Saturday, December 26, 2009

2009 in Review - as told by my Facebook Status Updates...

Okay, here it is people...
This is the closest thing you'll get to an annual Christmas Letter from the Goble Family.
These are the highlights of 2009 - as they appeared in my Facebook Status Updates.
Perhaps reading this will give you a glimpse into the crazy world that is my life.


Heidi is troubled. Jack (age 2) just told her he's going Mountain Climbing in Hope's room after he builds a big campfire under her bed. Should I be worried?

Heidi is not crazy.

Heidi just heard her son speak the 8 most dreaded words in the english language: "Mom! I dropped my poop in the tub!" Gotta go clean it up. Crap. (No pun intended).

Heidi rocked her sweet little Jack-Jack to sleep tonight. A rare treat, now that he's 2 years old; one that I will hold onto forever.

Heidi is torn. Happy cuz Jack sings in perfect pitch. Sad b'cuz he sang the song "I Wanna be like Other Girls!" (from Mulan 2) at full voice in the middle of Target.

Heidi has a sweet little girl. She's reading stories 2 her baby brother while he sits patiently on the Big Boy Potty waiting for the potty to "hurry up and get here."

The Tooth Fairy was up cleaning the house till 1 AM and forgot to leave Hope money for her tooth. I'm out of the running for Mom of the Year. Again. Sigh...

Heidi can't believe she was overlooked for Celebrity Apprentice.

Heidi helped a stray dog find his mama & the dog put his tongue in her mouth. Awesome. Then she walked in the door & was greeted by a big pile of cat barf. Fantastic.

Roses are red violets are blue. I’m really sad cuz Jack “dropped his pooh."Tulips are pink; daisies are navy. Oh Heaven help me–the pooh looks like gravy.

Heidi found the remote. Jack wanted to "give it a bath" Was able to pull it from the jaws of Mr. Bubbles just in the nick of time. Alert downgraded from red to orange

Heidi started filling the tub for Hope's bath. The phone rang. I started chatting. And I kept chatting. And I forgot that the water was still running. I remembered it 20 minutes later. This is the cleanest my bathroom floor has EVER been. Sigh...

Heidi was unable to find Jack's missing shoe. We are now in talks with the directors of the movie The Man with One Red Shoe - Jack will be starring in the sequel - The Boy with One Green Shoe. His stage name will be ShoeLess Jack Goble.

Heidi doesn't like anyone or anything before 6:00 am.

Hope and I just spent 10 minutes browsing the Staples catalog and talking about how much we both love office supplies. Sigh... My cup runneth over.

Um, yeah... My 7 year old daughter gave me this weird look. I asked her what she was staring at and she said, "Give me two minutes and I can fix your hair so that it will stop looking wrong."

Don't shush me.

Heidi has a renegade chin hair. Stupid aging process.

Hope has discovered Full House. I covet your prayers.

Heidi drinks Pop. Not Soda.

When life hands you lemons.... throw them at people you don't like.

Heidi is in love with her husband.

My 3 year old little man Jack has somehow managed to stop both toilets. I have to drive around the corner to Taco Bell to use the restroom. Perfect.

Heidi is sitting in a living room strewn with toys - seriously, toys EVERYwhere... and her kids are playing with an empty laundry basket. There's a lesson here.... I'm sure of it.

There's something profoundly beautiful about lunch from Del Taco.

Heidi is experiencing the anonymity that only Starbucks can bring...

Jack has been standing in front of the bathroom mirror combing his hair for 20 minutes. He's 3.... Apparently his hair is kind of a big deal.

My 7 year old daughter just called me by my first name. This development troubles me.

You know you're out of shape when you start running and realize that you need a sports bra for you butt. Sigh...

Heidi is now officially a fan of the x-games. I heart Travis Pastrana...

Jack rubbed his nose on my shoulder and left behind a gigantic "treasure." I look at him and begin to voice my irritation. "Jack - you left a booger on my shoulder!" He looks at me and says, "but Mom - it's the booger of justice!" I'm wearing it proudly, people. I'm wearing it proudly.

Heidi changed the sheets on Hope's bed yesterday. When she got in bed last night, she laid down - and then sat straight up and demanded, "WHY do my sheets smell weird?" (Bigh sigh....) Because they're clean, Hope... because they're clean. Apparently I need to do laundry more often.

