Funny

Smokey

 
After reading Lindsey’s blog about bleeding orange I remembered that I had some pretty good pictures of the girls celebrating LG’s UT Law graduation. Here are just two of those pictures.

This is a picture of Bella with her orange and white pom pom and Abigail with Smokey. This story is about Bella and Smokey (UT’s one and only Vol mascot), but, as you can see, there is no picture of Bella WITH Smokey.

You see, Abigail tried to take Bella up to see Smokey, but Bella (my toughest daughter by far) choked halfway up the bleachers. Abigail was bewildered because she was trying to hurry to get to Smokey on time before Smokey moved on, and Bella just froze. I was watching them all the way and because of my prior experience with big stuffed animals, I knew from afar that Bella may be having issues.

My little sister Renee hated Chuck E Cheese when she was small. For all I know, she still does.

Well, anyhow, I had to run up and retrieve Bella from Abigail’s care, so that Abigail could hurry and get this photo. Before I was even able to snap the photo, I had to take a very anxious Bella back to the other side of the Colliseum to her father so he could protect her from the big bad mascot.

The rest of the evening Bella kept her very vigiliant watch on Smokey and kindly asked to go home whenever he got too close. We were trying every kind of reasoning to teach Bella that the big stuffed dog would not hurt her. The first reasoning being just that: he is just a big stuffed dog. Nothing was working. I have to admit that my best 3 year old reasoning was this: “Bella, that is just Smokey, he is related to Chuck E Cheese. You remember ChuckE from Sophia’s Birthday party, don’t you? He was so nice. You danced with him and the other kids. Well, Smokey is ChuckE’s cousin.”
This seemed to bewilder Bella more than anything. She was probably trying to figure out how a stuffed dog and a stuffed mouse could actually be related, but then again, maybe not. Now, whenever we see a big stuffed anything ranging from the ChikFilA cow to the Hardee’s Star, the girls always immediately holler, “Bella, look there’s another one of ChuckE’s cousins.

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Golfer Envy

Abigail was watching the Samsung LPGA World Championship with LG earlier today.

“Dad,” said Abigail, “she really likes LG,” refering to Angela Park and her shirt that was plastered with LG Electronics logos.

“I don’t think she likes LG, Abigail, they pay her to wear that shirt.”

“Golfers get paid to wear clothes!?!?”

“Yeah.”

“Dad, I want to be a professional golfer.”

That’s my girl.

Hey Judicial LG

Hey Jude!

Alrighty, Here is the long awaited video that LG was hoping I would forget about. Hit the “Hey Jude” link above. You should have seen LG’s face when he finished helping me post this on googlevideos. It was a three way tie between total fear, complete embarassment and ‘imsofunny”. You know I have to thank LG for two things: 1 -for acting like a complete dork and 2 – You know I couldn’t have uploaded this video without his help. It only took us five days to figure out how to do it. I hope it was worth the trouble.

As I saw the embarassed smirk on LG’s face, all I could say is, “At least it’s not YouTube, right?”I think that this is absolutely hillarious, if you didn’t already know that bymy laughter that drowns out LG as a star on the video. Those of you that know LG will really enjoy it. The rest of you, may just have to suffer.

One of the best parts of the video is Uncle Dirk’s comment at the very end…it is in the background very quietly…In Uncle Dirk’s best southern boss hogg accent, “There’s a trial lawyer in you yet, boy” or something like that.

LG was totally hamming it up at Claytor Lake with the family Karoake Bar. I LOVE Karaoke! Can you tell that LG was happy to have the Bar Exam finally completed! And of course, The Beatles bring out the best in him.

Self Check OUT

I have searched high and low on the internet for a picture of self check-out in action. This picture was with an article found here.

I wanted a point of reference as I tell you one of my most HILARIOUS embarassing life experiences. This is a good one, I promise, you want to keep reading.

O.k., much has been said about self-check out. Everyone has their own opinion about whether or not self check out is a good thing for society. My opinion of self checkout should have changed after my experience yesterday, but I have to admit that I will still be a frequent user of self check-out. I LOVE it.

I am addicted to self check-out. In fact, I HATE it when the workers who oversee the self checkout kiosks try to get too involved with my check out process. There is this one elderly employee at Wal-Mart that will stand by my side the whole time giving me tips, telling me how to unload my shopping cart, and what the codes are on the produce, and so forth. I want to shout at her, “Would you let me be? I am in the self checkout because I don’t want to deal with people like you!” I guess she just doesn’t understand that I am completely capable of scanning bar codes and swiping my own debit card. What she really doesn’t get is the sheer joy I feel when “pretending” that I am the cashier(a job I always wanted to have as a child). “AND I REALLY WANT TO DO IT BY MYSELF…o.k. grandma!”

