country ham

When you get right down to it, there are really only 2 kinds of people in the world.

Those who like country ham.  And those who don't.

I happen to like country ham.

Usually I get country ham sandwiches by way of buying them from a high school softball team or choir or some such fundraiser.

When we were kids, my mom used to make a whole country ham - studded with cloves and glistening with a yummy glaze which we picked off and might be one of the most delicious things in the whole world.

This year, it was my turn to make the country ham.  I asked my mom what to do and felt confident that I could pull it off.

Step One:  Soak the ham.  I put mine in a cooler and soaked for 2 days, changing the water once. This picture was taken while changing the water - you should cover the ham completely with water.  Actually, if you are coming here for cooking advice of any sort, you should probably stop now and re-google.

Step Two:  Stud with cloves and cover in mustard and brown sugar mixture.  Some say you should cut off the ham hock, but that would require a hacksaw and a husband who was home, neither of which I possessed at the moment of baking.  Plus, it fit in the pan with the hock, so my ham kept it's hock.

Step Three:  Put some water in the pan and bake for about 4 hours until ham reaches an internal temperature of 160 degrees.  I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever used my handy dandy Pampered Chef thermometer.  My ham was 165 degrees, but who likes rare country ham?  Not me.

Step Four:  Have Superfrydad slice thinly with an electric knife.

Disclaimer:  Between Steps 2 & 3, I had a mini-disaster.  I painfully put all of those cloves in and covered it with the glaze, as Step 2 says.  However, I failed to put any water in the pan as my mother instructed.

When I checked it two hours later, it looked like a giant leather football.  Guess they call a football a pigskin for a reason because the skin on this ham looked EXACTLY like leather.  No glistening glaze, just a giant piece of meat encased with hard skin.  So I called my mom.  She said, "Did you take off the skin?"  I said, "No, you didn't tell me to do that, plus I forgot to put water in the pan!"

So I put some water in the pan, got Superfrydad (who was now home) to cut off the skin, and re-cloved and  reglazed the newly skinned ham.  Baked for 2 more hours and it turned out fine.  I did not take any pictures because I was too mad and wanted to throw the ham out into the yard.

Lessons learned from country ham:
Scouring pads are a girl's best friend when it comes to cleaning your roasting pan after almost ruining a country ham.
Some things, like making country ham, are better left to the professionals.  Or your mom.

broccoli ballet

This is Superfrykid's first year of ballet.

She's 8, which by many standards is probably WAAAAY too late to really get a good foundation for becoming the professional dancer that I'm sure she will aspire to be.  But I'm a slacker mom like that, so stop judging me.

Anyway, if you don't know me in real life, dance is probably #1027 on my list of things I don't like.  It's not that I have anything against it, but it's just not my "thing", ya know?

Probably this has something to do with the fact that I have no dancing skills whatsoever.  In general, I only like things I'm good at, and dancing is not one of those.  As a matter of fact, maybe that's why I pretty much hate everything because I'm not really good at much.  But that's a discussion for another day.

Back to ballet.

Superfrykid has really been enjoying her class and this week she was really excited because they were going to see a picture of their costumes for their recital.

Superfrydad went in to pick her up while I sat in the car. (Because he's awesome and I hate going into the waiting area and pretending to be normal and nice and dance-mom-ish).....anyway...Superfrykid came out to the car and here's how the conversation went:

ME:  "Did you see your costume?"

Silence from the back seat.

SUPERFRYDAD: "It's green and it's sparkly."

ME: (Trying to feign excitement because really I could care less as long as it doesn't look like it was made for a midget streetwalker.):  "Ooooh....sparkly!  That sounds pretty!"

Silence from the back seat.

ME: (turns around to look at SFK) "Do you like it?"

SFK:  (crosses arms and makes a snooty face)

ME:  "What's wrong with green and sparkly?"

SFK: (shrieking) "I"M BROCCOLI!!!!!"

ME: (quickly turning back to the front to hide my face while laughing uncontrollably) "I didn't know broccoli could dance!"  (Laughter turns to snorts and uncontrollable giggles)

SFK: "Mommmmmmmmm!  You're mean!"

ME:  (singing) "Broc-co-leeeeee, Cel-er-eeeee, Gotta Beeeeeeee, VeggieTales.  Lima Beeeeeeeeeans, Collard Greeeeeeens, Peachy Keeeeeen, Veggietales." (to the tune of the theme song from VeggieTales, for you heathens)

She may never speak to me again because I could not get my laughter under control.

But, really?  Broccoli?

This ballet class is not cheap and you're telling me that my kid is going to be broccoli in the recital?

You know what?  Dancing broccoli could be the beginning of something great in her life.  I shouldn't laugh at it.  I can't wait for the recital.  I was thinking that I was going to try to get out of volunteering in the dressing room, but maybe volunteering in the dressing room is preferable over sitting through all of the food groups expressing themselves through dance, which is what I am thinking the theme MIGHT be.

On second thought, I might still try to avoid that dressing room duty because I might miss the macaroni macarena or the rutabaga rumba.  Oh, and of course, the broccoli ballet.

Diarrhea Song

Warning:  this post is about poop.  Again.  I know.  I'm sorry.  Not really.

I was reading People I Want to Punch in the Throat and was directed to this lovely little site.

Its The Official Diarrhea Song blog.

I only read a few before I had tears running down my face.

Wait.

That could be a song.

When tears are running down your face
and poop runs out of it's poop place
Diarrhea, Diarrhea

Not my best work, but I'm okay with mediocrity.

But I think if you made it this far into this post, you already knew that.

Now you're singing that song, aren't you?

You're welcome.  Have a great time trying to replace that in your head.

someone (almost) stole my identity

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving. 

Around 9:30 pm, I got an order confirmation email from Best Buy.

They thanked me for ordering the Complete Fifth Season DVD set of "The Big Bang Theory".

First of all, I did not order anything from Best Buy.

Secondly, I never order DVDs when I can watch reruns for free on TBS.

Thirdly, I think Sheldon is only funny sometimes.  Maybe I'm not smart enough to "get" The Big Bang Theory, but if I was going to order a complete season of something, it would probably be "Duck Dynasty".  That's my new favorite TV show, which has nothing to do with any of this, but if you haven't seen it, you are missing out.

Anyway, when I got the email, I didn't really think those 3 things right away.  What I did think was.......SOMEONE STOLE MY IDENTITY!!!!!!!!!

The email had my name ALISSA FRY, but the address was not mine.  Clearly, a hacker had hijacked my Best Buy account and ordered a $9.95 DVD set as a test before moving on to larger purchases.

So I called the 1-800 number for Best Buy.  Which is actually an 888 number, but whatever.  

Basically, here's what happened:  

There are 2 people named Alissa Fry.  One is me.  The other lives in another state and is not me.

Somehow, the other person placed an order and paid for it, but the email confirmation came to me.

Somehow, customer service at Best Buy could not wrap their heads around this and gave me the run around.  

And put me on hold for over 50 minutes.  Twice.  That's almost 2 hours of my life on hold with Best Buy.  Not how I want to spend my time.  It does rate above having my cellulite shaved off with a cheese grater, but only slightly.  

AND, they gave me the other Alissa Fry's phone number, which is clearly not something they should do.

Because I called the other Alissa Fry.  

