Easy as 1-2-3
January 15th, 2010 @ 9:56 am | Comments (1)
Filed: Uncategorized | Tags:
My mom has always been a counter when it comes to child discipline. She could put the fear of God in my sisters and me with the first “Wwww” before going on to nnne. (Because she liked to let anticipation build.) Which is why I couldn’t help but laugh when she was trying to discipline my nephew D.
“D, pick up your toys now.”
“No.”
“Pick them up, please.”
“No.”
“D, wwwwwwwwone… twwwwwooo-”
“Three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine!”
He hasn’t quite mastered ten.
Suffice it to say he didn’t pick up his toys.
The Clampetts go to Farmville
January 6th, 2010 @ 9:31 pm | Comments (1)
Filed: Cows, My glamourous life | Tags:
Scene: Two of my sisters and I are sitting on our parents’ couch, laptops warming our knees. Dad enters.
(Background: My dad can maybe turn off a computer, he usually just pulls the plug. Although there was that one time, like 10 years ago, he really enjoyed playing pinball.) (Also, my dad has a disposition similar to Red from “That ’70s Show.”)
Dad: What ARE you doing?
Us, in unison: Playing Farmville.
Dad: What?
Me: Farmville. It’s a computer farming game.
K: You plant crops, milk cows, earn money.
Dad: You idiots. We have 150 REAL acres out there. Go farm for real.
Me: But we don’t get smelly farming on Facebook. And it’s much warmer in here.
(Aside: You make way more money for your cows’ milk on Farmville than you do in real life. And I don’t think anyone makes pink tractors. By the way, brown cows don’t produce chocolate milk, nor do pink cows make strawberry milk.)
But I do appreciate cute men no matter their professions
November 4th, 2009 @ 10:17 pm | Comments (1)
Filed: Uncategorized | Tags:
You know how there are some days (weeks?) at work that make you wonder why you’re doing this? Are you competent? Are you working hard enough? Could you make better money elsewhere? Why are your coworkers so ridiculous? With this economy, leaving a steady, respectable job is daunting.
And then there are those magical days that make you realize it’s not so bad.
Today I had a meeting with football team that rhymes with Smaltimore Smavens. Over the past month or so I’ve had the opportunity to meet with two other teams as we work on a huge project to tackle (ha!) childhood obesity. Meeting with these teams is kind of wasted on me - I’m not a huge sports fan. Sure, I’m always up for a good social function around a sporting event but that’s usually for the alcohol. I think athletic interest is imparted by your parents which my parents never encouraged. I grew up on a sole proprietor dairy farm and my parents were too busy, and we lived too far away, so we weren’t allowed to participate in organized sports.
Anyway, I’m not a huge sports fan but I can still appreciate the experience I had today (and that it was kind of wasted on me). We were invited to the team’s practice facility, which a colleague described as Hogwarts from Harry Potter. Gorgeous. After the meeting, we ate lunch in the team’s cafeteria during which the PRESIDENT of the TEAM sat with us. Then toured the facility. We checked out the locker room (those boys are messy!), met the equipment manager (the players wear new shoes each game - they go through 1,000 pairs of shoes a year), toured the weight room, hung out in the team lounge, and watched some of this afternoon’s practice.
Was I bragging when I updated my Facebook status with, “Just ate lunch with the president of the Smavens.”? Are you a Smavens fan? Do you ever have magical opportunities at work? Do you ever feel incompetent? Anyone from the Smavens want to hire me? (Employees get free food, access to the team’s gym, free fitness classes and a posh office. And to meet with me.) (Also, there was a sign on the front door that said if you have flu-like symptoms, you weren’t allowed in the building.)
PS - A couple weeks ago, I wore TWO Super Bowl rings.
Empty Frames
October 7th, 2009 @ 8:42 pm | Comments (2)
Filed: My glamourous life, Pomdering | Tags:
Several months ago, I bought picture frames engraved with the word “Sisters.” I do this occassionally - pick up matching items to give to my three younger sisters to symbolize our sisterly bond.
Though we fought (really, physically, emotionally fought like cats and dogs) through out childhood, as we matured we grew really close. We bought sister rings on our Griswold family vacation. We took crazy photos at random locations on another trip through the South. We’ve helped each other move and stood beside our sister as she said “I do.” The night before S got married, we all slept together on our parents’ pull out sofa bed. We had cookie making parties and have matching footie pajamas.
