my neighbor on the street of gold

Sometimes I think about what heaven might be like.

People talk about having a mansion in heaven.  And I hear the streets are made of gold.

Which made me think of the song, "When We All Get to Heaven".  Which always makes me want to say...not.  Because I don't know who's going to be there, but I'm pretty sure it's not all of us.  So I googled the song and found this little gem.  The people on the intro look like they could be on SNL.  Its a mixture of scary and good. And the lady playing the bass looks a little bit crazy.  But good crazy.  Also?  When searching for this song, I found versions by Alan Jackson and Brad Paisley.  Who knew?

Anyway, as long as I am in heaven, I don't really care what my mansion looks like.

But I would like to make a reservation on who lives next to me.  Or on my street.

I definitely want Superfrydad and Superfrykid as my next door neighbors.  There is no marriage in heaven. (Did I just hear some of you say Hallelujah?) But Superfrydad and I have made it this long, so we may as well keep it up for eternity.  And if my heavenly toilet overflows, maybe he will come over and fix it for me.

I would prefer not to have some people on my same street.  I'm looking at you, King David from the Old Testament.  I know, I know.  He's a man after God's own heart. But he is my least favorite Biblical person.  I'm not saying he can't be in heaven. Maybe God would put him on the same street as say........Mr. Rogers.  Mr. Rogers likes everybody.

I guess if I could pick someone from the Bible to be on my street, I would choose Deborah.  She seems like she would be pretty cool.  Or Rahab.  I really want to know if she was an innkeeper or a harlot.  Because my childhood Sunday School teacher said she was an innkeeper.  But the Bible calls her a harlot.  I'm gonna go with the Bible.  Guess who else probably won't be my neighbor?  My lying Sunday School teacher.  (Please note:  this is all written tongue in cheek.  Don't get your panties in a bunch if you happen to be a Sunday School teacher.  I have nothing but love and appreciation for the many Sunday School teachers I had as a kid.)

That lady playing the bass in that video might be a good neighbor to have too.  She looks like she makes a mean casserole.  And probably pie crust with lard.  There are no calories in heaven.  So I hope.

So the question for you is, who would you like to have on your street in heaven and who would you like to be a few blocks over?

skinny people: shut up

So after yesterday's post, where I told the truth about my weight...here's what happened:

1.  I immediately wanted to delete it, but didn't.

2. A skinny friend immediately sent me a message saying she read my post and suggested I follow Jillian's blog because we all have to start somewhere, right?

3.  That skinny friend immediately should have been glad she sent that via facebook messenger or I may have punched her.

4.  I immediately cried.

5.  I immediately realized that she is right.  I have to start somewhere.  I think I'll start where I am.  I'm genius like that.

6.  This was my response to her, in case you were wondering:

Maybe I should.  Following a blog is sure to make me not fat.

Yes, I have to start somewhere.  Not sure telling Facebook how much I weigh is a good one, lol.

But start, I must. 

My phone just autocorrected start to starve.  Maybe it will just mercifully kill me in my sleep since it seems to be alive.

7.  I wrote this post, which I wanted to entitle, "Skinny People:  Shut the Bleepity Bleep Up", but chose to take the high road, as you can see.

Here are some tips for skinny people:

1.  Don't say you are fat when you're not.
It makes fat people hate you.

2.  Don't offer suggestions on how to lose weight.
We know how to lose weight.  It's the actual process of eating right and exercising that is the problem.

3.  Don't tell a fat person "you aren't that fat".
Do you think fat people do not own mirrors?  We know "how fat" we are in comparison to Honey Boo Boo's mom or that guy over there or that lady your mom works with.  

4.  Do tell a fat person "you are beautiful".
Beauty is not the same as weight.  

5.  Do tell a fat person "you look like you've lost weight", but only if it's true.
Encouraging words mean a lot.

I'm sure there are lots of other things I could include, but you get the idea.

In full disclosure, my skinny friend redeemed herself by also saying that I was among the most beautiful women she's ever met.  And I know she is honest because I know the gals she included me with and it's 100% true about them so I'm glad to be included.

Sometimes the truth hurts.

Sometimes the truth is horrible.

Sometimes the truth is wonderful.

Sometimes I think truth and love are the same thing.

These last 2 posts were heavy for me, so let's lighten it up.....

truth

Sometimes the truth hurts.

