So we recently became an official "Netflix" family, thanks to a trial offer. We're more a "Hastings" kind of family anyway, but since we can also get instant movies via the Wii, we're doing it, and it's somewhat expanded my usual selection. We typically rent whatever movie we intended to see in the theater but due to our lack of social life tend to miss before it's gone. I've watched some films I'd otherwise pass by. Today I, as any nerdy girl would do, curled up on the couch to watch National Geographic: Stress: Portrait of a Killer. I'll save you the trouble and fill you in on the important parts.
Baboons and some other monkeys studied spend about 3 hours finding and consuming food for the day, leaving them the rest of their waking hours to simply: mess with each other in a more often than not mean-spirited way.
The illustrative clips equated in my mind with a typical day with pretty much any two or more children, including one of a clearly dominant bully trying to drown his lankier younger sibling.
The point of the studies was simply surrounding the idea that the hierarchy of status within the group determined the health factors of the population. Those in positions of status were healthier, showing clearer arteries and lower blood pressure levels, and those in subordinate positions had clogged arteries, compromised immune systems, high cholesterol and actual spare tires. Surprisingly, it was not because those lower-class baboons gathered at McDonald's to pound Big Macs while they chain smoked and did tequila shots. It was simply because they spent the majority of their time stressed out because the more "important" baboons were busting their balls all day long.
Interesting.
They equated it with studies of people in England who work in the public-service sector over the course of 40 years, and found the same thing...those in higher positions tended to be healthier than working-class Joes. Of course, even the HIGHEST of the positions they studied had jacked up teeth, which is a given for those Brits (not a point of the documentary, just my observation).
So how, then, can I explain my cholesterol levels when I was pretty much on the course of being a ball buster, not a ball bustee? Apparently there's some busting going on in my life....could it be the two hooligans that I just spanked for the 47th time today for violating my cease and desist order on stairway-sleeping-bag-sledding? Is it my concern that when I stick them in the tub in about 10 minutes one of them will inevitably try to drown the other? Is it that when I get to work in the morning there might be a baboon in a suit (not naming any names) that will eat for 3 hours then have the rest of the day just to screw with the rest of us subordinates? Will we scatter, asses in the air, attempting to escape the wrath? Why can't someone just hold me and pick the lice out of my fur?
My plea to all: Please stop busting my balls, I can't afford to take time off for a cardiac bypass right now.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Buckle your seatbelts, we're going to Hell
Without getting all religious or theological here, I really do have to share a recent experience. If for nothing else than for you to learn from my mistakes, please pay attention. There won't be a test, but someday you may find yourself saying "now what was that Heather said about...?"
When Hell was first created, most would argue that it was of God's doing to have a place to cast Satan when he was kicked out of Heaven. I disagree. I believe Satan created Hell himself, since the first "version" of Hell was not quite right. God would never have made a mistake like that. It's now my belief, after this past week, that Satan created Hell, and his first attempt turned out too hot for his liking, so he tried again and created the Hell that we all know (or some of us will GET to know someday). This "reject" version of Hell which scorched the tips of his horns he left alone and called it "Chattanooga".
Okay, so I'm joking...it's not JUST Chattanooga, but really all the places around Chattanooga within about a 2000 mile radius.
It doesn't help that I've packed on enough layers of blubber to keep an Eskimo family from fretting if the Ice Road Truckers can't bring their supplies before the road thaws for the spring. But holy hotness Batman. Supposedly the degree difference from home wasn't an issue, but the humidity was. Whatever the case may be, my body wanted to shut down like it had too many shots at a frat party. The thermostat set to a comfortable 67 degrees in my hotel room, my sweatiness would begin directly out of the shower. I would just start drying myself off and couldn't get all the way done before I'd have to start over. Then I'd spend the remainder of my regular hair/makeup routine alternating spots from the mirror to directly in front of the A/C. The worst part of getting ready was squishing my clammy limbs into my clothes, which I reserved for the last possible moment before embarking out my freezer door to that jungle outside. I put on SIX applications of Secret (guess it's no Secret anymore) before heading out, and began to think they really ought to start making that in full body lotion form. I also started thinking a Depends Bra sounded like a pretty good idea.