Thankfully, she wasn't like "how did you get this number?"   She was cool.  We do share the same name, which must count for something.

The other Alissa Fry confirmed that she did place the order and that she checked her account and had been charged for it.  

She also promised to never steal my identity.  I also promised I would never steal her identity.    

We clearly share high moral values as well as the same first and last names.

There's more to the frustration part of the story, but I will spare you.  Suffice it to say that after 2 plus hours of phone time and one trip to my local store, I was very irritated.  

So I called the 888 number again and complained.  

And guess what?  They are sending me a $100 Best Buy Gift Card.

I hope they send it to me and not the other me.

So then I sent the other me a text and told her she should complain too and see if she can get a gift card. 

So what I'd like to say to Best Buy is..........BAZINGA!

halloween, the day after

Yesterday was Halloween.

Superfrykid was a Sailor Girl.

Not because she wanted to be a Sailor Girl, but because that's the most appropriate costume in her size that was on clearance last year after Halloween.

She put it on last week to make sure it fit, and decided it was itchy.

So we put a shirt and leggings under it.

Then it was too tight.

So I snipped the elastic in the waist.

Then the hat was not right.

So I put it on her head with bobby pins.

Then the hat made her hot.

You get the idea.

Superfrykid was not happy about the costume.  I almost faltered and purchased a $35 piece of crap costume made of flimsy material worth about $1.79.  Then I thought to myself, "Nope. Not doing it.  She's going to wear what I told her to wear or she's not going to dress up."

So Halloween night came.  I prepared myself for battle.
All for naught.  She wore the costume and had a great time.  She would have been happy to wear a garbage bag.  (I know, I'm so mean.  But I should get extra points for using the word "naught" in a sentence, right?)

We stopped to see Great-Grandma (aka "The Don") first.
The Don keeps a small basket of candy on her counter.  On top of the candy, though, is a large ziploc bag of Fig Newtons.  She had to pick up the Fig Newtons to get to the candy, and I could see the look of relief on Superfrykid's face when she was offered candy only and not Fig Newtons.

I was talking to a few of my friends who were handing out candy and we were discussing how much candy is the right amount to give.

For those who are interested, here are my recommended guidelines:
Kingsize Candy Bar            Homemade Costume
2 Handfuls of Candy           Funny or Creative Costume
(even those that slightly miss the mark, like "Reigning Cats and Dogs"-New Girl fan, anyone?)
1 Handful of Candy            Storebought costume for ages 3-12
2 pieces of Candy              Those who clearly made no effort until 2 minutes before leaving
1 piece of Candy               Anyone with a real mustache (male or female)
1 piece of Candy               Babies with no teeth because who are you kidding?
Dots                                 Adults who follow their kids with their own bag.

I must say, I'm glad Halloween is over.  I actually took down my pumpkins and put up my Nativity today.  (Arrangement by SFK)

one size does not fit all

I'm not a fan of "one size fits all".

Because it doesn't.

As you know, I've been reading A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans.  If you don't, read about it here and here.

One of the things I appreciate about this book is that it demonstrates that being a "biblical woman" is not a "one size fits all" deal.

Thinking that "biblical" looks the same on all women is like telling all of the women in the world that they have to wear the same bridesmaid dress and look good in it. 

A yellow, halter bridesmaid dress.

Who looks good in that?

Not many of us.

And those who do would still probably choose something else.

Maybe we need to rethink what it means to be a "biblical" woman and worry less about what others are wearing and more about making sure our own skirt is not tucked into our underwear in the back.

the not so secret secret

Ok, so I bragged about told you about being selected as part of the launch team for Rachel Held Evans' upcoming book A Year of Biblical Womanhood.

I downloaded my copy of the book last night and started reading. I made myself stop at the end of the second chapter, because I want to make it last.  It's pretty good so far.  Informative, but not boring.  Funny, but not crass.  Interesting, but not fluffy.  I think I'm going to like it.

But today's post is not about the book.  I will post a review after I finish reading it.

Today I want to talk about the secret facebook group that goes along with being in the launch group.  It's a closed group, which is why they call it a secret, I guess.

Dear Thomas Nelson Publishers: calling something a secret doesn't really make it secret.

Because I am totally going to talk about it here.
And my 2 readers  all of my readers will know about it, which makes it a closed group, not a secret group.  But I confess, I may not have applied to be a part of the launch team if a secret facebook group was not included.  I kind of wish it included a secret handshake too, but I guess I'll just have to be disappointed.

Anyway, a suggestion was made for the group members to write a little bio so everyone can find each other on their blogs, or twitter, or whatever.  I added mine, satisfied that it was sufficient.

Then I went back and read some of the others.

I'm pretty sure everyone is better than me.

Seriously.

I am pretty much the only regular person on there.

Everyone else is super-awesome in some way.  There are pastors, authors, speakers, non-profit directors, bloggers, and  highly educated people on this list.  Everyone seems to have some sort of awesome career and still finds time to care for their biological twins, their adopted son and their foster daughter.  All of this while squeezing in their hobbies of training for a half-marathon, pottery glazing, writing an opera in Italian, and making gourmet, organic cupcakes.

And I am totally not exaggerating.  Well, maybe about the cupcakes.

These bios sound like a cross between a resume and an online dating profile. Although I'm pretty sure I didn't see any that said they enjoyed long walks on the beach.

So I've decided that I was selected for one of the following reasons:

1.  The assistant at Thomas Nelson publishers needed one more person and did eeny, meeny, miney, mo because they were so tired of reading all of the entries.

2.  They were trying to get a good cross-section of people and I represent the uneducated masses who sing along to Lady Gaga in the car and think Taco Bell is pretty good Mexican food.

3.  They actually did read my entry and thought they should include one regular person in the launch group.  I mean, aren't regular people the kind of people God likes to use?

I don't know why I was selected, but I sure do feel small in this company of people.

I'm hoping I don't get asked to leave.

That's probably why they don't have a secret handshake because once you learn it, you're in.  By NOT having a secret handshake, they could potentially weed out those they didn't want without fear of them sneaking back in because they know the secret handshake.

A Year of Biblical Womanhood

So, I know I've mentioned Rachel Held Evans and her blog here before.

She wrote a book called Evolving In Monkeytown, which I own on my Nook.

She also wrote a book called A Year of Biblical Womanhood, which officially releases on October 30th.

Rachel's blog - like how I feel like we are on a first name only basis? -  gave readers the opportunity to apply to be a part of the "launch team" for Thomas Nelson, the publisher.  I applied, thinking I would never, ever, be chosen.

Guess what?

I was.

Can I tell you how excited I am?

I mean, this is like a national book launch for a real writer and a real book.

So, I'm thinking that you should get a copy too.  You can order now from Amazon or Barnes & Noble.

That way, when I'm talking about it you will have some idea of what I am talking about.

Actually, that's not why you should get a copy.  Understanding what I am talking about has nothing to do with it.  You should get a copy because I think it's going to be a book that will be a great conversation starter.  I mean, the full title of the book is A Year of Biblical Womanhood:  How a Liberated Woman Found Herself Sitting On a Roof, Covering Her Head, and Calling Her Husband "Master".

