Smiley

This is a dumb, but "feel good" post.  My cheeks are hurting from smiling so much and laughing so hard, and what a great way to go to bed? Why? Because for the past year, I have deprived myself of watching the Daily Show. AppleTV and Hulu decided to go out for some cocktails, go dancing and hook- up and it looks like I now have the joy of watching one of my very favorite shows. So I've watched three episodes and enjoyed several scream-laugh moments all to myself and grinning ear to ear from the moment a show would start until the credits rolled. Ahhh...back to some normalness for me that I thoroughly enjoy. Thank you AppleTV and Hulu for being smart and sharing your love of each other with the rest of us. I heart you.

Bisque-gusting

I thought of this title and figured it was so rad I might not even have to tell the story associated with it.  But then you'd be left hanging and wondering, "Kathy. What was so bisque-gusting?"  Oh, I'll share.  Warning though, it is one of those stories that suck and aren't funny or really even interesting.  I just like my title because it's so damn clever.
Here's the lame story...  I live near a Fred Meyer and the other day Farrah and I needed to make a quick stop for various crap and I wanted to get back home for the opening ceremonies for the Olympics.  While there, I eyeballed the soup section where they sell their "selected" soups.  Easy.  No effort.  The perfect dinner.  I grabbed the Lobster Bisque with Sherry.  Mmmm...sounds interesting.  Why the Lobster Bisque?  When I was 18, my parents took me out to dinner for my birthday and I'd had Lobster Bisque.  It was wonderful.  Being the silly person that I am, I assumed Fred Meyer had the same quality of soup as the 5 star restaurant I'd been to.  Of course, I expected the same damn soup.  I cooked it, sat down to watch a cheesy movie, and could feel my face contort.
It was pretty terrible.  And yet, I continued to eat it.  I don't know why sometimes I do this.  Maybe I think of starving people and I feel guilty if I don't finish.  Maybe my tastebuds will adjust and miraculously the taste will improve.  Maybe I know I spent a good hard earned 5 dollars on this crap that could have just as easily gone to the coffee shop I go to everyday for a mocha.  I just kept eating it.  What makes it so effed up was I could actually pinpoint what the flavor was that I was tasting.
Bile.
Somehow, Fred Meyer had found a way to make Bile Soup and call it Lobster Bisque.  LIARS!  You know when you are running around and you kinda over do it and a little up-chuck burns your throat.  That's bile.  That taste...is Fred Meyer's Lobster Bisque with Sherry.

Ultimately...I threw in the towel and made myself something else to eat.

It was worth having a bowl of bile just to come up with the title of this blog entry.

The soup was Bisque-gusting.  Get it?

Salad Debacle

I ordered lunch today and chose the Caesar salad as I have before, with chicken.  When the girl put the plate down in front of me, I started to chuckle.  "So...am I suppose to cut the romaine?"  The romaine lettuce was cut in long sheets about 8-9 inches long and had strips of chicken and drizzled dressing over the top.  She quickly brought over a butter knife for me and I had to shake my head.  I let her know that I hate being a complainer, but there was no way that I was going to be able to "chop" the lettuce as it should have been in the first place with a butter knife nor on the size of plate that had been given to me.  I told her I just wanted lunch but didn't want to work so hard to get the food into my mouth.  She said this was how it had always been.  Not true.  I had the same salad and loved it last week.  The romaine was chopped in bite size pieces in a large bowl with bite size grilled chicken.  She told me she would take it back to the back and have them cut up the lettuce for me.  Grrrreat.  We all know what kind of risk we take when we send something back.
She took it and and brought back what looked like the chef had taken the knife through the whole thing one time because a single piece of lettuce was the size of my face and placed in a small bowl.  When she brought it, I thanked her for trying and let her know I'll still have to cut it and I just didn't want to make a mess.  So what happened?  Every time I cut a piece of the romaine, 2 pieces would fall onto the table.  This happened about 3 times until I had a small pile of my lunch ON the table and not one bite yet in my mouth.  Eff.  This.
I signaled for someone else who looked like they were more in a management position and told him to just take it back.  He looked at it and said, "Why is it in such a small bowl?  Did you get the long strips of romaine?"  Ugh.  He looked at the mess in front of me and I said I hate to be the person to send something back, but this was stupid.  He took it back with no qualms and returned to me a normal Caesar salad.

Here's the thing...
I learned in Culinary Arts that the food you made needed to be beautiful, delicious, but also practical to eat.  This was someone trying something way too artsy and impossible to eat, and therefore not fun to enjoy.  For the price I paid for my salad, I shouldn't have been expected to do all the freakin' work.  That's how it felt:  Here's a bunch of leaves of romaine lettuce, a few strips of chicken, some giant croutons, and a lot of drizzled dressing.  Good luck not getting it all over your shirt and thanks for the money to do my job for me.

Anyway, not ordering that again.  That's not artsy...that's lazy.  No matter how pretty the presentation looks, I should still be able to eat the damn thing.