So out the door and a short van ride later, we were in the coolness of a ginormous office complex where our training sessions were held. We started at 8, worked through lunch, and ended at 6. For anyone having to sit through a full day of training, it's torturous, but my days blew by fast since my fear was simply having to go back into that God-awful air again. Men from this office were wearing suits, so the only logical explanation for it is that they were robots. Robots with an extra coat of Rustoleum to keep the moisture from shorting out the circuit boards.
If any of my friends from home have an opportunity to visit that part of the country, I suggest a Christmas trip, since the views really were spectacular, so long as it was from the inside of a building. Pack your own Pepsi. Coke is KING there, and even asking for a Pepsi will leave you wondering if you'll end up being gator bait.
When Hell was first created, most would argue that it was of God's doing to have a place to cast Satan when he was kicked out of Heaven. I disagree. I believe Satan created Hell himself, since the first "version" of Hell was not quite right. God would never have made a mistake like that. It's now my belief, after this past week, that Satan created Hell, and his first attempt turned out too hot for his liking, so he tried again and created the Hell that we all know (or some of us will GET to know someday). This "reject" version of Hell which scorched the tips of his horns he left alone and called it "Chattanooga".
Okay, so I'm joking...it's not JUST Chattanooga, but really all the places around Chattanooga within about a 2000 mile radius.
It doesn't help that I've packed on enough layers of blubber to keep an Eskimo family from fretting if the Ice Road Truckers can't bring their supplies before the road thaws for the spring. But holy hotness Batman. Supposedly the degree difference from home wasn't an issue, but the humidity was. Whatever the case may be, my body wanted to shut down like it had too many shots at a frat party. The thermostat set to a comfortable 67 degrees in my hotel room, my sweatiness would begin directly out of the shower. I would just start drying myself off and couldn't get all the way done before I'd have to start over. Then I'd spend the remainder of my regular hair/makeup routine alternating spots from the mirror to directly in front of the A/C. The worst part of getting ready was squishing my clammy limbs into my clothes, which I reserved for the last possible moment before embarking out my freezer door to that jungle outside. I put on SIX applications of Secret (guess it's no Secret anymore) before heading out, and began to think they really ought to start making that in full body lotion form. I also started thinking a Depends Bra sounded like a pretty good idea.
So out the door and a short van ride later, we were in the coolness of a ginormous office complex where our training sessions were held. We started at 8, worked through lunch, and ended at 6. For anyone having to sit through a full day of training, it's torturous, but my days blew by fast since my fear was simply having to go back into that God-awful air again. Men from this office were wearing suits, so the only logical explanation for it is that they were robots. Robots with an extra coat of Rustoleum to keep the moisture from shorting out the circuit boards.
If any of my friends from home have an opportunity to visit that part of the country, I suggest a Christmas trip, since the views really were spectacular, so long as it was from the inside of a building. Pack your own Pepsi. Coke is KING there, and even asking for a Pepsi will leave you wondering if you'll end up being gator bait.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
More kids???
Our family finally received a long-awaited addition a week and a half ago. His gender was to be a surprise to everyone, but it was much speculated about. I asked the boys what they thought Auntie Sara was going to have, a boy or a girl, and what each of them thought a good name would be.
Esten: "I think she's going to have a boy, and I think she should name him Gilbert."
Clayton: "I think she's going to have a boy too, and I think she should name him Fluffy."
We talk about babies a lot around our family. Between Jason and I and our siblings' families, we have made our parents grandparents again 9 times over in the past 8 years, and number 10 will be here before the year is out. Someone has had a baby every year since 2002. I'd like to take this opportunity to say regarding 2011, "NOT IT".
Esten is very vocal about feeling cheated out of something. He's always complaining that other people "have more kids than we do". Once, on a quick stop at the grocery store, we crossed paths on the way out with a family who had just poured out of a mini van. Mom, dad, and 6 kids. Esten scowled, pointed at them, and griped at me, "That is SO not fair!! They have WAY more kids than we do. How come WE can't have 6 kids and a mini van like THEM??? We only have TWO and that is not enough."
