FunnyBlog

Romance, Gold Style

Lately, I have read a few different blog posts about men being romantic with their wives. One blogger wrote on a hot dog and one bought a dress. They were both really sweet posts.

And just to save hurt feelings, I am in no way trying to downplay the thoughtfulness of some very sweet and romantic men, but I must blog about the topic of romance for my own reminder that I never signed up for that adventure. My husband didn’t even propose. We just kind of agreed to get married.

LG writing on a hot dog would be so surprising that I would feel like I owed the man something HUGE: like the Wii he has been dying for or the idea that I am willing to iron all of his clothes. It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about him going all crazy and romantic on me because I never want to be expected to iron. I only want to do it when I am in a good and nice mood.

It’s o.k. that LG isn’t romantic. Let’s just say that I didn’t marry the man with any false belief that I would turn him into some romantic at heart. (And, he certainly didn’t marry me with some false idea that I would be ironing his clothes for him.) I married him because he was the manly man kind who wasn’t romantic. I never wanted a husband who was too romantic. The cheese is just a little much for me at times; it’s a delicate matter, and LG is still trying to master a good balance with his finicky wife. I did want a man that was righteous, musical, athletic, kind, smart, and funny. That was pretty much the list since I can remember. I got what I wanted and he came with a bonus of being able to provide for his family and knowing how to be a great father.

He also came with one very important trait to the survival of our marriage. He never tries to tell me what to do. He always humors me and listens to me and sometimes he even validates me. If you were married to me, you would understand that him listening and letting me feel like I am in charge is so much more important than romance ever will be. In fact, him never telling me what to do is all the romance I ever need.

So, I was taken off guard at our romantic moment today. They are few and far between, and for me that’s o.k. We went out to lunch. As I dropped him back at work, we turned to each other and simultaneously said, “Thanks for lunch.” Nope, I didn’t pay for it, he did, but he never makes me feel like it’s his money. And, I never have to thank him for that reason. I didn’t say thanks because he was willing to fork over the cash, or even because he was willing to eat where I wanted.

I was thanking him for to his mere presence. And he was thanking me for my mere presence. And, in this house, it’s all about the presence. (And the tricky game of letting me feel like I am in control, even when I am not.) And my need for control and not romance is a really good thing because I buy my own dresses and we don’t put mustard on our hotdogs.

Eat, Drink, and Get a Refill

“The length of a film should be directly related to the endurance of the human bladder.”

~Alfred Hitchcock

This summer we have splurged and taken the kids to the real movies twice.

They were the matinee shows, but still a whole lot more expensive than our usual outing to the dollar show.

About a month ago we went and saw KungFu Panda.

And a couple of weeks ago we enjoyed every minute of Wall E.

They were both good, but Wall-E was our favorite.

If you’ve seen Wall-E, you will know what I am talking about when I say:

“It is plainly coincidental that I took the previous photo of
our HUGE drink two seconds before the show started.”

Here is the garbage can on the way out.

The theatre teenage workers were very amused that I was taking a picture of their pain.

It looks like I am not the only one who believes that if you splurge on $40 worth of movie tickets, you may as well round it off with an extra $20 for a large popcorn and drink that can be shared and refilled.

I know you will all think I am horrible when I tell you that I smuggle in the candy.

The real question is, ” Who is going to get up during the middle of the movie and fetch the refill?

That would usually be me. Isn’t that’s what mom’s are for?

Moms are also really good at making sure that their kids notice the cool new Dyson hand dryer in the bathroom.

After all that soda, we barely made it through the movie.

Alfred Hitchcock was from a different era of movie watching.

He and his little bladder were WAY before Supersize.

I really think that we should start a mother revolution and request that all family friendly movies implement a mid-movie potty/refill intermission.

And, with all those super sizes,

it’s no wonder that all Americans can relate to movies like Wall-E and KungFu Panda.

It’s a good thing we had the opportunity to work off the calories in the movie lobby on the way out.

Faith

“You must not lose faith in humanity.

Humanity is an ocean;

if a few drops of the ocean are dirty,

the ocean does not become dirty.”

~Mahatma Gandhi

A message from my five year old.

I think she was going to write her name, which is Bella.

(Actually, it’s Isabella, but she will be the first to tell you to call her Bella.)

But, I don’t think she finished her work.

And so the message of the day is plain and simple:

Be.

I like it.

Mostly, as we work on mastering ourselves.

Sometimes when we get discouraged, we can remember this message.

We can just Be.

Sometimes being is enough.

Being is a great blessing from God.

How to have fun at Chuck E Cheese

Here is a way old post that I had forgotten.
Back in May, we celebrated Abigail’s ninth birthday in Atlanta.

