Saturday, August 27, 2011

17 years is 119 in dog years

Today is our 17th wedding anniversary.   That's 119 years in dog years.  I must say, I'm not sure where the time has gone.

In some ways, though, it seems like we've been married forever.  Superfrydad will be 40 in January and I will be 36.  I guess we've officially hit middle age.  I'm not sure I want to live past age 80, so once I hit 40, I'll be on the downhill slope to the end.

We've been through more in 17 years than a lot of people ever go through.  A tornado hit my parent's house 10 days before we got married, so we've survived a natural disaster.  Our first child died and I still can't believe she would be almost 9 years old today.  Over the years in our family, we've dealt with divorce, suicide, and cancer.  Pretty much, anything bad that can happen to you, we've checked off of our list.  On the other hand, we've had many wonderful things happen to us too.  We have a beautiful and healthy almost 7 year old and the Lord has always provided for all of our needs. I guess if I really sit and think about all of our blessings, I wouldn't be able to list them all here.

17 years from now, I will be 52, Superfrydad will be 56, and Superfrykid will be 23.  If it goes by as quickly as these first 17 years have gone by, it will be here in no time.

Friday, August 26, 2011

too cool for school

Superfrykid started first grade.  She loves it.
I tried to take pictures on the first day to document this important milestone.  She chose some interesting poses.....I'm not sure, but I think she was trying to be cool.
If you know me, you know that cool is not a word that has ever, nor will ever, describe me.  As much as I may have wished it during my childhood and teen years, I was just not cool. I'm still not, but I'm ok with that.  Maybe there's hope for Superfrykid.  She has the self confidence at age 6 that I wish I had at my current age. (Which is 35, no sense in trying to be vague about it.  It is what it is.)

I know there will be a day in my life when I look back and wish for these days again.  I wish I could just hit a giant pause button (like the giant red Easy button that Staples uses in their ads).  I know these days are the best days....not much homework days, everybody is your friend at school days, riding the bus is fun days, not caring if your shoes are from Payless days.......1st grade is pretty cool in my book.




Saturday, August 13, 2011

when i grow up

Here's the evolution of what my kid says she wants to be when she grows up:

Pre-K:  "a cop"
Not a police officer.  A cop, says the 4 year old, who obviously watches too much TV with her father.

K: "a vet, a teacher, a mommy." 
All of the classics here.  Makes me think we are raising a normal child and maybe watching Cops on TV with her father didn't scar her for life.

almost 1st grader:  "a rapper"
Say what? Where is this coming from? 

I asked her why and she said because rappers rhyme and she really likes to rhyme.

Alrighty then.

Friday, August 12, 2011

mis-manners


I mentioned yesterday that I went to the movies with 2 friends, which led to the dilemma of to hug or not to hug. 

My girls night out not only gave me blog fodder for yesterday, it gave me some for today too.  Not too shabby, as my life is generally uneventful and many of the things that annoy me have already been covered here at KWTF.  I do have a pretty big stockpile of things that annoy me though, so never fear.

Sidebar:  We saw "The Help", based on the book by Kathryn Stockett.  The book was good and so was the movie.  Usually I avoid movies based on books because they are never as good.  This was an exception.

Anyway, back to the blog fodder for today.  Today I want to talk about mis-manners.  Not Miss Manners, the person.  Mis-manners, like manners that miss the mark.  Rudeness, if you will.

Like I said above, we went to the movies.  We went to the 10 pm show because all of us have kids and it's a convenient time to leave our children unattended - I mean, with our husbands. 

We were the first ones in the theatre, so we chose seats about 4 rows down from the top right in the middle.  A few more people came in and followed the rule of not sitting close to someone else.  Some sat down front, some went all the way to the top. Some went to the right, some went to the left.  Then a group of young girls came in and sat in the row behind us. 

Why would they sit right behind us?  Because they have mis-manners. 

We paid $10 to get in and $59.95 for a soda and one jujube.



