alpha male revisited

A new day, a new conquest.


Note:
Kevin is still wearing the same shirt.

happy blogday

My baby is a year old! My blog baby, that is. Posted my “100 things” list on April 28, 2007. So, here’s what has transpired in the past 366 days:

Kevin starred in “Wilma’s Revenge” at Market House Theatre. (He played the annoying brother - wasn’t exactly a dramatic stretch for him.)

The cowboy began his post-retirement career, so, if you count his pension, Kacey’s job at the library, Kevin’s lawn-mowing endeavors, and, of course, my jobs, we became a sextuple-income family.

I was privileged to be part of Titus M.’s precious entrance into this big world,
during which time his laboring mother told me, “I hate you. I mean it. This is not funny.”

I became a literature/writing teacher for the high school and middle school co-op, and re-read several great classics like “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Silas Marner”.

I became a coffee drinker. Okay, a warm-milk-with-coffee-in-it drinker, but still . . .

I got a new purse.

We got to "vacation" in an aluminum shoebox while the cowboy competed in the Extreme Mustang Makeover in the big city of Fort Worth.

I shaved Mike’s neck - not once, but twice. (Quite possibly the most exciting events
of my entire year.)

Nathan fell in love with my daughter, and, I’m very happy to say, vice-versa.

Kevin resumed drum & guitar lessons.

I relinquished my Amish status and got a cell phone.

I learned to love dogs. Well . . . maybe that's a stretch. I learned to tolerate Topaz the wonder pooch and I even find it endearing that he brings me his toy so I will play with him when I go to "his house".

Kacey graduates next Saturday - no more tuition!!! (As I'm sure Kevin will receive a full scholarship for academics . . . or Guitar Hero.)

I discovered sushi. Which, I assume, was much like the discovery of oil: disgusting at first, but upon further investigation, absolutely essential to the quality of my life.

We are planning a wedding for the end of the summer.


You know, they say if you don't write these things down, you will forget. Maybe I should keep a journal . . .

i am both addicting and hilarious . . . you should read my blog

Over the pasts few months I have been made aware that at least 30 people I know read my blog on a semi-regular, if not regular, basis. This is both flattering and humbling, and leads me to ask one question, “Don’t you people have a life?”

It’s not like mine is all that intriguing. Come on. I blog about my latest purse, my lack of sleep, and my text conversations with Sara.
Truly, my life is way less than fascinating. I mean, this week’s highlight was a short-lived, Thursday-morning fantasy when Matt Lauer wore glasses on the Today Show. . .

But, in all honesty, I want you to read my blog. I do. I really do. Why else would I spend so much time exaggerating, finding new ways to elevate sarcasm, quoting people out of context, and taking pictures of Mike? (Who, apparently, is too ashamed to admit it he reads my blog, since he never comments.) Because I’m a dedicated blogger, doggone it! Just read your reviews and see for yourself:

Susan said... You write so beautifully

Lesli said... I love you & I love hearing your stories.

thruchildeyes said... Okay, you didn't warn me this was a tear jerker! Where are the tissues?

Sandy said . . . “we are so much alike. But you're funnier...”

thruchildeyes said... Haha! You're hilarious. Reading your blog is quite stress-relieving.

Janjanmom said... For the record, I've enjoyed the chapters of your thousand-chapter-self that you have slowly shared with me.

Maude said … I've been lurking for a while and have been really enjoying your blog.

Kacey Leigh said... Freaking hilarious.

thruchildeyes said... You are too funny. I love it.

Sara said … I laughed out loud while reading this.

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious.

Sara said... This is really fun!

thruchildeyes said... I love this post.

Priss said … “Just wanted to let you know that I am addicted to your blog. You're just sooooo funny.”

thruchildeyes said... That is hilarious. I love the train of comments - makes me feel like part of the family.

Kevin said... you're the devil.

Kacey Leigh said... I am neither time consuming, nor nauseating.

MichaelPolutta said... Every snooze button I have ever had was 9 minutes.