This phrase has been rolling around in my head for awhile now.

I looked up some other truth quotes and found these:

There's a world of difference between truth and facts.  Facts can obscure the truth.  

Maya Angelou

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.  

Oscar Wilde

The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable.  

James Garfield

The truth is, I went to the doctor this week and I weigh 210 pounds. 210.3 to be exact. That's the truth.  Somehow, I feel like putting it out there, into the light, will help.

The truth is, it won't help.  It will just make some of you gasp in shock and some of you wonder what my driver's license says.  

It doesn't say 210, I can tell you that.

I turned 38 a few days ago.  I am past the point in life where it matters to me if people know the number of my age or my weight.  It is what is it.  Sometimes the truth hurts.

But, like Maya Angelou says, facts can obscure the truth.

The fact is, I weigh 210.

The truth is, I am healthy and grateful to be so.

The fact is, I just told everyone how much I weigh.

The truth is, who cares?  If you like me or don't like me based on that fact, I'm pretty sure I don't like you anyway.

The fact is, I'm going to try to lose some weight.

The truth is, I'm scared to hit post but I'm going to do it anyway.

Me, after I accidentally sat on a s'more.  Food clings to me.

New Year, Same Old Me

It's 2014.

Or twenty fart-een, as I've been calling it in my head.  Sorry.  You can't unthink it. And when you accidentally say it out loud in a public place, just pretend you said fourteen and not farteen.

I don't make New Year's Resolutions.  Mainly because I know I won't keep them and I try not to lie to myself.

I did tell Superfrykid we were going to eat healthier and handed her a banana.  She replied that maybe our New Year's resolution should be to eat only junk food and then maybe we would eat healthy food instead since nobody ever keeps their resolutions. She does kind of have a point.  But then again, I think she wanted to see if I would let her eat a bowl of Skittles covered in root beer for breakfast.

However, this IS a new year.  And I guess a new year deserves some consideration.

So IF I made New Year's Resolutions, this is what they would be.....  Wait, let me clarify.  I will make 3 lists. One list of resolutions that sound good, but we all know they will never happen.  Let's call those Flying Pig Resolutions.  A second list of resolutions that I'd like to keep but know that I probably won't.  Let's call those Road to Hell Resolutions (as in I have lots of good intentions and we all know those are what pave that road).  And finally a list of resolutions that I know I will keep.  I can't think of a clever name for that list.  We'll just call it List #3.

List #1  Flying Pig Resolutions (resolutions that sound good, but we all know they'll never happen)
1.  Lose 50 pounds.  Let's be honest.  While I need to do this, pigs are truly likely to fly before it happens.  Which makes me think of bacon.  You see my dilemma here.  

2.  Remove myself from Facebook.  Who would I be jealous of?  How would I keep track of birthdays?  How would I feel terrible about myself by comparing myself to everyone and gauging my worth based on the number of likes my latest picture garnered?

3.  Stop shopping at WalMart.  Where else can you buy bullets, a TV and milk all at the same time?  I say I'm going to stop, but I never do.

List #2  Road to Hell Resolutions (resolutions that I have good intentions of keeping, but know I won't)
1.  Eat healthier.  I did order a salad instead of a burger/fries at Red Robin today. However, I ate 1/4 of a frozen pizza for dinner.  And some skittles. And there are some salt and vinegar chips out there in the kitchen calling to me right now.  I am typing super fast so I can go get some.

2.  Exercise more.  I know I need to move my body.  Even just walking would be better than sitting on the couch.  But it's hard to walk and eat salt & vinegar chips at the same time.

3.  Watch less TV.  Specifically, any show on Bravo.  Did you see the Underground Railroad clip on RHOA?  Why do I waste my time on this stupidity?  But we all know that I will continue to watch it, so there's no need to lie to myself.  

List #3  (resolutions I know I can keep)
1.  Be a woman.  I have no plans to be anything else.  In case you were wondering. And if you were wondering, don't tell me.  Because that would hurt my feelings. But if you have the balls to say that to my face, then you are clearly a man.  Or at least a woman who has had some significant surgeries.

2.  Not pierce my nipples.  Earlier today I was unpacking my suitcase from a trip to my sister's house.  I was leaning down and accidentally zipped my boob in the suitcase.  I had taken off my bra, so there was nothing there to protect me.  It really hurt. Like, super bad.  So.....I'm pretty sure nipple piercing is out for me.  And, yes, that is totally true.  And yes, I know that is TMI, but you know you are laughing.