Heidi was attacked by an insanely freakish and ultra aggressive spider. It was a bitter fight - the spider was maimed, then killed. I emerged from the battle unscathed (except for the fact that I almost peed my pants because I'm terrified of spiders). Victory is mine.

Jack brought home a "pet" beetle. Its name is Niles. Oh, the freakin' humanity....

Heidi loved waking up in a house that was nice and cool, and filled with the aroma of coffee brewing. So peaceful.... until Jack started chasing Hope through the house with his Bob the Builder Power Sander (complete with obnoxious noises) screaming "Hope stand still, I wanna fix you!"

Mom, are we there yet? No. Mom, are we there yet? No. Mom are we there yet? No. Mom, are we there yet? No. Mom, are we there yet? Sigh...

Team Hope&Jack running successful offensive plays against Team Mom. Team Mom about ready to forfeit when Team Hope&Jack go for a Jack-to-smack-Hope-then-scream-for-mom double play. Out of control Team Mom storms the field as Referee Dad calls a Technical Foul on Team Hope&Jack. Team Mom puts Team Hope&Jack to be early. Final Score: Team Mom: 1. Team Hope&Jack:ZERO. Winner takes all baby, winner takes all...

I stood there - overcome with emotion. My heart was racing, my palms were sweating and I was fighting back tears of pure joy. It was an incredible moment. And there it was. Standing before me like a beacon of light - full of hope and promise for the future. I knew in my heart that the search was over. I had found the answer... I was in..... The School Supplies Section of Target.

I hit the back of my head and it's a little tender. Hope saw me rubbing my head and wincing. She asked me if the eyes on the back of my head were bothering me. I told her they both had pink eye and they hurt so that's why I was rubbing my head. Is that bad?

I’ve always been able to stand my ground. Until now. I have become weak. I have become a conformist. I have become.... A Twilight reader.

Heidi just danced in the rain.

I didn't know that pedicures involved power tools. the sweet liitle lady asked if I wanted "kalla remoova" to which I said yes. And then this sweet little lady looked my feet, shuddered and reached for her portable power sander. The sweet little lady is now red faced, scowling, sweating and speaking Cantonese to her friends in a somewhat aggressive tone. They are laughing. She is not. Im not either. Sigh...

Okay - let me start with: Don't judge me. This morning I stubbed my toe big time. It hurt so bad. As I was yelping like a wounded puppy, hopping around on my good foot, holding my shattered toe in one hand and covering my mouth with the other hand, Jack (who was watching the whole thing with big ol' eyes) asks, "Momma aren't you gonna say a bad word now?" Remember: Don't judge me.

Public apology to the woman whose car I tried to steal today. Our cars looked the same; but yours was a lot cleaner, hence the appeal of your car over mine. It's not like I was going to take it w/o saying anything. I’d have left a note with directions to my car so that you'd have a new car too. I thought that running at me while screaming "stop trying to steal my car" was a bit harsh but hey. No hard feelings, right?

We're at Target - Jack's in the back of the cart. He saw a woman blocking the aisle and yelled "Move it or lose it, Bozo!" Horrified, I scolded him & asked him where he learned to talk like that (BIG mistake on my part). Imagine my chagrin when he replied, "You said it in the car on the way here." The bozo-lady cut me me a dirty look and walked away muttering about "parents these days." Sigh...

Heidi got to spend some much needed time with her family today. ADDED BONUSES:Scary Carnies, Cheese Fries and hearing her son pray for the "mean little girl" who pushed him down at the carnival; his words were, "Momma, I don't know how to pray for her. I just want her to be nice. But I'm not sure Jesus can do that cuz she was really mean. What if she pushes Jesus down too?"

B4 we leave for the restaurant I ask "Hope, do you need to go to the bathroom?" No. We get to the restaurant, waiting for a table "Hope do you have to go the bathroom?" No. Right after we order, "Hope do you have to go to the bathroom?" No. Food arrives. It's nice and hot. The fork full of yummy, cheesey, potato-ey goodnees barely touches my starving lips.... "Mom. I have to go the bathroom." Sigh...

I'm in the middle of scolding Jack. "Jack, that was not very nice - you don't throw a fit to get what you want! You have to liste..." he interrupts my tyrade with "Momma, you're so pretty. I love you." That was the end of the conversation. And I took him out for ice cream. Is that bad?

We all have our own brand of crazy.