By the way, I just googled how to spell Jujube and got a website I did not expect.  I may never eat another Jujube again thanks to RuPaul.

Anyway, back to the annoying girls.

They sat right behind us.  I'm guessing there were approximately 95 other seats they could have chosen, but they chose to be near us. 

Talking, kicking the seat, farting and then making the seat squeak like there were more farts, and using their phones. 

At the risk of sounding old and fuddy-duddy, let me just say that if you are going to pay money to come to the movies, wouldn't you watch the movie?  Or choose a movie that suits you?  I mean, isn't Smurfs out yet? 

The real Miss Manners is clearly slacking.  We need someone to rise up and become a Super Hero version of Miss Manners.

She could fly in to movie theatres and pluck out people who talk on their phones or kick your seat.

True story:  One time I was at a dance recital for my niece and this old woman kicked the back of my seat for about 20 minutes.  Finally I turned around and requested that we switch seats so she could see better and also not kick me.  She agreed and I held my leg down the rest of the time to keep from getting her back.  See what a nice person I am?

Gotta go now.....I have a cape to sew.

If I put MM on the cape, nobody will confuse me with Eminem, right?



Thursday, August 11, 2011

to hug or not to hug

Someone recently said to me: "I only like to hug people who don't stink."

I agree wholeheartedly.  I, too, only like to hug people who don't stink.  However, it's not really the stink factor that makes me hug or not hug.

I feel like most people are either huggers or non-huggers.

Is this not true?

You can't really be both.

But here's where the tricky part comes in for me. 

I don't know which one I am.

I hug people who are huggers.

I don't hug people who aren't huggers.

I'm having a hugging identity crisis.

Here's an example:
I went to the movies with 2 friends.  One is an old friend that I've known since high school - she was in my wedding & I was in hers & we have somehow still kept a friendship going for 17 plus years.  She is a non-hugger.  The other is my friend's sister-in-law.  I don't know the sis-in-law as well as I know my old friend, but I do know that she is a hugger.

When we left the movies, the sister-in-law gave me a hug.  My friend said bye and walked away.  No hug.

Clearly, these women know who they are.  One is a hugger and one is not. 

What am I?

A two-faced hugger?

It kind of annoys me about myself.  I don't want to be two-faced.

I feel like VeggieTales should have a movie about this.  Then I would know what to do.  And I would have a new song to replace the Hairbrush one, because the Hug Movie would be certain to contain a catchy tune about the green bean who couldn't hug the pumpkin. 

None of them have arms anyway.

"Oh, where, oh, where, oh, where, oh, where, oh, where, oh, wheeeeeeeeere......are my ar-rms?"

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

schmucket recap

Here's a Schmucket List recap:

1.  Do a cartwheel
2.  Rollerskate
3.  Swim in water over my head
4.  Drive a stick shift

I thought I might add something, so here it is:

5.  Dance 
I just can't and I believe it's something you either can or can't do....even if I took lessons, I would not be able to.  Therefore, it's on the schmucket list.

My daughter, I fear, has my dance impaired genes.  However, she does not know it yet.  Because she is 6 years old, she thinks she is Twitch from SYTYCD (soyouthinkyoucandance).  Someday, I know she will add dancing to her Schmucket List.  But for now, she can live in the blissful ignorance of childhood.

Remember her wedding dance moves?  I found out where she got them......Sprout Online.  Barnyard Boogie Game.  It's actually kind of funny.  Sprout has all kinds of moves on there....who knew?

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

me vs. pioneer woman

I used to like The Pioneer Woman.  I read her blog a lot and finally I realized that it's actually kind of lame.  In fact, I discovered a blog called thepioneerwomansux or something like that.  There are actually several blogs out there that exist solely to make fun of The Pioneer Woman.  She is a really rich lady who pretends to be all country and cool at the same time.   I don't know why, but that rubs me the wrong way, so now I don't read PW anymore.

Then I got to thinking about it (I can't sleep and I've watched all of my DVR shows)....anyway, I started thinking about how my life is kind of a really low-budget/rednecky version of the Pioneer Woman. 

