There is something I do when cleaning/organizing that my husband just doesn’t understand.  Actually, he just doesn’t understand anything about cleaning, but that’s beside the point.  He doesn’t understand that sometimes to clean, you have to make a mess.  (Can I get a Hell Yeah from my fellow OCDer’s?)

Sometimes, my boys’ room gets so messy/disorganized, that the only way to effectively clean and organize the myraid of toys they have, is to dump them all in the floor and put them into groups, and then into their rightful home. 

That’s what happened last night.  The boys went to spend the night with their aunt, and I took the opportunity to clean.  I decided to focus my efforts on their bedroom, which was not in terrible shape, but wasn’t picture perfect either. 

Their room had a section of floor to celing built-in shelves where we store bigger toys, and bins of smaller toys.  I have a bin for bigger cars, one for smaller, hot wheel size cars, one for action figures, one for tractors and other farm-oriented toys, and one for other misc. toys.  From time to time, as can be expected, the contents of the bins get mangled, and must be re-established.  So, I spent last night dumping bins, and seperating power rangers from cars and tractors from motorcycles, and establishing Keep/Sell/Toss piles, while my husband looked on, shaking his head in disbelief. 

The process provoked the following question:  Do Transformers belong in the action figure bin or the vehicle bin?  OCDer’s unite, and give me an answer.

With my recent 30 pound weight loss, I’ve got, in a sense, a new body, which is a very good thing.  (Although J is a bit discouraged by my shrinking boobies). 

I am currently at the point that I need new clothes, pants espically.  Size 22 is no longer an option if I wish to keep my bottoms on, which I do.  I am not in a position financially, where I can just go out and purchase a new wardrobe, and even if I had the money, I don’t know that I would want to buy clothes that (hopefully) won’t fit in a couple of months. 

I’ve already been down that road.  The new pants that I spent $17 on less than 2 months ago are already in a pile to be given away due to the fact that they’re too big.  Quite a waste of money, espically for me.  Therefore, yesterday I hit up the local Goodwill.  I know, used clothing yuck……cooties………blah blah blah.  Before you judge, check out what I got:

3 pairs of dress pants, and 2 nice shrits.  The pants are all in nearly new condition, complete with dry clean tags courtsey of the previous owner.  The white shirt is a ribbed sweater, which still had tags on it.  The picture doesn’t do it justice.  The orange shirt was barely used.  There were tons more dress pants in my current size, but I obstained from going too crazy.  

The grand total for my loot?  Under $15, plus laundry detergent to wash out the cooties.  At that price, I can afford to get a whole new wardrobe for every size!

A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, also known as high school, I heard of a place called Holiday World.  The setting was at an FHA officer’s meeting, and one of the underclassmen officers suggested Holiday World as a possible destination for our group trip.  She claimed her family had been going there for years, and that it was even better than Opryland. 

“Better than Opryland?”………..pshaw.  As if.  Silly underclassmen. 

A dozen or so years later, I can honestly say, it is indeed better than Opryland. 

We planned the weekend getaway about a month ago, around our work schedules, payday schedules, and the visitation schedule of my stepdaughter.  It wasn’t until days before our departure that I noticed the note on the front page of the Holiday World website, saying something to the effect that they expected Saturday, June 28th to be very busy, and if you could change your plans it would be wise to avoid coming on that day.  As there was no flexibility in our plans, we decided to go anyway.  With memories of going to Opryland and 6 Flags St. Louis on weekend days in the summer, and having to stand in line for hours to ride even the lamest of rides, I was mentally prepared for horendous lines Saturday, espically since the park was discouraging our attendance on that day.  We hoped that Sunday would find the park less crowded, and we would be able to see and do more.  

En route we discovered that we had forgotten 2 very improtant things.  Our camera, and our stroller.  I thought renting a stroller would be out of the question.  From past experience, places like that don’t have enough strollers to go around, expically on one of their busiest days.  In the event we could locate a stroller, I suspected rental would cost an arm and a leg.

With in-car entertainment via our 2 preschoolers and 2 teenagers (my step-daughter and neice), the 3.5 hour road trip passed rather quickly.  We arrived at our destination mere minutes after the park’s 9:30 am opening time, and got into a rather short line to give the park our $230 plus for 2 day passes for 5.  Fortunately, our youngest is still 2, and could get in for free. 

We began the day taking the little guys to the kiddie ride area, where the hit the bumper boats.  My eldest has to be the most serious child that has ever existed.  He takes everything in, and is so intent upon capturing every detail of a moment, that he looks seriously pissed when he is enjoying himself.  He spent the ride with a sour look on his face, then proclaimed, “that was so much fun”, when he exited. 

