Random Tuesday Thoughts

 

So it's been a couple weeks since I promised to start blogging again.  I suck at this game, but I've been in my "empty box".  And I like it there.

I start my new job on Monday and I'm super excited.  I hadn't planned on going back to work outside the home for another couple years, but I think I've found the perfect job for me... so it's a good change.

My loving Andy and I were at church for the Stupid Bowl Party on Sunday.  I saw a lady with a haircut similar to mine and said something like, "Her hair looks almost like mine."  Andy's response:  "All middle-aged white ladies have haircuts like yours."  To add insult to injury, he further explains by stating, "It's like when I bought my truck... I didn't notice all the blue Dodge's until I had one." That explains the dual-cab sized behind I keeping dragging around with me.  Thanks Andy.  Love you too.

Mark Gungor is a genius.  Pure genius.  And he's pretty funny too.  Andy and I joined a small group thing at church where we discuss Gungor's Laugh Your Way to a Better Marriage DVD's.  According to Gungor, men's brains are filled with tiny, single-task oriented boxes.  There is a box for work, a box for cleaning, a box for sports, a box for sex (that box is probably bigger than the rest) and get this... there is a "nothing" box.  When they are done with the task at hand, let's say changing the oil in the car, they close the box, put it back where it goes and proceed on to the next box.  It's important not to interrupt them while they are in a certain box because they won't retain a word you've said.  I believe that.  Especially when they are in the nothing box.  And there really is nothing in there.  N.O.T.H.I.N.G.  And they won't let us in there to see what it's all about because they think we will want to throw some paint on the walls, put up a curtain or two and add a nice throw rug.  Yanno, to make it more cozy.  So the next time you ask your dear husband, "What are you thinking about" and he replies, "Uh.... nothing," it's probably true.  Don't fret.  Soon enough they'll put that stupid little nothing box away and get out another one.  

Andy bought me a ginormous bag of peanuts from a street vendor the other day.  And I love him dearly for it.  Now I can sit on the couch, stare at the TV and hork down 5 lbs of peanuts.  My theory:  If he gets a "nothing" box then I get an "empty box".  I've come to adore my empty box.  It's like taking a mental health day, only shorter.

I have a love/hate relationship with tax time.  I love that we still get refunds.  We might even pop out a couple more kids just to ensure the money keeps coming in.  Kind of like life-long welfare moms having babies to get a raise.  It works for them.  The only problem is tax time comes right after Christmas time.  That's stupid.  It should be during the summer, say July, when we take our Florida vacation every year.  Not when we are still playing catch up for going overboard buying Christmas presents for every kid in Oklahoma.  Perhaps if I didn't expect a refund I wouldn't spend so much on Christmas.  Wishful thinking, I'm sure.  It just seems every year we end up paying off things instead of getting to treat ourselves to a new fridge (one that closes without hurling 200 pounds of body weight against it), or a new livingroom suite (one that doesn't have springs stabbing you in the rump from a houseful of folks plopping bodies on it), or even a new bedroom set (preferably with mattresses that don't squeak so the kids won't hear about "mommy and daddy time").  

I've often wondered something.  I'll be in the livingroom playing working on the computer with my back to the TV, but I'm still listening to the program that's on.  Andy will come in there, snatch up the remote and change the channel to something sports related without a second thought.  Bleh.  But when he's in bed and he hears me coming down the hall on my way to bed, he hurries up to turn the TV on George Lopez or Roseanne because he knows I love those two shows.  Why doesn't that same thought process apply in the livingroom? 

That's all for my random thoughts.  I should probably get some work done today.  

Toodles.

What I Meant to Say Wednesday

Excuse me normally funny person who I usually love to be around, remember when I said abso-friggin-lutely nothing the other day when I was over at your house and you were ranting about mean kids, specifically one of MINE!?!?

What I really meant to say was:

Even though you are 300 lbs and 6 foot 4, if you don't take a big swig of shutthehellup your super-sized Jack and Coke I'm going to climb up that massive body of yours and punch you dead in the mouth! Repeatedly. Until I see blood.

How dare you point fingers at my obnoxious angelic child and blame her for TWO things, when one was clearly done by another kid!!! Not to mention they ALL are acting just like... well, just like K-I-D-S!!!!