. . . just 18 good reasons you should continue reading my blog. To borrow a couple of lines from Sally Field and the greatest Academy Awards acceptance speech of all time, “You like me. You really like me.”

Thanks for reading. It’s been a fun first year.

testosterone and the 5 love languages . . . . . . . . . . (subtitled: "Them's fightin' words!")

According to Dr. Gary Chapman, there are Five Love Languages:
1) Words of Affirmation
2) Quality Time
3) Receiving Gifts
4) Acts of Service
5) Physical Touch

I would like to add a sixth: Wrestling

This is how "the boys" show their affection for each other.

Yes, this happens daily.

If you don't believe me, notice that Mike's shirts are all different.
(Kevin's are not. He is 15. He owns 25 shirts. He only wears 3 of them.)

Kevin usually initiates the daily wrestling match and then ALWAYS claims, "He started it!"

You will note, however, that Mike is clearly the dominant male and proud of it. (Likely has something to do with the fact that he has a "man truck".)

tuesday top ten . . .

Top 10 Reasons I am a Bad Mother:

10) General response to my own children’s pain and suffering:
“Suck it up, weenie.” If there are no broken bones or blood you aren’t really hurt. (Now, in all fairness to me, I don’t treat anyone else this way, just my kids.)

9) I used to save $12 a month by making Kevin stand in the bathtub in his underwear so I could give him a “my mom cut my hair” haircut. (I'm sure he'll be thrilled I shared that information.)

8) I post embarrassing pictures and blog about embarrassing things my kids do (reference #9). Their humiliation is your entertainment.

7) I used to occasionally send my kids to their room as discipline. “No toys. No music. Just sit on your bed and think about what you’ve done.” Then I would forget about them. Literally. Sometimes a couple of hours would pass and I’d hear this small little “Whoville” voice from the back of the house, “m. . . o. . . m?” Of course, I always played it off as if I’d meant to leave them there. Can’t have my children thinking I’d made a mistake.

6) The words “Me and my friends” will never be uttered from their mouths without some form of chastisement - according to Kevin, I am the Grammar Nazi.

5) My kids are required to make their bed. Every day. I rarely make my bed. Yes, I know. Hypocrite. And up until now you thought I was perfect?

4) When my kids play video/computer games I go behind them and play obsessively until I beat their high scores. Even if it’s a game I don’t like to play. (Ever wonder why my kids are so obnoxiously competitive?)

3) No wire hangers! (Just kidding.) But no play-doh in the house. Ever.

2) When they became “big kids” (around 13), I would try to make them hold my hand when we would go to public places like Wal-Mart. (Which, I might add, they NEVER did.) When they refused to hold my hand, I would sing. Loudly.

. . . and the #1 reason I'm a bad mother:

1) My kids are twitchy. When people move toward them, they flinch like abused puppies ducking a rolled-up newspaper. I’m not sure what this means, but it can’t be good.

i feel the earth move . . .

Maybe the best Carole King song of all time took on a different meaning this morning as the 5.2 earthquake shook me awake. I have experienced so many (having lived in Alaska four year) that now I just enjoy them like a theme park ride. (Envision me lying on my back in bed, arms flung straight up in the air, squealing "wheeeee!"
Now stop. Don't ever envision that again. That was disturbing.)

My first earthquake experience was in the bedroom in Anchorage . . .
wee early morning . . . we didn't know what to think about the shaking until things started falling off the dresser. "Ohhhhh, an EARTHQUAKE!
That was kind of cool!"

The "Big One" was when Kacey was around a year old. My husband was
on his way home, I was standing in our living room on the second floor
of our 3-story condo. If I remember correctly, it was a 7.9 that only lasted a few seconds. Knocked me off my feet and I sat down hard in the floor. He was at a stoplight and thought someone had rear-ended him.
Pretty powerful stuff.

This morning's quake, however, has caused me to reflect on a few, rather serious questions:

1) Should we be more physically prepared for a disaster? Water, food, emergency supplies?