Fail.

Hand Shaker

I can't be positive that I haven't already posted about this subject matter at some point or not...but if I have, it must be because it's important.  When meeting someone for the first time, I think people should take some time to evaluate how they intend to shake the other person's hand.  First, don't have a pussy hand shake.  ESPECIALLY if you're a guy.  Nothing makes me have less faith in whatever you're going to be like when I feel like I need to bow down and kiss your hand like a gentleman.  Because I'm not a gentleman.  I'm a 100 pound woman who shouldn't have a stronger hand shake than you.  Also, don't be a sweaty mess.  Hell, be honest and even tell me as you're wiping the sweat off onto your pants that your hands are all sweaty before you touch my hand.  I don't mind.  I mind, however, suddenly having a hand that I now have to wipe on my pants.  Thanks.  Finally, there are the guys that have to either prove their masculinity by trying to break my bones in our friendly greeting.  What is wrong with these people??!  I just met some guy who works out at my gym and he introduced himself to me by squeezing my hand and fingers together to the point of almost cracking something.  BE CAREFUL!!!  I'm delicate!  Also, it makes me super angry when my hand is being gripped by a stranger and I feel like I'm already in an abusive relationship with them before I can share what my name is.  When guys do that to each other, it is positively rude.  It's almost a sign of pea-cocking without actually having to puff out the chest.  It's like a game of "who's got the stronger handshake".  Well, asses, to take you seriously in any type of greeting when shaking hands, your handshake must be firm and serious but never painful.  You're just a jerk at that point whether you realize it or not.  How about you practice shaking hands with your mother or 90 year old grandmother?  Or try with a homeless man who's lost everything.  Would you be such a jerk that you would grab that man's hand and squeeze what's left of his pride out of his hand, or would you shake it like you are truly glad to meet him?

In any case, this obviously just happened.  I should've said, "Hey jackass! Nice to meet you, but how about I take a hammer and slam it down on your hand and see if that enhances this greeting.  You'd hate me about as much as I'm hating you right now."  But, I'm not that way so I let him get away with it unfortunately and he will shake someone else's hand violently and they will suffer...and I honestly don't think he is even aware that his handshake is a total put off.  Next time I see him I'll just waive.  Protecting myself.  Geez, sweaty-hands-McGee just came up and said hello and now my right hand with it's delicate bones and tendons are also covered in someone else's sweat.  Gross.

Ssssssssssnake

For the past few days, my garage has been a stinky stinky smelly gross...place.  Couldn't think of another word there.  Well, I've been wondering what the hell I dumped in the garbage to make the whole place smell like death.  Did I roast a chicken like a month ago and suddenly decide to throw it away now?  Did I decide to thaw out some trout that we caught while camping and just keep it in the garbage can for the past 2 weeks?  Did I change a shitty diaper and wrap it up in another shitty diaper and not remember doing it?  Why, god, why did it smell so bad?  I sprayed all of my recycle cans as well as the garbage can down with a ridiculous amount of Lysol hoping that it would ward off the stench until garbage day.  Yesterday, Farrah and I were walking through the garage to head for the mailbox and low and behold...the smelly problem made itself known.  Somehow, a gardner snake had slithered its way into our garage and miraculously got its whole midsection smushed, like something drove over it.  I don't know how it would have been driven over and then drug its sorry snake ass back into my garage to live out its final hours, but something along those lines happened.  After the discovery had been made, Farrah and I had the heeby-geebies all the way to the mailbox and back.

How the hell was I going to get the evil dead out of my garage?  Every time I visualized any means to do it...I'd wiggle around as if a mouse just dove down my shirt.  But it would have to happen eventually.  Now that I knew what the source of the stink was coming from, my gag reflexes were working overtime whenever I walked out there.

So, once I picked Farrah up from Summer Camp/Summer School, I made the critical decision.  It had to be done.  Today.  But like hell if I was doing it alone!  Farrah was going to have to be my side kick in this matter whether she wanted to be or not!  I grabbed a shovel and moved certain obstacles out of the way to do what I had to do.  I knew if I watched what I was doing, I'd probably freak out.  So, I decided to use the shovel and angled it for the thrust to scoop up what I could with my head turned the other direction (I could tell part of the snake was "stuck" to the ground).  Once I felt the weight shift onto the shovel's head and I looked, I screamed like the goddamn thing woke up and I started to run from the dead snake.  This wasn't just a dead snake.  It had some sort of bulge that I had assumed was it's guts being pushed all together because on the other end, it's eyeballs were pushed out of its face.  I know.  Gross.  But it wasn't its guts.  No.  The bulge was a silly massive amount of maggots withering around having the time of their life while I watched in horror.  How on Earth was I going to scoop this thing up which still had a foot of tail that needed to be taken along with the rest of its dead body?  I gave the snow shovel a small glance, then said screw it.  I couldn't be a total pussy about this, so no to the snow shovel.  I gave my shovel one more push and made sure I had the whole damn snake while I ran with it.  Then came Farrah's role in the whole ordeal:
"MOMMY!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!! THROW IT IN THE NEIGHBOR'S YARD!!!"
Well, that was out of the question because, of course, they would have heard her giving me directions on where to discard the carcass.  So I opted for some rocks near a bush in the open where I prayed some other nasty ass animal might find it appealing and eat it.  Or even better, have the upcoming 90+ degree weather completely dry that thing out.