You had me at sitting on a roof.  Because even though I would consider myself a church-y kind of gal, I've never heard that one before.  I'm ready to think more deeply about this topic of biblical womanhood.  Is biblicalness (that's a made up word) really what Christian women should be striving for?  I guess it depends on how you define "biblical".  I think this book will be an outside of the box way of looking at biblical womanhood.  I like outside the box.  I'm pretty sure God is outside of the box and that's where I want to be too.

PS - The official launch team is going to have a "cool secret facebook group".  If I'm being 100% honest, that was really why I applied to be a part of this group.  "Cool" and "Secret" are generally not words that I associate with myself.  Unless I'm referring to deodorant.

PPS - If you are from Thomas Nelson and you just read that last paragraph, I was kidding.  I think this book is going to be awesomesauce!  If you ARE Thomas Nelson, why are you here?  Are you even real?  If you are, you probably have an assistant to read stuff like this and then ignore it for you.

Crusty Ketchup, Vol. 2

We all know I'm not organized enough to have any type of weekly wrap-up or monthly highlights or anything like that.

So this is what I like to call Crusty Ketchup.

Today happens to be the second installment of Crusty Ketchup.  You can read the first one here.

If you were too lazy to click on the first one, basically Crusty Ketchup is just stuff I think is interesting or funny that I just pile into one post.  It's likely that most of the stuff is already old because that's just how I roll.   However, maybe you might find a nugget of awesomeness to dip into the Crusty Ketchup.  

1.  Did you know that "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and the "ABC's" are the same tune?  This was pointed out the other day by my brother-in-law, Sonofadutch.  All of our minds were blown.  As he put it, "I've had to reassess everything up to this point in my life!"    I agree.  I was completely blindsided by this information.  How have I lived on this earth for 36 years and never knew this?   

2.  Justin Bieber puked onstage.  Twice.  So gross.  But funny.  Also funny is the Anime version.  Only funny if you think barf is funny.  I happen to draw the line at barf.  Poop is funny.  Barf is gross.  I'm classy like that.  Decide for yourself what is right for you.

3.  Lady Gaga also puked onstage.  Not twice.  Three times. Like I said in #2, I happen to draw the line at barf.  (But I am laughing because I said "#2", which is a poop reference. Therefore, I find it funny.  I apologize to those of you who have no sense of humor.)

4.  Completely changing gears.....I read this post on a blog called America's Next Top Mommy.  I have lately been thinking about that too.  How do you not spoil your child?  How do you teach your child to be grateful?

5.  I like this post on Rachel Held Evans.  I think I've said this before, but I'll say it again:  I don't always agree with everything on her blog, but I do like her writing and she always gives me something to think about.

Hope you found something in this volume of Crusty Ketchup worth dipping your fry into.  If you didn't, you're probably a health food nut who never eats fries.  And also doesn't laugh at poop references.  It's ok.  I still like you.  Unless you are someone I don't like.  But so far, there's only been maybe one person who has told me they read my blog that I don't like.  Hopefully it's not you.  But I know one person who will be paranoid that it's them.  If you are the paranoid person:  it's not you.  

5 Things You Didn't Know About Me

So I was perusing the Rachel Held Evans blog and found this blog: Bohemian Bowmans.

Bohemian Bowmans is doing a link up with "Five Things You Didn't Know About Me".  I thought I'd link up too.  If you like, you can follow me on facebook, Twitter and/or Pinterest.  Click on the sidebar for Twitter and Pinterest, because I made those button-things and by golly, I want you to use them.  I recommend following all 3 because I may have a stroke of genius you won't want to miss.  However, that stroke of genius may not be posted on all of them because I'm scatterbrained like that.  So follow all of them, just in case.

Anyway, where to begin?  My follower followers are mostly people that I actually know in real life.  I guess someday I will know I've made it in the blogging world when I have lots of strangers who follow me.

Hopefully they will only follow my blog online and not follow me in the parking lot of Wal-Mart in a white van with a sliding door.

On my "about" tab, I list 10 things about me.  I'm pretty sure only 2 people have ever actually looked at that tab, so I think I'm safe to repeat myself here.  Also, I'm sure Bohemian Bowman does not know me, so this is all news to her.

5 Things You Didn't Know About Me (in no particular order)

1.  My home was hit by a tornado.
That's right.  A tornado.  Actually, it was my parent's home, but I lived there.  AND it was 10 days before my wedding.  Nobody was home, thank goodness.  But there's no other feeling like pulling into your driveway and seeing that half of your house is gone.  And no, I do not live in Kansas.  I hope I did not just narrow it down to 49 states for any potential "followers" of the white van variety.

2.  I have hyperhidrosis. (Palmar and Plantar)
It's really just sweaty hands and feet, but it makes me feel better to say palmar hyperhidrosis.  I've discussed my treatment options here on the blog if you are interested.  One of my options involves a battery, a pie pan and an electric shock.  For real, people.

3.  I dislike animals, especially dogs.
I figure this is where I will lose many of you dog-lovers.  I'm ok with that.  But before you leave KWTF and never return, hear me out first.

4.  I've never owned a new car.
In fact, my car features a cassette player and doors that freeze shut and open randomly during winter.  Actually, I now have another car, a 2002 Camry, which we now refer to as the "new car".  That's the kind of family we are.  Our "new" car is 10 years old.  Feeling better about yourself yet?  I'm so glad.

5.  I have seen 2 out of 4 Beatles in concert.
I'm not a concert person.  But I have seen Paul McCartney and Ringo in concert. Not together.  John died when I was a kid and George is also dead, so I won't be completing that list.  I'm okay with that.  I never really liked John that much and although George is my second favorite Beatle, I am content knowing that I didn't have to sit through a concert featuring a sitar.

Check out the other link ups over at Bohemian Bowmans.

Oh, and don't forget to follow me.  Because even if one out of the  four  many visitors would do that, it would totally make my day.  It's the little things in life, people.  Help a sweaty-handed, old-car driving, middle-aged wife/mother out and just click it.  You can unfollow later if I get on your nerves, ok?  Deal.  Now go over there and click on those follow me buttons.  Thanks.

zippers are the devil

This past weekend, my sister, Pee (yes-that-is-her-real-nickname), and I took my mom on a mother/daughter/granddaughter weekend for her birthday.

We went to Lancaster, PA, which is far enough away to feel like a getaway but close enough that it's not an unbearable trip for a toddler, a second grader, a fifty-something grandma and 2 thirty-something sisters, one of which has to pee every 5 seconds.  I'll let you guess which sister that is.  Hint #1: Her nickname rhymes with "wee".  Hint #2:  It's not me.

As you may know, Lancaster, PA, is home to the Amish.  

BTW, have you seen the TLC show, "Breaking Amish"?  It's kind of like MTV's Real World, only with Amish kids.  It may or may not come on after "Here comes Honey Boo-Boo", which I may or may not have watched more than one episode of.

BTW, did you know that I am so old that I remember the first season of Real World?  We didn't have MTV at my house, but somehow I remember being mildly obsessed with in back in the day.  

Anyway, back to the Amish.  This part of PA is beautiful.  I'd love to live there.  We saw horse & buggies, a man who was the doppelganger of the grandfather on the movie "Witness", women gardening in skirts, and lots of signs for homegrown pumpkins.  