The mother and father both burst out laughing. Maybe it was a rare moment where they actually felt sorry for someone else instead of the other way around. There they were with their 6 little ducklings so quiet in a little line following their mommy, daddy bringing up the rear. They really had their act together. And there was me, with a measly little ragamuffin looking litter of unruly mouthy boys who refused to hold my hand to keep from getting flattened in the parking lot. Esten's opinion spewing did not stop there. Once strapped to his booster seat he let me have it with both barrels.
"Mom, we have to get some more kids....we just HAVE to."
"Where would they all sleep? We don't have any room for more."
"Yeah we do, I'll sleep with Grandma, and Clayton can sleep with Grandpa so two of them, the other boys, they can sleep in our beds. Then the other ones, the 6 girls can sleep in the play room, there's lots of room for bunk beds in there."
"Really? Geez, how many kids would that be?"
"Oh, you're right, that's only 10. We need 12."
"Clayton: YEAH. We need 12."
Seriously. If 12 is the magic number, then 6 of them better be the ones from the grocery store parking lot. They're already trained.
Esten: "I think she's going to have a boy, and I think she should name him Gilbert."
Clayton: "I think she's going to have a boy too, and I think she should name him Fluffy."
We talk about babies a lot around our family. Between Jason and I and our siblings' families, we have made our parents grandparents again 9 times over in the past 8 years, and number 10 will be here before the year is out. Someone has had a baby every year since 2002. I'd like to take this opportunity to say regarding 2011, "NOT IT".
Esten is very vocal about feeling cheated out of something. He's always complaining that other people "have more kids than we do". Once, on a quick stop at the grocery store, we crossed paths on the way out with a family who had just poured out of a mini van. Mom, dad, and 6 kids. Esten scowled, pointed at them, and griped at me, "That is SO not fair!! They have WAY more kids than we do. How come WE can't have 6 kids and a mini van like THEM??? We only have TWO and that is not enough."
The mother and father both burst out laughing. Maybe it was a rare moment where they actually felt sorry for someone else instead of the other way around. There they were with their 6 little ducklings so quiet in a little line following their mommy, daddy bringing up the rear. They really had their act together. And there was me, with a measly little ragamuffin looking litter of unruly mouthy boys who refused to hold my hand to keep from getting flattened in the parking lot. Esten's opinion spewing did not stop there. Once strapped to his booster seat he let me have it with both barrels.
"Mom, we have to get some more kids....we just HAVE to."
"Where would they all sleep? We don't have any room for more."
"Yeah we do, I'll sleep with Grandma, and Clayton can sleep with Grandpa so two of them, the other boys, they can sleep in our beds. Then the other ones, the 6 girls can sleep in the play room, there's lots of room for bunk beds in there."
"Really? Geez, how many kids would that be?"
"Oh, you're right, that's only 10. We need 12."
"Clayton: YEAH. We need 12."
Seriously. If 12 is the magic number, then 6 of them better be the ones from the grocery store parking lot. They're already trained.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Kindergarten, Schmindergarten!
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Clayton is every bit as excited as Esten about this. |
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Esten picked out his own clothes-gotta look sharp if you're gonna pick out a girlfriend the first day. |
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| I really AM excited, I was just kidding! |
Kindergarten. Some of the best memories of your entire school life start there. This is the one teacher it's guaranteed you'll never forget. You'll be surprised when you're older and you find out she's retiring. You'll be surprised because you think she's about as old as anyone can be already, and shocked that she could still be teaching at 103. The best ones will track you down in high school to give you back a picture you colored for her.
So this morning the tables were finally turned. Instead of me huffing and puffing to get the boys to get the lead out, Esten was under my feet griping at me...."Hurry UUUUUP MOM! We're going to be late and I'll have to go to the Principal's office!!!!" Hm, excited much? Yes.