In the meantime, the area in which the snake had met its unfortunate death and stuck a little to the garage floor, I had sprayed down with kitchen bleach cleaner.  That wasn't enough for me because there were about 10 maggots still crawling around in the poison.  So I went for the gusto and poured about 1-2 cups of bleach on the whole area.  The damn things were swimming in it.  Farrah was freaking out because "it wasn't working!!!"  I let her know to just give it time.  They would not survive.  Payback for the poor snake.  The poor, disgusting, smelly, rotten, decaying, maggot infested snake that chose my freakin' garage.

I hope it goes to hell.

Look at the eyes!  Sick.

15 Years Today

15 years ago today, I had my first date with Mike Moody.  I had been looking forward to an evening with him and scared as hell, too.  It was on a Sunday.  We went to the Ponderosa Tavern even though I was only 20 at the time and he was 30.  He told the bartender not to give me a hard time for not having my ID on me because I was going to be "the next Mrs. Moody".  He even had the courage to tell me he told her that and asked me if that bothered me.  I remember smiling at him, blushing, and admitting that it didn't bother me at all.  We shared a pitcher of beer (probably Bud Light) and talked all night.  Mike was razzed by a bunch of his friends about our date and we came to find that we had several mutual friends, too.  That made things easy so that there wasn't a whole lot of awkwardness in meeting everyone.  His sister was there too.  We stayed until we felt we'd talked all that we could for the night before a work day (plus we'd been getting to know each other for the past two days always up until 6AM - this just happened to be our "official" date).  When we arrived at his house, he walked me to my car and we both said that we had a great time and we'd like to see each other again.  Then Mike said, "Would it be alright if I kissed you?" Melt.  Of course.  It was gentle and passionate and absolutely forever unforgettable.

Ironically, I had been reading a book last night when one of the main characters said the same exact thing...I smiled and started to cry.  When Mike and I were together that first night, everything about it was fun, exciting, new, and romantic.  For crying out loud, what he said to me 15 years ago, just so happened to be in a book that's 3 years old!

Happy Anniversary Mr. Michael Moody

Love Always,

Mrs. Michael Moody

Graduation 2012

On the 20th of June, Miss Farrah Raquelle Moody graduated from the Kinder-Ready program at her school.  It was held at a park on a perfectly beautiful day.  Farrah had her dress all picked out for the day which actually started in the morning at a different park where there was a bouncy house, face painting and oh god, a clown.  All the kids got pop cycles, Farrah and I sat on our picnic blanket in the back of the group (can't be too close to clowns), and when it was finally time to do the balloon tricks, L-Bow the clown walked back to give Farrah the poodle, while the rest of the kids whined about it.  Lucky.
Anyway, we got her all ready and I even did her hair the same way I did for her first day of school.  Mike was in charge of picking up some flowers, but I had to give the list of what not to buy that could make me non-functional due to stupid flower allergies. They turned out awesome.  They even put glitter on the flowers!
Well, we (parents) were in charge of bringing assigned pot-luck dishes for the post grad picnic.  This is a very healthy school so pretty much everything was green.  I thought long and hard about what healthy salad I could bring since that was my task, and I decided to go for unhealthy instead.  I made two LARGE dishes of Caesar salad with lots of cheese and croutons.  I know this post is about Farrah's graduation, but sorry, I'm giving myself a BIG pat on the back for picking something that went in a hurry.  It was almost like a relief to many when we opened our two containers of sauciness , cheesiness, croutony, and some Romaine lettucey goodness.  Are any of those words?

Anyway, the kids all sat in a line in alphabetical order and Miss Becky began to speak and immediately began to cry, which of course made the rest of us get teary eyed.  She just loves the kids so much and the teachers with all her heart.  After her speech, the diplomas were handed out to each child, along with a photo of their class, and a rose.  After their name was called and they gathered their things, it was announced what they wanted to be when they grew up.  Audrey, Farrah's best friend, wants to be a podiatrist.  What?  Then there were two heart surgeons-to-be, firemen, police officer, and other things that made me think I definitely had Farrah at the right school.  Everyone was so ambitious!  Then Farrah's turn, "Farrah Raquelle Moody!  Farrah wants to be a cooker and a singer when she grows up!"  Of course I cheered for our little girl.  She knew she wanted to be a chef before she ever even knew that's what I went to school for.  And singing?  That's just a given in our musical family.
We got lots of pictures and couldn't help beam with pride with the awesomeness that is our Farrah.  The three of us stayed until the very end.  I remember Glen, Audrey's dad look a little confused and asked Audrey if she knew what a podiatrist is (because this seemed to be a surprise to him and Cheryl) and Audrey said no.  Then he explained what it was, and then she said, "Oh yeah. That's what I want to be!"  So kudos to Audrey!