One sign (handwritten on cardboard) said:

Custom Shelling

Peas/Beans/Limas

410-555-1234

Which begs the question:  What kind of person grows their own peas, beans or limas, yet feels the need to have someone else shell them?  Really?  You grow your own peas but you call in a custom sheller?  Maybe that's for the upper-class Amish.  The kind of Amish who can afford to pay to have somebody else sit and pop open those pods and fling the beans into a pan.  I can hear the gossips now.

"Yah.  Dat Zook voman gets her limas custom-shelled.  She rode by me on her buggy dis mornin' and didn't even look my vay.  Thinks shes' sometin', she does." (Not sure if this is how they talk, but this is how they talk in my head.)

I tried to get my sister to turn around so I could take a picture of the sign, but she refused and said she would just write it on cardboard when we got back to the hotel and I could take a picture of it.  #itsnotthesame 

And I'd just like to point out here, that if you have never shelled beans or peas or limas before, you are missing out in life.  It's actually kind of fun.  If you don't know what "shelling" is, get out of my blog.  Clearly, we are from different planets and speak different languages.  Not really.  I only have like 2 readers and I can't afford to be that picky.  But someday, when I am a blogging giant, I will weed out all of the people who don't know what "shelling" is. Maybe others, too.  But the non-shellers shall be the first to be shunned.  

Anyway, nevermind about that, back to more Amish stuff.  

We also saw tobacco drying in the giant barns.  It's quite beautiful.  

However, it begs the question:  Why can the Amish not have zippers but growing tobacco is okay?  

Zippers=devil......Tobacco=perfectly acceptable?    

Something is wrong here and I think that if I became Amish, I might have to mention that.  I would probably get shunned within 5 hours of being there.  Maybe less.  Hopefully I could make it long enough to at least try some homemade bread or schnitzel or something.

Hey, there's a show for TLC.  Nevermind "Breaking Amish".  It should be "Becoming Amish" and it could follow regular people who want to become Amish.  I'm pretty sure there would be more crying involved.  And probably more tobacco.  

You heard it here first.  

TLC, I want my cut.  

Because I'm sure that someone from TLC might read this.  

Hey, they found Honey Boo Boo, right?

Ketchup with the Frys is just slightly more refined than Honey Boo Boo.  Slightly.  I think I might have more fart references.  But less double chins.  Slightly.

 

                                      

winner winner chicken dinner

See update at the end of this post.

If you thought this post was about chicken, I'm sorry, but it's not.

That was my last post, "an apology to fried chicken & the universe".

Today's post is a great big WOOOOO-HOOOOOO because I actually won something on another blog & I just wanted to brag about it let everyone know about it.

The blog is called When You Rise.


It has lots of great ideas for teaching your children about God.  Not only that, but there are some great parenting posts as well as sweet, sweet giveaways!

I won the Jesus Storybook Deluxe Edition, which is awesome because who doesn't like Jesus and who doesn't like a storybook and who doesn't like a deluxe edition?  I am totally excited to receive this.  I saw the review of it on When You Rise and I thought it sounded like a great book to have, but I  am ultra cheap and poor  did not purchase it.

So thank you, When You Rise!  It's awesome to be a winner and even more awesome to win something that you actually like and will use!  Hooray!

Update:  I received my prize and I just wanted to give another shout out to When You Rise for the great giveaway.  It is a wonderful book and I think it would make a great Christmas gift for any child.  It would also make a great baby shower gift.  The pictures are very nice and the text is written so that it's enjoyable to read out loud.  (I just read those last few sentences and it sounds very cheesy and almost like someone is paying me to say that.  I wish.)
Also, in other news, I needed to find a doctor so I finally bit the bullet and went for an appointment.  In the waiting room?  The Jesus Storybook Bible.  I felt like it was kind of a sign.  Or a coincidence.  Call it whatever you like, but it made me smile.  I took a picture with my phone.  As you can see, that book could really be any book because of the terrible picture.  Take my word.  It's the Jesus Storybook Bible.  I would not lie about that.  Other things?  Maybe.  Jesus Storybook Bible?  No way.  I have standards, people.  

an apology to fried chicken and the universe

This past week has not been my finest.

I have ticked off people right and left.

At last count, it was 4.

There could be more, because I have the gift of social blindness where sometimes my mouth spilleth over, people look at me in horror, and I never realize it.  So, it really could be more like 12.

Anyway, I had what I am now calling the "fried chicken incident" with a local grocery chain.  It was not my finest moment.

We stopped by to purchase some fried chicken to take to our church picnic.

I go to the deli where the fried chicken is located.  The chicken is in 2 covered containers with tongs sticking out of them and bags and boxes located right next to it.  There is a sign that says "8 piece chicken - $6.99".  There is another sign that says "Please call ahead for large orders of fried chicken".  I look to see if there is an employee b/c I figured maybe I needed a sticker or something.  After standing there for awhile, I finally decided that since the tongs were there sticking out, maybe I was supposed to just get my own chicken.  Which I did.

Now, let me just say that I don't live under a rock.  I know that an "8 piece chicken" usually refers to 2 wings, 2 legs, 2 thighs & 2 breasts.  However, when I started looking through the chicken, I only saw one thigh.  So then I looked to see if the sign specified how many of each.  It did not.  So I got the one thigh, 2 legs, and 5 breasts.  8 pieces.  I double bagged it so it wouldn't be greasy and went to the checkout.

Here's how the checkout went down:
Clerk (holding the chicken):  "You didn't get a sticker?"

Me:  "No, the sign says 8 pieces for $6.99.  I have 8 pieces."

Clerk:  "Well, I have to weigh it and you pay by the pound if I don't have a sticker and it's really expensive."

Me:  "That's not what the sign says, but that's fine.  I just need the chicken."

The clerk calls over a supervisor & explains.
Supervisor (with a raised eyebrow): "Do you have 2 wings, 2 legs, 2 thighs, and 2 breasts?"

Me:  "No.  The sign did not specify what to get.  Also, there was only one thigh back there, so how could I get 2 thighs?"

Supervisor:  "Well, you're supposed to get someone to help you."

Me (starting to get mad, but still calm):  "Well, there wasn't anyone back there and I stood there for a long time."

Supervisor: "Sometimes you have to go over to the deli and ask for help."

Me: "Why are there tongs facing the customer side if I'm not supposed to get the chicken myself?"

Supervisor: "That's for people who just want to get like one piece of chicken.  You have to get help if you want a lot of chicken.  There's a sign."

Me (full on mad at this point because I'm arguing about fried chicken):  "Yes, I read the signs.  They say "8 piece chicken $6.99 and call ahead for large orders.  I didn't think 8 pieces was a large order.  That seems pretty standard to me."

Supervisor (jamming the key into the register and rolling her eyes):  "Well, I don't know why there's nobody back there and there IS a sign."

Me (shaking with rage):  "IT SHOULDN'T BE THIS HARD TO BUY CHICKEN. I know none of this is your fault, but maybe you should tell the store manager to change the layout back there by either removing the tongs or making a 12-step instruction manual to purchase fried chicken."  I didn't say the part about the 12 step instruction manual, but I thought it.

Supervisor overrides the price and walks away.
Clerk:  "I'm really sorry."
Me: "It's ok, not your fault."
I left with my chicken and we ended up not going to the church picnic.  So then we ate the chicken for dinner and also for dinner the next day.  I'm pretty sure there's a Bible verse somewhere about eating fried chicken in anger on the corner of a roof gives you heartburn or something.

