FunnyBlog

On the Move
My brother recently sent me the pictures he took with his smart phone on the day we arrived in Utah.
Even though it’s blurry, I loved this top one. It so typifies who I am. I am always on the move. I am always talking. I am a sentimental fool. I am wearing the necklace that Rita gave me before we left Tennessee. It says Trust in God. Or something along those lines. I love it. I am also just a tad bit crazy, as you can tell from my favorite bold printed dress and hair. I had slept in this outfit the night before. It wears well for 48 hours, don’t you think?
Here is Abigail writing her last farewell to our beloved  TN.
I find it rather ironic that she left out the 2 in bye,
considering that my husband was raised in TN
and spelling wasn’t his strongest suit either.

LG’s car got trashed riding behind the moving truck through all the snow throughout the Vale, CO region.

Here are our new neighbors the Johnsons. They came over in their p.j.’s to say hello. Their oldest girls are the same ages as Sophia and Bella.

 I am not afraid to do a man’s job. Even in a dress. That’s why leggings were invented.

I thought twice about just getting one thing from the truck. We waited until the next day, as there was no telling what would be falling down on me when the door was lifted. We had a few casualties, but nothing major. Thanks to Scott Cruze and John McCombs who did a packing job that my dad was proud of. They followed my taunting and made that treadmill fit. I have no idea if it was damaged on the road. I haven’t even tried to plug it in yet. It’s as if the under-stairs closet was made just for treadmill storage. Who would ever run on a treadmill when they are surrounded by such beautiful mountains?

After three days on the road, the baby couldn’t wait to get to her daddy. Who am I kidding? She always wants her daddy. It doesn’t take three days on the road for her to act like this. Look at cousin Sierra in the background. She and Sophia resemble each other so much.

Boy was I happy to arrive. And to have not only my husband by my side again, but to have my dad there too. These two men, together, could accomplish anything…including making me smile after a very long road trip.

My girls
My girls all know that they revealed Katniss because I e-mailed them
as soon as I discovered the magazine cover.

About a year ago I decided that I finally had enough friends to fulfill a lifelong dream of starting a book-club.

Here is a photo of my last chance to attend back in March. I guess the ladies will be carrying on the tradition without me. Which makes me totally ecstatic and extremely depressed. Tonight I may have to go out with LG dressed up like a woman. The thought is cracking me up.

While living in Tennessee, one of my greatest life lessons was how important relationships are and how we need to allow others into our lives. The bi-monthly meetings I had with these women was a manifestation to me of God’s love and support. These women are smart. They are fun and they are some of God’s greatest creations. They offered me complete acceptance and love and I miss them somethin awful. I love them all dearly, even the ones missing from the photo, and especially that one in the middle of the photo that got her head cut in two.

The good news is that moving so far away hasn’t taken any satisfaction away from reading. I can still enjoy many many books. It’s just that whenever I get done reading a really good one, I have this overwhelming urge for a Panera Apple chip salad and some conversation. I think I will be 85 years old and reminiscent of the good old days with my ladies.

Not only have I made memories with these ladies that I can’t shake, they have shaped my universe. I can’t think of any better ladies to do my shaping. The other day I was at the bookstore and I found myself advising an unsure buyer that her friend would love reading The Help and I thought of the evening we all spent at Valerie’s house. LG came home from work a while back and told me that  actors had been cast for the movie The Hunger Games and I thought of the discussion about who like me imagined Peeta chunkier. I saw the The Book Thief on the shelf at the library and thought of Rachel and that daunting voice of death.

The moral of the story: make friends. And read together. It’s bonding. For life. And so enlightening.

