amish karate

We took a little trip to Lancaster, PA to see "Jonah" at Sight & Sound Theatre.

 

The Sight & Sound Theatre kind of looks like a mosque.  Just sayin'.

But Superfrykid enjoyed the show and then we took her to the pool at the hotel.  The hotel had a really nice indoor water park for kids, plus a separate indoor pool.  When we arrived, the kiddie water park was full of screaming children kids having a great time and there were only a few people in the regular pool.  We opted for the regular pool.  After about a half an hour, we noticed the life guards were closing the kiddie pool.  A great migration began as families began to cart their stuff over and put it on the chairs around the indoor pool.  Water-winged cherubs plunged into the water, and the population of the indoor  pool went from about 5 people to about 40.  The life guards donned rubber gloves and got the big strainer thing out.

This could only mean one thing. 

Somebody pooped in the kiddie pool.

Ew.

And I'm pretty sure the guilty party came over and got into the regular pool without wiping. 

How do I know this?

Because I was watching to see which mom was going to flee with her towel wrapped toddler into the nearest bathroom while dad scrounged up the rest of their stuff & tried to walk out nonchalantly with the rest of the kids screaming, "Why are we leaving now, daddy?" 

But nobody did.  They ALL came over to the indoor pool and plopped, no pun intended, into the water.

Thankfully, I was not in the water because I do not wear a bathing suit if I can help it.  Being insecure about putting on a bathing suit can have it's advantages.  No pee soup or poop infested water for me, thanks.

What else?  Not much.  We ate and we played mini-golf, which is quite an Amish thing to do, right?

Speaking of the Amish, who knew that Amish people were into karate? That bearded giant with the rake looks like he is going to hong-kong phooey Superfrydad. (Thanks, KWTF Superpsycho Superfan for pointing that out.)

All in all, it was a nice little getaway.  And I do realize that going to Lancaster for Spring Break ranks pretty high on the dork-o-meter.  But I'm okay with that.

Easter Recap

Here's a rundown of our Easter weekend:

1.  Breakfast and Egg Hunt at Church

Yes, we throw the eggs on the ground in the parking lot.  Not much "hunting", but the kids love it.



2.  Egg Coloring and Egg Hunt at Home with Mamaw and Aunt Pee

Superbabycousin LOVES Superfrydad!  He is like a grumpy, bearded babywhisperer.

Superbabycousin is wondering if that is really Dora's head.  Superfrykid is doing her impression of the Easter Bunny taking a dump.

3.  Sunday Morning Worship at Church

Superfrydad wears a suit on 3 occasions:   Easter, weddings and funerals.  Note the purple tie.  If you know him, you know that's a big deal.

4.  Easter Dinner & 80th Birthday Celebration for Great-Grandma
Remember my grandmother, aka "The Don"?  She turns 80 later this week, so we celebrated Easter and her birthday on Sunday.

The Don is the only person I know who can rock purple pants. Also, she's not wearing a crazy hat, it's just the lamp behind her.  This was not a lampshade on the head kind of a party.  Although if I live to be 80, I might put a lampshade on my head.  And I will wear purple pants, but I won't rock them the way the Don does.


All in all, I'd say it was a pretty good Easter. 

What did you do for Easter?

word to your mother

Other titles for this post include:
Ode to my mom
I love my mom
Da bomb mom

It's not Mother's Day, it's not my mom's birthday.  It's not really any special day, but I just feel the need to publicly give props to my mom.

There have been times when I am sure that she wanted to shake me or throw me from a moving train over a trestle like in Water for Elephants.   But she never did.  (Thankfully)

I take it for granted that my mom lives nearby.  I take it for granted that my mom is healthy.  I take it for granted that I can call her up at 10:00 on a Saturday morning and she will be over in an hour, ready to go to Kohl's and Aldi.

She understands me unlike anyone else.
She loves my daughter unlike anyone else.
She is my mom and I am thankful.

Love you, mom.

attack of the great white ducks

Superfrydad's niece is getting married in May.

It's going to be an outdoor wedding at a local park.

The ceremony is going to be next to a pond, which is sure to be lovely.

There is one problem.

Ducks.

Big white ones with bright orange feet.

And flappy wings that could probably cut you.   

What?  You've never heard that expression?  "Watch out, those ducks will cut you, man."

So I went with my niece to scout out the location and see where the best place would be for the aisle, the chairs and all that jazz.

Next thing we know, we are accosted by this duck gang.

How do I know they were a gang?

They all dressed alike.  White feathers with bright orange feet.

We were in their 'hood and they were not happy about it.

What did we do?

Run, of course.

They chased us a little and then stopped.

We discussed the possibility of a duck invasion during the ceremony & here's what we came up with:
1.  Hire duck bouncers to keep the ducks at a safe distance from guests and the bridal party.  I'm thinking men with sunglasses and earpieces who carry shepherd's hooks.
2.  Get someone to distract the ducks during the ceremony by feeding them on the other side of the pond, far away from the ceremony.  Ducks are like seagulls at the beach.  Throw one little morsel of food and you get every fowl within 5 miles flocking to you and flapping you do death.
3.  Make sure the videographer has a clear shot so that when the ducks attack the bride and groom during their vows, maybe they can win $10,000 on AFV.

