USA

Santa Claus is Coming To Town



YOU
BETTER
WATCH
OUT!





YOU
BETTER
NOT
CRY!








YOU BETTER NOT POUT.
I’M TELLING YOU WHY.

SANTA CLAUS IS COMING TO TOWN. So, bring on a mother’s work. Here I am trying not to cry yesterday while I was head to toe in elf costume. I really wanted Santa to keep me on his nice list, so I tried really hard to stay happy. I won’t dare pout beyond what I have already done in my last entry. Didn’t my little elf turn out cute?

The list of things I used from around the house to make this costume include but are not limited to: packing tape, electrical tape, thread, needle, ribbon, newspaper, wire, pom poms, leatherman, feathery boa stuff, a Santa belt, a dress from younger sister, handed down boots (passed down just in time from cousin Kearan), and last but certainly not least – an old hat that I made in High School to go with some pj’s from a Christmas pajama party dance.

The inspiration for the costume of the year came from google and the cover of one of our favorite movies, Elf. We watch this movie all year; it is so funny and pretty wholesome. (it is hard to find both innocence and humor in the same world) The only two items I ended up buying for the costume were the elf ears, which are not included in this picture, and the white tights, which Abigail needed for church anyway. Pretty good huh?

Do you think I redeemed myself from last year? Here is Abigail’s sparrow costume from her last year’s performance.


I know, I know, what was I thinking? The poor girl had to sqwack around on stage like this. The best compliment of the night came from one of Abigail’s best friend’s father. Ryan’s dad, Matt, has a pretty good sense of humor. He said, “Abigail you were the best tropical sparrow I have ever seen.” SO FUNNY!

Skipping Christmas

 

Posted by Picasa

Call me Scrooge, but I hate putting up the Christmas tree. Yes, of course, I am always happy when it is done and we are greeted by twinking lights in our living room for a whole month! (two, if I never get around to taking it down in January) But, c’mon what sadistic Martha Stewart came up with the tradition of putting away every knick knack in your house just to unload 6 huge boxes of junk. Is this really a necessary part of enjoying the holidays?

One of these days I will get the courage up to skip Christmas as I read about in John Grisham’s book.

Here is a picture of LG enjoying his Thanksgiving holiday. I am not trying to make him feel bad; I really am glad that he was enjoying some down time.

But, shouldn’t we all be able to enjoy our holidays, regardless of our gender?

We need an ACLU Christmas. We need to keep all of our National Holidays, yet, the week after we celebrate, we should have the ACLU version where the men do all the work that the women usually handle and the women act like the men (ie. sitting on the couch reading a book, playing football with our friends, watching sports on TV)

Think about it. Who does the work? We’ll start with Easter for the pure delight of making a point. Who buys the candy, who shops for those cute Easter outfits? Who makes sure that they get up at the crack of dawn to stage the fact that the Easter Bunny has visited (Abigail does read my blog now and so I have to be careful what I say here – I know she doesn’t believe in the Easter Bunny any more)

Next holiday – July 4th – Who buys and prepares the food and plans the outing? Really, all the men have to do is set off the fireworks..and is that really work?

Halloween – Who buys the candy, who tries to keep everyone from consuming the candy when you bought it the week earlier? Who makes the costumes? Who runs around like a mad woman on 10/31 making sure that all the preparations are accomplished for trick or treating, including the dinner, and making sure that you can somewhat tell what the kids are dressed up as, even under their coats?

Thanksgiving – who combs all the adds looking for the cheapest turkey? Who bakes the pies and the rolls and the, do you really want me to finish the food list? Who has to clean the house like a turkey with her head cut off to accomidate all the company? And, who is that actually sets that darn table? If all of that isn’t enough. Now, in American culture, we are expected to get up at the crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving to make sure we get the best deals for the next holiday coming up.

and Christmas … I don’t think I have to explain the thought process.