Well, there is my take on self checkout. Now let me tell you of my experience at Wal-Mart yesterday. [Don’t you think I should start to tally how many times I write about Wal-Mart.] I guess it is a funny place. Let me tell you what, you would have been laughing hysterically if you were anywhere near me at Wal-Mart yesterday. I literally CHECKED MYSELF OUT!

Well, a friend offered to take my children for me so that I could do some heavy duty shopping. Bless her heart, there is NOTHING more painful than doing heavy duty shopping with three children under 6, unless you want to add more children to the scenario. I was in a HUGE hurry. Abigail started first grade today, and yesterday from 3-4 p.m. was the “meet the teacher” day. I dropped the kids off at one and vowed to be back by two; this would give me just enough time to get the groceries home, clean Abigail up, and drop Phia and Bella off at the other babysitter. I knew I would have to hurry. One hour is just not enough time to do heavy duty “I have nothing in the house” shopping.

So, of course, I found the time to be 2:05 and I hadn’t even had a chance to navigate through the frozen food aisles. I made a mental note to do the frozen stuff later and hurried my way to the self-checkout, knowing that I had to make it real fast if I was going to get to the school by 3. O.k., so here is the crazy part:

I was unloading one shopping cart, checking items out, and loading them all into an empty shopping cart on the other side. I was crusing! I got my six gallons of milk scanned and set in the bottom portion of shopping cart #2. I then, proceeded on to my 12 pack of diet caffeine free dr. pepper. As I came back up (still, in a rushed mode, remember) I went to quickly grab the next item from my original shopping cart. Except my aim was WAY off. I slammed the top front part of my head against the corner of the scanning device. I heard a loud POP sound, and couldn’t believe that I had slammed my head that hard in front of all those people. How embarassing. Little did I know that the slamming noise was the least of my worries.

I stood upright and brought my hand to my head, just hoping that I wouldn’t find blood. I am unsure of what happened first, me feeling blood trickle down my face, or looking at my hand full of blood. I got dizzy and sat down on the “bagging” section of the self checkout. Thankfully there were no groceries there, leaving me a perfect little recovery bench. I am also thankful that the weighing device didn’t shout out “weight not found” or “get off the scale”. I sat there, put my head down, and held pressure on my bleeding head. How mortifying! There was blood all over my hair and face, the floor, my hand, and arm.

An older Tennessee native (who was missing most of her teeth) was walking by with her grandchildren right as all of this conspired. Normally, she would not be the kind of person that I might associate with, but yesterday before she left, I gave her a huge hug and told her, “Thank the Lord for Mothers!” She stepped right into action, grabbed a travel size kleenex off of the shelf and started handing them over. At one point she held them on my head for me. What a woman. She didn’t know me or my blood history at all. In fact during the confusion I did promise her that my blood was clean. I probably stressed her out, as I am the kind of paranoid person that worries about blood diseases and so forth and she probably hadn’t even thought of it.

Finally, the Wal-Mart workers became aware of what was going on. The first one on the scene questioned my new older friend, “What happened?” I shouted out, “She beat me up!” You gotta make light of the situation, right? How else does a person survive such an embarassment? Everyone had a good laugh and more and more Wal-Mart workers came out of the woodwork. (Why is that when you need a worker you can never find one? And, if you ever need customer service, you have to stand in a line for at least 15 minutes?…….Because ALL Wal-Mart workers feel the need to respond to a little emergency like a lady bleeding all over their floor in self checkout) One of the workers commented to the other, “She is bleeding like a stuck pig.” I don’t know if she was looking at the scale that I was sitting on or if she was trying to make any reference to my weight, but golly, do you think that was what I needed to hear at this horrific moment? Like everyone couldn’t see the blood for themselves!

So, I started to regain consciousness, and threw out a request to my Wal-Mart fan club….”Can someone please get the Wipees from my purse?” (a good mom always has the wipees within arms reach) I started wiping off my head and hands and at this moment, the nicest worker, who happened to look a little like my husband, said, “Oh, here, sweetie, let me clean up your eyes.” I closed them so that he could take care of me, unlike the rest of the staff who just stood around staring in awe. Someone did bring me some ice which was really nice. Then, the short little manager (you know he is a manager because he wears a red vest) asked me if he could take a statement. The nice guy that looked like my husband proceeded to check out the rest of my cart (or buggy as they call it here in TN). I stood up and proclaimed to the crowd of 8 that I would not sue Wal-Mart. It was totally my own clumsy fault. The short man said it was protocol to have me sign something.