I don't know why, but little things like this sometimes send me over the moon.  I stewed about that chicken all afternoon.  Finally, I decided to go online & complain.  A few days later, I got an email which apologized for my experience and said they would send me a $25 gift card.

It took everything in me not to send back an email that said keep your gift card, I'm still mad.   Instead, I sent an email and said thank you very much for your response and for the gift card.

Like I said earlier, I have done shenanigans like this all week long to no less than 4 people.   This is the only one safe to blog about because if I talked about the other ones, people would know who I am talking about. I feel the need to apologize to fried chicken for bringing it down to my level and also to the rest of the universe for generally being a troll this week.

I'm pretty sure I've reached a new low since I just apologized to fried chicken.
Feel better about yourself?  You're welcome.

Marriage is like a burrito

Tomorrow is our 18th wedding anniversary.

Which seems like a long time.  For all of you dog lovers out there, that's 126 in dog years.  I am not a dog lover, so I'll stick with the 18.  Plus, saying I've been married for the equivalent of 126 years no matter how you figure it,  just makes me feel super old.

I got married when I was 18, so that makes me 36 now.

If we make it to our Golden Anniversary, I will be 68.
And by "if we make it", I mean if we live that long.  Not "if" we stay married.

And by "if we live that long", I mean "if we don't die of natural causes first", not "if we don't kill each other before then."

Just thought I should clarify.  I know how you people are.

Although, on a side note, if you're wondering:  it doesn't really get easier as the years go by.  I always thought marriage would be a piece of cake by this time.  It's not. Sometimes it's more like breadcrumbs than cake.  Not so sweet and kind of crummy.

On the other hand, sometimes it's better than cake.
I mean, who wants to eat cake all the time?
Not that many people.
And those who do probably get stomachaches.

I don't really know what food to compare marriage to.  Not cake, not breadcrumbs....maybe it's more like an awesome burrito:  filling, sometimes spicy, sometimes cheesy, sometimes causing you to run to the bathroom in angst.  That could totally be a card.  One which I would totally be mad about if I received it as an anniversary card.

Happy Anniversary, Superfrydad. You are an awesome husband.  Mostly.  And I am an awesome wife. Sometimes.  Which is better?  To BE the more awesome spouse or to be married TO the more awesome spouse?  I think I win.

sweaty hands

I can't remember if I have blogged about this or not.

I have sweaty hands.  And sweaty feet.

It's totally gross.

I've pretty much always had this problem but lately it's really been bothering me.

Turns out, it's an actual medical condition called hyperhidrosis. I did some internet research and here are the remedies that I found.

1.  Drysol.  This is a prescription lotion of some kind that you apply.  You put the lotion on and then put bags on your hands.  Correct me if I'm wrong, but lotion plus a plastic bag equals SWEATY.  I'm also pretty sure that Victoria's Secret does not make a line of plastic gloves with matching panties.

2.  Iontophoresis.  This is where you place your hands in water and an electrical current shocks you for 10 minutes or so.  I actually found a video where you can make your own iontophoresis machine with 2 pie pans filled with water and a small motorcycle battery.  Clearly, if I electrocute myself, sweating will be the least of my worries. 

3.  Botox.   I read that Botox injected into your hands is very painful.  Also, only areas injected with Botox stop sweating.  So if every inch of my palm is injected, my palm will not sweat.  However, if a small area is not injected, it will continue to sweat.  So I can have a MOSTLY dry hand with a small patch of sweat where they missed a place.  Plus, it hurts like you know what.  Kind of like breaking your pinkie to forget about the pain of your hangnail.  And it's super expensive.  And the wrinkles on my face will be jealous.  

4.  Surgery.  There is a surgery called ETS - Endoscopic Thoracic Sympathectomy.  They make an incision in your side, collapse your lung, and clamp part of  your sympathetic nerve.  Three words make me nervous here:  Incision, Collapse, and Clamp.  They CUT YOU OPEN, COLLAPSE YOUR LUNG AND PINCH OFF PART OF YOUR MAIN NERVOUS SYSTEM? Let me just say that as wonderful as this surgery sounds, I'm pretty sure they make you sign a whopper of a waiver before they do it.  Side effects may include death.  And probably explosive diarrhea.  As if having sweaty hands wasn't enough.  Even if you live through the surgery, I'd be willing to bet you get some kind of odd side effect that's just slightly more or less annoying than sweaty hands.

So let me just say, if I ever shake your hand, I apologize for my sweaty hands.  If I sit next to you and you see my feet glistening in my flip flops, look away.  I apologize for that mental picture that you can never un-see.  However, now that you have read this, maybe you will understand what my options are and why I cannot help it.

Here's the other thing about this post.  While it might seem funny, it's actually true, which is not funny.  Or maybe that does make it funnier.  I don't know.  All I know is that I can't afford Botox and there is no way some doctor is going to go snipping around my spine for a random nerve.  It's pretty bad when a battery and a pie pan is your best option, people.

skinny snacks

I saw this list on Pinterest the other day......"50 Snacks Under 50 Calories" - categorized by craving.

So, being a fat girl who would rather pin than exercise because I am always on the lookout for new ideas on how to be healthy, I had to check it out.

Number one on the list sounded ok:
Sweet craving?  Try 1/2 of a medium apple, baked, with 1 Tbsp. lowfat yogurt sprinkled with cinnamon.  Only 45 calories.  
Let me just be honest here & say that I would probably eat a whole baked apple, with just a pat of butter and some brown sugar and cinnamon.  Then I would eat a container of yogurt later because I would feel guilty & somehow in my mind I think that the yogurt cancels out the apple with butter and brown sugar. Plus, the original recipe called for yogurt but that doesn't sound good on a baked apple.  Hot and cold together is only appealing if it's a hot brownie with cold ice cream.  But let's not talk about that right now.

Moving down the list to number 14:
Salty craving?  Try a pretzel rod for 37 calories.
I'm sorry, but has anyone ever eaten ONE pretzel rod?
Anyone?  Anyone?  Beuller?  Beuller?
Pretzels are the skinny cousin of potato chips.  Yes, they are fat free, but if you eat a whole plastic barrel-thing of them, isn't that kind of the same thing as just going ahead and eating a regular portion of the chips you really wanted in the first place?

Here's another one that listed under  "Cheesy Whizzes":
1 large tomato, sliced, topped with 1 Tbsp Parmesan, broiled (44 calories)
First of all, I don't like raw tomatoes.
Spaghetti sauce, yes.
Ketchup, yes. Hello?  Ketchup with the Frys?
I'm good with the Parmesan, but then it loses me again at the "broiled" part.  If I am heating my oven to broil, then I'm making a Ribeye or heating up frozen boneless buffalo wings.

Lastly, the one that REALLY got me:
1 medium water packed sardine topped with slice of red onion (35 calories)
I think I'd rather eat a booger on top of a piece of sugar free gum.
I mean, really?  A MEDIUM WATER PACKED SARDINE???????  WITH RED ONION???????  I'd like to meet the waif anorexic oldmantrucker person who would actually eat this as a snack.  And if that person is skinny, I'd like to know if their food tastes as good as skinny feels.  Because I doubt it.  And if they say yes, they are a liar.  And I hope their size 0 pants catch on fire.

bento box badness

So, it's August already.

Which means that it's time for a new school year to begin.

