LG was a little concerned when his pants felt a little tight this morning.
Maybe we should go on The Larry the Cable Guy diet.
He brags in this article that now that he is down 50 lbs, he is down a whole Olsen twin!
Yeah, that is funny!
Sidenote: he blames his initial weightgain on the pregnancy of his wife. Sorry honey….those babies just like to pack on the pounds. (If it makes you feel any better, I think that Larry the Cable Guy is sexy…I like a man with some meat)
In my last post I made mention to asking for a sarnie at Subway.
I then went back to instapundit to find the link about Jared’s ridiculously hot girlfriend. (Who by the way, I don’t think she is hot at all.) This link about Jared’s marketing power is very interesting.
Jared is the man. You have to give him credit for keeping all his weight off and making a fortune at eating out. All we ever do is give our money away when we eat out. (But hey, at least, we won’t have to give up half our fortune to an X, like Jared is having to do)
Play Jared’s 10 yr anniversary Pants Dance here. So funny!
I think I am an honorary grandparent. I have no memory. Really, it is almost sad!Can alztheimers (again, the spell check is out)set in early? I think mine set in before I was born.
Seriously. I cannot remember anything! If I didn’t have a blog to keep track of my blogging, I may unknowingly write the same story over and over again throughout my life. I have to say that if I had to rewrite a story repeatedly, it would have to be Self Check Out. It is my favorite.
This one is for you, my old fogy friends (and you young Dorry’s out there) I so relate to that cute little “My Nemo” Fish.
Do you want to know what I think is totally sour?
I hate it when my friends send me e-mails that ruin a very real enjoyable part of my life.
I always get a lemon in my water when I go out to a restaurant. I can’t stand the taste of old yucky pipes.
I won’t paste the forwarded e-mail here, but let’s just say that one of my friends decided it was necessary to tell me that restaurant lemons are full of germs.
Do you know how I am dealing with the news? Well, I am basically acting as if I never received the news. I have reasoned it away so that I can continue to enjoy my eating out experience.
How do I know those people are really scientists? And how can they say that just because the lemons are bacterial at Harvard area restaurants it means that it is the same scenario in Knoxville? Besides, I am never going to visit Harvard anyway, and I am sure that the waitresses’ fingernails in Knoxville are cleaner than those uppidity college students.
So, people, please think before you send me an e-mail. Some people are just trying to live every day anxiety free. I just don’t want to know these trivial things. I have never gotten sick from a restaurant lemon before. I dont want to worry every time I sit on a public toilet seat. I want to take my kids to McDonald’s to play in the balls syringe free. I want to check to see if someone left their change in a vending machine or public phone (haven’t seen one of those in a long time – are they still even around?)
You get the picture. No more sour e-mails, please!
My friend and I have been walking every day for about an hour. We have made a makeshift 1/4mile track around her house and yard and we let the kids run around and play while we crank out a sad 2 miles in an hour.
Valerie’s dog insists on walking with us every day. It is so funny because she is about 12 years old and she limps the whole way. Poor thing. The other day while observing the poor dog, I said to Valerie, “Maybe when the dog has a noticable difference in her limp, there will be a noticable difference in my bum.”
Thanks to Valerie for another great e-mail forward.
Man, Valerie, you should really figure out how to blog this stuff!
This is the text that went with the picture:
An old, tired-looking dog wandered into the yard. I could tell from
his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home.He followed me into the house, down the hall, and fell asleep in a corner. An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out.The next day he was back, resumed his position in the hall, and slept for an hour. This continued for several weeks. Curious, I pinned a note to his collar: “Every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap.”The next day he arrived with a different note pinned to his collar:”He lives in a home with ten children — he’s trying to catch up on his sleep. Can I come with him tomorrow?”
The kids and I are all home from church today because Bella has been sick. It is Sunday, the day I try to rest and think about spiritual things, so I thought that maybe I should blog about something a little more serious. Gangbanging seemed serious enough.
I have been reading this book called “Convicted in the Womb” by Carl Upchurch. I borrowed it from a friend of mine who is getting his Masters to be a Therapist. It is a good book that allows you to get into the head of a child who later finds acceptance by joining a gang.
Because I try to be a good Mormon girl, I really cannot recommend this book. The swear words just keep on coming and some of these words are bad enough that I have never even heard them before in my entire life. And because I am a little bit rebellious I just keep reading, but at least I simultaneously pray that I won’t advert to pulling out the curse words the next time I get angry. I am not reading the book for the curse words, I am reading it because I want to understand the human race better. It is so unfortunate that there are actually children in this world who grow up in an environment like Carl Upchurch’s. It is just so foreign to me.