I think I would really be willing to give up the two Woman holidays of the year (Valentine’s and Mother’s Day) to eliminate all the other holiday work throughout the year.

I know, I know, I am a whiner. It’s all about the memories we are making. I can’t help it that I prefer to make memories without working myself like a horse.

Not that you care, but I really wanted to add a picture of me in here of decorating the tree last night. Guess why I didn’t? I spared you the trauma of staring at my big fat bum. Every picture that was taken I was leaning over and picking something up, moving furniture, or plugging something in. Yep, you got it….working.

And were you wondering what LG was doing through all of the Christmas festivities – you got it – not working – unless you consider taking my picture work – which come to think of it – maybe he was working – staring at my bum really can’t be considered enjoyable. HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!

Oh, and I just added the bonus picture of Kitty Bear. I think she may feel like I do about this whole tree nonsense. Check her out; she’s staring it down.

Read the Box

 

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.

Posted by Picasa

Google is my friend

Have you ever tried to “google” yourself? Laugh if you must, but I do it all the time. Sadly, Alice Gold never brings up anything to do with me. Interestingly there are many other Alice Gold’s in this country. Also interesting is that they all seem pretty accomplished. A third interesting note is that my mother-in-law is also Alice Gold. She goes by her middle name Faye, but unfortunate for her she doesn’t show up in google either.

So, when searching the engine for Alice Gold got old, I adopted a new favorite pasttime. Now, about once a week I will google “imsofunny”. Today I was absolutely elated when I showed up in the #2 spot. Man, I can’t believe that I am almost the famous writer that I have been dreaming about for so long. That was facetiousness, in case my naysayer anonymous commenter is reading. (and, yes I do know what facetious means, as well as budget conscience) It is amazing what one can find searching on the internet. One of my previous posts shows a funny find on Ask Jeeves. This search was in reference to one of my most liked entries: Cialis.

I cannot imagine life without google. LeGrand spent years trying to convince me that we needed to upgrade from dial-up to DSL. I always resisted! (Yes, this was before my blogging days) Well, now, occasionally when we go over our budget,(which unfortunate for me we have been doing a lot of lately) LG and I will discuss places we can cut back.

Now, the tables have turned and LG will sometimes suggest cutting out the DSL. I am dumbfounded that he really thinks he can live without fast Internet at home because you know we are NEVER going back to dial-up. Lucky for me, I made a very smart deal with LeGrand before I embraced modern technology. Before I got my DSL or my cell phone I warned him that I would be unable to go back. One point for me in the spousal war…it was as if I knew he would try to renege the offer. HA! I love unwritten contracts. He can never take away my cell phone or my DSL because I refused to get them without him promising that he wouldn’t renege.

So, what am I going to do on the computer next? Search for an elf costume for Abigail’s school play on Thursday. How did my mother take care of stuff like this in the old days? Can you believe that I actually went and sat at Hobby Lobby looking for a costume pattern today? What was I thinking? I just got on the information superhighway (whatever it is that Nadelie calls the internet) and found what I needed to do in 1 minute flat. Every second spared when you are a mother = one second to do something a little more enjoyable (like blogging). And, a good side note. I just saved us $40 on an elf costume. I’ll have to tell LG that the DSL paid for itself this month. He will be so happy.

Next blogging topic: mapquest.

The Your Nighted States

Today, between the 1pm kindergarten pick up and the 2:45 end of the day, two of the girls and I stopped by the post office to mail a Christmas package to my parents. The postal worker kindly gave the girls the post office’s coloring book. It is entitled “Greetings from America” and teaches U.S. historical and geographical facts. It’s pretty cool and of course the girls are always delighted to get a special surprise that breaks up the monotony of running errands with mom.

On the way home, this was the comical conversation.

Bella talking to herself incoherently, “So people sleep at night and they live in the states.”

I was figuring that she was making 4 year old reference self-talk to the fact that we live in The United States and we have our night while my sister-in-law’s family has day in Korea. We have had that conversation with her a few times.