Esten has been beside himself about going into Kindergarten. This is serious business for a boy who thrives on any fact that solidifies his superiority over his little brother. It started way back in preschool for him last year when his teacher there explained that they would be (most of them) going to Kindergarten next fall. Once in the car, Esten cockily boasted, "I get to go to KENDRICK Garden next year and you don't get to, Clayton, because you're too little." Obviously he came up with that little word of his own since Auntie Angie lives in Kendrick and teaches Kindergarten, that MUST be what it's called. Phonetics aside, Clayton burst into tears. It's been an on again-off again backstabbing battle since then. Whenever Esten wants to get a good dig in, he'll just remind Clayton about the awesome bus ride he'll go on every day, just like Napoleon Dynamite.
Yes, Napoleon Dynamite. Without the pesky interjection of school in their little lives thus far, a goodly portion of their education comes right from where God intended...the television. While early on I could get away with Little Einsteins and Dora, they have added new "favorites" to their list, and now that Esten knows how to run the remote himself, anything that comes up on channels 170-176 are on his radar. Thanks to Napoleon, he told me he's okay with the school idea now, and that if he needs some chapstick or his tummy hurts there is a nurse at the school he can go talk to. Hmmm. Thanks, I guess...I hadn't thought of that. He also pointed out to me my lacking in the cooking department since we "never have any TOTS for dinner".
Sorry Honey, mommy is trying to control her cholesterol.
So day one of Kindergarten down. Many many more to go. Hopefully discussions of insect wings and primary colors and how to be a good friend will begin to choke out discussions about why it's not okay for him to throw an action figure out the back bus window on a string and drag it all the way to school.
Lord help us - especially since we'll be doing this with Clayton all over again next year.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission
About a month ago Jason and I took two couple friends of ours on the boat for the Joan Jett concert. They met us at the marina and loaded their stuff up while I was still in our truck trying to hold back a puke from a migraine. It's usually my job to offload the boat into the water after Jason backs the trailer down, but since Brett was there, I got to just be a passenger and relax with everyone else. This was NICE.
I noticed in one of the two wake/surfboard holders a wakeboard I had not met yet. It was black with shiny chrome "stuff" on it. Since Dustin has his own boat and Brett has been known to own such things even without a boat I asked which one of them it belonged to. They both shot nervous looks at each other, then their wives joined in. Finally one of them piped up, clearly annoyed with her hubs.
"He didn't TELL her?"
The boys knew they were caught, and immediately backpedaled with the whole I-told-him-he-should-have-told-you thing. Jason was still parking the truck.
As he made his way down to the dock and onto the front of the boat sans flip-flops, everyone waited in silence for the bomb to drop. Eventually one of the guys couldn't take it anymore.
"Dude, she knows. She noticed like right away, I couldn't lie about it."
Jason has apparently learned quickly from my dad, the master of making purchases without any discussions or decision-making sessions with my mom. I think his best one ever was rolling in the driveway with a backhoe. Then he bought a trailer to put it on, then a full size construction dump truck to pull it. He once tried to get Jason to buy a wood stove for the shop behind my back. Jason wouldn't do it and Dad was annoyed. Dad wanted so bad to buy the stove just to "force" him to do it, to stand up to me. He told Jason it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Funny thing is I don't really remember Dad or Jason asking for forgiveness on any deals.
This purchase was no exception. No begging for forgiveness, only justification. Something about an awesome deal and blah blah blah. To be honest, he and his buddies were all trying at once to try to make me feel better about it so I don't even remember what all was said. I actually wasn't even mad, but man it was fun to watch all three of them squirm. When all was said and done, who can be upset over such a device that lets one's Prince Charming catch sweet sweet air like this:
...and keeps a smile on his face like this:
PRICELESS!
I noticed in one of the two wake/surfboard holders a wakeboard I had not met yet. It was black with shiny chrome "stuff" on it. Since Dustin has his own boat and Brett has been known to own such things even without a boat I asked which one of them it belonged to. They both shot nervous looks at each other, then their wives joined in. Finally one of them piped up, clearly annoyed with her hubs.
"He didn't TELL her?"
The boys knew they were caught, and immediately backpedaled with the whole I-told-him-he-should-have-told-you thing. Jason was still parking the truck.
As he made his way down to the dock and onto the front of the boat sans flip-flops, everyone waited in silence for the bomb to drop. Eventually one of the guys couldn't take it anymore.
"Dude, she knows. She noticed like right away, I couldn't lie about it."
