My back is peeling quite nicely. Nothing brings the family together like sitting around mom's back and peeling off her dead skin.
The girls think it's great. I think we might have peeled too soon. Regardless, whenever I shed clothing there is a flurry of skin that falls around me. It is like snow. Who says you can't have Christmas in July.
Now I just need to turn the AC up and make myself some hot chocolate.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
The Daddy Tax
Daddy Tax: [da-de taks ] noun plural: —xes. 1. The portion of a child's meal, Halloween candy, video game time, etc. that a father rightly takes as his own, mostly because the child wouldn't be there without him. This particularly applies to things that a father buys for a child. 2. The primary method fathers teach the principle: “there are no free lunches.”
The above definition is an amalgamation of the definition available at urban dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=daddy%20tax).
The US Tax Code is referenced in US Law as “Title 26 of the US Code of Federal Regulations.” It consists of 20 volumes, comprised of 13,458 pages of litigation [futily] trying to explain every conceivable circumstance under which the government feels it should be entitled to collect dollars from American citizens. For just $974 you too can own a copy of the tax code! But wait! That's not all! For another $179 you can have the additional 3,387 pages Congress added—bringing the total to 16,845 pages of legislative accounting blather. So the cost of knowing what taxes will cost you (and just Federal taxes) is, one might say, "taxing." I slay myself, but I digress.
In nearly seventeen thousand pages of composed chaos, the government manages to mention the Daddy Tax by name exactly 233^0 times.
(For those of you who don't like math, this is a very controversial statement—any number raised to the 0 power should be 1, except you can't divide by 0...so it's actually 0 or more specifically undefined. Some even like to say impossible!) Okay, so if you're one of those people that just flipped to the back of the book to get the answers...233^0 is nothing.
Isn't this riveting? Back to the Daddy Tax.
Maleen made brownies tonight. I like brownies. I like brownies so much that as self-appointed King of the Realm, I levied a hefty tax on brownies. The girls each got a brownie about one and a half inch square, and then I got mine: something in the realm of four and a half inches somewhat rectangular. The girls asked for another brownie, and the King of the Realm replied with a simple, “No,” while I was shoveling in another brownie.
There are NO FREE LUNCHES, (unless you've earned them by being King of the Realm, but that wasn't free either, was it).
Now before all you moms get after me for depriving my children of the comforts of life, let it be known that the subjects receive adequate comforts of life; the Daddy Tax is rarely invoked; and finally (and most importantly) it's my Realm, so I arrest and execute every traitor to the Realm that dare speak against the Daddy Tax.
Excuse me, it's time for another brownie.
PS, the education on tax code is free—you're welcome.
The above definition is an amalgamation of the definition available at urban dictionary (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=daddy%20tax).
The US Tax Code is referenced in US Law as “Title 26 of the US Code of Federal Regulations.” It consists of 20 volumes, comprised of 13,458 pages of litigation [futily] trying to explain every conceivable circumstance under which the government feels it should be entitled to collect dollars from American citizens. For just $974 you too can own a copy of the tax code! But wait! That's not all! For another $179 you can have the additional 3,387 pages Congress added—bringing the total to 16,845 pages of legislative accounting blather. So the cost of knowing what taxes will cost you (and just Federal taxes) is, one might say, "taxing." I slay myself, but I digress.
In nearly seventeen thousand pages of composed chaos, the government manages to mention the Daddy Tax by name exactly 233^0 times.
(For those of you who don't like math, this is a very controversial statement—any number raised to the 0 power should be 1, except you can't divide by 0...so it's actually 0 or more specifically undefined. Some even like to say impossible!) Okay, so if you're one of those people that just flipped to the back of the book to get the answers...233^0 is nothing.
Isn't this riveting? Back to the Daddy Tax.
Maleen made brownies tonight. I like brownies. I like brownies so much that as self-appointed King of the Realm, I levied a hefty tax on brownies. The girls each got a brownie about one and a half inch square, and then I got mine: something in the realm of four and a half inches somewhat rectangular. The girls asked for another brownie, and the King of the Realm replied with a simple, “No,” while I was shoveling in another brownie.