I keep on eavesdropping. Bella: “So it’s you and states.”

Sophia, “Yes Bella, it’s The United States.”

Bella, “Yeah, The Your Nighted States….we sleep at night.”

When I commented that it was great that we live in The Your Nighted States we all had a good chuckle. The girls also loved being surprised by mom listening in during the mundane and long car rides home from school.

Then Abigail gets in the car and starts looking through her book and says, “Mom I can tell you the United States Presidents.”

“Oh really, all of them?” “No, not all of them, just George Washington, John Adams and Abraham Lincoln; I am not sure of that guy in the middle with the glasses.”

Sophia, “That’s Teddy Bear Roosevelt.” Abigail, “Oh yeah, and Teddy Roosevelt.”

My response: “Abigail now we live in The Your Nighted States, didn’t you know?”

P.S. It’s not John Adams, that’s Thomas Jefferson.

The Southern Baptists

In no way do I want to be disrespectful to my friends of other faiths, but I just gotta blog about something kind of funny. I love the Southern Christian people. We are surrounded by people who are not afraid to talk about their faith and this is not only refreshing but faith promoting. The picture above is the Historical First Baptist church in downtown Knoxville.

But, on with my entry. (Please don’t be offended anyone) In the South, we are known as the Bible Belt. I never quite understood what that meant until I moved here 4 years ago. We literally have a different church on every corner. (as opposed to different LDS ward buildings in Utah) On some intersections you can even find two different Baptist churches across from one another. I have no idea how many different sects that there are in the Baptist church. Here are the ones that I have learned of: Southern Baptist, Primitive Baptist, Calvary Baptist, First Baptist. Some of these could just be names of congregations, I’m not totally sure. The point being that we are the Bible Belt because people around here really read their Bibles.

From what I have learned about Baptists, the most important thing one can do is be “saved”. Besides that, it doesn’t really matter what you believe and as a Baptist you can go to whichever church you want, picking a preacher that you like. Agreeing with all the doctrines preached is a huge bonus, and the main reason that the number of congregations are always growing. Being a Mormon, however, is not acceptable to people of the Baptist faith. The Baptists don’t consider us to be Christian because for some reason their preachers have taught them that our being saved is not the same as theirs. I still have yet to figure that out.

Here is an interesting website I came across tonight: Knoxkoupons. I can make no sense whatsoever as to why there is a website that totally focuses on church congregations with the title having the word Koupon in it. I am also unsure as to whether or not I should be saddened by the fact that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not on the list.

So, onto the funny part. As I have mentioned before, we have a funny way of talking here in the South. I never really thought about the origin of our vocabulary words until I was recently enlightened in Sunday School. Here are two seperate Bible references that we studied within the past couple of weeks.

Rom. 8: 18
18 For I reckon that the asufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the bglory which shall be revealed cin us.

Rom. 12: 14
14 Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.

So, I got an answer to a question that I had never bothered to ask just by going to Sunday School. (this could be some kind of motivational “attend your meetings” speech) The question: Where do Southerners get their vocabulary? The origin: The Holy Bible. Two Southern phrases from tbe Book or Romans: “I reckon” & “Bless his heart”.

Our family especially likes the Southern phrase, “bless his heart.” You can almost get away with murder, as long as you are willing to say “bless his heart” after you kill someone. For instance, “Oh honey, you are getting so fat, bless your heart.”

The Hubby’s Humor


Those of you that have been loyal readers from the beginning know that this blog was a gift to me from my husband for Valentine’s Day a few years back. It really has been one of the best gifts he has ever given me. One, I love to write and I use this blog all the time. (except for the year 2006) 😉 Two, this blog is a great therapeutic tool! And three, LG was able to use his skills in Computer Science (which he will adamantly oppose, saying that it doesn’t take computer skills to set up a blog) to gift this to me. Of course there is no better gift than giving of yourself.