PW:  Marlboro Man  (wears chaps, cowboy hat & goatee)
Me:  Superfrydad (wears jean shorts, baseball hat & goatee)

PW:  Lives on a ranch in OK
Me:  Live on 3 acres in WV

PW:  Has lots of cattle and horses
Me:  Have 5 cows, a bull and 3 goats

PW:  Former ballerina
Me:  Former marching band color guard member (also known as "flags")

PW:  Published cookbook author
Me:  Unpublished box macaroni and cheese maker

PW:  Complains about her weight all the time/probably is a size 6 or 8 after 4 kids
Me:  Complain about my weight all the time/was an 8 before I bore children, now I am not.

PW:  Wears expensive clothing and thinks a shirt for $70 is a good buy
Me:  Wear inexpensive clothing and think that a shirt for $70 better have $50 in the pocket

Maybe I should rename Ketchup With The Frys.   I could call it thepoorandfatpioneerwoman or something catchy like that.  I'll think about it.

Monday, August 8, 2011

I need a tagline

KWTF (Ketchup with the Frys) is a simple blog, with no frills.  But lately I've been thinking maybe I need a tagline.  I just can't think of a good one right now.

Here's what I've got so far:

Ketchup with the Frys
ketchup/catch up with the Fry family....get it?

Ketchup with the Frys
not a food blog, but it does make me want to go to McDonald's

Ketchup with the Frys
because saying Musturd with the Frys makes you say the word turd

That's about it.  I can't really think of anything else.

The turd one makes me laugh, but having a poop reference in your tagline is probably not one of the best ways to garner readership. 

If you have a suggestion, leave it in the comments. 

If it's not a very good suggestion, keep it to yourself. 

Well, go ahead and post it because it makes me happy to get a comment every now and then.

If you don't have a suggestion, why are you reading this blog?  Clearly, the readers here at KWTF are clever, witty and creative.  If you are none of these, I suggest you find another blog to read.  Like Pioneer Woman.  Every other post there is a picture of her bassett hound.  No brain required.

Sunday, August 7, 2011

friend purgatory

I was lurking around on facebook and saw a post that made me giggle.  One of my friends said that her husband has what he calls "friend purgatory".

What is friend purgatory?

When someone requests your friendship and you just leave the request hanging out there.  You don't NOT ACCEPT it, because then you will show back up on their suggested friends list and the cycle will continue. 

If you leave them in friend purgatory, then you don't have to deal with a duplicate request later. 

It's kind of genius, really.

I can't believe I never thought of that.  I just friend anybody I know and then block them.

I know I just totally stole the idea of friend purgatory and put it on my blog so I would seem clever.  Does that make me a bad person?  I don't think so.  I think it's more like a public service announcement. 

And, btw, this friend's husband? I don't know him, but I might just friend request him so that his friend purgatory gets bigger......which leads to this question:  how many purgatory friends does it take to make you an official snob? 

Saturday, August 6, 2011

not having to wear a hair net is one of my new job perks

Remember the dork-o-meter?

I haven't had a "real" job since 2002.  That's 9 years for those of you who aren't very good with mental math.

I am beginning a new part-time (it's technically called half time) job soon within our local school system.

I am officially a lunch lady.  Not as in serving the lunch, also known as a cook, but as in the lady who scans your finger as you go through the lunch line.

And I'm happy about it.

I'm pretty sure that being happy about landing such a peonic (not sure that's a word but it means peon-like in my mind)....anyway, being happy about landing such a peonic job probably rates pretty high on the dork-o-meter.

I don't have to wear a hair net, so it can't be all that dorky, right? 

Praise the Lord, because it is the perfect location, the perfect hours, and the perfect timing!

And one of the perks of my new job is not having to wear a hair net!  I am certainly moving up in the world, n'est pas?