I'm excited to see what will happen with these ducks.  If I'm correct, they will probably remember us because once you've crossed a gang member, you never know when they will strike back at you.  I'm guessing it will be at a wildly inappropriate time and may or may not involve poop.

We'll see what happens.  Hopefully, all will be perfect for their special day, but I can't help but secretly want her to hire some cool duck bouncers.

first lost tooth

Superfrykid lost her first tooth today.

She was eating her waffle this morning and discovered that it was gone.  We looked everywhere, but alas, the tooth was nowhere to be found.

She swallowed it.

Ew.

I'm not looking for it anymore. 

Ew.

i hope you go to heaven

Every Wednesday night, we go to Awana at our church.

Superfrykid is in the Sparks class and she made something for her teacher today.

Here it is:

If you are having trouble reading it, this is what it says:
Dear, Mrs. Deanna
I love Sparks!  You are very good at teaching us abot God.  Hope you go too Heaven.  Love, Alaina

The drawing is an elf.  Looks like a zombie elf, but it's just a regular elf.

The elf is not the funny part.

The funny part is the last line.

"I hope you go to heaven."

This is kind of like someone from the south saying, "Bless your heart."

It seems like a nice thing to say. 

"I hope you go to heaven."  Insert fake smile here with hand on the other person's arm.

"Thanks, I hope you do too."  Insert fake smile here with turn around and eye roll.

Superfrykid was earnest and sincere.  She was trying to give the best compliment she could. 

That's why I love her.  She is honest and forthright and doesn't have the jaded sense of spirituality that I sometimes do.

fav Christmas ornament

So the post about Christmas carols is now the most viewed post on KWTF.

Whatever.

Can you tell I'm kind of irritated by that?  I mean, what about the fartner post?  I thought that one was pretty good.  But again, whatever.  Christmas is something we all have in common, so I get it.  (Farts are too, but most people are too polite to mention this.  I'm not.)

So, in keeping with what seems to be a popular theme....today's post is about Christmas ornaments.

I have ornaments that I made when I was a kid and some from Superfrydad's childhood too.

They are not the most beautiful ornaments, but they have sentimental value, so on the tree they go.

I have this one little plastic ornament that I love.  It's probably the most generic thing in the world, but if I had to put out just one item, this would be a contender.

I also have some old ornaments that were my grandmother's, which are very special to me.

Probably my favorite hand made ornament is this one, which I made in Sunday School in 1981.  I was 5 and I remember carefully putting the glitter around it.  Or maybe I am remembering another time I used glitter and conveniently associate it with this ornament.  Either way, this one makes me feel sentimental and brings back the smells of glue, glitter and the church basement.

Then there's Bert and Grover.  My sister has Ernie and Oscar.  I think I got the best deal out of that one.  Booyah, my sister!

And last, but not least, the scary Santa sleigh.  There's something about it that I love, yet I also think it's kind of creepy.  Who needs Elf on the Shelf when this Santa is watching?

What's your favorite ornament at your house?

proper use of wood glue

Remember the cute little Halloween house we made?

Today we decided to make a Gingerbread House to add to our Christmas decor.  It's kind of a tradition around here and Superfrykid was super excited to work on this project today.

We knew that it was going to be a little dicey, because the main parts were broken when we opened the package.  Nothing a little wood glue can't handle, right?

Apparently wood glue is not for use on gingerbread.

Alas, the damages were too devastating and even wood glue could not fix it.

I guess that's what happens when you try to be cheap and buy a gingerbread house after Christmas for 75% off and save it for the following year. 

But I did have hopes that the wood glue would work.  Gingerbread house FAIL.

Happy Thanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving, so let's talk about....deer.

Superfrydad went hunting this morning.  He got a deer.

That's Superfrykid balancing on the edge of the tailgate.  She was excited, but that was as close as she would get.  She was wearing her pink sparkle flip flops and didn't want to step on any blood.  I don't blame her. 

I'm thankful that he got this deer this morning because if he had gotten it later in the day, we may have been late for our Thanksgiving meal.  That would not have been good because I hate to be late and I have 20 pounds of potatoes ready to be made into a mountain of mashed potatoes.  Nobody likes cold mashed potatoes.

So now I need to go and start peeling potatoes.

Happy Thanksgiving.

If you just finished reading this and are judging me because I didn't list all the things I'm thankful for, poop on you.  I am thankful for all of the things that everyone else is thankful for, I just don't feel the need to list it here.  I feel that the One I need to thank is God, and he's not a follower of my blog as far as I know, so I will thank Him in private.  Not that I'm ashamed to thank Him publicly, it's just that whenever I see people listing all of their blessings on facebook, it feels like a brag-fest.

Happy Thanksgiving.  Sorry for the rant.

photo fail

My sister came to visit yesterday.

We decided to try and get a cute fall photo of our children together.

Easy, right?