Farrah, I can't say how proud I am of you and have it mean as much as I feel it.  You have lovely penmanship, you can do math, you love science and are intrigued with planets and dinosaurs.  You are incredibly good at art and you tell me all the time, "But mommy, I'm only 5 years old and I don't know much stuff.  I need you to tell me everything!"  I will do my best and I am doing my best.  You are so bright and knowledgable at such a young age, I can hardly fathom what wonderful adult you will become because at 5, you're one of the very best people I know.  Your intuition is very uncanny and your desire to see everyone around you happy is a characteristic that at your age is not learned, but simply ingrained into your soul.  I love you so much.  You are what I want to be when I grow up! ; )

Winter Coat

This isn't about the one hanging in my closet.  I'm wondering if we, as humans, have "winter coats" like other animals.  Both Farrah and I have experienced an excessive amount of "shedding" lately and quite frankly, my vacuum can't keep up.  Thank god we have a lot of hair, some we can spare.  We moved from an area where the climate was at a consistently uncomfortable temperature except for 2 months (maybe 3 if we were lucky) out of the year.    Yes, like normal people I'd comb my hair and expect a strand here and there.  No big deal.  But holy geez!  This is out of freakin' control!!  I've been in 10 degree weather throughout the winter and in some windy and crazy snow storms on this side of the mountains.  Chilly!  Now, it's going to be 90 tomorrow.  I'm hoping desperately that Farrah and I are dropping what I can only imagine that can be a winter coat due to the harsh change in temperatures.  I also hope this stops soon because I'm sick of finding strands in every towel I grab and every pair of socks I own.  They're like magnets.  I have to constantly pull an invisible hair off of my right elbow at least twice a day.  I always get it, but it drives me nuts!  Anyway, weird post, I know, but this hair madness must end soon.

The Most Entertaining Travel Experience

About a week ago, I went to CA for business with Mike.  The trip itself was awesome and successful.  We met some great people and look forward to building some amazing relationships with them all, let alone doing business with them.

But what I'm writing about has absolutely nothing to do with that.  My lil' story begins at the airport on our way back to Seattle.  We were in a pretty long line for Alaska Airlines and it was moving very slowly.  Mike had me stay in line while he went to one of the kiosks to check us in and get our tickets.  While he did that, I watched the men on the other side of his kiosk, using theirs.  They were older men who had been standing there from the moment we walked through the door, got in line, Mike got us checked in, and got back in line.  They were there until we made it towards the front of the line and their wives in front of us began to panic.  At the moment that it looked like we were getting close, the counter ladies started to make announcements for anyone who was there for the 7AM flight to come to the front of the line.  Ummm....what?  One by one, people behind us started to make their way in front of us and I remember thinking, what the hell??  We were there on time and when the airlines tell us to be there: 2 hours before flight's departure.  These people were an hour late and their plane was loading. I remember when that had happened to us.  And we weren't moved to the front of the line.  In fact we were told: too freakin' bad and we'd have to wait until an airline had an opening for us.  OUR flight hadn't even started to board yet and we were still considered to late.  But I guess Alaska Airlines treats people different.  Once all the tardies made their way away from the front counter and on their way to security, there was one more person that I noticed.  A little old lady who held a paper that looked like it was printed from Expedia.com in her hands.  She walked up to an Alaska Airlines person and said, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."  They proceeded to scoot her up to the front of the line.  Again, the rest of us were just waiting patiently for our turn that was actually 20 minutes ago.  I simply watched, entertained.  I had to mentally scold myself that she was just a little old lady that "didn't know what she was doing."  Yeah right.
She knew.
She knew.
She was another 8AM passenger along with the rest of us.  And off she went to security while the rest of us sweaty and tired people waited to flagged down for our turn.  We got checked in finally and we were on our way to security at the John Wayne airport.  Worst - Security - Ever.  Long ass lines in a tiny airport with SO many security personel.  While we waited in line, there was a man to our left who was in super panic mode while he spoke quite loudly in his cell phone, "I DON'T KNOW HONEY!! I'VE BEEN HERE WAITING FOR YOU!!  I'M PROBABLY GOING TO MISS MY FUCKING FLIGHT BECAUSE I'M SURE NONE OF THE PEOPLE IN FRONT OF ME ARE GOING TO LET ME GO AHEAD OF THEM. - Oh, thank you."  Yes, we let him in front of us.  Then a couple of  VIP fliers walked in front of us.  I couldn't help but smile and laugh then say, "Should I say no cuts-ees to them?  Because that was weird."  These two guys didn't even acknowledge that we were standing there and then they were suddenly in front of us.  How do you not realize you walked in front of two people let alone a whole line and not feel a little shitty about it?
So, we waited in this stupid long line that seemed to go on forever.  I made sure all my lip gloss and hand sanitizer was set aside so my purse wouldn't get searched again.  The yelling-cell-phone-man was still freaking out and swearing and sweating and pacing in his little space of nothingness.  He kept sighing really loud.  He made sure EVERYONE around him knew he was pressed for time.  We got it!  Someone even signaled that he go ahead to the next line that looked like it was moving faster, but no, security lady said, "These ladies were first.  You'll have to wait."  "FUCK!!!"  And my reaction?  Laughter, of course.  How was it not funny to see this poor guy get nothing but bad luck.  I turned to Mike and said, "Would it be terrible of me to wish that they pull him aside to get patted down?  Oh please, god, make him get searched."
I said this and knew...I had just doomed us.
My evil lil' wish backfired onto us.  But mostly because the John Wayne airport sucks.  I watched as some poor man was patted down and searched right in front of everyone without any privacy.  It pissed me off to see that.  Although I wished it on the yelling-cell-phone-man, this poor soul was being touched and prodded with everyone's noses pressed up against the glass wondering if he had a bomb hidden up his ass.  I think not.
The back fire for us that I clearly made happen because Karma is a bitch, but c'mon, was when we finally got to the ramp that pulled our crap through the Xray.  When it got to my box, the guy sat there staring at my shit.  He looked around trying to find some help, called for help in his walkie-talkie, and waited.
And waited.
And...waited.
Someone finally showed up to help with my purse.  "Oh, ma'am, you're not supposed to put anything on top of your lap top so it has to go through again."  Awesome.  So my stuff went to the back of the line to go through again while I stood there in shame.  Then Mike's came through. "WE'VE GOT ANOTHER WITH SHOES ON THE LAPTOP!!!"  Oh my god, this was getting too rad for words although I'm writing several.  Back to the beginning Mike's stuff went.  Because his SHOES were sitting on top of his computer.  VERY dangerous!!!
We made it through and not angry but a little entertained.
Time to load our plane...computers went down.  Of course they did.  And the lady who was checking us in while writing our tickets down on paper, was the same lady that made us sit there with our daughter in shame only a month or so ago after Disneyland because she wasn't 2 years old, but in a stroller.  Usually, the rules are "passengers who need assistance and those with children."  Both, thank you.  Strollers need special treatment at the base of where you get loaded.