There are NO FREE LUNCHES, (unless you've earned them by being King of the Realm, but that wasn't free either, was it).
Now before all you moms get after me for depriving my children of the comforts of life, let it be known that the subjects receive adequate comforts of life; the Daddy Tax is rarely invoked; and finally (and most importantly) it's my Realm, so I arrest and execute every traitor to the Realm that dare speak against the Daddy Tax.
Excuse me, it's time for another brownie.
PS, the education on tax code is free—you're welcome.
The Black Sheep
Or in this case...the black dog. And by black, I mean totally fallen from my good graces.
If my children (read: Robyn) didn't love that rodent so much, I would get rid of her. I can't stand Moxy's lack of obedience. She 'pretends' to do what you want, while you are watching, but the moment your back is turned, she does whatever she darn well pleases. The wounds are probably too fresh to be writing this post, but I shall tell you anyway.
Yesterday, I made quiche. I LOVE my quiche. The crust isn't so fantastic because I have never been an excellent crust maker (wait, maybe I am not so much like Snow White as I imagined) but the filling is a delicious blend of bacon, cheese, cream, spinach, and egg (for the record I hate spinach so I love eating quiche because then I feel like I am conquering my aversion, but really you can't taste the spinach at all). Now, on a normal night, the kids will eat hardly any, Tyler and I will have a good sized slice, but then I usually have almost half a quiche for myself to save for later. Yum. However, last night we had company, Bro. Maxwell, and he had seconds, as well as June and the baby ate an entire slice herself. This left only a quarter of the quiche left, and after I sent some leftovers home with Bro. Maxwell for lunch, there was only a small little sliver left; not nearly enough for me, but it would make a good midnight snack.
It was like a little treat I was saving for myself, like the chocolate bar in the drawer that you reward yourself with after finishing a task. I figured I would get all the kids in bed, and then Tyler and I would watch some TV and I would eat my quiche. The kids were finally settled, I took Tyler's hand and we headed downstairs. I heard a slight clinking of dishes and I thought, Did one of the kids get up to get a drink? This is when I saw the dog lick the final crumbs from the pie dish and jump down from the table.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Moxy has gotten on the table before and has been severely scolded for it. I falsely thought that maybe she had learned something. Nope. I tossed her unceremoniously out the door and then left her in the kennel for a few hours. Grr.
But my heart softened over the evening and I thought that surely now she would stay off my dining room table. So imagine my surprise when I packed the kids in the car this morning to go shopping. I had everyone ready to go, I put the dog back inside, walked to the car and realized that I had forgotten my key. So, I popped back in the door, decided to check for any money I needed to deposit and I rounded the corner to see the dog drinking out of Robyn's cup on the table.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
She didn't learn a thing!! She does whatever she pleases! I hadn't been gone for over a minute and she was back on my table. I was very proud of myself. I simply picked her up gently and put her back in her kennel (I have learned that yelling doesn't help—she tends to pee all over the place). So I need to be realistic about this. She is not going to be allowed to be in the house alone. She will have to be put in her kennel whenever we leave. But she has brought this on herself. I don't even feel bad for her.
I guess you can't teach a sneaky dog new tricks.
If my children (read: Robyn) didn't love that rodent so much, I would get rid of her. I can't stand Moxy's lack of obedience. She 'pretends' to do what you want, while you are watching, but the moment your back is turned, she does whatever she darn well pleases. The wounds are probably too fresh to be writing this post, but I shall tell you anyway.
Yesterday, I made quiche. I LOVE my quiche. The crust isn't so fantastic because I have never been an excellent crust maker (wait, maybe I am not so much like Snow White as I imagined) but the filling is a delicious blend of bacon, cheese, cream, spinach, and egg (for the record I hate spinach so I love eating quiche because then I feel like I am conquering my aversion, but really you can't taste the spinach at all). Now, on a normal night, the kids will eat hardly any, Tyler and I will have a good sized slice, but then I usually have almost half a quiche for myself to save for later. Yum. However, last night we had company, Bro. Maxwell, and he had seconds, as well as June and the baby ate an entire slice herself. This left only a quarter of the quiche left, and after I sent some leftovers home with Bro. Maxwell for lunch, there was only a small little sliver left; not nearly enough for me, but it would make a good midnight snack.