How dare you rant on and on about it like her quick-to-pounce, spider-monkey nonviolent mother wasn't even in the room!!!

How dare you act like this when her father, in another room tending to YOUR children, wasn't there to choke you out!!!

How dare you insult the perfect parenting style of myself and my husband because we don't SCREAM incessantly at our children instilling fear to their very core!!!!

I think it's time you find another babysitter, my dear friend, because apparently the 10 frigging hours I spend each and every weekday of my life taking care of your two demon precious spawnlings, who happen to actually listen to me and then turn into little hellions the instant their mom walks in the door, isn't proof enough of my impeccable parenting methods. Yes, my friend, I think it's time because I quit!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. That felt so darn good!

You know you want to join in on the fun at Chief's! Go ahead... it's free therapy!

Science and Sex Ed... Hmm

I know... it's been a month since I've posted. After reading this post I can only pray the blog-Gods forgive me for my absence. Trust... it's funny.

So yesterday I get a two calls from the school of eldest child, age 15 and thoroughly enjoying her first year of high school. I'll save the call from the principal for the another post, but the first call was from Ms. Hensley, the science teacher.

Science just happens to be Nisha's first class of the day. Blah. Who wants learn all about scientific discoveries and technical terms at precisely 7:41 am five days a week?!?! I can feel her pain. Kind of. I don't feel the pain of the child who already has FOUR missing assignments this semester and barely passed a test when she's only been back to school after Christmas vacation for TWO weeks!!!

So I inform the lovely Ms. Hensley this problem will rectified the very next time she is graced with Nisha's presence -- rest assured -- and hang up.

Of course, after school Nisha is just as delightful as ever and carries on with her normal activities of snarfing down a couple hot dogs and planting her ample behind on the couch to catch up on her DVR'd Maury episodes. She just can't wait to see who the baby daddy is... or isn't. We have a screaming match pleasant chat about exactly why her science work isn't being turned in and what's her reply??? "I don't know." Ex-ca-use me. You don't know? Why don't you know? You attend that effing class each and every morning, know about the assignments, know your teacher gave you until Monday to get them all turned in and yet you don't know. I just don't get it.

So, being the meanass ever patient and loving mother that I am, Nisha is forced to get out her homework and get it finished. She gets out her book and papers and gets busy. Shortly after she's having a complete conversation with herself. Normally she saves these conversations for the bathroom. She'll walk in there, shut the door, and talk to herself in the mirror. That's normal right?

She didn't know I was listening, obviously, and if I wasn't it would be held against me later. She told herself she wasn't going to do the homework and she'd just ask a friend for help or get her teacher to help her, and shuts the book. Oh no, that's not going to work little sister. After telling her I was going to punch her in the head if she didn't straighten up gentle persuasion she opened the book back up and I decided to help.

So we get to the thermal expansion section of her textbook.

Science Lesson: For those of you nonscience geeks, it's like when the red or silver line in a thermometer rises when heated. I know. We all thought it was magic and the little red line just floated up to the right number. Actually, the red or silver line is either alcohol or mercury (which expand when heated) and because they have nowhere else to go as the temperature rises, the go up. Fancy huh?

Well, because Nisha isn't the brightest bulb in the box I try to explain things in a nonscience way so she'll understand. And the only thing I could think of was...

ready?

no, I mean are you really ready for this???

a weiner

That's all I had people. A weiner. I couldn't, for the life of me, come up with ANYTHING else on this God-forsaken planet that gets bigger when heated???

So I proceeed with my science/sex ed lesson by saying:

Me: I guess it's kind of like a weiner.

Nisha: (gasp) Mama!

Me: Well, it starts out small and as it heats up it stretches out and gets bigger right? It has nowhere else to go but out.

Nisha: (ears and cheeks turning red) Mama!

Me: Thermal expansion is what happens when a dong gets excited. But you can't use that example in class, k? They'll call CPS on me and they'll take you away forever. Promise me you won't use that example! Promise!!!

So there you have it. That's my answer and I'm sticking to it.

(Disclaimer: Thermal expansion is not the real explanation for a penile erection and should not be used as a real example, especially in science classes. It should be saved for biology, obviously.)