Okay, finally the best part...
The little old lady who cut in front of all of us was sitting in front of us along with 2 other VERY old people.  I thought it was a great fitting for them.  I had a gal crying next to me for the majority of the trip and I constantly felt like hugging her, but that could've been weird.  But back to the older people... Mike pointed something out to me that he felt I just had to see.  He pointed out that the man sitting in the middle of the two woman was reading a Kindle in big font.  The font was SO big it only held 6-9 words to the screen.  AND Mike was able to tell me that the man was reading about anti-abortion on the NY Times.  I was laughing so hard, I thought I might scream.  It was too freaking funny and I just couldn't stop.  In fact, I wrote a note to myself that I would be writing about it, so here I am.  Probably not funny in the slightest to anyone reading this, but picture the font at a size 50...not kidding.  It was so big.  I wasn't sure who out of that group was driving, but I sure as hell hoped it wasn't him.

Pukes

I felt it necessary to write about this because of the magical word that came from this boring story.  I had Farrah sleep with me one night after she had an excellent week at school.  A little reward, if you will.  We sometimes watch movies together or she'll watch her own while I read.  Well, since it was a sleep-in day for us, we woke up at an unreasonable hour.  We both woke up at the same time and she looked disheveled and puffy eyed.  I could taste my ass breath and knew the greasy mess of a mop on top of my head was plastered to my skull.  I did that gross lip smacking thing that you do when you first wake up while looking at her.  She mimicked my action and spoke, "Good morning, mama."  Oh LORD!
Me:  "Farrah, your breath smells as bad as mine tastes.  Gross."
Farrah:  "Yeah, gross."
Me:  "We're both gross and smell like poop."
Farrah:  "We're pooo..ah...pukes!"
Me:  (Scream laughing) "Yes! Yes we are pukes!!!"
The word "pukes" is now frequently used in our vocabulary to describe ourselves when we are what others like to call a "hot mess".  Let's be honest with ourselves.  Hot mess?  Really?  No.  Think about it.  When you haven't showered, you passed out in whatever sweatpants and teeshirt concoction you've thrown together to fall in bed in, you can still find a piece of almond in between your teeth from your midnight snacking adventure and you look like you've been punched in both eyes because you like to rub your eyes with your fists when you first wake up and smear any leftover waterproof mascara...you are NOT a hot mess.  You are gross.  You are a puke.

Puke.

Keep in mind...this word can be used to describe just about anyone and anything just like the term "hot mess."  It's more honest.  Like this, "Oh my lord, did you see that girl? That outfit and that hair? What a puke." Caddy girls like to think they're being cute and kind when saying "hot mess" when in fact they're just ass holes like everyone else who is talking shit.  So keep it real folks.  Call it like it is.  The word will catch on and Farrah and I will be the ones who revolutionize it.  Just watch.  So try not to act like a PUKE or look like a PUKE and we won't tell anyone.  In the meantime, we'll practice the word on ourselves.

