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

being awakened in the middle of the night by

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

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

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

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

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

Only scarier.

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

Thankfully, I only paid $2.48 for it.

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.

unpeeve

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

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

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

Yesterday, I happened upon an unexpected unpeeve. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WithTheFrys

I have a bad relationship with my name.  See my first post.

My initials?  ALF

My husband thinks this is hilarious.  I do not.

My name backwards?  ASSila

One of my friends used to think this was hilarious.  I did not.

The name of my blog in acronym form?  KWTF

I am mortified that I spent so much time thinking about the perfect name for my family blog, and now I've discovered that it includes unintentional profanity.

So now I guess I have to always type out Ketchup with the Frys.....I was hoping my blog would get to the place where I could give it a cute acronym or cool nickname, kind of like JLo or SCsquared (does anyone knows who SCsquared is?)

Anyway, I guess the curse of my name follows me here on the blogosphere too.

And if you know who SCsquared is, let me know.  You can't google it, because you won't get the right answer, so don't try.  There's no prize anyway, because this is a loser blog with no sponsors.  If I did have sponsors, I would give you something.  But you just wasted like 2 minutes reading a blog called KWTF, so I wouldn't waste anymore time thinking about SCsquared because you're not going to get anything for it.

not having to dial 911 while doing yard work is a plus

There was a bee's nest in the ground next to our well. 

Superfrydad discovered it while doing some yard work and proceeded to launch his attack.

I happened to look out the window and saw him walking across the yard with a big long pole that had cloth wrapped around the end of it. 

A man + gasoline + fire = disaster waiting to happen.

I got the phone ready in case I needed to dial 911.

He sat and watched the smoke and fire from a safe distance. 

I removed my finger from the 9.

Then he came inside and cut an empty coke bottle in half.  When I asked him what he was doing, he ignored me.

I put my finger back on the 9.

Obviously, he thought he needed to add a little bit more gasoline to the fire.

What is it with men and fire?

The next day he sprayed a whole can of Raid down in the hole. 

I'm pretty sure the bees are gone.

And we did not have to dial 911.

Mission accomplished.

Just like not getting stabbed is always a plus, not having to dial 911 when your husband is doing yard work is also a plus.