Which also means that it's time to start the daily fight question of whether or not Superfrykid will pack her lunch or eat school lunch.

Packing a lunch ranks right up there with having "Happy Birthday" sung to me in a Mexican restaurant while wearing a giant sombrero and having 4 waiters beat me on top of the head while everyone claps.  Sounds like a good idea, but it's really not that fun.

The main reason why I don't like to pack a lunch for my child is that 9 times out of 10 it comes home only half eaten, except for the chips.  The chips get eaten.  I could send my kids with a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a quarter for her milk and she'd be happy.

My Pinterest is getting packed with moms pinning lists of healthy lunches and Bento box ideas.

Those Bento boxes give me anxiety.  You can follow me on Pinterest and see my board entitled, "Bento Box Badness".  I pinned just a few to give you an idea if you don't know what I'm talking about.

First of all, if I make a sandwich that looks just like Phineas and Ferb, nobody is eating it.  It's just going to be for looks.  And don't even think about eating the blue fruit roll up that is Perry.

Also, who makes a Mozart themed Bento box?  I'm guessing your kids don't watch the Disney channel. I'm guessing you may not even own a TV.  I'm guessing your IQ is higher than mine.  I'm guessing your sense of humor doesn't appreciate references to poop.

Forget trying to make the vegetable look like a cartoon character in hopes that it will fool my child into eating it.  I'm happy if I pack a lunch that includes a fruit AND a vegetable that does count the onion in sour cream and onion chips as the vegetable.

 

Level 2 Swimming Lessons

Last year I wrote 2 posts about swimming lessons.

You can read them here and here.

This year, Superfrykid is in Level 2.

Not sure what is different about Level 2.  To me, it's pretty much like Level 1, except it has a different name.

Kids clinging to the wall?  Check.

Tan teenagers who look like they would rather be doing anything else? Check.

Swimming?  Not so much.

Will we go back for Level 3?

Probably.

As another mom said tonight..."I feel like it's pointless to sign up for next year, but my OCD will overtake me and I will sign up for Level 3 because that's the next one."

Lastly, I'd just like to point out that signing my kid up for the last class of the day is not the smartest move I've ever made.  The instructors (I use that term loosely) bolt out of the pool, head to the parking lot and get into their cars  the cars their parents surely pay for, while dripping wet.  Note to self:  If SFK makes it through all of the levels and eventually teaches swimming lessons, DO NOT let her take the good car.  Wait a minute, that will probably never happen because we are sure to still be driving a car that has doors which freeze shut in the winter.

barking spiders

I just checked my blog stats.

Apparently someone visited KWTF because they googled "does ketchup make you fart?"

I'm sure they were sorely disappointed because I don't have any posts about ketchup and whether or not it makes you fart.

Beans, yes.

Ketchup, no.

I mean, I never shy away from a poop reference.... remember Fartner and  Jennifer is a Party Pooper?

Wait a minute.  This does seem to be a bit of a theme for me.  This was supposed to be like a blog where family & friends can know what's going on with our family.  Somehow it turned into fart-fest.  Whatever.  Farts are funny and anyone who doesn't laugh about is probably way too mature and intelligent to be reading this blog.

By the way, the funniest euphemism for "fart" that I've ever heard is "barking spider".  If someone lets out an audible noise that smells, they say, "Did you hear that?  I think it was a barking spider."

Barking spiders.

Watch out for 'em.

Chick-fil-A

Chick-fil-A

(sing it to the tune of "Yesterday"...it will never leave your head.)

Anyway, I've been seeing various people post things about Chik-fil-A lately and honestly, it's a little annoying to me.

If you want to support Chik-fil-A by eating there because you want to make a statement about your stance on gay marriage, by all means, please do so.

If you want to boycott Chik-fil-A by not eating there because you want to make a statement about your stance on gay marriage, by all means, please do so.  Or not do so.  You know what I mean.

I read this post about the Chik-fil-A war on a blog by Rachel Held Evans.  I may not agree with everything, but I do think that this at least makes you think about how you react to what I'm sure will be remembered as the Great Chicken War of 2012.  History teachers will likely give really hard quizzes on this 100 years from now.

That's the great thing about America.  It is a free country.  Dan Cathy can say whatever he wants and can put the money from his business wherever he wants.  You can choose to eat there or not eat there.  It's that simple.  Maybe if all of us stopped talking about what we believe and actually lived it, there would be a lot less clucking going on.

Crusty Ketchup

So, in my quest to be a great blogger because imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I thought I would post my own version of a weekly wrap up.  Actually, who am I kidding?  I am not organized enough to keep up with that.


Let's try again.  From time to time, I will collect things that I want to share and instead of stringing it out over several posts, I'll just put it into one.


Let's call it.....Crusty Ketchup.  Because who knows how long I've been collecting it and putting it into a draft version of a post.  Probably by the time I actually post it, most of it will not even be relevant anymore.  But that's why it's called Crusty Ketchup.  


Funny Video That You've Probably Already Seen But I Just Did So I'm Sharing It:
Taste Test for Hidden Valley Ranch




Funny Video:  you know that song, "now you're just somebody that I used to know"....this is funny.
That Gotye Song




My Friend Who Is A Much Better Writer Than Me's Blog:  clearly, I did not use proper grammar there, so it really could be anyone.  However, it actually is someone I know who just started a blog.  Not somebody I used to know.  Somebody I kind of just met but am getting to know.  And since I have so many followers, I thought I'd give her some props so she can generate some blog traffic.  Click here to visit her blog.


That's it for now.  Perhaps I will post more crunchy ketchup at another time.  We'll see.  

Obligatory Book Review for The Well Read Wife

Hello, welcome to Ketchup with the Frys.

If you are visiting here from The Well Read Wife, welcome.  This is the official, obligatory, honest review that was required to receive the free book.  You can skip the next part that is meant for my regular readers  reader and go straight to the review.  Or you can read the next part too, because you probably like to read since you are here from a book club, right? I mean, don't you read everything?  Cereal boxes, random blogs, whatever.  Reading is reading.  It's like pizza.  It might not be great, but it's still good.

For my regular readers  reader, let me give you a little background before you proceed with reading this post.  I was trolling the internet one night and stumbled across The Well Read Wife.  Her blog featured an online form to complete in order to receive a free book.  There were a few strings attached.  One being you had to have a blog.  Check.  Another being you have to be age 18 or older.  Check, check.  Another being you have to post an honest review of the book on your blog.  Thus, this post.  To be honest, I never thought I would be one of the 47.  I am one of those people who never wins anything.  But I did win a copy of this book.  Maybe winning is not the right word.  But I like to think of it as a win.  Anyway, the book is one that I would never purchase myself.  It's called America, You Sexy Bitch by Michael Ian Black and Meghan McCain.  First of all, it involves politics, which is a topic I abhor.  And, the title contains profanity, which I detest.  Wait, maybe I detest politics and abhor profanity.  Whatever.  It wasn't a book I was particularly excited about reading.  But I do love to read.  And I filled out the form and agreed to the terms, so here I am, posting an honest review on my blog.