I said, “Can you make it quick? I have to go and meet my daughter’s teacher right now.” This brought a roar of laughter. I guess I looked pretty awful and holding that bag of ice on my head didn’t help the situation. I then got a stroke of genius. I said to the crowd, “Come to think of it, maybe I could get Wal-Mart to pay my husband’s way through LAW school.” Everyone laughed and the short serious manager replied with a worried tone, “Your husband isn’t really in law school, is he?” I loved to get his goat and said, “Yes he is, and maybe I should call him before I sign anything.” He tried to play it off like he wasn’t worried, but what he was probably thinking about was the little sign that they keep in the break room that will now proclaim 0 days since an accident on the sales floor. I laughed and told him I was kidding, and reasurred him that I wasn’t going to sue. He informed me that I had only 24 hours to let Wal-Mart know if I was in need of anything.

I then tried to awkwardly push my VERY heavy shopping cart out of the store while holding a bag of ice on my head. I smiled to myself because I was on my way, and maybe would even make it to meet the teacher on time. And, I had to laugh at myself. How many people on the internet have a self checkout story that even compares to mine? I survived checking MYSELF out at Wal-Mart. (and I am not talking about in the dressing room mirror) I can never show my face there again, but hey, I survived.

Farts and Poops

This is Bella’s bum trying to fit into her diaper. I love it when the kids have plumber’s bum. So cute! Great shot, huh? I hope it’s not considered “inappropriate”.

Well, Bella has taken on a very endearing ritual. I first need to fill you in on my thoughts about the word “fart”. I thought it would be fun to share, even though my mother will be devastated that I am using the word “fart” so freely. I guess I am not a lady at all because I have never had a problem with the word fart. I mean why do people think the word is so bad? Fart, toot, pass gas, flatulate…they all mean the same action…..air being passed from a not so nice smelling part of the body. Everybody does it. Well, as you read on you will see that I am passing on the non-lady like use of the word “fart” to my three poor daughters. LG and I think it is funny when they say it.

We laughed SO hard the time Sophia announced to a crowded restaraunt that she had farted. Well, in the past two months, Bella, our little clown, has figured out that when she says the word fart it makes people laugh. So, whenever I ask her if she needs to be changed, I say, “Bella, are you poopy; do you have poops; do you need your diaper changed?”, she replies ever so slyly with, “No, I just farted.” At two, she is showing huge potential for being a funny adult, don’t you think?

I was staying at my in-laws for the last couple of days. My father-in-law, was very kind and offered to watch the girls while I went to a girls’ dinner with my mother-in-law and some extended family. I explained that I had left a diaper and wipes in the bathroom for Bella in case he needed it. Now, I know how he feels about poopy diapers. He wasn’t even fond of changing his own kids. So, I told him, “If she does poop, if you don’t want to deal with it, if you can stand the smell, just leave it, she’ll be o.k. until I get back.”

On the way to dinner I confided my concern for my father-in-law and the diaper situation to my mother-in-law. She just cracked me up and said, “Oh, he’ll be fine. You should have told him that you were just giving him an opportunity to pay you back for his diapers that you are going to have to change someday.”

Well, he did have to change a poopy diaper a half an hour after we left. I voiced my appreciation from the hallway as I was leaving to come home last night. I also mentioned that he had given me a good reason to have to change his diapers someday. I wasn’t too surprised when no laughter came from the office. I am sure he was horrified at the thought. I quickly p.s.’ed with the declaration that Faye had told me to tell him that. Still no response. What do you do? Again, I am left to wonder if my father-in-law will continue to accept me. So, in explanation: Duane, it was just a joke. If someone needs to change your diapers when you get old, I promise, it won’t be me. That is what Amy is for.

The Potluck

Learn one VITAL sign in ASL: Eat food!

As opposed to Eat poo (“U-no-poo” was one of my favorite parts of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince by J.K. Rowling)Wouldn’t I love to be like J.K. Rowling someday!

Well, this entry is dedicated to one vital facet of Mormon life…..the potluck dinner. I must say that before moving to Tennessee, I really liked potlucks. But, too many bad experiences in my congregation here have quite turned me off. At our Christmas party last year, we ran out of food…..a Christmas party with not enough food???????
And sometimes after church on Sundays we have what is called a “linger longer” where all people bring food items of their choice and after our 3 hours of meetings we dine together. Or, we are supposed to dine together.