He then claimed he didn’t want to ride any more rides in that section, so we headed to the log ride.  The teenagers had left us by this point, so our family of 4 was able to secure a log rather quickly.  The oldest liked seeing mommy, daddy, and little brother get soaked, but claimed the drop hurt his tummy.  Little bro didn’t like getting wet.  At all.

After convincing my kiddos to ride the, “Turkey Whirl”, a tilt-a-whirl type ride, with me, I discovered a big difference in the 2 of them.  Throughout the whole ride my oldest was crying that his tummy hurt, and my youngest was giggling with delight.  As we exited, the youngest said, “let’s go gin (again)”, whilst the oldest proclaimed he would never!

The rest of the day went much like that.  The oldest was scared anything that could be enjoyed by anyone over the age of 7, with the exception of the, “Gobbler Getaway”, while the youngest cried when he wasn’t tall enough to ride the Hallowswings with me. 

I managed to steal some time away from the boys, and ride some rides with the teenagers.  From The Voyage, the world’s #1 wooden roller coaster, I came away with a horrible bruise, a headache, and the idea that maybe the warning signs should say, “This ride not intended for people with neck and back problems, women who are pregnant, and anyone over the age of 30″.  I’d ride it again though.

“The Raven” was a little better, ie: less painful, but my favorite rides are the classics.   I could stay on the Hallowswings, Raging River, and Frightful Falls all day.  “Gobbler Getaway” was fun for the whole family, and was my oldest’s favorite, by far.  He also enjoyed Holidog’s Fun Town innensely. 

The park was clean, friendly, and extremely reasonably priced.  There was no shortage of wagons to rent, and for the low all-day price of $5, we got one to pull both boys around the park.  The 6 of us ate lunch for under $30, and a turkey dinner with all the trimmings for dinner for under $45.  The all day free soft drinks saved us a bundle. 

Lines were not bad at all.  Our longest wait was an extremley reasonagle 20 minutes to ride, “The Voyage”.   I was plesantly surprised, considering the park’s warning against attending that day.  Throughout the day we left our belongings in our wagon, parked near whatever ride we were on, and they were never bothered. 

We stayed until the park closed, at 9:30 pm, 12 hours total, then headed to our hotel, 15 miles away.  After some initial confusion due to the fact that the hotel was in a different time zone than the park, we got a good night’s sleep before heading out Sunday morning for our 2nd, and much shorter, day of fun. 

Sunday found the lines shorter and the park less crowded.  We had another wonderful day.  Sure I missed being able to ride and do what I wanted, when I wanted.  Sure I didn’t enjoy, “Holidog’s Funtown” near as much as my kids did, but I still had a blast watching them have fun, blossom, and interact with other kids. 

Our day was coming to an end about 7:30 pm, and we were picking up some last-minute souveniers.  I noticed people outside the gift shop looking skyward and pointing.  When I exited, I saw the most vivid, bright rainbow I had ever witnessed, a closer look revealed a more faint rainbow just above it.  The perfect ending to a perfect trip. 

Our family will definitley make Holiday World an annual trip. 

As a mother, you resign yourself to becoming forever known as (insert your child’s name here)’s mom to their peers.  Most of the kids at chruch call me Steven and Carson’s mom.  Several of them have no idea that I have a name. 

I’ve grown quite acustomed to being, “Steven’s mom” to all the kiddos.

Last night at the kiddos t-ball game, their coach, a man I have attended church with for the last 3 years, said this:

“Last week I thought I saw you at your job.  I didn’t know what you did for a living, but I was driving down the road and I was like, “that looks like Steven’s mom”, so I called my wife and said, “what’s Steven’s mom do?”, so she told me and I figured out it was you.”

Twice in the same story I was referred to as, “Steven’s mom”, by one of my peers.  Is it not enough that I lose my identity with the youngsters?

“Well Steve, I hardly recognized you you’ve gotten so fat.” said the classy-looking, 60-ish woman standing near the casket.  

“Damn lady, he just lost his dad, cut him some slack”, I thought.  Steve is my father, and the woman’s sharp words came at my grandpa’s (his father’s) wake, nearly 7 years ago. 

Since that incident, I have experienced many incidents of what I’ve come to refer to as, elderly word vomit, usually by my grandparents, and usually at my expense.  Nearly every time I am in their presence, I have to bite my tounge to keep from saying sarcastically, “Yes, I have a weight problem, yes I am aware, I have a mirror, and a scale, but if I ever find myself without either one of them, I’m glad you’re here to let me know.”