The Well Read Wife also requested the 47 lucky book recipients to take a picture of themselves with the book.  Here's my picture:

That's me and Buster, our donkey.  I figured that since it was a book about politics, a picture with a donkey was appropriate.  Also, I do not own a baby elephant or I would have totally done that instead.  Also, for those who might be interested, I am wearing the same pants, shoes and socks that I wore in the S'more Butt fiasco.  And, as an added bonus, Buster & his donkey wife Jelly had their baby today!  You can see the new baby on my facebook page.

Anyway, back to the book.  First of all, I removed the dust jacket so that Superfrykid, my seven year old daughter, would not see the title of the book.  She is an avid reader, and I did not want her to read the title and suddenly tell everyone she learned a new word.  After removing the dust jacket, I had to duct tape the spine of the actual book so she could not read the title.

Of course, she noticed the duct tape and asked me why it was there.  I told her it had a bad word that I didn't want her to know and she said, "Okay," and went back to playing with her Barbies.  

Ok, so that's the background as to why I am posting a book review on KWTF.  

Here's my official, obligatory, honest review: 

America, You Sexy Bitch by Michael Ian Black and Meghan McCain is about an RV road trip across America with people from differing backgrounds and political viewpoints.  

The back of the book says, "They hoped to find out what Americans are thinking about. After talking with strippers, senators, soldiers, anarchists, Mormons, and Muslims, they ended up learning that the country they love is both more confused and more hilarious than they ever thought possible."

I have to say that I came away learning less about what Americans are thinking about and more about the personal hygiene and social drinking habits of the traveling duo and their "people".  True, they talk about many of the things that seem to polarize people in America.  Gun rights, gay rights, religion, the economy, Elvis.  Elvis?  It seemed to me that they had more to say about their visit to Graceland than they did about their conversations with actual people.   To me, the book felt more like a place to spout off their own opinions rather than scoping out what "people in America" are actually thinking about those topics.  

Meghan McCain is the conservative Republican on the trip.  She points out that her mother was pregnant with her at the 1984 Reagan convention.  Does this give her bonus points for being a super-Republican or something?  It's kind of like saying my mother was pregnant with me at a John Lennon concert, therefore I love the Beatles more than you do.  Who cares?  I understand that she's trying to say that she's grown up in the world of politics, but it just felt odd to me to keep pointing out the fact that her father is a senator in every single chapter.  We know.  That being said, I found I liked Meghan more than I thought I would.  Clearly, Meghan McCain loves our country.  And we like the same Real Housewife of Beverly Hills.  (Adrienne Maloof)

Michael Ian Black is the liberal Democrat on the trip.  I won't lie.  I did not know who he was.  I still kind of don't.  Much like Meghan including attending the Reagan convention in utero, Michael seems to think that having a lesbian mother gives him extra brownie points with the Democrats.  Maybe it does.  Who am I to say?  Michael is a family man, which I respect.  He also was funny from time to time.  But I suspect that Nermal, the crunchy trip facilitator, is funnier.  I'd be curious to hear her thoughts on the topics they discussed and on the trip in general.  

America,  You Sexy Bitch kind of gives away what kind of book it's going to be with the title.  A little irreverent, with unnecessary words thrown in to make it seem edgy.  But it's still about America, land that I love, so I guess it's not all bad.  But like our great nation, it could be better.

Like me on Facebook, follow me on Pinterest, follow me on Twitter or join my blog.  And if you just read all of that, I'm sure you have the time, so go ahead.  Get in while I'm still unknown and then when KWTF blows up you can be all hip & cool and say you've been a fan all along.  Also, if I ever do a giveaway like my girl over at The Well Read Wife, then maybe you'll be one of the winners because with only 24 followers, your odds will be spectacular.  Also, you can follow the discussion about the book on Twitter via #MBBCWRW.  Thanks to Mandy at The Well Read Wife for the free book and thank you for visiting Ketchup with the Frys.

splinters in my smoothie

Can we all agree that it's not easy to eat healthy?

I mean, I usually don't even bother trying, but I'm at the point in my life where I need to either suck it up and try to do something about my weight or I need to just surrender and buy some muumuus, an oxygen tank and a scooter.

So, I'm not quite ready to rock the scooter yet, so I have been using my elliptical (thanks, Kelly) and have been attempting to make small changes in my diet.  I know if I do something drastic, I'll never stick to it, so I figure I'll take baby steps.

Yesterday, I tried to make a smoothie.  I was visiting my sister a few days earlier & she made some really yummy smoothies for us, so I was inspired to try it for myself at home.

My ingredients:  greek yogurt, frozen berries, fresh banana, and honey.
Instructions:  Plop some yogurt and fruit into a blender, add some honey and blend until smooth.

I put my ingredients into my blender and they did not seem to want to blend.  So I took a spoon and tried to "help" it.  The spoon was my favorite Pampered Chef bamboo spoon.  I accidently hit the blade and my spoon now looks like this:

Really?  Now I have splinters in my smoothie.

You have no idea how much I wanted to throw the entire blender into the yard and light it on fire.  My favorite spoon ruined, my smoothie full of splinters, and a blender to take apart and clean.

I almost decided to drink the smoothie anyway because it's fiber, right?   Also, maybe the small splinters would make my stomach hurt and then I wouldn't want to eat anything else for the rest of the day.  Hey, that could be a new diet.  Splinter Smoothies.....with extra fiber and a stomachache so you don't eat anything for the rest of the day.  Side effects may include:  tongue splinters, stomach/intestinal cramps, bloody stool, hunger in spite of the claims of this diet, and death.  If you happen to see that on an infomercial at 2 in the morning, just remember you saw it here first.

Please excuse me while I go get myself a snack.  One that does not involve splinters.

blueberry sausage

This is Superfrykid and the remains of a balloon flower bracelet she received from a clown at the Home Depot last week.  (It's kids day on the first Saturday of the month and they have free projects and fun stuff for kids.) The flower came apart and she said, "Look mom, it's a blueberry sausage!"

That made me laugh.  Hope it makes you laugh too.

Even if your balloon flower bracelet comes apart, at least you still have something.  It's almost like when life hands you lemons, make lemonade, only with clowns, balloons and sausage.

bloggess vs. pioneer woman

I used to read The Pioneer Woman blog all the time.   Then she started getting on my nerves.  She's too popular, too cool, too not-me. Then I stumbled upon Jenny Lawson, who writes at The Bloggess.  She is hilariously funny, but her language is offensive to me.  I starting wishing that my blog was as popular and witty and trendy as their blogs, and it made me think of the similarities, or lack thereof, between them.  


I told myself I need to just accept the fact that KWTF will never be "on their level".  But then after I thought about it, I don't think I want to be like them.  I just want to be like me.  Only skinnier and with whiter teeth. 


Here are some of the thoughts that went through my head.  Please note that I realize that comparing KWTF to these blogs is like comparing my karaoke performance to Alison Krauss or Madonna.  Did you follow me there?  PDub would be Alison Krauss and Jenny Lawson would be Madonna.  I would still just be me.  Singing badly.

PW has a giant ranch with cows.
JL has an office filled with small, taxidermied animals dressed as fictional characters.
KWTF has a very small house (no ranch, no office) and does not like animals.  But likes bacon.

PW's kids get up at the crack of dawn and ride horses.
JL's kid probably sleeps in and pretends to ride unicorns.  (I don't know this for sure, but I'm guessing.)
KWTF's kid still wakes up almost every night even though she is 7 and has 2 pet donkeys.  Donkies? No, I'm pretty sure it's donkeys.

