Okay, so it isn't every day that you have a thirty-six year-old man with a masters degree and near completion of his doctorate ask you if pickles grow in your garden. Seriously. My hubby asked if those were pickles in the jar in the fridge or if they were cucumbers from the garden. He didn't know pickles were made from cucumbers. I'm serious. I've made pickles now for ten years. He's never seen me do it, just eaten the end result. The man thinks pickles grow in your garden. Pickle tree? Pickle bush?...
So, me and Kami were watching X-Men 2. They were talking about a little girl walking through walls. Kami says, "Mommy, can I walk through walls?" "Sure you can. I did it twice when I was a little girl. Go ahead try it." I say. She tried it and realized on the third try that she could not, in fact, walk through walls. We then discussed the difference between TV and real life. Mutants do not exist... well, not in the hot Hugh Jackman way.
Not for the faint of heart... wienies need read no further. Frustrated house-fraus, overworked mothers and people who are just plain irritated are welcome.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Crawdads and Church
Today we went to church. Yes, I said church. After months of the husband begging me to come with him and listen to the new priest, I went... grudgingly. The guy wasn't too bad. He was a sight better than the old priest, Father "I'm Only In This For The Retirement". He didn't mention football, golf or beer... wait, he did mention beer. I excused this because he was discussing his trip to Germany. Apparently, the water is so horrible there that they can only make it palatable by brewing it into beer. Isn't that the excuse the Baptists use for wine in the Bible? I digress. I came, I saw, I kinda liked the guy.
After church came the big Sunday decision... what to do for lunch? We toyed with the idea of schlubbing down some processed chicken parts at the local fast-food joint, but settled on sandwiches at the local park. We had a great time. The kids wanted to walk down to the spring-fed creek. We went down and played in the water and caught a mess of crawdads... otherwise known as the poor man's shrimp. The kids played for about an hour and insisted that we take the crawdads home to put in my little pond.
So, on the way home we have to stop at the local store to get index cards for Todd's football team. My youngest daughter, Kami, refused to leave her little friends in the van. So we toted a cup full of crawdads into the store where she promptly showed them to anyone who cared to look. Then she stood at the door where she could see herself in the television system and danced while singing about the virtues of her crawdads. We got home and I grabbed the cup to put her friends into their new home. She threw a fit. Well... I can run faster than her. So, I took them outside and threw them into my pond. The end.
We're making bread and canning apples tonight. There should be more inane stories later.
After church came the big Sunday decision... what to do for lunch? We toyed with the idea of schlubbing down some processed chicken parts at the local fast-food joint, but settled on sandwiches at the local park. We had a great time. The kids wanted to walk down to the spring-fed creek. We went down and played in the water and caught a mess of crawdads... otherwise known as the poor man's shrimp. The kids played for about an hour and insisted that we take the crawdads home to put in my little pond.
So, on the way home we have to stop at the local store to get index cards for Todd's football team. My youngest daughter, Kami, refused to leave her little friends in the van. So we toted a cup full of crawdads into the store where she promptly showed them to anyone who cared to look. Then she stood at the door where she could see herself in the television system and danced while singing about the virtues of her crawdads. We got home and I grabbed the cup to put her friends into their new home. She threw a fit. Well... I can run faster than her. So, I took them outside and threw them into my pond. The end.
We're making bread and canning apples tonight. There should be more inane stories later.
Let me introduce myself...
If you were hoping to find something morbid or disturbing, let me show you to the door. I thought the name was catchy and there are times when I would like to kill my husband, children, friends and random strangers. My friend, Amy, said I should start a blog. I need to get some things out and share them with other people. Since this is relatively anonymous, I can say pretty much what I feel and be none the worse for wear.
Let me start off by saying that I don't go to church on Sundays anymore. It isn't that I've lost my faith in God, just people. What is church anyhow? Is it some inane ritual that we do to make ourselves feel better for being assholes to everyone? Do we do it to feel superior to other people, those who don't attend church? Does it make us more loved or loving by/towards God? The answer is ,"No." That being said, I go when I feel like it. Lately I haven't gone because I'm afraid if I do I'll say something unkind or profane to someone... namely the lady who repeatedly asks me, "Where have you been? We haven't seen you here in forever." I just want to tell her it isn't any of her business.
I feel the need to slap people sometimes too. Namely those who want to hug me and tell me how much they miss seeing me at church. Funny, they only talk to me when I haven't been there in a month or so. Otherwise, I'm just another lackey there to do their menial little tasks at their stupid little gatherings. I get called upon to make desserts, bake rolls and other tasty dishes but not invited to social gatherings. I may say the wrong thing.
Now that you know my personality, let me introduce myself: I am a thirty-ish mother of three who has been married for a long time. My husband is a teacher and a football coach and I am a stay-at-home mom. I have been through some pretty insane things and I plan on sharing them. I guess I should start at the beginning...
Let me start off by saying that I don't go to church on Sundays anymore. It isn't that I've lost my faith in God, just people. What is church anyhow? Is it some inane ritual that we do to make ourselves feel better for being assholes to everyone? Do we do it to feel superior to other people, those who don't attend church? Does it make us more loved or loving by/towards God? The answer is ,"No." That being said, I go when I feel like it. Lately I haven't gone because I'm afraid if I do I'll say something unkind or profane to someone... namely the lady who repeatedly asks me, "Where have you been? We haven't seen you here in forever." I just want to tell her it isn't any of her business.
I feel the need to slap people sometimes too. Namely those who want to hug me and tell me how much they miss seeing me at church. Funny, they only talk to me when I haven't been there in a month or so. Otherwise, I'm just another lackey there to do their menial little tasks at their stupid little gatherings. I get called upon to make desserts, bake rolls and other tasty dishes but not invited to social gatherings. I may say the wrong thing.
Now that you know my personality, let me introduce myself: I am a thirty-ish mother of three who has been married for a long time. My husband is a teacher and a football coach and I am a stay-at-home mom. I have been through some pretty insane things and I plan on sharing them. I guess I should start at the beginning...
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