missed out on.

I have been composing this blog post now for 2 hours and 20 minutes, not because I'm slow, but because I have become so distracted by the 10 a.m. showing of "SuperGator", which garnered a 3.3/10 rating on Imdb.com. Shocking, really, because it is WAY worse than "Shark in Venice" and doesn't even star a Baldwin babe. So apparently, this giant prehistoric gator is attacking only the annoying and ugly tourists in Hawaii. Miraculously the thong-clad busty girls all manage to narrowly escape, but only after running. A lot. It's like a bad episode of Baywatch. . . or maybe a good episode. Yes, I know this is a completely stupid waste of a good Saturday morning, but it's like a train wreck - I can't seem to look away. It's almost over anyway, and then I'll do something productive.

I promise.

candy, barbecue, peanuts and tootsie pops

Here's Your Sign:
>The cowboy called from work the other night. He called the house phone. I answered the house phone. He said, "Did you make it home?" Ummm. No.

>John Mark was looking at a book on my desk, pointed to the title "Crazy Love", and said, "Is THAT the name of the book?" Kevin responded, "No, John Mark, those are just random words they printed on the cover to see if anyone would buy it." Ummm. Yeah.

>Last Saturday we watched the last few minutes of the movie "Splash" before the Olympics came on. John Candy and a very young Tom Hanks were playing raquetball. I said, "Wow. Look how skinny he is!" To which my husband replied, "Who? John Candy?" Ummm, yeah, John Candy.


He Might Have a Point
>Today was our secretary's birthday, and as is our office tradition we all went out to lunch together. During the conversation, Melissa said she had discovered that men (one specifically) did not have the ability to multi-task. I had to take exception. I disagree with her, because, as I went on to explain, ALL the men I know have the ability to multi-task . . . although this ability is limited to a certain location. Tell me, what man do you know who does not text, sing, make phone calls, read novels or even do his taxes . . . while on the toilet? I'm just saying.

Terrell went on to say that I wouldn't even KNOW this information if I didn't keep walking into the men's bathroom while it's occupied.

He might have a point. :o)


What's in a Name?
>My daughter's dog is a female, but Kevin and I still choose to call her "Mr. Squiggles" just to tick off Kacey. Every time the dog jumped up onto Kevin this past weekend, he threatened to turn her into Korean barbecue. Made me laugh.

>While in church Sunday morning, the minister was reading about Thomas (who was also called Didymus), when Kacey and Nathan looked at each other and exclaimed (in a loud whisper) THAT would be their child's name. And since the wee little unborn G-child is already being called Peanut based on the appearance of the first ultrasound, it was decided the full name would be Peanut Didymus . . . or P. Didy for short. :o)

>My son has taken to threatening my life in bizarre and creative ways. Mostly he reminds me on a regular basis that he will be the one choosing my retirement home. A few months ago he downgraded me from a bad nursing home to an alley with a dumpster. Mostly though, when I get on his nerves, which, you know, almost never happens, he threatens to sneak into my room while I'm sleeping and shove dry Q-tips up my nose. Last week, however, he threatened to bludgeon me with an orange Tootsie Pop.

If his body didn't so closely resemble an orange Tootsie Pop, (scrawny white body, big orange head) I might be threatened.

>I texted Kacey last Friday afternoon to tell her we were on the road and heading to Indy. She texted back and said, "Don't forget to bring the red thing." What red thing? "The red thing with the brown polka dots." HUH? No sooner had I requested she explain than Kevin said, "Mom. Red thing with brown polka dots. She's talking about me." Sure enough, she was. Made me laugh. A lot.

Okay, that's all the weirdness for this week.