We all had a great time.

I have a deep rooted love for Chuck E Cheese because of a memorable childhood experience involving my heroic mom and dad.

I am passing on this love of pizza, games, and rides to my children the best that I can.

I know a lot of you don’t care for the photos, but deal with it.

And, I love titling my posts with “how to”.

You have no idea how many people search “how to” on google.

With no further rambling.

Here it is: How to have fun at Chuck E Cheese.

Dance with Chuck E. on stage.

Especially if you both are wearing blue shirts and happen to have the same first initial.

Dance for the T.V. cameras.

If you do it with your cousins, it’s so much more fun.

Smile while riding.

Or don’t smile.

But make sure you concentrate so that you don’t miss any simulated roller coaster turns.

Command that someone watches you play.

Beg your dad to ride with you.

Beg the person with the most money for MORE tokens.Compete fiercely. Especially if the game requires your skills from back in the day.

If you don’t get enough tokens the first time, throw your ball at the flashing light.

Turn in your tickets for prize points.

Divide the points by the number of children, so everyone gets the same amount of points.

Pick out the best cheesiest (that’s why the call it Chuck E Cheese) prize you can find because it takes 25 points to earn a piece of gum.

Be enthusiastic while the euphoria last.

Those prizes will all be used, broken, or secretly trashed by mom within the next 24 hours.

Summer Clearance

And, after all the plastic bad news, here is one for those who are a little paranoid and are looking for effective ways to protect yourself against criminals.

The moral of the story: start storing your gun in your cooler next to your bed. That way you will have a working strategy for offense and defense.

And, lucky for you, summer clearance sales are right around the corner. You should be able to afford every plastic cooler of your heart’s desire.

Why?

I knew I was afraid of cows for a reason.

Don’t wait until it’s too late.

You all know that I am huge advocate (meaning that I post about it from time to time on my blog) for mental healthiness. I hate to see people suffer because they are unwilling to let go of their pride and reach out to professionals. What I hate even more is to see people make their loved ones suffer because of their own untreated illness.

What I hate the most, is seeing people and families and friends suffer the effects of mental illness because of ignorance and/or for the fear of being stigmatized.

Here is a tragic story of how PTSD destroyed one of America’s heroes.

The argument could be made that the war destroyed this young man’s life, and I am open to that argument. I really don’t like war and wish it was never necessary to use force. (Although I understand America’s God given responsibility to promote freedom) But, really, this man did not have to take his own life. If he would have been successfully treated, he could have lived a long and happy life.

So, if any of you out there are depressed or anxietal or OCD or whatever else that you know deep down inside is not normal. Don’t wait until it’s too late. With medication and therapy, you can be as normal as me. 🙂 And, don’t let that stop you. As bad off as you think I am, it could be so so much worse.

Vu Gi Na

My kids love their Aunt Amy, and her influence was priceless at our house a few weeks ago. Meaning. something that she taught one of the girls was good for a great comical moment.

It has to do with the post title, just in case you were wondering, but you know I have to give all the background first. I was reading on Scribbit this morning about words that Michelle Mitchell detests. It got me thinking of this experience from a few weeks ago.

I while back I wrote a funny post about the different terminology my siblings and I teach our kids to use for their body parts. (I can’t tell you how many google searches have led people to my post title Conversation Pieces) Who knew it was such a hot topic? We just had another similar conversation (yet, not quite as racy) for a good 10 minutes with our friends at a cookout on the 4th of July.

So, in this previous post I made it very clear that we try to teach our kids the correct scientific terminology for the human body parts. Our girls know the word vagina, but we don’t really use it. To the utter detest of my sister, we use the word crotch whenever we are talking about down there.

So, I was somewhat shocked and very amused the other day at our house. Bella was climbing on her sisters while still wearing her nightgown. She was just trying to get a better look at the GameBoy and Abigail wasn’t being nice. Abigail was getting a little irritated with the pestering and she sounded pretty foul as she screamed out, “BELLA, nobody wants you climbing all over them in a nightgown with your GINA in their face.”

I guffawed, “Abigail, where did you learn that?” She sensed my shocking tone and tried to calm me down with, “What? She knew exactly what I was talking about because a HUGE smile had crossed her face. She just wanted to make me say it too, hence the question.

So, I gave her what she wanted, “Gina”. (My apologies to Gina as this is the same spelling as her name but you all know this needs a long I sound) “Oh, (while trying to play it off) that’s what Aunt Amy calls it.”

What does a mother say to that? What any decent family member would, “Oh…o.k. well I don’t know if I like you saying that, it sounds pretty slang, but if your Aunt Amy taught it to you, then I guess it’s o.k.

Abigail replied, “Mom, what’s slang?”