It was like a little treat I was saving for myself, like the chocolate bar in the drawer that you reward yourself with after finishing a task. I figured I would get all the kids in bed, and then Tyler and I would watch some TV and I would eat my quiche. The kids were finally settled, I took Tyler's hand and we headed downstairs. I heard a slight clinking of dishes and I thought, Did one of the kids get up to get a drink? This is when I saw the dog lick the final crumbs from the pie dish and jump down from the table.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Moxy has gotten on the table before and has been severely scolded for it. I falsely thought that maybe she had learned something. Nope. I tossed her unceremoniously out the door and then left her in the kennel for a few hours. Grr.
But my heart softened over the evening and I thought that surely now she would stay off my dining room table. So imagine my surprise when I packed the kids in the car this morning to go shopping. I had everyone ready to go, I put the dog back inside, walked to the car and realized that I had forgotten my key. So, I popped back in the door, decided to check for any money I needed to deposit and I rounded the corner to see the dog drinking out of Robyn's cup on the table.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
She didn't learn a thing!! She does whatever she pleases! I hadn't been gone for over a minute and she was back on my table. I was very proud of myself. I simply picked her up gently and put her back in her kennel (I have learned that yelling doesn't help—she tends to pee all over the place). So I need to be realistic about this. She is not going to be allowed to be in the house alone. She will have to be put in her kennel whenever we leave. But she has brought this on herself. I don't even feel bad for her.
I guess you can't teach a sneaky dog new tricks.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Destruction
I feel like I have been on a blogging fast. It is almost unheard for me to go four days without posting. And not that I have anything very interesting to say at the moment, but I feel the need to keep updated.
The news around here is how amazed I am at the destruction little children can cause. One day does not go by without something being broken, ruined, decimated, destroyed. A lot of the time it is their toys, and it makes me frown and wonder why I even buy them toys in the first place. But after this week, I know why; I would rather have them destroying their toys than our stuff.
I was complaining to Tyler about all the stuff they get into in the house and he said I should let them play outside more often. Yep, this resulted in TWO broken bikes. I think the paperboy ran over one (a scooter), and then one of our little trikes was obviously sat on by a larger child (maybe not even ours in this case) and really messed up. Someone colored with crayon on the driveway (why, when they have so much sidewalk chalk? Granted if you teach your kids they can color on the sidewalk with one implement I could see the jump to trying something else, but they would have had to go inside to get crayons, while the whole driveway is littered with sidewalk chalk) and then Robyn took one of Dad's drum sticks (the soft yarn-wrapped kind), dipped it in a bowl of old car oil and painted the driveway as well. Tyler is no longer so hip about them playing outside.
I'm not sure how to keep them in check without playing police 24/7. I must keep reminding myself that I should laugh at these moments now because all too soon they will be teenagers and doing things that will probably drive me to write my own messages on the driveway with motor oil.
The news around here is how amazed I am at the destruction little children can cause. One day does not go by without something being broken, ruined, decimated, destroyed. A lot of the time it is their toys, and it makes me frown and wonder why I even buy them toys in the first place. But after this week, I know why; I would rather have them destroying their toys than our stuff.
I was complaining to Tyler about all the stuff they get into in the house and he said I should let them play outside more often. Yep, this resulted in TWO broken bikes. I think the paperboy ran over one (a scooter), and then one of our little trikes was obviously sat on by a larger child (maybe not even ours in this case) and really messed up. Someone colored with crayon on the driveway (why, when they have so much sidewalk chalk? Granted if you teach your kids they can color on the sidewalk with one implement I could see the jump to trying something else, but they would have had to go inside to get crayons, while the whole driveway is littered with sidewalk chalk) and then Robyn took one of Dad's drum sticks (the soft yarn-wrapped kind), dipped it in a bowl of old car oil and painted the driveway as well. Tyler is no longer so hip about them playing outside.