3.  Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.  This is actually a quote from the movie The Princess Bride.  I couldn't really think of anything else funny and I'm pretty sure you're still laughing about #2.  Unless you were revolted and stopped reading already.  Either way, Happy New Year.

Christmas Quiz: How Christmassy are you?

Every year, I find myself swinging between a level of love and hate for the Christmas season.  Don't get me wrong, I love the true meaning of Christmas.  It's just all of the other stuff that gets on my nerves and stresses me out.

Here are 2 quizzes you can take to see how much you love Christmas.

What is your Christmas Cheer Level?

0-I am the Grinch.
1-I do not celebrate Christmas because of my religious beliefs, or lack thereof.
2-I go to my family's house for the food.  I don't make conversation and leave after dessert.
3-I wish I could sleep in on Christmas morning after staying up late to put together a Barbie dream house.
4-I pretended that our outside lights didn't work so that I didn't have to put them up.
5-I buy my gifts online and get Amazon to wrap them.
6-I bake break and bake cookies and call them homemade.
7-I have all of my gifts purchased and wrapped by December 1st.
8-I make all of my gifts from organic and free trade recycled items.
9-I know all of the verses of "We Three Kings".
10-I am Santa

Christmas Quiz:  On a level of Grinch to Santa, how Christmassy are you?  
(Yes, I know that Christmassy is not a word, but roll with it.)

1.  When do you begin celebrating Christmas?
a.  Never.  I am the Grinch.
b.  At the last possible minute or when my kids say "EVERYBODY has a tree but us!"
c.  The day after Halloween.
d.  I keep my tree up all year.

2.  What kind of Christmas cookies do you make?
a.  Whatever kind I can take home after my work Christmas party.
b.  The kind you don't even have to slice and bake.  You know, the ones that have pictures of Christmas trees and reindeer on them.
c.  Chocolate chip cookies.
d.  Hand decorated Christmas shapes with icing.  Wrapped in hand stamped paper with real pinecones and a custom, personalized tag.

3.  What kind of Christmas cards do you send?
a.  None.  Ain't nobody got time for that.
b.  Whatever I bought on clearance last year.
c.  Photo card with my kids on it.
d.  Photo card with multiple pictures from the entire year, complete with a family timeline featuring all the things we did this year:  trip to Hawaii, our 11 year old's PhD....you know, anything worth bragging about.

4.  What do you wear on Christmas day?
a.  Whatever I feel like wearing.
b.  Yoga pants that may or may not have a hole in them.
c.  Whatever my kids gave me as a gift last year.
d.  Christmas sweater made my my great aunt in 1972 with a red dickey.

5.  What's your take on Christmas music?
a.  I hate all music, but I especially loathe Christmas music.
b.  I tolerate it when my kids are in the car.
c.  I listen to it when I bake cookies.
d.  I recorded my own Christmas album, featuring "The Christmas Shoes".

Score:
Mostly a's:  You might be the Grinch.  Check for green hair on your chin.
Mostly b's:  You are most likely a working mom.
Mostly c's:  You are the person most of us try to pretend to be.
Mostly d's:  You need therapy.  Make that your New Year's Resolution.

Hope you and yours have a Merry Christmas....if you want to read another Christmas post, here's an oldie from KWTF.

Superfrykid and her baby cousin pnut, circa 2010.

Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Warning:  Before you read this post, if you know me, you must agree to never mention it in front of Superfrykid.  If you don't know me, feel free to mention it. 

Last night before Superfrykid went to bed, she gave her dolls and stuffed animals a kiss and tucked them under the covers.  I told her she was going to be a wonderful mommy someday and she asked me when she would be a mom.  I told her hopefully not for at least 20 years or so.  Then the following conversation happened:

Superfrykid/SFK:  HOW do you get pregnant?

Me:  That's something we'll talk about another time.  Right now, it's time for bed.

SFK:  Just tell me.  HOW?  HOW do you get pregnant?

Me:  I said we'll talk about it later.  Right now it's late and it's time for bed. 

SFK:  But, mom, just tell me.

Me:  Fine.  So you know how girls and boys have different body parts?  Well, girls and boys have different body parts on the inside too.  Girls have eggs inside and the boy fertilizes the egg and that's how a baby is made.