For example, he had one pee stained mattress on the floor that was his bed. The mattress was located on the underside of a leaky sink. The family’s rat trap would need to be emptied almost every morning. The cockroaches were so bad that he slept with the blanket over his head so that they couldn’t climb all over him at night. His grandma was a prostitute and his mom did nothing but collect welfare checks. Carl never got any affection or affirmations or anything that could be construed as positive. He never was taught to shower or brush his teeth and never had clean clothes. To my dismay this was in Philadelphia the 60’s. He went without food a lot and it was his own responsibility to get up for school and out the door every day, from the time he was in kindergarten.
I have been living in a state of shock for the past 24 hours while I have been reading this book. I know that there are kids out there that live like this: a lot of them went to Abigail’s old school, but I just didn’t realize that it was this bad. It makes me want to go and round them all up and bring them home for some good old fashioned love and concern.
So, it now makes sense to me, while it never has before, why these kids grow up to be gangbangers. Being in a gang is the only way they find belonging. While our children grow up with that at home, the only way for these gangbangers to have a similar experience is to join a gang. So, sometimes you have to get through all the cursing to learn something new. Who of us does not want a solution for gangs? I am here to tell you that the solution is so simple: it is pretty much the solution to every societal woe: the solution is simply love.
Well, the reason for this entry, is to write a story about my mother. As you all know, my parents are both pretty crazy. It wasn’t hard for them to produce a child like me. I got a little of each of their nuances which are slightly crazy and a little crazier. I love my parents dearly and after reading a book like this, I am more grateful for the way that they raised seven children in a loving and flourishing environment.
So, my mom took this loving and flourishing environment with her everywhere. She learned to love from her mother; it was in her DNA to show love and concern for everyone she met, especially children. I cannot tell you how many times, I would come home to find my mom sitting at our kitchen table discussing something heavy with one of the friends of mine or my siblings. I never understood why our friends liked to talk to my mom so much. As a teenager, I did everything I could to avoid her. But again, reading has given me new understanding. These friends felt the unconditional love of my mother, some of which may not have felt it at home.
So, here is the funny part of the story (I bet you were getting worried that you wouldn’t be getting a chuckle today, huh?)
While we were growing up, we had a few favorite places to take family outings. One was the beach, one was Thrifty’s to get ice-cream, one was the Oceanside pier to get XL jawbreakers. Others were the movies, Sav-on to get some candy, and the mall to get a Shaved Ice. (Funny that all of these places involve food) And lastly but not least by any means was Show Biz. Show Biz was the original Chuck E Cheese. All of ShowBiz’s have been converted to Chuck E Cheeses, including the one from our neighboring town Oceanside, CA.
My mom and dad would take us to Show Biz a few times a year and it was a huge treat. I am sure that my mom had to convince my dad to spend the money. Buying pizza and tokens for seven kids is not a small feat. I mean most people only spend that kind of money when one of their 2.5 children have a birthday party and invite all their friends.
So, this one Saturday, we had all had our fun at Show Biz. I am sure we had been there for a good couple of hours before we headed out to the station wagon to go back home. What a surprise that we exited into the middle of an ensuing gang fight. Now, you have to know my parents to know how unfortunate to the fight was the arrival of my parents. My dad was and is a big tough former Highway Patrolmen and my mom is an unlicensed and unofficial social worker. (She probably helped more kids in her lifetime than any social worker could imagine). My mom also has been known to have a mouth like mine. One day she almost got my dad into a fight with a Hells Angel at the 25cent hamburger joint (but that is another story)
So, what happened from this point on is not only the funny story but an inspiration to mankind. Mind you, all seven kids are lined up like ducks in a row behind my parents. My brother Erick was approximately the same age as these teenage boys and he was staring on up front with mom and dad. My mom says to the gangbangers, “Boys, what do you think that you are doing? This is no way to solve anything. Don’t you know that people care about you? We don’t want to see you killing each other.” My dad stood next to his wife in words and stature. He didn’t say anything, but his mere presence was enough.
One of the gangbangers had shouted out, “Hey (probably some cuss word), mind your own business.” The details are shody here, but I am certain this is approximately accurate to the actual story. My dad’s glare was enough to shut the gangbanger up. My mom continued on as her initial speech didn’t seem to have enough impact. My mom and dad were not about to walk away and let some kids kill each other. And remember this was in the 80’s before the cell phone was invented, so there was no, “Hurry call 911.” The following words came naturally from my mother’s mouth, “Boys, this is nonsense. My husband and I love children too much to let any one of you get hurt today. Now c’mon inside and my husband will buy you all some pizza.”
It was as if a bomb had been dropped. I can still remember the shock so apparent on the faces of these hardened criminals. A stranger was going to buy them ALL pizza. Both gangs looked back and forth from their homeboys to their blood sworn enemies. The glances were asking each other, “What do we do now?” There was no need for them to discuss because my parents didn’t give them any time.