P.S.  I took a half-ass shower today, so I will proclaim myself as being a puke today.  And I will wear the word with pride until I wash it off tonight or whenever the hell I feel like it.

Bio-terrorism

Farrah is funny.  Very funny.  But at times she can take her humor to a place that crosses an invisible line.  A few weeks ago Farrah was talking to me and then turned to me and whispered that she needed to tell me something.  She slowly walked over to me and came up to my right ear and full on SNEEZED (for real).  My kid sneezed...in my face...on purpose.  I laughed so hard and so did Farrah and so did Mike, but at the same time I knew somewhere in that moment I needed to teach her a lesson.  But what lesson can you teach a 5 year old when you are scream laughing from the fact that your kid is clever enough to come up with something so funny and sneaky?  It took me a bit to calm down and let her know this wasn't okay.  Obviously, chuckling through the whole reprimand didn't help plead my case of seriousness.  I went through the whole thing that it was "rude", "gross", "not nice", etc.  Blah, blah, freakin' blah.  Whatever.  It was funny.  However...I didn't want her to do this again.

Well, two days ago she was looking at me and walking up to me slowly then WACHOO! in my face!!!  Again, I had to try even harder this time to keep my laughter locked up and try a different approach with her.  (Mind you, so you don't think my kid is a total ass, her sneezes were mostly just loud but little to no snot or spittle hit me - but how does she sneak up like that without that awkward twisted look on her face like normal people get right before the explosive sneeze?).  I ended up telling her that what she just did was against the law.  I told her if she ever jokingly spit on me (she makes spit bubbles then laughs and might get a little on me) or sneezed at me on purpose, I'd call the cops and she'd go to jail.  Her laughter dwindled away and sadness and fear replaced her smile.  In fact, she started to get a little teary.  "Why would you call the cops on me mommy?!!"  "Because what you are doing could be considered biochemical warfare against me.  What if you sneezed sickness on me?  That is against the law and I will have to do my duty and turn you in if you do it again."  "But mommy, I don't want to go to jail.  You love me!"  "Of course I love you and I don't want you to go to jail, but you'll avoid jail time or cops coming if you stop sneezing in my face."  "BUT MOMMY!!! WHAT IF I CAN'T HELP IT?!!"  "You know when a sneeze is coming on, so turn away from me or anyone else...or we'll have to get the authorities involved."  "Okay Mama."

Yeah, I won that one.  Very cleverly I might add.

Another comical moment from Farrah was last night after playing a round of UNO.  She's very good, mind you.  She beat me...again.  But it was her victory celebration that was SO funny and not something I'd expect a 5 year old little girl (except for mine) to do.  She turned around, poked her butt towards my face, said "CH! CH!  Pkew! Pkew!"  Those are supposed to be the sounds of her cocking a gun and blasting it at me.  While she did the "pkew pkew" she popped her butt out like she was firing the "gun" at me.  She's terrible and awesome at the same time.

Binky

I found this little treasure today.  I don't know what compelled me to NEED to take a picture of it, but I did.  All that came to mind were the numerous captions that could go along with this.  Right off the bat, I was thinking "this is a perfectly fine binky, what the hell? Why leave it behind?"  Or you know how sometimes babies drop their binkies and mommies pick them up, suck on them to "clean them up" and put it back in their baby's mouth? Where was the mom on this one?  WTF?  Someone dropped the ball as a mother on this little task.
OR, someone gets the Mother Of The Year award if they do clean that thing up thoroughly and has the thought, "Yep, good enough for Jr."  OR Worst Mother Of The Year award if this is just given back to the baby.  I think that's what kept going through my mind that made me laugh so hard at this.  I actually pictured in my mind a mom just picking it up and handing it over to her baby without even thinking about it except to keep the baby quiet.  You know, sometimes we moms get tired and a little retarded at times.  Some worse than others.  This was a worse case scenario.  I'm probably not doing it any justice, but if anyone wants to come up with their own caption, they're welcome to it.  I'll be working on some real ones and post them somewhere on the world wide web, I'm sure. ; )  It's lying down on a dead leaf and next to leaked car oil.  Or is that a fish tail?

What if this JUST popped out of a babies mouth?!!  That's what this baby's binkies ALL look like!! Gross.  And yet, to me...awesome.