PW makes corn salsa.
JL makes wine slushies.
KWTF makes jam, jelly and occasionally a fire-roasted crayfish.

PW has a cowboy husband who wears chaps and is named Marlboro Man.
JL has a husband who gave her a kitten as an anniversary gift and is named Victor.  
KWTF has a husband who brings home donkeys and four-wheelers and is named Superfrydad.

PW gives away jewelry and her "old" clothes that still have tags on them.
JL gives away copies of her best selling book and occasionally a photo of Wil Wheaton collating paper.
KWTF doesn't give away anything because she is poor and hates to mail things at the post office.

PW has a bassett hound named Charlie.
JL has a cat named Ferris Mewler.
KWTF has a giant bear dog named Woodrow.

PW writes cookbooks and even wrote a kid's book about her dog, Charlie.
JL wrote a New York Times best-selling book, Let's Pretend This Never  Happened.
KWTF writes in a Blue's Clues-esque notebook and also nonsense on a blog that nobody reads.


That's basically all I could think of.  I realize that probably the few people who actually do read my blog will not get this at all, but I'm writing this one for me.  And I get it.  And it made me snort.  Not snort cocaine.  Just snort-laugh.  I don't know how Pioneer Woman and The Bloggess laugh.  I doubt they snort.  PW probably has a high pitched, semi-silent laugh and JL probably hisses/screeches with a honk every now and then.  That's my guess, anyway.  Maybe some night when they are googling their own names, they will come across this and contact me to let me know what their real laugh sounds like. Or to ask me to remove this post.  Either way, I would be totally excited.

Camp

Superfrykid just got back from camp.

This is Superfrykid before we left for camp.

She spent 5 nights and 6 days away from home.

She is 7 years old.

I must admit, I was a little worried.  I worried she would wake up in the middle of the night.  I worried that she would drown in the pool.  I worried that she would break an arm on the bunk beds.  I worried that she would come home with athlete's foot or lice.  I worried that she would feel left out.  I worried that she would get a sunburn.  Pretty much anything you can worry about, I worried about.

However, she had a great time.

Here are the Top Three Things About Camp According to Superfrykid:


3.  The Food.  Way better than your food, mom.  It was really good!


2.  The Skits.  She's been singing and quoting lines that are really funny.  Or so she tells me.


1.  The Pool.  "We swam a couple of times a day, mom.  I only had to take like 2 showers!"


I hope that the pool had lot of chlorine.

Next year, I think I'm just going to send her with one outfit, a bathing suit, one towel, and a toothbrush.  Actually, I take that back.  I'm not sure she used her toothbrush.

not communicating is our love language

You may or may not know this, but Superfrydad does not read this blog.

Therefore, I feel free to gripe share about him.

We recently got donkeys.  No, Jelly has not had her baby yet.

I vaguely mentioned that it was a surprise to me too when he rolled up with 2 donkeys.  Technically, he HAD talked to me about them some time before but as I recall, my response was, "Unless they are free & poop gold, I don't think it's a good idea."

After seeing Superfrykid's face - and also because I'm pretty sure WalMart would not let me return them there even though they will pretty much accept any other return - I decided that instead of having a huge fight or pouting, I would let him have this one.  Point for Superfrydad.

A few days ago, he brought home a mini four-wheeler for Superfrykid.  Without telling me.  Once again, point for Superfrydad because clearly, not telling me anything is his preferred method of communication.  It might even be his love language.

As you can see, she is clearly happy.  And while we're looking at the picture, let me just break down her outfit for you.  Pink bike helmet (yes, we know that a bike helmet is not acceptable, but just be glad she is wearing a helmet, ok?), Tractor Supply shirt with an  American Flag Barn logo, Hello Kitty tiered, ruffled skirt, and sparkly flip-flops.  I'd say she has the whole tom-boy bling look down.  The best part about her new wheels?  "I have my OWN keys, mom!"

So while I really appreciate Superfrydad's spontaneity and love for his daughter, I'm pretty sure if I came home with 2 live animals and a motor vehicle, he would have something to say.  Actually, I take that back.  He probably wouldn't say anything.  Because that's his love language.  Zondervan or whoever published that book about the 5 love languages, call me.  I could write a book about the 6th love language and I would do it way cheaper than the other guy.

Movie Review for Brave

Have you seen the new Pixar movie, "Brave"?

We took Superfrykid to see it on July 4th.  I heard it was good, but I wish I had known a couple of things before I went.

Spoiler alert!  If you have not seen the movie and don't want to know what happens, don't read this.

Like I said, I heard it was good, but I wish I had known a couple of things before I went.  

First of all, I cried through just about the whole thing.  I wish someone had told me to take my tissues.  The movie theatre napkins are hard and not very absorbent.  I have a lot of snot when I cry, ok?

Also, I wish someone would have told me exactly how scary the bears are. Superfrykid freaked out.  I guessed it was going to be scary at one point and put my hand over her eyes.  Thank goodness I did because just the sound of it made her cry into my shoulder and not want to look back up when it was over.  Plugged In, from Focus on the Family, mentions that it may well spark a nightmare or two for sensitive, younger kids.  

I guess that means I'm a sensitive, younger kid because those bears were scary.  And it's not just one small part.  There are 2 main scenes that are quite scary.  It does earn the PG rating.

All in all, I did really like the movie. It's funny, endearing and the mother-daughter relationship is a big part of the movie, which is why it made me cry.

Also, Superfrykid leaned over and whispered something to me along the lines of, "I don't have to wish you turned into a bear, mom, 'cause you already are a bear.  You're mean like a bear all the time."

Thank you.  Thank you very much.

Mean like a bear is the type of mother I've been going for.

  

Happy 4th of July

I love 4th of July.   I like all things patriotic and I really love fireworks.

Part of being an American is having the opportunity to fulfill your hopes and dreams in the land of freedom.

Here are some hopes I have for you for the 4th of July:

Hope your hot dogs don't burn.  Too much.  I like a little black.  Otherwise they look like they are naked or raw or something gross like that.  So I guess I should say, I hope your hot dogs don't catch on fire.  That's too much.  But if you're not going to char them a little, why not just eat them straight out of the package and save yourself some propane?

Hope your illegal fireworks do not land on top of your roof and burn down your house.

Hope the bananas on your flag inspired fruit kabobs that you saw on Pinterest don't turn brown.

Hope you don't have to pee while you sit in post-firework traffic for 2 hours.

Hope your jean capris are clean and make your butt look good.  And your white t-shirt does not have armpit stains.  And that you have a pair of red flip flops or something to complete your red, white and blue look.

Hope the fireworks you bought are not duds.  Sometimes the packages make them seem like they are super cool and all they really are are sparklers in a cardboard container.

Hope your kid doesn't throw a sparkler into the yard and then you accidently step on it with your bare feet while trying to find it after it goes out. Those things stay hot for a minute, let me tell you.

Hope your deviled eggs taste good and that you don't run out of paprika.  You can't have deviled eggs without paprika.  Although I hate eggs, so I don't really care.  But they just make me think of July 4th, so I thought I'd throw that in there for those of you who like to eat things that smell like butt rotten.

But in all seriousness, Happy 4th of July!
Hope you take a moment  to be thankful for the freedoms we enjoy as citizens of the United States of America!