Jason has apparently learned quickly from my dad, the master of making purchases without any discussions or decision-making sessions with my mom. I think his best one ever was rolling in the driveway with a backhoe. Then he bought a trailer to put it on, then a full size construction dump truck to pull it. He once tried to get Jason to buy a wood stove for the shop behind my back. Jason wouldn't do it and Dad was annoyed. Dad wanted so bad to buy the stove just to "force" him to do it, to stand up to me. He told Jason it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Funny thing is I don't really remember Dad or Jason asking for forgiveness on any deals.
This purchase was no exception. No begging for forgiveness, only justification. Something about an awesome deal and blah blah blah. To be honest, he and his buddies were all trying at once to try to make me feel better about it so I don't even remember what all was said. I actually wasn't even mad, but man it was fun to watch all three of them squirm. When all was said and done, who can be upset over such a device that lets one's Prince Charming catch sweet sweet air like this:
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Good News/Bad News
Isn't it funny how when someone says they have good news and bad news, it's usually just bad news?
Esten came barreling down the stairs in his undies Friday night. He casually walked along the back of the couch and said matter-of-factly, "OK guys, I have some good news and I have some bad news". I have no idea where he has picked this phrase up, likely from Phineas and Ferb or King of the Hill for that matter. After Jason and I exchanged confused and hesitant looks at each other Jason said, "Tell us the bad news first".
"The bad news is that one baby wipe is still in the toilet."
That didn't really seem like bad news, especially considering the baby wipes do NOT go in the toilet. There might still be a chance to retrieve it.
"But the GOOD news is that ALL the other baby wipes went down."
We could not help but both break into gut-bomb laughter. Esten was annoyed.
"I AM SERIOUS HERE."
I tried to regain my composure. "How many of the wipes went down?"
"Like ten or something."
BREATHE. BREATHE. It's going to be okay. Needless to say, it took me and the plunger quite a while to undo the "good news" part of this dilemma. In reality, it's probably at least partially the same conversation we would have had with a plumber, in the alternate universe where I actually call on professionals to bail us out of maintenance disasters.
"I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is I can fix it. The bad news is you're going to have to sell one or both of your kidneys on Craigslist to cover the repair bill."
Esten came barreling down the stairs in his undies Friday night. He casually walked along the back of the couch and said matter-of-factly, "OK guys, I have some good news and I have some bad news". I have no idea where he has picked this phrase up, likely from Phineas and Ferb or King of the Hill for that matter. After Jason and I exchanged confused and hesitant looks at each other Jason said, "Tell us the bad news first".
"The bad news is that one baby wipe is still in the toilet."
That didn't really seem like bad news, especially considering the baby wipes do NOT go in the toilet. There might still be a chance to retrieve it.
"But the GOOD news is that ALL the other baby wipes went down."
We could not help but both break into gut-bomb laughter. Esten was annoyed.
"I AM SERIOUS HERE."
I tried to regain my composure. "How many of the wipes went down?"
"Like ten or something."
BREATHE. BREATHE. It's going to be okay. Needless to say, it took me and the plunger quite a while to undo the "good news" part of this dilemma. In reality, it's probably at least partially the same conversation we would have had with a plumber, in the alternate universe where I actually call on professionals to bail us out of maintenance disasters.
"I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is I can fix it. The bad news is you're going to have to sell one or both of your kidneys on Craigslist to cover the repair bill."
Friday, August 6, 2010
Friends are the family you pick for yourself
We just got back from yet another not nearly long enough visit with friends. Jason's college buddy and his wife have 3 kids, two older and one younger than Esten and Clayton. We try to get together at least twice a year, but this year we happened to cram both visits within about 3 weeks of each other. As we reluctantly packed our bags for the 6 hour road trip home, I came to understand that friends, especially friends you want to call in sick just to spend another day with, are really the family you pick for yourself.