Stay with us
Children are one of the greatest gifts we have from God.
So often they remind us of the things that are truly important.
And sometimes they seem to eloquently communicate words that we can’t think of on our own.
Taison and Daimon are some of our favorite boys. We spent a lot of time with them when we lived in Tennessee. This going away card that they made for us was perfection. Pure perfection. So so so sweet.
Thanks to Taison and Daimon for reminding us how much we wish we could stay with you.
It got me thinking of how many times as adults we would like to say to someone else, “Stay with me. Please stay with me,” but we don’t. Why don’t we?
Listen to this Catholic Prayer. 
I think it perfectly communicates who we should be the most worried about staying by our side.
Stay with me, Lord, for it is necessary to have You present so that I do not forget You. You know how easily I abandon You.
Stay with me, Lord, because I am weak and I need Your strength, that I may not fall so often.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my life, and without You, I am without fervor.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my light, and without You, I am in darkness.
Stay with me, Lord, to show me Your will.
Stay with me, Lord, so that I hear Your voice and follow You.
Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much, and always be in Your company.
Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You.
Stay with me, Lord, for as poor as my soul is, I wish it to be a place of consolation for You, a dwelling of Your Love.
Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late; the days are coming to a close and life is passing. Death, judgement, eternity are drawing near. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You. It is getting late and death approaches. I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows. O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile!
Stay with me tonight, Jesus, because in the darkness of this life, with all its dangers, I need You.
Help me to  me recognize You as Your disciples did at the breaking of bread, so that the Eucharistic Communion be the light which disperses the darkness, the power which sustains me, the unique joy of my heart.
Stay with me, Lord, because at the hour of my death, I want to be one with you, and if not by Communion, at least by grace and love.
Stay with me, Jesus. I do not ask for divine consolation, because I do not deserve them, but I only ask for the gift of Your Presence. Oh yes, I ask this of You!
Stay with me, Lord, for it is You alone, Your Love, Your Grace, Your Will, Your Heart, Your Spirit, because I love You and ask for no other reward but to love You more and more, with a strong and active love.
Grant that I may love You with all my heart while on earth, so that I can continue to love You perfectly, throughout all eternity, dear Jesus. Amen!

The Dollar Store

As most of you know, I am all about being thrifty. I coupon. I thrift. I garage sale. I go without. I wasn’t always this way, but I have learned the tricks of the trade out of pure necessity. Having three kids and living on student loans followed by owning our own business in a failing economy did wonders for this mother. If you call pinching pennies wonderful.

One thing I have learned in my journey for thrift is not to be duped by the stores. Just because they stick those items on the cap aisles at Wal-Mart, it doesn’t mean it’s the best deal. And just because you are shopping at a discount grocery store, it doesn’t mean that everything is priced cheaper than other stores. And most of all, just because you are at the Dollar Tree, it doesn’t mean that you can or should buy whatever you want. In fact, don’t take your kids to the Dollar Tree. Ever. You will inevitably lose all the money you just saved. Unless you are a meanie and can say no to that glass figurine, and those coloring books, and those furry boas, and that candy…you get the picture.

However, there are two things that you absolutely should not buy anywhere but the Dollar Tree.

1- Diaper Disposal Bags. They smell good. They work. They are a godsend when your kids decide to poop everywhere, or puke everywhere, or mash a bunch of cheerios into the pew at church. They are .075 a piece + tax at the Dollar Tree. You won’t find them any cheaper. We take one with us wherever we go. Even when we walk the dog. If you get my drift.

2 – Pregnancy Tests. I realize that this admission just outed my inner hillbilly, but I don’t want all of you yuppies to go without this very great money saving tip. One dollar, people. And they work. They have worked for me at least 6 times. And before you think all my kids are running around without shoes and dirty (even though you’d be right) I only have four living children, and they each own many pairs of shoes. It’s just that I don’t always enforce the rule. (Oh, and I’ve had three miscarriages). So, don’t buy your pregnancy tests anywhere else.

The last time I visited The Dollar Tree in Knoxville, I got a bout of nostalgia. I have spent a lot of time at that store. My kids have bought a lot of Christmas presents for their grandparents there. I am serious. My in-laws think that those presents are some of the funnest. I mean where else is someone going to let their toddler pick out a dog chain for grandpa? It’s a dollar. It will be funny.