This is the best shot we got:

The look on the baby's face says it all....."This is not fun!  Leave us alone!"

So we did.  And we got zero good pictures.  However, we did laugh at the plethora of bad ones that we got. 

I just used the word plethora in a sentence. 

I think everyone should use the word plethora at least once per day.

Anyway, that picture is as good as it got on this particular day.

It's a lot like life.

Sometimes you try for something and it just doesn't turn out that way.

Which reminds me of a one-liner my sister thinks is the funniest one she's ever heard:

4 out of 5 people suffer from diarrhea....so that means 1 person enjoys it.

Aren't you glad you read KWTFrys?  The plethora of information you get here is unmatched.

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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.

real ketchup=my kids new room

Our house is very small.  The bedrooms are tiny.  We chose the smallest one to use as a nursery and then it just morphed into a bedroom.  The other one, the "bigger" one - if you count slightly larger than a really tiny one "bigger", we used as a toy room. 

So now that superfrykid (I gotta get some better pseudo-nicknames around here, but that's all I've got for now).....anyway, now that superfrykid is almost in 1st grade, we decided she needed to switch rooms.

The toy room had a super wide wallpaper border around the entire room, which I removed in about 6 hours with a sponge and a Pampered Chef stone scraper thing.  And the toy room was painted a yellow-orange kind of color. 

Did I mention I used a Pampered Chef stone scraper to remove a ton of wallpaper? 

We painted over the orange-yellow with "Lime Rickey" from Sherwin Williams.  It's kind of a cross between lime green and Kermit green. 

Because we're subtle like that.

Anyway, surprising us all, the room is turning out pretty cute.

My sister Pee (Yes, that is her real nickname) bought the owl pillow for her because I said no because I thought it was too expensive.  Turns out, it kind of makes the room.  Thank you, my sister!  Love the owl.

bipolar marriage

The other day my hubby & I were arguing....I mean, talking, and he said this to me:

"I really think you are bipolar."

I told someone this and they asked, "Was he serious?"

To which I replied, "Yes, totally!"  

And I'm not sure if the person's facial expression was genuine surprise or if it was masked horror whilst their brain was calculating the fastest route to the exit.

I must be crazy because I think I just used the word "whilst" in a sentence.

Anyway, back to the bipolar marriage issue.

Sometimes you don't know if your marriage is having a "taking it's meds" kind of day or if it's super crazy pants day where everything is sure to be hysterical (and I don't mean the funny kind of hysterical).

We have been married almost 17 years.  You'd think we could coast at this point.   No, no....17 years is when the relational mental illness sets in. 

And you know what? 

I kind of like crazy.

Seahorse dads

Seahorses are really the only fathers that should be recognized for Father's Day.

I mean, Mother's Day is for those who have pushed out a baby or had their guts sliced open never to regain feeling there again.

What do Father's do on the day they become dads?  Stand there and eat a tunafish sandwich?  (that's a shout out to Day by Day, whose husband actually ate a tunafish sub while she was in major labor.  not cool.  not cool.)

Seahorse dads should at least get props for carrying their babies.

It should be Seahorse Day instead of Father's Day. 

Why do men think they need a day too?

I mean, you can't do what you do for moms on Mother's Day.
Breakfast in bed doesn't count because that happens all the time. (well, ok, it happens more than once a year.  which is more than it happens for moms.)
Flowers are a no go, because what man wants flowers?
Sappy cards or handcrafted jewelry boxes or picture frames are simply not appreciated, so why bother?
Anything that they would want is too expensive.  ATVs, guns, powertools, trucks, etc. are way out of my price range. 

Guess what I got my dad?  A S'mores kit.  Because he has a little fire pit that he thinks is cool.  I got him little telescoping marshmallow sticks, Hershey Bars, Graham Crackers, and the new square marshmallows. 

He pulled out the graham crackers first & said, "oooh, graham crackers!  I like those."
He seriously thought I bought him graham crackers for Father's Day. 

I actually had to explain it to him.  He asked me how you toast the graham crackers and the chocolate.  Apparently he has never had s'mores before.  How can you be 59 years old and not know how to make s'mores?

So my point is, why bother? 
Moms appreciate Mother's Day because they remember the pain and the agony of childbirth. 
Father's Day just doesn't have quite the same umph.

Happy Seahorse Day.

PS - The previously expressed view are completely fictional.  I think Father's Day is great.  Dads are great and deserve the same credit as moms.  And I firmly believe that you don't have to push out a baby or get your gut cut to be a mother.  Some of the best mothers have never been pregnant a day in their life. 

All that being said, Mother's Day is still kind of more important than Father's Day in the big scheme of holidays, dontcha think?

sprinkler vs. robot dance moves

If the sprinkler is your best dance move, you might be my daughter. 
This picture is from my niece's wedding last Saturday.
Note everyone laughing at her in the background.
She was all about the dancing.
Her go to move was the sprinkler.  However, she did incorporate some robot.



She even grabbed the available 6 year olds and forced them to dance with her.

A happy day for everyone.

The sprinkler moves were just the icing on the cake.