I grew up with an Uncle Bill who wasn't even related to us. He was from one of probably the richest "old money" families in the Valley. You'd never have known it to look at him though. In 25 years I never saw him in anything but green Dickies work clothes, and those were typically dirty. He never drove a new truck. But every time he pulled in our driveway I would run through the yard squealing his name - "UNCLE BIIIIILL!!" He always had a huge smile and candy for me. When I was five he showed up with a puppy. Half poodle, half terrier, he claimed to have found it wandering in a ditch around one of his properties and said it was for me. The happy expression on my face was balanced out by the cringe on Dad's. We were not really a "dog" family. Cats were fine, so long as they stayed outside to do their mousing around the barns. Dogs? I never really asked because I think I knew better. Taffy didn't make it through the first winter and was the first and last dog I ever had.
Bill and his wife vacationed in Hawaii one year and returned with a real grass skirt and an ivory necklace for me. Ivory - before it was banned. The grass skirt won me the "most Hawaiian" contest at the Omark Summer Picnic - two passes to the Hydrotube and a bottle of suntan lotion (not sunscreen, dark tanning lotion). I was stoked.
Through the years and even after Bill passed away, I knew that there was a reason Dad had introduced him to me as Uncle Bill. Dad and Bill were such good friends that Dad considered him as he would a brother and wanted to pass that respect for their relationship on to me.
Since the boys were babies, I have done the same with some of our friends. Esten and Clayton have a few Aunties and Uncles that share no blood whatsoever with me or Jason. It's only been recently that it's become a source of confusion for them, as Esten is now making more sense out of familial connections. First was the heartache over why he couldn't marry Kenadie. Can't marry your cousin (in Idaho - lol). That got all turned around for him when he decided then he also could not marry Lauren. I explained that he could if she would ever say yes, because they are not really cousins. I thought the explanation about how Uncle Scot is not really Daddy's brother would upset him, like we've been lying to him this whole time or something, but he surprised me.
"Oh, so Daddy just picked Uncle Scot to be his brother because he loved him even though they didn't have bunk beds together when they were little boys?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that", I said. Apparently he fully understood that concept quite easily. I can't wait to see who all ends up in my kids' "family" someday.
I grew up with an Uncle Bill who wasn't even related to us. He was from one of probably the richest "old money" families in the Valley. You'd never have known it to look at him though. In 25 years I never saw him in anything but green Dickies work clothes, and those were typically dirty. He never drove a new truck. But every time he pulled in our driveway I would run through the yard squealing his name - "UNCLE BIIIIILL!!" He always had a huge smile and candy for me. When I was five he showed up with a puppy. Half poodle, half terrier, he claimed to have found it wandering in a ditch around one of his properties and said it was for me. The happy expression on my face was balanced out by the cringe on Dad's. We were not really a "dog" family. Cats were fine, so long as they stayed outside to do their mousing around the barns. Dogs? I never really asked because I think I knew better. Taffy didn't make it through the first winter and was the first and last dog I ever had.
Bill and his wife vacationed in Hawaii one year and returned with a real grass skirt and an ivory necklace for me. Ivory - before it was banned. The grass skirt won me the "most Hawaiian" contest at the Omark Summer Picnic - two passes to the Hydrotube and a bottle of suntan lotion (not sunscreen, dark tanning lotion). I was stoked.
Through the years and even after Bill passed away, I knew that there was a reason Dad had introduced him to me as Uncle Bill. Dad and Bill were such good friends that Dad considered him as he would a brother and wanted to pass that respect for their relationship on to me.
Since the boys were babies, I have done the same with some of our friends. Esten and Clayton have a few Aunties and Uncles that share no blood whatsoever with me or Jason. It's only been recently that it's become a source of confusion for them, as Esten is now making more sense out of familial connections. First was the heartache over why he couldn't marry Kenadie. Can't marry your cousin (in Idaho - lol). That got all turned around for him when he decided then he also could not marry Lauren. I explained that he could if she would ever say yes, because they are not really cousins. I thought the explanation about how Uncle Scot is not really Daddy's brother would upset him, like we've been lying to him this whole time or something, but he surprised me.
"Oh, so Daddy just picked Uncle Scot to be his brother because he loved him even though they didn't have bunk beds together when they were little boys?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that", I said. Apparently he fully understood that concept quite easily. I can't wait to see who all ends up in my kids' "family" someday.
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