Last year I made a vow to never attend a linger longer again. On this particular Sunday, I left disgusted with potluck dinners. I had taken 3 dozen homemade rolls and two very yummy and large salads. When it came time to eat I found myself at the back of a very long line. I gathered 3 empty plates for my children and was astounded when all that was left of the spread was some yucky mac-n-cheese- and a 3 quarter empty rice-cooker with cold hard rice. My kids were starving and the people ahead of us had been VERY RUDE and gotten themselves very large servings and sometimes even TWO plates. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I told LG that I would never attend a linger longer again.

Yesterday, after church, LeGrand came home and said, “Alice, you aren’t going to like this, but….” I had no idea what he was going to say….only the worst was going through my mind…..(IDEAS: the Bishop wants us to donate a $1,000, I have been called on a mission to Zimbabwe, I want a divorce)

I braced myself, and inquired. He said,”I think that we should go to the Linger Longer next week.” I lovingly questioned him and he put forth some powerful arguements and I agreed that I would go, but that I would stash enough lunch for the kids in the diaper bag, just in case.

As LG walked back to our bedroom to change out of his suit, I hollered, “LG, you aren’t going to like this, but, I think we should have another baby.” (No, I am not announcing anything)

LG, turned quick on his heels, met me in the kitchen, made eye contact and said, “O.k. Alice, we don’t have to go to the linger longer.” Isn’t he funny?

P.S. I think he talked me out of Baby #4 for now.

London Bridge

Our prayers to the victims of terrorism in the wonderful city of London. Here is a poem I wrote after 9/11. It showcases my feelings toward terrorism.

Choose to Live

I will choose the faith, not the threatening fear.
Observe the children at play and not their danger.
I will hear the laughter, not see the tear.
The love of a friend, not the threat of a stranger.

Life is not lived if we choose to retreat.
If all we see is wrong then we have failed our test.
Let us not all give up, stay home, be beat.
Choose to live and give and take from life the best.

Now, if that hasn’t done enough to inspire you, here is a quick funny story.

About a month ago, we went over to the home of some friends, who had also invited a woman over who is a new member of our church. She is a single mom to a 6 year old son. At one point all of the children were engaged in the timeless game of “London Bridge”. As I assisted the 6 year old boy and my 6 year old daughter, I made a terrible Freudian slip…..”Take the key and knock her up.” I swear I need to staple my lips together!!!

For you die hard fans….Yes, I am going to still try and get on here once in while. Sorry, I got really burned out….keep watching…I could surprise you.

The Datsuns


Sheila with Adam Posted by Hello

May Sheila Rest In Peace. This is the last known picture of one of our beloved Datsun 210’s. Yes, you heard me correct….ONE of our Datsun 210’s. Our family had the fortune of owning two of them, at the same time. Because Adam, Shannon, and I were all in high school and driving at the same time, my parents honored us with both cars. Between the three of us, we still had to share, but hey, we took what we could get. Sharing two cars was definitely better than just having one.

I totally agree with my parents’ decision of giving us pieces-of-junk to drive. (Not that they drove anything nicer) As you can tell from the picture above, these cars took a good beating. (I don’t know why any parent would give their amateur driving child a new car.) For the life of me, I cannot recall how we even knew the difference between the two cars; they were like identical twins. They were the same make and model, the same exterior color, the same interior color, and the same piece of junk. In the beginning, I guess the only way we knew the difference was by the liscence plate. However, after breaking the cars in, it must have been much easier to tell the difference. I personally crashed one of the cars. After my fender bender, we always knew the difference. No one wanted to drive the Datsun without the grill.

The Datsun that I crashed never got her grill back. The only reason that I know that I didn’t crash Sheila is from the picture above (notice Sheila still has her front grill). The Datsun I crashed was never forunate to have a name, like Shiela. Adam named Sheila years after we were in high school. He bought her from my parents for $2. Sheila was a great car. I can remember taking her on a trip from Provo, Utah to Carlsbad, California and back (aproximately 1200 miles round trip). Sheila had no heater, and the weather was below zero in Utah. We almost froze to death, all cuddled up under quilts. We were like Mormon pioneers. We were so happy when we reached Happy Valley (Las Vegas) where it finally started to warm up.

Another side note about Sheila is that she had no defrosting component. So, not only did we freeze to death when driving in her, we also, had a special way of clearing the windows for driving vision. Adam kept a towel and a credit card in the front seat of the car at all times. He would stop every ten miles or so and perform the ritual of scraping the left side of the window down and then wiping it thoroughly. On this one particular long trip, it became the shotgun passenger’s responsibility. This way we wouldn’t have to stop. It becasme a real talent to scrape the window without obstructing the driver’s vision.