While I was walking down the aisle with my 10 boxes of diaper disposal bags, I noticed something. By the way, 10 boxes is roughly a two month supply. I buy a lot when they are in stock. It seems I am not the only one who knows a great thing when I see one.  Just to give you another shopping tip and I will hope that you don’t shop at the same store as me. Anyway, I noticed the pregnancy tests. I am not needing those much nowadays. But, you wouldn’t believe it. There were 10 boxes opened on the shelf. I assumed someone or 10 ones had opened the boxes and swiped out the tests without paying.

All I could think was this: “the poor unborn fetus that is in the womb of the person who couldn’t even afford to buy a pregnant test for a dollar.”

Not so white-trash, redneck, hillbilly, ghetto, (whatever you want to call it) after all, am I?

Second String

It has been so awesome to see my husband happy again. He has been so stressed out for so long and I have hated seeing him sad. LG is loving his new job and I couldn’t be happier for him. LG has really been missing basketball for a long time. I think one of the things he loves most about his new job is that the whole office plays basketball at lunch, almost daily. Doesn’t he look happy?

In Tennessee, I had been encouraging him to start his own basketball team, so that he could get in more playing time. Basketball is his favorite sport and his chosen form of exercise. The bad thing is, it’s hard to play by yourself. He teased that he would only invite the fat and out of shape to play.

We started joking about it, LeGrand telling me that he couldn’t start his own team because it would be obvious to all his in-shape friends who had their own team that he was trying not to be left out. “C’mon, honey, this is about you, not them. You would feel so good to play again, and you would be forced to work it into your schedule, once you made a commitment. There are probably plenty of other guys out that who would love to play, but aren’t good enough to be asked. You should make a team for them and in the name of playing for fun and exercise and not for winning.”
And then I chimed in with this goodie:
“It would be cool, you could name the team Bench-warmers. Or how about Second String?”
LeGrand laughed. I laughed. We had a good laugh. Laughing is healing. Funny that my blog is call imsofunny. I need laughter in my life. I need healing.
Somewhere in that amazing brain of his, LeGrand decided that I would not get the last laugh at his expense. He would get me back for the bad joke. Weeks later, he and I got into another conversation. This time, it was about a musical number that was put together. I usually had an invite to sing alto. This time I did not. In fact, the newly formed group was singing the same song that I sang with them last time. Another friend of mine, who was now in while I was out, and had no idea, I had been outed, informed me. 
LeGrand and I got talking about the situation. I said, “It’s o.k. I’m pretty over life right now, maybe they knew I didn’t need to add one more thing to my plate.” What I needed to do was be more like Christ. And care more about the people who are our friends than my own feelings of pride. I should be happy for them that they have the best basketball team and the best singing group, even if that means we can’t be a part of it. I should sit through the church meeting and feel the Spirit of the Lord with their voices being raised, and not need to be included, except to appreciate it from the sidelines.
I told LeGrand that I believe my singing career had just found the end of the road. It’s not worth it to be included and then to not be included. I can’t help it that I am overly sensitive. LeGrand told me that I was wrong and that I loved to sing, and that I was good at it, and I shouldn’t let this little episode completely discourage me. And then, LeGrand, turned to go to the bedroom and change out of his suit. And like LeGrand, with his incredible timing and humor, he said, “Alice, you should start a musical group of your own. Really. You could call it Second String.”
Good one LeGrand. Good one. I love my husband. He really is great at a lot of things. Like being forgiving, being temperate, being funny, and being the best second stringer of all time. He’s MY second stringer. And I would rather be on the fourth string team, if it meant we get to be together. Thank you to LeGrand for always making me laugh and trying to teach me to let it go by incredible example. And thank you to Jesus Christ who takes us all from whatever team we are on, and puts us on His team…the best team, no matter what our skill level.