I'm reading Jack a bedtime story. We're all curled up in his rocking chair. It was so sweet... While I'm reading, he keeps sniffing the air. At the end of the story I lean into his face, kiss him on the nose and tell him that I love him. He sniffs the air, looks deep into my eyes and says, "Momma, when you talk, I smell feet." Goodnight Jack.

The rule is simple: When I'M singing and playing air-drums while driving my car, I look cool and unbelievably talented. When anyone ELSE sings and plays air-drums while driving their car, they look stupid.

Heidi woke up this morning, looked in the mirror and could do nothing more than thank the Lord for the miracle that is make-up.

Heidi caught Jack picking his nose and stuffing the boogers in his ear. My feelings are mixed. On one hand, I'm grossed out. On the other hand I'm hopeful that the reason he never does what I tell him is because he can't hear through the wall of snot in his ears.

Jack told me that he's going to marry me. And Evie. And Lexi. And Tamila. Apparently, he's big on having options.

People waiting for the fireworks at Disneyland have no regard for my personal space protocols. I had to initiate personal space plan delta-delta-tango: I asked Kurt if he'd gotten any ointment for his rash (really loud) and stood back and watched the people step away from us. Hopefully I won't have to execute beta-beta-Charlie. We may end up on the news....

I'm not obsessive. I'm not, I'm not, I'm not.

The magic is gone... Hope is running around in circles making strange gurgling, gutteral noises, Jack is screaming that he wants more sugar cookies, Kurt is standing in the middle of the kitchen with a blank stare on his face, the cat is hissing at the tree and I'm hitting the egg nog early. Yep. It must be Christmas Eve.

Today was a day spent with my FCC family - singing, laughing and celebrating Christmas. It was an incredibly uplifting time. I am blessed - I am thankful. Merry Christmas everyone!

~Can't wait to see what 2010 brings!~

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Christmas Confession: Part IV

This one may cost me some of my friends....

I am surrounded by stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, non-fat friends, family and co-workers.


I feel chronically full-fat and unattractive around all these beautiful people.

Obviously the solution is quite simple: diet and exercise.

But, seeing as how I pride myself on my creativity and innovative thinking, I decided to take a new approach at dealing with my feelings regarding my appearance.

Instead of focusing on myself, I've begun focusing on everyone else (after all, it's not good to be so self-absorbed).

So how is focusing on everyone else going to improve my appearance?

It's simple.

Here's the gift I gave all my beautiful, gorgeous non-fat friends and co-workers.

I plan to continue with this type of gift-giving for the next several years.

P.S. If you're a friend of mine and you DIDN'T receive this gift from me, it's not because I think you're full-fat - it's because I ate yours.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Christmas Confession: Part III

I'd just woken up. It was early, cold and dark.

I staggered to the bathroom and stared blankly into the mirror.

Despite my crusty, sleep filled eyes, I saw it immediately.

Sticking straight up from the top of my head - all thick, curly and wiry.

My first gray hair.

Oh.The.Freakin'. Horror.

Sadly I didn't have time to have a proper meltdown - I had to get to church. (Although I will admit that I didn't feel like being social and praisin' Jesus at that particular time. Hey, I'm just being honest. I think God can handle it).

So I yank the offensive hair out of my head, say a few choice words and throw the dreadful thing in the trash.

Flash forward to Sunday night.

The kids were in bed.

Kurt was asleep on the couch.

I was finally alone.

The time for my meltdown had come.

There was only one drug that could soothe the depth of my despair:


I needed it and I needed it right then and there.

Preferably in large quantities.

I scoured the house and couldn't find any.

I looked high and low. There was simply none to be found.

My mind was reeling - my desperation increasing with every passing second.

And then I saw it - sitting there on the piano, beckoning me. As soon as I laid eyes on it, I could hear the angels singing. It even had a special glow around it emanating from the Heavens as if the Lord was saying, "This is for you, my precious child."

It was...

The kids' Advent Calendar.

An Advent Calendar that was fully stocked with chocolates specifically selected to celebrate the birth of our Lord - which means they HAD to be stinkin' tasty. To taste bad would be a sin!

Yes - these chocolates had a Divine Purpose.

But tonight, they were going to serve a different divine purpose.

Evil Heidi and Heaven Bound Heidi immediately started duking it out.

Evil Heidi hissed in my ear "Heck yesssss those chocolatessssss are for you! You can give your kids Ssssssssmarties or something. These chocolates shouldn't be wasssssssted on children who can't possssssssssibly appreciate their beauty like you can."