The other Datsun with no name, never took any long distance trips that I can think of. Although, I am sure that the car was involved with many other fun times: Like the time we stole 12 pairs of shoes from the bowling alley, only to have my dad find them in the back of the car the next day. We had to drive back to the bowling alley after church and give them back with an apology.

The most memorable time that I spent with the Datsun-with-no-name was when I was a Senior in High School. I had this boyfriend, Matt Jewell. He was a freshman, and I sure did take a lot of slack for dating him, but I was very immature for my age and he was so FINE! One night, Matt and I were driving down the coast. Of course, I was driving, since he was only 15. (Hey, I was barely 17)

So, we’ve already established that the Datsun was a piece of junk. It had a tail light out and the registration wasn’t up to date. The one other fun thing about the car is that it had wires hanging down from the steering wheel. Someone had broken the key off in the ignition and my dad solved the problem by showing us each how to start the car by hotwiring it. Well, it was all fun and games to us and our friends. But, on this particular night, when I was trying to impress my goodlooking boyfriend, my car was not a reason to be proud. When the policeman pulled me over for a fix-it ticket and a registration warning, I could have died on the spot. The worst part of all was when he asked me about the wires. I must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights while trying to explain to him that we really did own the car.

I don’t know what happened to the Datsun-with-no-name, but it assuredly sat out in front of our house in a non-working state for at least a year. Sheila finally met her demise when Adam left her on the side of the road. She just gave up her will to live and my brother was too poor to do anything about it. Eventually, the city compounded her. She was probably so relieved to sit in a junkyard. Hey, a junkyard is Disneyland to a car that spent the last leg of its life being driven by us. And, at least Sheila could go out in glory instead of collecting dust in our yard like her identical twin with no name.

Poor Bambi


The Classic: Bambi Posted by Hello

On Monday, I took the kids to Sam’s Club. I ever so slyly put the newly released Bambi in the bottom of the buggy (that is what they call a shopping cart in TN). I even turned it upside down, so that if the kids did see it, tbey wouldn’t know what it was. (I wanted to give it to them for Easter from the Easter Bunny)

I succeeded at hiding it from them for about 15 minutes. As soon as we stopped at the snack bar, it was over. Abigail, caught eye of it, picked it up, and announced to her sisters: “Look you guys, mom is getting us Bambi.”

About an hour later, after I had managed to put several other things in the buggy too (including Abigail and Sophia), I started to feel guilty about the money I was going to spend. I put several things back, including Bambi. The girls were sorely diasappointed, but I told them that we would come back and get it when dad was with us.

As we were going to check out, Abigail and Sophia glued themselves to the TV monitor that was playing Bambi. (Aren’t those Sam’s Club people smart?) It was at this point that all of my guilt subsided. (I knew that I would have to buy Bambi, if I ever wanted to get out of the store) I told Abigail to get Bambi off the shelf again, and after the girls cheered for a second or two, we were off.

Buying a new movie is HEAVEN to a mother. When we got home, the baby went down for a nap and Abigail and Sophia proceeded to glue themselves to our TV. I was able to get some cleaning and other household duties accomplished without any interruption.

Well, later, as we sat down for dinner, I asked Sophia what she thought about the movie. I fully expected some kind of reaction. I was totally traumatized by the show when I was little and Sophia is my most sensitive child. I was totally taken off guard when I heard her response.

Sophia said,”I like Bambi.” I happily said,”Good, what was your favorite part?” I thought that she would say Thumper or Flower the Skunk. No, this is what my twisted child said,”My favorite part was when Bambi’s mom died.” What in the world?!?! In a worried tone, hoping that she could redeem herself somehow, I asked her frantically, “Why was that your favorite part?” She said,”I just like it because I don’t want Bambi to have a mom.”

Who knows? Maybe my-three-year old was going for the reaction or maybe she needs some serious therapy. Maybe Sophia should grow up to be a hunter and join the Bambi Killers Club. I could only conclude one thing from the conversation, Disney has a conspiracy against mothers. First, they force us into buying their movies with their very skilled marketing. Second, mothers are allowed a false sense of relief when the kids happily sit and watch a Disney movie for hours on end. Then they pump anti-mother doctrine into our kids…think about it:

Disney killed Bambi’s mom. Cinderella’s step-mom is EVIL, and who knows what happened to her real mom. Belle doesn’t have a mom. Mulan wants to be like her dad. The only conversations between Ariel and her parents were with her dad. Sleeping Beauty’s mother poisons her with an apple. Tarzan’s mom got eaten by a tiger. Nemo’s mom…. well, you get the picture. Poor Bambi. Poor Mother of Bambi!!