I hit the motherload.
Just minutes ago I hit the motherload. Under one of the seats of my minivan, just waiting for a diligent mother, was a lost Barbie DVD, the pre-teen’s favorite flowered flip-flop, and the toddler’s teeny pink croc. Wow, two pairs of shoes have been rightfully reunited and that makes this mother very very happy!! I won’t tell you about all the discarded Easter candy wrappers, and candy (some chocolate) and cheez-its and fruit snacks and french fries I had to wade through to hit my motherload, it would just be embarrassing and may make you question this mother’s luck. Or worse, my ability to teach my children hygeine. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness, dears. (In my sweetest tone)  How many times do I have to tell you?” (In not such a sweet tone) No, let’s just focus on how totally lucky I am.
I was on hands and knees with my hindside perfectly wedged between the carseat and the van door searching diligently for one thing and one thing alone: the pacifier. The dreaded yet much needed pacifier. I am not talking about the baby needing it, although she is addicted. But, once again, this post is about me and my good fortune, not my children and all that is wrong with them because of me. No, I am the one that needs that pacifier. If it’s up to me, she will have it until she is five, and in kindergarten, cause let’s face it, my house is loud, and getting louder every day. 
My four girls could take on my family of upbringing without a worry. Who cares that we’d be outnumbered by three? We would win a decibel contest…with flying musical instruments.  I am talking by the brass section or even the percussion. So, every bit helps in the hushing of my brood, and that teeny pacifier is my saving grace. And for some reason the baby likes to play fetch with mommy. The little monster. She knows when I am most needing silence. And she always seems to know when mommy is most desperate for quiet. Which only happens when we are down to the last pacifier. You would never believe me when I tell you that we really do own 6 of them. You especially wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that at least once a day, we can’t find a single one of them. I would love to share all my sane moments with the inventor of the pacifier. I do have one question though, why couldn’t God send an nondetachable perfectly matching built in one for each and every baby? Those darn velcro tie things can’t withstand the wrath of my 2 year old.
Back to the motherload. Mother’s Day was last weekend. I scored. My amazing husband (and I guess my kids too) got me a beautiful silver ring, a pedicure and a Costco membership. How could I ever complain, right? Wrong. Do you know what my best mother’s day gift was? Remember I am the luckiest girl alive. My motto is all or nothing…especially when it comes to cleaning. My children’s real gift to me on Mother’s Day was a whole sippy cup of milk…wait for it….dumped everywhere (and I mean everywhere)…wait for some more… on the second pew back… in the middle of Sacrament meeting. On the baby. On her blanket. On the pew. On the carpet. On every single toy and every single snack baggy and every single page of every single board-book. Even on the hymn book. You see, I am the luckiest mother alive and Abigail had helped get the baby’s “shut up and be happy bag” ready for church as part of Operation Pamper Mom Day. She did a great job. She just forgot one thing: the plastic piece that holds the milk inside the cup.
This luckiest mother alive…and smartest mother alive ..sent her hubby out with the screaming baby. The baby had accomplished her role in helping to spread (or should I say pour) the joy..everywhere and was upset that she had no milk left. And who knows where the pacifier was. It’s always hiding when we need it. I used a diaper and the dry portions of the baby’s blankie to soak up as much as I could. And then I took out my baby wipes and had sanitizer for the rest of the sour prevention duties. In the background I could hear people. They were faint in volume compared to my task at hand, but I think they were talking about how wonderful their mothers were. I am not quite sure why they thought they were so wonderful, but I have a good idea, or two, or three. 
All the while I am thinking, “Oh how lucky I am to be a mother. Someday when I am dead, my kids may get up in church and talk about how wonderful I am.” They won’t even recall this fiasco. They won’t say “only a mother can handle a situation like that.” And as I am having this conversation with myself, I finished the clean up job and found the pacifier under the pew. I simultaneously had the thought that they won’t have to remember this. No they won’t have to remember any part of it, because hopefully, if I have any luck at all, they will someday get to live it. The motherload indeed. I couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.

And here I am a few days later. Once again, a pink croc is missing and we are down to the last pacifier. Yes, the cycle will continue on forever. As long as there are women out there who are willing to have children.