When Kid Games Go Wrong

This morning Farrah wanted to play a game with me.  "Let's make silly faces!"  It's not one of my favorite games, but she enjoys it a lot and I think mostly because she's learned how to cross her eyes and thinks it's hilarious.  Well, we'd gone a good 5 minutes going back and forth, back and forth.  Finally, I went for a different tactic.  I proceeded to pull my lower lip out and then down...further and further and further.  "Mama, you're freaking me out. You're freaking me out! YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT!!!!"  Of course, her face filled with terror only made me want to continue doing it even more and then add a little more by lifting my tongue back and showing my tongue veins.  I'm such an ass.  "STOP IT MOMMY!!! I DON'T WANT YOU TO RIP YOUR LIPS OFF!! DON'T PULL YOUR LIPS OFF OF YOUR FACE!!!"  I stopped and started to scream laugh so hard.  And my poor fragile daughter began to cry.  I had to explain that I wasn't going to rip my lips off my face and they were back to normal.  No harm done.  Then she said, "I was afraid if you ripped your lips off your face you would die."  I'm SUCH an ass.  Big hugs after that and a promise that I wouldn't try to pull my bottom lip out ever again.

However, I reserve the right to pull my bottom lip out as far as I can should she be disrespectful or not minding me.  I'll remind her how awful she's being with the threat of ripping part of my face off.  I'm not sure who wins there though.  But I'm sure it takes less energy than a good ol' fashion scolding.

OMG...Did this just happen

This literally happened to me less than 30 seconds ago, but it shook me to my core enough that I needed to post about it because it's that important.  I was looking for 3 inch pens for a project I'm working on.  An ink pen about the size of those little promo flashlights.  You can picture what I'm saying, right?  Well, I read through some of the sites that popped up on Google and none of them said anything.  However, one did say 3 inch pens.  So, of course I clicked on it.  And what should appear but a 3 inch PENIS.  Seeing a penis doesn't shake me to my core, but seeing it in a public coffee house where the potential of others seeing the 3 inch penis on my computer screen DOES shake me to my core.  Ooops!  "X" out of that page and pray to god that no one just saw that.  Let me say, it was only about 10 minutes ago that I had people sitting within eyesight on either side of me.  Luckily, I was alone when the 3 inch penis reared its ugly head.  Tee hee.  Gross, but funny.  Apparently, I have to be more specific in my search category.  "Pens" is short for "Penis", I guess.  Had no idea.

Sleep Over

Farrah had a sleep over at her friend's house a few weeks ago, but we decided it was our turn to have the sleep over at our house.  The two girls are very fond of each other and love to play together, but of course there's always going to be incidents.  The first one was the dead bird.  I saw them going up and down the back deck and then huddled together in a chair.  When I was on the phone, I had to quickly excuse myself so I could tell the girls to put down the dead bird and stop petting the poor thing.  "We want to bury it." was Farrah's response.  "I wish I could take it home to my house." was Audrey's.  Eww, eww, eww.  My response:

"DROP IT! DROP IT! DROP IT!"
"Come inside. DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"
"Come wash your hands. Don't touch ANYTHING!"
"Please don't touch that bird again. I know it's sad, but it's a little gross too."

Next...AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!  On the phone again, "I gotta go, gotta go, gotta go!"  "MOMMY!!!  AGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"  Tag + slammed doors + little fingers = no bueno.  While Farrah was okay and survived with all fingers intact and no broken bones, she was not a fan of the ice on the hands.  When a 4 year old friend, says she's sorry...they mean it, but more for fear of getting in trouble.  How do I know this?  Because Farrah had the same sort of apology for Audrey later.  They were arguing because Farrah wanted to sing "Circle of Life" from The Lion King, but Audrey wanted to actually watch the movie.  So during their argument, Farrah threatened to eat Audrey.  Audrey came downstairs crying and Farrah was freaking out and screaming "I SAID I'M SORRY!!!"  She wasn't.  So, I had to clarify whether Farrah intended on using salt and pepper when eating Audrey or not.  This made them laugh.  Then Audrey said she's bitten herself before and I asked her how her arm tasted.  Not good.  "See Farrah, not a good idea."  I got them to settle down for now, hope they're out for the night.

Nightmare 2

I thought I should share about this nightmare that Farrah had, since she's only had a small handful of them. The first one that was shared was about me...this one is about her Daddy.

"I had a bad dream last night.  It was about Daddy.  He was in a chair and there were monsters all around him making this face" (She proceeded to make an angry face showing all her teeth).  "They were putting salt on him.  I think they were going to eat him.  They put tape on his mouth."

Ick, I know.  But this will probably be the last of the shared blogged nightmares.

But there was a baby doll one with the red light.  That one freaked me the hell out.

Our Little Girl

Happy Birthday to our amazing daughter, Farrah. She is 5 today and is as wonderful as can be. Had Mike and I gone through a catalog and picked all we'd love in a daughter...she's it. Not ONE day can go by without a kiss, a bear hug, or an "I love you" from her. It would make her day incomplete. She loves to play, she loves to smile, she loves being silly, she loves to sing, she loves her friends, she loves to share what she learns at school every single day, she loves her WHOLE family and remembers them all regardless of how often she gets to or doesn't see them. She loves art, she loves Littlest Pet Shops, she loves to watch Horseland, and she loves to make wishes. But she also really loves her mommy and her daddy. There just aren't enough hugs and kisses from us to truly satisfy her big heart. Farrah loves to love. :) How can we not be beyond proud of being the parents of one of the best people I know in the world?