I’ve heard stories about other people’s grandparents, and other elderly relatives, making similar comments to them.  Their stories, as well as my own experiences, has led me to ponder:  at what age does it become approporiate to say whatever crosses your mind, completely disregarding everyone else’s feelings?   

Maybe they need to make Depends to control diarreha of the mouth.

7 years ago today I stood before God and everybody and took the old man for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and all that good stuff. 

The past couple of years it’s been for worse, poorer, and sickness, but I still love him. 

We got each other cards, and he got me a pair of earings, which he confessed cost a whopping $3.  Par for the course, as for Mother’s Day he got me a box of Russel Stover candy, then proceeded to eat half.  I know you’re all jealous, but sorry, he’s taken. 

Why is it that all the anniversary cards are corny/funny with dorky poems that cost $5, or sweet sappy, long winded professions of love which cost at least $5.  In my opinion, a Lincoln is alot to spend on something that’s never going to be looked at again. 

At least we had a sort of decent dinner.  Breakfast for supper, which beats the heck out of the Hamburger Helper we usually end up eating for sinner on our anniversary. 

We topped off the evening watching our boys play church-leauge t-ball, then coming home and watching the latest episode of Nashville Star. 

Aren’t we the epitome of romance?

I have resisted the temptation to watch, “Denise Richards, It’s Complicated”.  The Bon Jovi whore in me initially wanted to, i mean after all, the girl did date Richie Sambora, but I really didn’t even want to start. 

So, earlier today, I was cleaning our den, and, well, it was the only thing on, and it stayed on for 45 minutes, whilst I rested my butt on the couch, unable to complete the cleaning task at hand for watching the trainwreck on the small screen. 

I didn’t have to wait but about 10 seconds for a Bon Jovi reference, as Denise was doing an interview, and being hounded by the press about her home-wrecking, husband stealing antics. 

Now, I was never a fan of Miss Richards, but I have long been a believer that one’s spouse can’t be, “stolen” without wanting to be.  Pick up any tabloid from the time the story of Richie and Heather’s relationship demise, and you will find that Richie was being accused of having an affair with his assistant.  It wasn’t until several months later that Denise came into the picture.  Also, interviews after the fact, with those closest to Richie, say that his and Heather’s seperation was a long time coming.  Maybe I’m just jaded by my love of all things Bon Jovi, but I don’t buy into the whole media portrayal of Denise being a homewrecking whore. 

What really amazes me is that mere months before, another woman had come in between a married celebrity couple.  Bradgelina anyone?  Same story, different names, but for some reason, everyone thinks they are the golden couple. 

Is there a difference?

Sunday mornings are hectic around our house.  Since it’s usually my only day off, I sleep in until the last minute, then am extremley rushed to get everyone and everything ready for church. 

Recently, my oldest was taking a bath, whilst I was standing in the bathroom getting ready.  I asked him to wash himself, to save time. 

Him:  “You wash me.”

Me:  “No, you wash yourself today.”

Him:  “I don’t want to.”

Me:  “Well son, sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.  It’s a fact of life.  Even grown-ups sometimes have to do things they don’t want to do.”

Him:  “Exactly, you don’t want to wash me, but you’re going to have to, because I’m not doing it.”

Sometimes he’s just too smart. 

And yes, I did wash him.

I heard the following bit last week on Last Comic Standing, and it’s stuck with me all week.  War isn’t funny,  but this comic’s take on it was.

Have you ever heard that if a penny was dropped from the top of the Eiffel Tower, by the time it reaches the ground the sheer force could crush a Volkswagen?

Maybe that’s the answer to the war, just go over there and drop 92 cents.  The news headlines would say something like:  “Estimated cost of the war escelate to $2.94.”

And when it’s over, and the other country says, “send money” we could say, “we already did”. 

The tagline would be, “Bringing Change to Iraq”.

Last Friday, in the absence of our regular sitter, my parents filled in.  My dad brought up the idea to take the kids on a little road trip to run some errands, then reward them with lunch at Chuck E. Cheese afterward. 

You would have to know my dad to know what a crazy idea this is.  He doesen’t do Chuck E Cheese’s, or lots of kids, and really he prefers to just stay home. 

On Sunday after the excursion, my oldest was telling my sister that “Daddy D” (grandpa) took him to Chuck E Cheese. 

“He hardly ever took your mommy and I there”, she replied.

My son picked up on her miffed tone of voice and added:

“Yeah, and then after we ate there, he took me to the mall and bought me lots and lots of toys, maybe he just likes me more than he did you.”

Did he get any new toys?  No.  He didn’t even get anything with his tickets, because after a little while in Chuck E Cheese’s, my parents were ready to get the hell out, but it was very entertaining to watch his tale grow to epic porportions just to one-up his aunt.