Friday, August 5, 2011

stuff my gma says

I feel I'm pretty safe to blog about my grandmother because
a.  she's in her late 70's
b.  she doesn't own a computer
c.  any relative reading this should be smart enough to keep it on the down low

My husband refers to her as "The Don" (and no, just because I made a reference once to a horse head in a bed doesn't mean I am connected to the mob).  He never calls her that to her face, mind you.  He calls her that because she is the matriarch of the family and likes to dole out little jobs for people to do.  Not jobs like burying people in concrete.  Jobs like, buy a pair of suspenders for your grandfather by Friday or stop and get me 3 scented oil diffusers or get me some gas for my lawnmower.  (All of those are real and recent "jobs".)

Oftentimes we give her a ride to church.  She lives within spitting distance of our church, but she likes to be dropped off at the front door I think.  When the phone rings on Saturday evening, I pretty much know it's the Don letting us know if she wants a ride or not.  I called her one Sunday morning not long ago because she did not make the Saturday evening call, and asked if she wanted us to pick her up.  Her response?

"If I need a ride, I'll call you."

Alrighty then.

The Don has spoken.

Shortly after that, I was making a meal for someone who just had a baby and happens to live close to my grandparents.  It happened to also be my grandfather's 86th birthday, so I called to see if I could bring them some dinner too.  Her response?

"What are you fixing?"

I told her grilled chicken, twice baked potatoes and green beans.  Her response?

"No, that's ok."

Okie dokie then.

I did end up taking them some cupcakes since it was his birthday.  I didn't ask, I just did it.  Thankfully, this pleased the Don and all was well.

I never really look forward to getting old, but I am definitely taking notes from my grandmother because if I make it to be her age, I am totally bossing everybody around.  I am going to think of the most trivial jobs ever and see how far I can go with it.  I'll be old, and I'll need something to keep me amused.

Here is a pic of my grandmother, taken by my daughter.  What kind of grandmother makes a face at her grandchild who is taking her picture?  The Don, that's who.  Because she doesn't care if you don't like it. 

s

Thursday, August 4, 2011

being awakened in the middle of the night by

Being awakened in the middle of the night by a phone call is usually not a good thing.

Hearing this in the middle of the night is also not a good thing:
video

This is a little "aquarium" that has a little plastic shark that is supposed to eat, sleep and play like a real pet. 

The sounds that come out of this thing are kind of scary.   They are especially scary when it's 3 am and you hear the chainsaw like sound coming from the next room. (If you didn't finish it, the chainsaw noise is at the very end.)

It's like that rogue baby toy that everyone has that plays music at random times.

Only scarier.

Needless to say, it's now in the trash. 

Thankfully, I only paid $2.48 for it.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

horse head in your bed

Superfrydad and I have been married for almost 17 years. 

Once, when we were still in the single digits of marriage, my husband went to the grand opening of The Tractor Supply Company.  Where, to his amazement, there was a man using a chainsaw to create wonderful works of art out of stumps.

Not stumps as in Civil War leg stumps, but pieces of wood kind of stumps.

Priceless art. 

Well, not priceless as it turns out.  More like $300.

He purchased and hauled home a giant stump with a deer head sticking out of it. 

He likes to hunt and thought it was the perfect way to add a little bit of the outdoors to our home. 

It looks like a horse with antlers. 

Needless to say, I hated it.  I still hate it. 

I've tried to get rid of it for years.  It was in our basement for a long time, scaring any little kids who happened to be visiting.   Did I mention it weighs about a million pounds?  That was always the excuse for Superfrydad to not get rid of it.  "It's too heavy to carry up the basement steps."

Well, I finally got some friends to carry it outside one time.  It made it out of the basement and is now on our deck. 

Where it's been for quite some time now.  Weathering and peeling and looking more creepy than ever.

If I could pick it up, I'd carry it far, far away.

Here's a picture of it.  Let me know if you would like to own it.  It's free if you haul it.  I might even pay you to take it. 



It would be a great prank on someone to put it right outside their bedroom window. 

Almost as bad as waking up with a real horse head in your bed.