Happy Birthday my "Kitten"
Happy Birthday Daddy's "Boots"
Happy Birthday our Farrah...our love.

Smurfette

Before you start asking yourself if I saw the movie, I didn't.  I'm a little afraid to.  Here's why...
As a child, I grew up watching this cartoon.  It wasn't one of my favorites by any means, but it was on around the time all the WB cartoons were on which were my favorites.  So, there I was watching these little blue creatures on the screen every Saturday morning.  Looking back on it, I was always confused about something.  Smurfette.

Smurfette was the ONLY female Smurf out of the ENTIRE colony of Smurfs.  Ummm...something about that was always a tad disturbing to me.  There were so many episodes about the many other male Smurfs wanting to hook up with Smurfette.  She was dirty.  Sorry if I offend anyone who either loves the Smurfs, or hates that the obvious was just shoved in their face.  She'd be offered gifts and she'd accept them!  Dirty little tramp.  But what did they get in return, I wonder???  Oh, we find that out down the road.  Where the heck did Baby Smurf come from?  They never did explain that.  Also, there were all these little Kid Smurfs.  Who birthed them?  Well, the ONLY FEMALE SMURF of course!!!  Loosey Goosey.

Might I point out her 4-pack-a-day-smoker's voice?  There's no way she cut out the ciggies while "with child".  And then there's her dress.  It was like the famous Marilyn Monroe dress.  The one that, OOPS, blows up.   She would walk around skanking it out for all the other Smurfs and the only one that didn't fall for her shannanagans was Papa Smurf, but that's probably because he was her dad.  And if that's the case...!!! HELLO! Get with the program Papa and find some other female Smurfs and sit Smurfette down and chat with her about her behavior and disgusting smoking habits.

In her defense... IF she is the ONLY female Smurf, I suppose she has a duty to uphold to keep the Smurf race alive and therefore has to behave in such a manner to try and keep the male Smurfs interested.  And in which case, with having to work that hard to keep them enticed, she probably has to smoke 4 packs a day because she hates her job and her life.

Side note about why I won't see the movie:  Today's cinema wants to take classic cartoons that we used to enjoy as children and trash them up.  Too much adult humor is thrown in and the cute female chimpmunks are made to wear slutty clothes.  While, yes, I'm making fun of what I found to be obvious as a child, I don't want my 4 year old learning the truth about Smurfette.  It's just not time.

Ice Cream Truck Hell

While at the Sprinkler Park today, Farrah, Toby and I were enjoying a nice time in the sun and lying under the shade of a tree.  Then from out of no where, the blaring sirens of "music" from an ice cream truck crept its evil way to the park. Sunuvabitch.  Of course, this brings out the crazy excitedness out of my daughter.  But do I have money to get one?  No.  Would I have got her one had I had the money?  No.  Not because I'm an asshole but because I know what a $2.50 ice cream can do to a kid, my kid, in that heat.  That late in the day.  And after playing so much.  Also, I had a massive bag and a massive dog attached to me so the idea of chasing after that stupid truck was not appealing.  What also made it not appealing...?  Farrah's temper tantrum.  "NOT FAIR!!! IT'S NOT FAIR!!! NO!!! NO!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!"  The tantrum included a lot of screaming, crying, throwing herself on the grass and kicking.  I was told that I was not liked and she insisted on getting louder and louder, but this was because not only did I say no, but I was packing our stuff to leave.  Who was this person?  I believe I saw a piece of my childhood come out in my daughter today, but I expect better from her.  Especially since we have much better ice cream and pop cycles at home.  Needless to say, I hate the Ice Cream Truck and it's stupid music that constantly plays while other children get to go up and get their ice cream while my daughter screams at the top of her lungs.

One last note:

Yesterday, Farrah went to the dentist.  NOT ONE SINGLE CAVITY!!!  We were praised with how well we maintained her teeth, flossed, adding ACT to her daily mouth hygiene, as well as her diet.  I was so proud of her too!  At first she was scared of having her teeth cleaned, but brave little Farrah took it like a champ.  She was well behaved and scored big with the staff because her check up was s-i-m-p-l-e!
Kudos to us for not giving her pop everyday and handing over a candy bar every time she asks.  Oh, and using a Sonicare on a 4 year old (since she was 2).  Good girl Farrah!!!  Very proud of you. :)

Three Blind Mice

Three blind mice
Three blind mice
See how they run
See how they run
They all went after the farmer's wife
She cut off their tails with a carving knife
Have you ever seen such a sight in your life
As three blind mice



Yeah.  Um, I just sang that to Farrah and when I looked down with a smile on my face, her jaw was at the floor and her eyes were bulging out of her face.  Here, I thought I was singing a classic to her; something that I grew up singing.  Little did I know how very violent it was.  Who wrote this murderous tale?  She was not pleased and told me, "Mama, that's a BAD song!"

My bad.