Here is a picture of LG. He is the love of my life, which none of you care about, but look at his cuteness. Just looking at a picture of him makes me smile. LG was the one who thought of the name for my blog. “I’m so funny” came from my oft heard self description of my sad sense of humor. (If I was really funny, I wouldn’t have to declare it to everyone after telling a joke, right?) The other source of this blog’s name is from the dialogue that often takes place between LG and me. Whenever one of us gets a good joke in, we are both known to profess to each other, “I’m so funny.” Usually this will turn into a little bit of fun bantering between us; of course he always lets me have the last, “No, I’m so funny.” This is very kind of him considering that he really does have the quicker wit.

We also like to sometimes exclaim to one another, “You’re so funny!” “You’re so funny” can be said for two reasons. These reasons have never been officially discussed, but have just evolved over time and are simply understood by just the two of us. The first kind of “You’re so funny” is said in a de·rog·a·to·ry fashion. The meaning of the expression really being, “you’re NOT so funny.” The second instance where we will say “you’re so funny” is always in only the finest complimentary way. The trick with the “you’re so funny” expression is that the giver of the words has to deliver the phrase in a monotone fashion. The whole fun with saying, “you’re so funny” is making the recipient of the phrase try to figure out if the humor is being described as 1- that was bad! or 2- that was really good!

Last night LG gave me a point in case example of his quick wit. I just had to share. We were in bed having our usual late night chat. Directly after our nightly prayers, and right before falling to sleep sometimes we will engage in (NO, not that) conversation. We go over the happenings of the day, talk about our next day’s plans, and sometimes, rarely, LG will even venture into the world of sharing his true deep down feelings. LG was a little down last night. He said he was having self confidence issues. (which I am sure he will be happy that I have told the whole world today on my blog – and which will also mean that it will be a while before he dares share any more personal feelings) But this story is worth it and I HAVE to give you the background information or it just won’t be the same. I will conveniently leave out some other details, only because LG has threatened me. 🙂

Our conversation progressed last night by me pressing for the exact reasons he was down on himself. He told me a few things he felt and then I got the chance to dispel his negative thoughts. By the time I got done, I thought, “I should tell him some others things he is good at.” LG’s complete ignorance of my weak compliments led me to start using the usual backup stupid complimentary phrases, the last being, “And, you know that I think that you have the perfect amount of chest hair.”

You have to understand that this last compliment was given with a sweet kiss attached. And, what was his reply? “So do you.” How does he expect my pep talk to lead to any form of intimacy when all I could do was just crack up? In between my fits of laughter I got the last word of course, “You’re so funny!” And this time I am sure that my tone gave away the meaning of the phrase.

Last night, LG may have won the I’msofunny game. Happily in this case, I declare the war as never being over. Last night, LG was truly #2 “you really are so funny” and not #1, “you’re not so funny.” with those three quick words, “So do you.”

Maybe some of those writers in Hollywood could step aside and give LG a shot. I tell you what, “So do you”, blurted out in .001 seconds?! I would almost be proud of his joke if it wasn’t in reference to me having hair on my chest (which just in case you are wondering, I don’t) If I did, that wouldn’t be so funny, now would it?

This is the way we do it in the south

So, I am addicted to reading the comments on my blog. The other day I was frustrated because none of my blogging friends have updated and no one is giving me the desperate attention I shouldn’t need. LG informed me that I have fallen away from what I do best, telling funny stories. “No one wants to read about your kids”, he said. He then informed me that I ruined my reading audience because back in the beginning I was getting at least 20 hits a day, and that now, if we could remember how to get to my tracker it would be just the same 5 friends. Oh well, I guess I’ll never be famous. Isn’t this blogging thing so egotistical? Who really wants to read anything that I have to write about except other bloggers who are just as desperate as I am for some comment action. I mean really, be honest with yourself, don’t we all blog for the comments?