Heaven Bound Heidi told me (in a voice that sounded like Mickey Mouse) "Think of the children!!! You can't eat Baby Jesus Chocolate that was created to teach children about God! He will smote you from above, for sure!"

But alas.... desperate times call for desperate measures.

The Evil of my first gray hair had to be rectified. And what better way to right the wrong than to treat it with the most holy of foods: Baby Jesus Chocolate!

I decided to take my chances - hoping that God would choose to spare me.

I ate every single piece of that Baby Jesus Chocolate.

And can I just say, that nothing soothes the soul of a troubled, gray haired old woman like Baby Jesus Chocolate stolen from a child's Advent Calendar.

Heck Yesssss.

Oh sure, there was guilt.

But there was also peace (after all, it was Baby Jesus Chocolate).

I've never felt so bad - and so holy at the same time.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Christmas Confession; Part II

This actually happened last Christmas, but I'm just now at a place where I can admit it.

I'm big on taking pictures of the kids and then sharing them with the world. I like to capture as much happy stuff on film as I can - and then refer back to it when Hope is screaming that Jack is looking at her funny and Jack is trying to pee his name on the bathroom floor.

You know.... a sanity saver. Proof that pleasant times have occurred.

So last Christmas, I'm home alone with the kids for the evening. I wanted to do something fun, something holidayish.

I wanted to make some memories.

Good memories.

The kind you take pictures of so that you can prove to the world (and to yourself) that you have a happy, fun-loving, holiday-filled family life.

So I decided to make Christmas cocoa (complete with whipped cream, peppermint syrup and sprinkles) and then brought out a little wooden Christmas Tree that we could decorate with these fancy, handmade little wooden ornaments (a family tradition passed down from my Grandma).

I get everything set: cocoa, tree, holiday music, camera.

Everything is ready.

We commence with the holiday festivities. They're sipping their cocoa, the holiday music is on, I have my camera poised and ready to begin documenting the loving, fun-filled holiday family time between my precious son and daughter.

It's going so well. The cocoa's not too hot, the music's not too loud, it's raining outside, the little wooden tree was easy to put together, the kids are getting along - it was a scene that would have compelled Norman Rockwell to paint a picture of our family.

As I always do when I'm in these situations, I begin mentally drafting my acceptance speech for my now-certain Mother of the Year Award.

And then it starts...

"Mom, Jack keeps trying to take my ornaments."

"No I don't - they're mine, Mom - Hope won't share!"

Not to be discouraged by this minor bickering (after all, I don't have any documented evidence that this magical night took place yet), I reply gently with, "That's enough guys... Let's have fun with this, okay?"

The decorating resumes and in an effort to keep them from talking to each other (or to me) I turn the Christmas music up just a few notches.

The bickering starts up again.

"Maaawm! Jack's breathing on me! Make him stop!"

"Hope, Jack will die if he stops breathing. It would probably be easier if you scoot over a little bit."

I grip my camera a little tighter - beads of sweat begin form on my upper lip. I HAVE to get these pictures. The world must know that my family is perfect, thay the love to be around each other and that the holidays at the Goble house are nothing short of magical.

Cue louder music.

I turn my back to set my camera to the non red-eye setting.

And then it happened. I'm not really sure who or what started it.

Hope is shouting, "Nooooooooooooo!" as her hot cocoa spills across the table.

Jack reaches for his ornaments in an effort to save them from the river of cocoa making it's way across the table at alarming speed.

He misses.

Instead of saving the ornaments, he drowns them in a new river of hot cocoa from his own cup while simultaneously knocking the tree and the box of the remaining ornaments all over the floor.

Hope starts yelling at Jack that he's making a mess, bends down to pick up the ornaments and smacks her head on the table.

She starts howling.

The Christmas music that was only moments ago providing us with our own lovely holiday soundtrack is now ironically blaring out that horrible song "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year."

Jack is crying and shouting over and over again that he didn't do anything.

I stand there, my feet frozen to the floor, powerless to stop the chaos, unable to accept the fact that my dream of documenting a perfect holiday memory is now an impossibility.

All is lost...

All I could think was, "I don't have my pictures yet. These rotten little mongrels robbed me of my freakin' Christmas joy photos."

Where's the stinkin' joy???

I snap.

I grab both kids by the ear and yank them away from the table. I slam my hand on the counter and scream at the top of my lungs:


The kids stare at me, their eyes the size of dinner plates.