Actually, a real horse head would be more convenient for me at this point.  I can't carry the stump so therefore it's still here.  I could totally put a horse head in a garbage bag and carry it outside.  After I stopped screaming, of course. 

Did I just express a preference for a real horse head in my bed over the stump horse head on my deck? 

I think so.

You never have to visit this blog again.  I totally understand.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

true friendship and a breast pump

I have a friend, who shall remain unnamed (not in the creepy way of Voldemort, he who must not be named or whatever Harry Potter people say).......

Anyway, my friend and I have known each other since birth.  We are related (second cousins, once removed, I think - I googled it because I wasn't sure)...but more than being cousins of some sort, we are friends.

She's this sort of friend:  (disclaimer to any male readers:  stop reading now and go to SportsCenter or something manly...we're about to use words like breast, milk and pump.  You should get out while you still have time.)

Anyway, like I was saying, she's this sort of friend:

After my first child was born, my friend came to visit us when we got home from the hospital.  She happened to pop in just as my husband was assembling the mega-superindustrial breast pump that we rented.  We're chatting on the couch as he is sorting through the bottles, tubing, and those suction cup funnel things.  Mind you, my hubby is a fix-it kind of guy.  Not a read the directions kind of guy, but he can usually figure things out because he's smart like that.  Breast pump?  No problem.  He's also a wannabe farmer so I guess he figured it can't be much different than a milker for ol' Bessie.

Meanwhile, my milk had come in.  And I don't mean, my milk came in.  I mean, my boobs went from an A cup to a triple M and were ready to burst.  My skin was so tight that I actually thought my breasts might explode. 

I tried to remain calm as we chatted, secretly thinking in my head, "Get the thing together already or we are all going to be covered in milk."

My friend, who has a child and is generally handy and knowledgeable about such things asked if he wanted help. 

No.  He could do it.

I think she detected by the way I was rocking and holding my breasts that something needed to happen here or it might get ugly.  She offered to help again.  This time he accepted and in 2 seconds, she had the megapump 2000 ready to go.

By this time, my milk engorged breasts had hardened into giant cement balloons.  The funnel things went on but not much milk came out.  My friend suggested massaging my breasts. 

Here's a tip:  You can't hold 2 funnel things onto your own breasts and massage them at the same time. 

The solution?

My friend kneeled down in front of me and held the funnels on while I rubbed my boobs to try and keep them from exploding.

That is true friendship.

I'm not sure any other person would have done that for me.

She may have saved my life that day.

Because I'm pretty sure if your boobs explode, you'd die.

Monday, August 1, 2011

unpeeve

I looked back on my post labels, and most of them are marked as pet peeves.

I must be a really picky person if that's all I can blog about.

So I thought I'd give a shout out every once in a while to some "unpeeves".  That is, things that do NOT bother me, but actually please me.

Yesterday, I happened upon an unexpected unpeeve. 

After driving almost 2 hours, I had to use the restroom.  Superfrydad stopped at a gas station.

Now, let's just break here and let me say that on the scale of acceptable bathroom stops, a gas station ranks just above weeds next to the road.

However, this gas station bathroom was an "unpeeve".  It was big, it was clean, it was stocked with paper products, and the lock on the door worked.  All of these things pleased me, hence it's "unpeeve" status. 

So, random gas station, you have the honor of the first "unpeeve" of KWTF (Ketchup with the Frys)

Congratulations.  If I had the readership of Pioneer Woman, I would give you an iPad, a stand mixer, or an Anthropologie gift card.  Since I don't, you get nothing.   Except my approval.  Which should be highly valued, because clearly I have a lot of pet peeves.  But you are not one of them.  Unless I stop there again and you disappoint me. 

Now that I think of it...there was one annoying thing about you.  There was a handwritten sign that said "Pull" on the inside of the toilet stall door. 

Here's the thing:  If you need a sign to tell you to pull after you pushed unsuccessfully, you probably shouldn't be going to the bathroom unsupervised.