So, on with my desperate attempt to entertain my readers with a story that doesn’t have to do with my children. Which may backfire because all of my readers may be in the future when my children get older and decide to do genealogy by reading their mom’s blog. And, then they will just want to hear their stories, and instead they will find this one. Man, us mom’s, sometimes we just can’t win.

A few years ago, when I was very new to the South and was trying to learn all the new vocabulary I had an interesting experience at WalMart. Of course it happened at Wal-Mart because Tennesseans don’t shop anywhere else. This story has to do with the picture above in a round about way…see if you can figure it out. I got the picture above from, I know you won’t believe it, the international towing museum, which is amazingly located down south a bit in Chattanooga,TN.

I was checking out in the regular line, as opposed to the infamous Self Check Out, which is where I normally check out. I may have shied away from Self Check Out a little after the above mentioned linked experience, and come to think of it, it was shortly after the funny check out story and I was checking out late at night (which explains why I wasn’t in my favorite closed self check out line.)

So, this night, a gruff looking man pulled his buggy up behind mine (we use the word buggy instead of shopping cart in the South) On a side note, I learned very quickly to holler (not yell) at my children to get in the buggy. No onlookers understood my discipline when I told my kids to get in the cart. I like to think of my audience you know. So, on with the story, as the cashier checked out my mountains of groceries, this gruff man asked her politely if she would keep an eye on his buggy. He explained, “I’m a wrecker driver and I just got a page.” He took off and the cashier pulled his buggy of merchandise out of the line.

I was perplexed. “What’s a wrecker driver?”, I asked the cashier, with as close as I can get to a Southern accent. I knew I would sound as if I was from a foreign country. The cashier looked at me as if I was from a foreign country. I explained further, “If you can’t tell already, I am not from the South.” (not hard for most people to notice since calling a shopping cart a buggy is as close as I get to a southern drawl) “So what that you aren’t from the south, are you stupid?”, her glare seemed to scream at me. So, I asked again,”What’s a wrecker driver, I really don’t know what that is.”

As she must have noticed the tear forming in my eye from frustration, she answered nonchalantly, “It’s a person who drives a wrecker, honey.”

I probably should have stopped there, but just couldn’t end the insanity until I got my answers. “What’s a wrecker?”

“Well, you know, honey, it’s the thing that people call when they’ve been in an accident or their car broke down.”

“Ohhhhhhhhh, a TOW TRUCK!”, I responded feeling so enlightened.

She then replied, “What’s a tow truck?” I saved her the humiliation and explained, “It’s what the rest of this country calls a wrecker driver.”

Well surely this WalMart cashier must have been the more misinformed person because even the best of the best wrecker drivers call their museum the “International TOWING Museum”, not the “International Wrecker Museum.” I took pride in myself tonight for knowing more than the old WalMart checker about wreckers. Surely she doesn’t know about the wrecker museum or this website that I found tonight while searching for a picture of a wrecker to post.

Do you think I can pass as a true Southerner yet? I guess I’ll have the ultimate test when my car breaks down. If I look under the T’s in the yellow book before I look up the W’s than I will have failed. But, if I go straight to the “wrecker section”, well, then let’s just say that then y’all will know that I am at least one southern vocabulary word closer.

California Fires

So, LG and I took the girls for a getaway to the Atlanta temple yesterday. It’s a three hour drive each way. We left very early to get a jump start and it was a typical Southern Fall foggy morning.

Between navigating for LG, taking care of the kids in the car, and making the 7 soccer party calls from my cell phone, my mind wandered from the road. I looked up to see a wall of “smoke”. I exclaimed, “Honey, there’s a fire, slow down.”

Yes, I’m a Californian and grew up among frequent fires. LG turned to me and said, “Go home hippie.”

He didn’t really say that but that’s not the point. Our conversation just now went something like this.

Me: “Well, aren’t fog and smoke from the same element anyway?”

“No, Fog is water; smoke is pollution, you hippie.”

“What are you talking about you redneck, smoke is not pollution.”