I'm not sure how to keep them in check without playing police 24/7. I must keep reminding myself that I should laugh at these moments now because all too soon they will be teenagers and doing things that will probably drive me to write my own messages on the driveway with motor oil.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...
We were supposed to be in Idaho this week, but due to sad events (Grandma getting ill) we were forced to stay here instead. Truthfully I am slightly relieved, but only because I wasn't really relishing the four hour drive by myself (which is eight hours once you head home). I am terribly saddened that we won't be seeing family, as are the girls, so I thought that I would try to make it up to them by taking them swimming.
Now, do not expect pictures of this event, because watching four girls at a pool is plenty for me to worry about without adding a camera into the mix (water+camera=Tyler not letting me buy any more expensive toys for myself...EVER).
We did have a brilliantly good time. Water, fun, sun, even some creamies...what more could you ask for? Even Nedra came with us and she watched the baby for moments so I could take the girls on the big slides. Yay for summer and all that.
But there is still more to the story, the best part in my opinion. This is the part where I get to play a princess. Naturally, I am sure that you would see me as Belle (because of my hair color and my affinity for books), but my secret princess identity is that of Snow White, because I am most certainly the fairest of them all. And by fairest here, I mean light skinned and not smatteringly gorgeous (darn). I have been the fairest for years in fact. I think my record is only twenty minutes in the sun for a spectacular burn, so I am no fool when it comes to sunscreen...I wear it. Period.
Today was no different, except in a few minor (crucial) details. I was busy lathering up the children. I didn't have an adult around so I beckoned Robyn over and asked her to do my back. June wanted in on the action and I told them that I had plenty of back to go around. I squirted a few spritzes back there and they went to town. In the meantime while kids were lotioning me up, I was working on the baby, making sure she was nice and UV protected. I wasn't paying much attention to their work, but after all, two sets of hands are better than one. Then we were all set. Kinda.
This is where you have probably already figured out that I was NOT all set; that perhaps you should not put your chances of skin cancer in the hands of a five and six year old. And so I have this fabulous burn to show for it. See the burn.
The upper right corner was where Robyn was working and I think June did a good job taking care of my lower back. That is where the protection ends and the pain starts. Not to mention some feelings of guilt and stupidity. You would think after playing the part of Snow White all these years that I would have learned...that I would double check and perhaps put a second layer of sunscreen on. I mean it can't hurt when you are the fairest in the land. But no. Not today.
So for a just a while, when I look in my magic mirror, all I can say is, "Ouch!"
Now, do not expect pictures of this event, because watching four girls at a pool is plenty for me to worry about without adding a camera into the mix (water+camera=Tyler not letting me buy any more expensive toys for myself...EVER).
We did have a brilliantly good time. Water, fun, sun, even some creamies...what more could you ask for? Even Nedra came with us and she watched the baby for moments so I could take the girls on the big slides. Yay for summer and all that.
But there is still more to the story, the best part in my opinion. This is the part where I get to play a princess. Naturally, I am sure that you would see me as Belle (because of my hair color and my affinity for books), but my secret princess identity is that of Snow White, because I am most certainly the fairest of them all. And by fairest here, I mean light skinned and not smatteringly gorgeous (darn). I have been the fairest for years in fact. I think my record is only twenty minutes in the sun for a spectacular burn, so I am no fool when it comes to sunscreen...I wear it. Period.
Today was no different, except in a few minor (crucial) details. I was busy lathering up the children. I didn't have an adult around so I beckoned Robyn over and asked her to do my back. June wanted in on the action and I told them that I had plenty of back to go around. I squirted a few spritzes back there and they went to town. In the meantime while kids were lotioning me up, I was working on the baby, making sure she was nice and UV protected. I wasn't paying much attention to their work, but after all, two sets of hands are better than one. Then we were all set. Kinda.
This is where you have probably already figured out that I was NOT all set; that perhaps you should not put your chances of skin cancer in the hands of a five and six year old. And so I have this fabulous burn to show for it. See the burn.