My mom went and wrapped her arm around the leader of one side and my dad walked over to the other. They led the leaders into Show Biz and there was no other choice for the homeboys than to follow. We little Wills children brought up the rear. What a delight it was to see my mom take all the gangsters into the Show Room and find them each a seat, while my dad went and doubled his money output for the day by ordering 12 more pizzas.
It didn’t stop there. My mom said, “Rick, get these boys some tokens. They fight because they don’t have anything better to do.” She made sure she said that loud enough for them all to hear.
Dad bought them each a generous amount of tokens, (which after clarifying with my mom and dad, was only really 4 tokens each -all they could afford-, but hey, that was still another 20 bucks they didn’t really have) hoping that if he and mom could keep them inside long enough having a good time, then maybe the fight would be cancelled all together. We all exited feeling like the heroes who had saved the day.
The discussion in the car on the way home went something like this. Mom to Dad, “Do you think that they will still have a fight, should we call the police?” Dad said, “I can’t believe you Sharon. You are one crazy woman.” Mom to Dad ,”One crazy woman that you love. And, one crazy woman that may have just saved a life.” Mom to kids,”Remember this kids, all people have a part of them that just wants to be loved. They act badly because they haven’t been loved.”
Yep, that’s my mom and dad. As a couple, they could do anything, including stomping out gang activity from the world as I knew it.
And in the words of John Lennon:
All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love, love,
love is all you need.
I just came up with a theory. It’s not scientific, but based on my own thoughts.
I think that middle children, only children, and youngest children need more attention. They need more affirmations too. So, what do they do when they grow up and aren’t children anymore? They take their need for attention into their blogging world.
So, here is my question, are you a middle, youngest or only child? I am going to wager that a good 80% of bloggers fall into the above category. Let me know if I am right. Feel free to leave a comment to tell me if you think I am wrong too. It doesn’t mean that I will believe you, but I would like you to try to disprove my theory….Surely, science can’t be this easy.
LeGrand has repeatedly warned me that blogging about “the bedroom” is off limits and so I hope the following two funny conversations don’t cross the limits. If you are the kind of person who is afraid that you may not want to read further, please stop here. I don’t want to embarrass you or me. If you are even just 1% like me then I am sure I just peaked your curiosity and I know you will have to keep reading, even if you don’t know if you want to. If that is the case, I don’t mind if I embarrass you a little, just don’t tell me if I’ve offended you. I offend so many people in my life, and I just don’t need one more. Consider yourself warned.
LeGrand and I have been trying to get pregnant for 8 months now with no luck. We’ve never really had to work at it before and so we have gotten a little worried. As we were talking for the two minutes that we actually saw each other last night, LeGrand felt it necessary to share with me the infomercial that he had heard on the radio. I vaguely remember, as I was half asleep, but the commercial mentioned that there is a link to an enlarged prostate and fertilization. So, my memory was jogged about another short conversation that had occurred that I meant to blog about: (for your reading pleasure, here it is)
So, we were at LeGrand’s parents for Christmas and an interesting conversation took place that I thought was worth sharing. LeGrand’s little brother Logan started commenting that he needed to go and relieve his bladder in the bathroom. This small statement blew up into a huge thing. Jordan, the middle brother, starts telling Logan that he shouldn’t hold it for so long. “It’s not healthy.” Logan then says, “Yeah, when I hold it too long it almost starts to hurt.” So, this conversation is going on and on and it is almost making me uncomfortable re-sharing it here. (At the time it didn’t seem to be such a big deal) During the whole conversation, where even Faye and I added a few suggestions, LeGrand, the oldest brother, was sitting across the room at his laptop, totally oblivious. All of the sudden, LeGrand looks up and loudly exclaims, “Oh yeah, well I have an enlarged prostate.” What in the world? If you aren’t already laughing, then you have to imagine the look on the face of my usually quiet and subdued husband. The look was as if to say, “So, top that, you wimpy bladder brothers!” LeGrand swears that he was trying to warn Logan that he may have the beginning of prostrate problems, but I think he was just bragging.
And another funny conversation that is totally not related yet is in a round about way. (has to do with male body parts – again stop reading now if you are easily offended) This is a conversation that happened between my brothers and sisters and I about a year and half ago. I have wanted to share it for a long time ago but have never felt appropriate. (I am going to now lose the two new readers that I gained this week, but hey, this blog is for me anyway and I like writing about funny things)
We were at my sister Sarah’s house. She lives in Lincoln, CA, and her house became the gathering place when my Grandma Dorothy died. The funeral was in close by Sacramento. All seven of us siblings were together for the first time in 6 years. So, where did the conversation head? – The natural place of course, what name were we each teaching our own children for the male body part. I have all daughters and so of course I wasn’t as involved here. My brothers, who all have sons were really getting animated. The following names were mentioned: Pe Pe, We We, Tinkles, Wa Wa, and on and on. Who knew there were so many choices? I had put my two cents in towards the beginning of the conversation, “We just teach the girls the correct scientific terminology like the parenting books tell us to….penis is the only word we use.” You should have heard the roars of disapproval from the peanut gallery. This is what really got the conversation going.