2) Could we be more spiritually prepared for a disaster?

3) In light of the possibility that the house could collapse from same said disaster and rescue workers would have to come dig me out of the rubble, here's the REALLY serious question: Should I contemplate the addition of pajamas to my wardrobe or do I want to be rescued "in the buff"?

Rescue worker: "Don't worry ma'am - we'll have you out of there soon!"
Me (with extreme panic in my voice): "I don't think so! That beam crushing my skull isn't really that painful. I'm just gonna huddle here until somebody brings me a pair of black pants, a sports bra, and a big blanket. But thanks for thinking of me."

Just something I might need to think about.

it's more than just tax day . . .

April 15,1865 President Lincoln shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theater
April 15, 1912 Titanic sank

April 15, 1913 Date implemented as the day income taxes were due.

April 15, 1955 Ray Kroc starts McDonald's chain of fast food restaurants

April 15, 1983 Tokyo Disneyland opens

April 15, 2005 Mike & Sara showed up at the front door of our church building on a Friday afternoon for their interview.

See. . . and you thought this was just "tax day"!

... . . . . . . . . . . (Click on the picture to appreciate the close-up version!)

What the french, toast?

Kacey was home this weekend. Kevin got up early on Sunday morning and made his sister french toast.

I would just like to point out that he has never made me toast of any nationality.

How about Chinese gymnasts as bridesmaids?

Kacey's wedding is the night of the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. She has decided to walk down the aisle to the official Olympic theme music while carrying a torch. (Of course, she is already carrying a torch for Nathan, so I guess there is double symbolism there.)

Pass the Purina - Have you noticed the latest trend in pet food for dogs and cats? Veggies. Yep. All the best brands are advertising "healthy ingredients" for Fido and Fluffy. That's good I think, because I worry our cat is getting too much protein. I always feel sorry that once she has slaughtered a big fat mouse for her entree it always takes her so long to put together a good salad to go with it. SHEESH!

540 Seconds

I don't use my snooze alarm for four reasons:

1) It's rude to the other person/persons sleeping in your room who may not feel the need to awaken at the same designated time as you.

2) My internal clock is frighteningly accurate.

3) I really don't sleep after 5:45 anymore anyway (I'm not happy about it, but apparently it's my 40-something-year-old body's way of telling me my time is limited and I better make the most of the days I have left.)
and
4) I think the snooze alarm is the ultimate sign of procrastination. "Nope, not yet. I'll get up later." If you can afford to get up later, why not just set your alarm for the later time to begin with???? However, I went back to sleep this morning for a little nap and set my alarm. When the church bells began to sound (yes, that's the sound of my alarm clock), I hit the snooze.

All that to ask this: Why is my snooze alarm time only nine minutes?

the Tuesday ten

I never actually talk on my cell phone. I am not a phone person. I wish I could explain it - I love email, face-to-face conversation, and of course, texting. I only used 16 of my "anytime minutes" this entire last month. (And I'm fairly certain all of those were used placing take-out orders!) However, according to AT&T's records, I did send over 1000 text messages. Yeah, I know. Reeediculous. Sometimes when the cowboy's work schedule doesn't allow us a "girls' night", Sara and I will spend an entire night hanging out via texting. Can't seem to help myself - I think I may need a good therapist. As I scan through my phone, I'm reluctant to delete some of my texts. They serve as a journal of sorts, taking me back to conversations, events, and even jokes that I don't want to forget!

Ten Text Types

1. Teen text shortcuts - I frequently get the following words and phrases from some of my favorite teens, Emily S. and my niece Lindsay: Ure (you're), 2moro (tomorrow), j/k (just kidding), ILU (I love you), 4get, CU L8er, and my favorite: "I lol so hard, I have TIME" (I Laughed Out Loud so hard, I have Tears In My Eyes.)

I spell everything in the the Queen's English and include all forms of appropriate punctuation and capitalization = I am a nerd.