SFK:  So girls are like chickens because they have eggs inside and boys have manure inside?

Me:  What?

SFK:  You said that girls have eggs like chickens and boys have fertilizer.  Isn't fertilizer like, manure?

Me:  Yes, manure is fertilizer, but boys don't have manure inside them.  It's not manure.

What I am thinking:  Yes, some men ARE full of crap.

SFK:  Well that makes sense, because that's why moms poop out the baby.....because the egg is covered in manure so the mom can poop it out. 

At this point, I am hysterically laughing and Superfrykid continues to talk about how in school they are learning about mammals and reptiles, etc. and that people are mammals who give birth to live babies.  I try to explain to her that it's not like a chicken egg and it's not manure, but she is not listening because she thinks she is right.

Basically, my kid thinks babies are made with eggs and manure and childbirth is like taking a giant dump.

If you need someone to talk to your kids about the birds and the bees, I'm available.

Superfrykid.
Photo taken before she knew the truth.
Actually, she still doesn't know the truth.
But she knows enough for now.
Hopefully she won't raise her hand & share her knowledge with her entire class.

unenergetic party hosts need not apply

So this past weekend we visited my sister, Pee (yes, that is her real nickname), her husband, SonofaDutch, and their delightful daughter, PPPnut (yes, that is also her real nickname, sometimes shortened to just Pnut).

Anyway, it was Pnut's 3rd birthday so my sister planned a party for 22 of Pnut's closest friends.
This kid has a busier social life at 3 than I've ever had my entire life.

So she booked a local place where Pnut takes soccer lessons.
In case you're wondering, 3 year old soccer teacher is about #942 on my list of jobs I never want.

The indoor soccer place offers a turn-key party, much like Monkey Joe's or Pump It Up, where you have the party there so you don't have to clean up afterward, etc.

My sister purchased the highest level package, which was to include a one hour/age appropriate soccer class, 50 minutes in a "spacious party room", one "energetic party host" for the first hour of the party, all party supplies, 3 large pizzas, and bottomless pitchers.  She also added bounce houses for an extra fee.
They always get you with the bounce houses.  Who can say no to that?

So my niece and her 22 little friends arrive.  And they wait in the spacious party room for their energetic party host to get there and begin the fun.  The party was supposed to start at 10:00 am.  Most people arrive at least a few minutes early.  At 10:10, my sister went hunting for the party host.
10-17 minutes inside a spacious party room with 22 toddlers?  Unless your definition of spacious is the size of 7 football fields, there is not enough room.  Also?  They can see the bounce houses.  And, being 3, know that the fastest way to get out of the spacious party room and go jump is to scream repeatedly and as ear-piercingly as possible.  

So finally the "energetic party host" arrives.  My sister described her as a 12 year old who let a soccer ball fall from her hands onto the field and whispered, "Okay kids, go get the ball and try to kick it into the goal," accompanied by a weak shooing motion with her hands.
Also?  One ball for 22 toddlers?  This is not a sharing class, nor does anyone have any expectation that any form of real soccer game is about to occur.  3 year olds are like tiny tyrants who all need their own ball and possibly another one to hold in case someone steals the first one.  Those people should have had at least 44 soccer balls there, plus a few extra in case someone poops on one.  Because someone WILL poop.  I'm not sure of the exact mathematical calculation, but 22 toddlers times 22 sippy cups divided by 1 milk allergy multiplied by the law of going potty right before the party starts plus forgetting your extra outfit equals at least one poop blowout. 

All in all, the party worked out.  After all, 3 year olds have the memory of a fruit fly. Once they got in the bounce houses, I'm sure they all forgot about how much the first part sucked.  My guess is, they probably didn't even notice.  I mean, kids who are entertained by colanders and wooden spoons aren't too picky, right?  They don't even know what "energetic party host" means.  And I don't think they care.  Because they're 3.  Happy Birthday, PPPnut.  You're awesome!

PPPnut & Superfrykid at the Pumpkin Patch

This photo we like to call Weekend at Bernie's-Toddler Edition,
because it looks like Pee is totally holding up Pnut a la Weekend at Bernie's.
Maybe we are the only ones who cracked up at this, but I almost peed my pants
during the wagon ride when I looked at the picture.