Seriously, I didn’t know when it would ever end. We were talking about his for about ten minutes, and the brothers started making up new names that would be good to use. I couldn’t stand it another minute. How could I possibly stop the conversation? Like a pro, if you ask me, “At our house we just call it King Kong.” (LeGrand is going to kill me because it really isn’t true) Yes, I really hope that you are laughing. But, if you are offended or not, I have to say that it’s o.k. because at the time, my plan worked like a charm. Everyone laughed so hard that we finally had a lull long enough in the conversation to change the subject.
Here are some pictures of the Fruity Pebbles that the kids left behind on the carpet after Saturday morning cartoons. For those of you that are unschooled in the fine art of cereal, Fruity Pebbles are some of the smallest pieces of cereal that one can buy. For that reason, I guess I can’t be too angry that the girls spilled a few. Besides, all it takes is a vacuum to clean this one up. That is nothing compared to a lot of the other things that I clean up around here (like 1 cup of hot cocoa that toppled all over my pile of clean dishes this morning – I have a hard time with my coordination early in the morning)
So, do you read the box of cereal while eating in the morning? I used to, but rarely take the time anymore. This probably has to do with the fact that I rarely eat cereal, much less the stuff that actually has interesting packaging. What a sad part of growing older: we have to pay more attention to the Nutrition Guide than the free crossword puzzle, not to mention the good toy you sometimes find inside the box. Have you noticed that they have a lot fewer toys in cereal boxes than they used to?
I made a new blogging friend, thanks to LG’s cousin Missy. Her last post talked about only having shredded wheat cereal while she was growing up. It made me laugh. I could totally relate. I grew up, like my new friend, poor. We would occasionally get the good cereal, but mostly we just had the yucky stuff too. You know: Cheerios, shredded wheat, and the part that I thought was so funny: puffed wheat. Who eats that stuff? You can’t even buy it in the box. You have to purchase puffed wheat in all its glory – packaged in one of those budget saving bags.
I commented on my friends blog that I really thought it was awesome when my mom occasionally upgraded to the Sugar Coated Puffed Wheat. I guess that my past cereal experience explains my need to keep good and tasty cereals in my cupboard. Seriously, I have at least 10 kinds of cereal at all times. I really need cereal therapy. I remember being horrified when some family told me that every Christmas the mother let her kids pick out their favorite sugar cereal. C’mon, do you really think a child can make their favorite cereal last for a whole year. At my house growing up my brothers would have eaten it all before I ever got back for my second bowl. I guess we have Christmas here every Saturday. Saturdays were made for sugar cereal, don’t you think?
I love to feed my kids cereal. One of the only things I enjoy about LG being out of town is that I don’t have to cook. If he is gone for a week at a time, you bet your bottom dollar that we will be eating cereal at least 5 times, 2 of those being as a replacement for dinner.
So what am I trying to do with this entry? I am not totally sure. I am mostly just rambling and I am sure that this won’t make you laugh. But maybe if you slow down some Saturday and take some time to have some sugar cereal and read the box, that might make you laugh. Especially if you do it in your underwear like my brother David always did when we were growing up. That’s no joke. Every Saturday, I would wake up to David sitting two feet from the TV, wearing underwear only, wrapped in a blanket, with a gallon of milk, a box of cereal and the biggest bowl and spoon he could find. I guess he read the box during the commercials.
The famiy room fairy and other forms of bribery have already been tried to help my three daughters learn their cleaning responsibility. I am always looking for new forms of bribery…any suggestions?
Last Saturday morning, the girls’ toys were everywhere, as usual. LG and I actually tried to bribe the girls with bacon. Can you say, “Will work for pork?” LG gave the girls the chance to earn four pieces of bacon if they could get the room clean during the 20 minutes we were preparing breakfast. All three of our girls would eat a whole pound of bacon if you let them. Can you believe our bribery tactic only worked for Bella? LG, Bella, and I loved eating all that bacon. Abigail and Sophia only earned themselves one lousy piece. Man, we were so hopeful!
On another note, the following story was shared with me via e-mail. I think that this may make some mothers out there chuckle, as I am sure they can relate to me and my bacon bribery as well as this anonymous author’s feelings about motherhood.
Unless you are a mother or plan on calling your mother and praising her name after you read this, you can stop reading now. And you mothers: get your tissues ready.
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”
“Nobody,” he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my goodness, nobody?”
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family – like “Turn the TV down, please” – and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking.
I’m invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner because no one can see me at all.
I’m invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.”
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She’s going¸ she’s going¸ she’s gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.”
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”
In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.”
And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over.
You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.”
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it there.”
As women, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
alice w. gold 