2. Prescriptive text faux pas - Sara texted about her "fish wager" not working. FISH WAGER? Turns out, "fish wager" should actually have been "dishwasher".

3. Traveling texts (or, what happens when you text one-handed and don't proofread) - From me to Mike: “. . . one more big push tonight and get the numour kidneys.” I have no idea what I was trying to say. Neither did he. His response: "Oh really? Well spurlot hashbrowns en tu coconut!"

4. Texts taken out of context - "We are drooling waiting for you." (That could mean so many fun things. . . just turns out I was late meeting Mike & Sara for sushi and they REALLY like sushi!)

5. Texts from two people sharing the same brain waves - Kacey on the return drive from New Orleans: "Alabama! I broke my toe!" To which I responded - "Oklahoma! I ate fried rice!" I think you had to be there for that one.

6. Texts with dangling participles - From Mike at Winterfest: ". . . can you get me a bag or something when you go down to the lobby for my wet clothes?" I didn't go to the lobby for his wet clothes. I was never planning to go to the lobby for his wet clothes. Had I gone to the lobby, I don't believe I would have discovered his wet clothes.

7. Blank texts - I send a LOT of them. Apparently, I have a difficult time distinguishing the "send" button from the "back" button on my pretty little red Nokia phone. I have the same problem telling my left hand from my right. I like to think it's a genius flaw. :o)

8. Wrongly directed texts - from Mike to me: "I'm thinking I want to come home". While he's welcome in my home anytime, I'm pretty sure that text was meant for Sara!

9. Fewer words are better texts - From Sara: "It's Monday!" Translation: Are you aware that today is Monday? This means we are going out to lunch together as usual, right? Does 11:45 work for you? Are you in the mood for chinese, mexican, J's, or maybe just pizza? Do you want to meet me there? Are we bringing "the boys" along with us or is it just going to be us girls? "It's Monday" implies it all!

10. Less personal texts - "Bless you" (from me to Mike upon hearing him sneeze through our conjoined office wall.) His response: "We are going to have less and less human contact, aren't we?"

Of course - isn't that the point to texting - so we don't have to actually talk?

my two "scents" worth

A few months back, Mike preached an interactive sermon on smelling
like God. (Don't ask - you really had to be here!) So, to prepare for the interactive part, we collected several "scents" - hickory smoke, popcorn, vanilla, mint, and apple/cinnamon, just to name a few. Somehow, the apple/cinnamon one ended up leaking in my desk and in the backseat of my car, and for weeks the odeur of artificial fruit pie permeated my office and my vehicle. At first it was overwhelming, but day by day the stench became a scent became just a lingering olfactory reminder of a pretty decent, and fairly memorable sermon.

Yesterday, Kevin opened my desk door, and
out wafted that familiar apple/cinnamon smell, to which I commented, "My desk still smells like God". Kevin took a big whiff and claimed,
"I'm really glad Mike didn't preach about
smelling like sheep."

Yeah, me too.

may the horse be with you . . . 'cause the cat sure ain't

My husband is mad at our cat. I'm talking livid. Curiosity better move over, ‘cause the cowboy is first in line. You see, when he went out to feed the horses, the cat dared to not give him the time of day. Snubbed him, you might say. (Never mind this IS a cat and that’s sorta their nature!)

The cowboy thinks all living beings can be trained like horses and should be submissive when called upon to do so (including me . . . but that’s a WHOLE ‘nuther blog!)

Hubby is what equine savvy people call a “horse whisperer”. He first began this undertaking when his patience level defined him as more of a “horse yeller”, but in the past few years he has actually gotten pretty good at the whole "breaking wild mustangs" thing. (Ironically, I always wanted a mustang too - just one from 1967 with a red exterior. Sigh . . . )

Anyway, I digress. Because the cowboy can take an unbroken mustang and have him eating out of his hand, sometimes in a matter of minutes, he believes he should be able to do this with all living creatures.

Our cat disagrees.

I’m eager to see who wins this battle.