So I bought these picture frames months ago hoping that in the very near future we would have another picture-perfect opportunity we could capture on film (or digital) that I could commit to photo paper and seal behind glass. But it’s been months, more than 12 of them, since the four of us have had a happy, carefree, sisterly moment together. We haven’t spent a holiday together since Easter 2008, the day before S walked out on her husband and chose a new path in life. She has a new family now; new friends, a new man, a new baby. Because of the man’s history with my family, either he won’t come around or she won’t bring him around. So she chooses him, even though he’s unworthy of her.
Then I think, who am I to judge her? Him? Why can’t I just support her and love her, decisions and all? I just want my sister back. I want more photogenic moments. I want to eat Thanksgiving dinner beside her. I want to send wrapping paper flying through the air on Christmas Day beside her. I want to see my nephews - those adorable, lovable baby boys who own my heart - dressed in Halloween costumes. I want, I want, I want to be a happy family again. I need to be a good sister and just accept her and her decisions because I think that’s what she needs.
A few days ago I found the forgotten empty frames still wrapped in the Kohl’s bag. I cried.
Scene from a weekend
September 7th, 2009 @ 9:55 pm | Comments (2)
Filed: Pomdering | Tags:
Verdant blades of grass swayed in the wind as we sat around tables, sheltered under a tent from the searing sun, honoring the laborers by drinking beer and throwing horseshoes.
“Whose wedding are these [beer coozie] favors from?” I asked of the favors shrouded in a Ziplock bag.
“Oh, they’re from Mary and Ted’s wedding a couple months ago,” said a portly grandmother, bespectacled and chiding.
“We were sorry we couldn’t make it,” my sister said. “Did you have a good time? Didn’t Peggy make the wedding dress?”
“It was really nice, we had a really good time,” Grandma said. “I have my camera, I’ll have to show you pictures. The dress was short, two pieces. The top was kind of like a vest with a black shirt underneath. It was really pretty!”
“It was camouflage,” my sister explained.
“Oh,” I said.
“And so was the tux!” Grandma said.
Out came the Kodak. I silently flipped through the photos, because my mother told me if I couldn’t say anything nice, I shouldn’t say anything at all. For once I managed to follow that small rule of decorum.
“And there’s the sign they had hanging as we entered the wedding,” Grandma said. “One one said it ‘Get ‘Er Done!’ and as we left we saw it said, ‘Got ‘Er Done!”
You wield the Glamour Black Bar: Camo wedding wear: DO or DON’T?
Deep breaths, if you dare
April 27th, 2009 @ 9:57 pm | Comments (4)
Filed: My glamourous life | Tags: Amish
This week’s episode of Rules of Engagement featured a teenage Amish boy in the Big City during his Rumshpringa. Not only did the actor playing the Amish boy have the worst Amish accent ever, but it triggered a story that I almost forgot.
My oldest nephews (oh wait, I forgot to blog that my sister had a baby almost two weeks ago? Poor Cody.) have an Amish babysitter. Interesting Amish factoid of the day: most Amish only bathe on Saturdays, in preparation for church on Sunday. And they don’t wear deodorant.
Because she was moving the next day and had to borrow my dad’s cattle trailer to transport all her rustic cabin furnishings and dead, stuffed animal heads, my sister visited my parents’ house Friday night. She brought with her Blayne, who spent all day with the Amish babysitter. On Friday. Which is the day before her weekly bath.
My sister didn’t appreciate it so much when I nearly gagged after taking a deep breath of what should have been that magical baby smell but was instead horrific BO.
Tomorrow’s update: Surprise! It’s another boy!
Oh deer
March 13th, 2009 @ 12:54 pm | Comments (3)
Filed: Gone Country | Tags: bumper sticker, hunting, redneck
Sometimes you see something that makes you think, “This could only occur in my town.”
I understand feeling pride for your child’s accomplishments, but really Pennsylvania? Really? If that’s not redneck, I don’t know what is.
(Although I kind of expect my sisters to sport similar bumper stickers when their children reach the designated hunting age.)