The upper right corner was where Robyn was working and I think June did a good job taking care of my lower back. That is where the protection ends and the pain starts. Not to mention some feelings of guilt and stupidity. You would think after playing the part of Snow White all these years that I would have learned...that I would double check and perhaps put a second layer of sunscreen on. I mean it can't hurt when you are the fairest in the land. But no. Not today.
So for a just a while, when I look in my magic mirror, all I can say is, "Ouch!"
Monday, July 20, 2009
LHOTP (Pronounced El Hot Pee)
Raise your hand if you know who I'm talking about when I refer to Charles Ingalls, star of a famous television series. Okay, those who aren't raising hands yet, how about Caroline Ingalls, his wife? Maybe Mary, Carrie, or Grace, their children?
Alright, a few more hints: This particular show featured the community of Walnut Grove, Minnesota in the 1870s. The show aired 203 episodes over nine years on NBC during the golden age of television. It's the winner of ten awards including four prestigious Emmy Awards, but it gained its fame for the timeless values taught on television, yes on television!
Hmm. If you haven't got any clue yet, there's no hope for you. You're either too young or you've been drowned in the mindless blather of modern television.
Well, it's time to be out with it. I've recently fell back in love with this show. It seems to be on whenever I want to watch TV! Our girls have been watching LHOTP as well—and this is a show you'll never feel bad showing any child of any age. The crazy thing is that parents can enjoy it too (not just endure it).
So it's probably killing you right? What is El Hot Pee? I don't know where El Hot Pee comes from, but LHOTP stands for Little House On The Prairie.
Yes, I'm coming out of the outhouse (they didn't have closets back then): I watch Little House on the Prairie, and I like it. I don't have to hide it anymore like I did as a young man in high school. I'm out and I'm proud! Now, before this starts sounding too much like a march in San Francisco, I need to go watch some more Charles Ingalls. Just tonight, we watched him and his fellow Walnut Grovers win a baseball game against the evil, no-good, cheating Slick McBurney of Sleepy Eye. Gambling, sportsmanship, honesty, work, play, integrity, and fun—just a little of what my daughters learned about tonight.
BTW, if you were wondering what years it ran through, I found out for ya: September 11, 1974, to March 21, 1983. This thanks to wikipeida.
Alright, a few more hints: This particular show featured the community of Walnut Grove, Minnesota in the 1870s. The show aired 203 episodes over nine years on NBC during the golden age of television. It's the winner of ten awards including four prestigious Emmy Awards, but it gained its fame for the timeless values taught on television, yes on television!
Hmm. If you haven't got any clue yet, there's no hope for you. You're either too young or you've been drowned in the mindless blather of modern television.
Well, it's time to be out with it. I've recently fell back in love with this show. It seems to be on whenever I want to watch TV! Our girls have been watching LHOTP as well—and this is a show you'll never feel bad showing any child of any age. The crazy thing is that parents can enjoy it too (not just endure it).
So it's probably killing you right? What is El Hot Pee? I don't know where El Hot Pee comes from, but LHOTP stands for Little House On The Prairie.
Yes, I'm coming out of the outhouse (they didn't have closets back then): I watch Little House on the Prairie, and I like it. I don't have to hide it anymore like I did as a young man in high school. I'm out and I'm proud! Now, before this starts sounding too much like a march in San Francisco, I need to go watch some more Charles Ingalls. Just tonight, we watched him and his fellow Walnut Grovers win a baseball game against the evil, no-good, cheating Slick McBurney of Sleepy Eye. Gambling, sportsmanship, honesty, work, play, integrity, and fun—just a little of what my daughters learned about tonight.
BTW, if you were wondering what years it ran through, I found out for ya: September 11, 1974, to March 21, 1983. This thanks to wikipeida.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
It's That Time Again
It is my Blogoversary again. Two years of my thoughts and experiences. I have to admit that I am giving myself a pat on the back, because as much as I always wanted to be a journal keeper, I was never very good. I have dozens of books with my chicken scratch proclaiming that I would be better in that particular journal and then months would go by before I put in another entry.
But here are two years proving I can be fairly consistent at something. So, Happy Blogoversary to ME, and all you other people that enjoy reading my ramblings. Thanks for sharing in my life. It means more to me than you realize.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)