They are gripped with fear.

They are completely silent.

The only noise in the room is that ridiculously stupid Christmas music, the dripping of sticky, pepperming cocoa creating a huge pool on my kitchen floor and my labored breathing.

But the kids are completely.... SILENT.

As in, they're no longer arguing, howling, screaming or crying.

See where I'm goin' with this?

I sieze what I know to be my only opporunity to salvage my dream, grab my camera and shout at them to say cheese and start snapping pictures.

I got my loving, happy faced family fun time picture!!

Of course, it's because the kids were paralyzed with fear, but you'd never know that from looking at the picture (as long as you're willing to overlook the sheer terror behind their eyes).

Now you know why I never post any videos of my family.

Sigh.... maybe this year will be better....

Addendum: I added the picture. There were several, but they're all pretty much the same (if you look closely, you'll see the terror behind there eyes - or at least a look that says, "Watch out for mom - she's got a camera and that crazed look again...).

P.S. I sincerely hope I am not alone in this sort of behavior... I'd like to think that there are other moms out there who are just as obsessive and neurotic as I am.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

The Dark Underbelly of Black Friday

I find this photo disturbing.

If you don't see what I'm referring to, look inside the cart - under the gigantic, heavy boxes. (click on the photo to enlarge it).

Only at WalMart...

Tuesday, December 1, 2009


Insecurity knows no boundaries. I struggle with it when it comes to my appearance, abilities, intellect, etc.

It can be pretty bad sometimes. Yesterday was one of those days.

I felt ugly, stupid, ugly, useless, ugly, worthless, ugly. Did I mention ugly?

In the midst of my self-loathing pity-party I walked into our living room and I heard my beautiful, 8 year old daughter singing a song called Mirror (by the band Barlow Girl) in her sweet little voice.

She didn't see or hear me walk in the room. I just stood and listened to her as she sang out every single word.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall, Have I got it?
'Cause Mirror you've
always told me
who I am
I'm finding it's not easy to be perfect
So sorry you won't define me
Sorry you don't own me

Who are you to tell me
That I'm less than what I should be?
Who are you?
I don't need to listen
To the list of things I should do
I won't try, I won't try

Mirror I am seeing a new reflection
I'm looking into the eyes of
He who made me
And to Him I have beauty
beyond compare
I know He defines me
You don't define me, you don't define me...

I was struck by the contrast between her words and my feelings.

When the song ended I slipped into my room, shut the door and the tears came.

I said a prayer that Hope would always believe the words of this song.

That she'll know that the beauty of who she is will never be limited to physical appearances.

That she will never let her reflection dictate her value.

That she will believe that she is fearfully and wonderfully made - that her Maker is perfect and doesn't make mistakes.

That she'll never doubt that she is loved unconditionally - regardless of how she looks, how talented she is or how smart she is.

And then I prayed that God would help me believe the words of this song as well...

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Faith in the Face of Fear...

Tomorrow morning a family in our church will have their faith tested in an unbelievable way.

Brian and Cindy have two kids – Jake and Emma. Jake and Emma are twins – they’re in junior high.

When Jake was a baby he was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in his eye. The treatment involved the removal of his eye to prevent the cancer from spreading/returning.

In spite of treatment, it has returned in his other eye several times over the years and the family has been forced to face the inevitable. They must remove the other eye to stop the cancer from taking Jake’s life.

So tomorrow morning, Jake goes in for surgery and will come out of it unable to see.

I can’t help but ask the question, “Why?”

I saw Jake and his family at church this weekend. Watching them I would have never known that they were facing such a battle. The courage and the faith that I saw were unbelievable.

They were there – smiling... hugging people.

How did they do that?

How are they so strong? I’m sure they’re scared – but what I saw on their faces wasn’t fear. It was faith…

They are a remarkable family – each of them – but especially Jake. He is incredibly strong in his faith. He is truly inspiring… He doesn’t miss an opportunity to talk about God with people; and has said that he wants to be a pastor when he grows up.

When I look at his situation, God isn't the first thing I see… I see questions, anger, doubt and fear.

But not Jake.

He sees a God that he loves and who loves Him – a God who has an incredible Plan for him, he sees a God that he trusts – he sees a God that he believes in.

Jake only has vision in one eye – and tomorrow that will taken from him – but I think he sees better than I do. He and his family have taught me a lot about what it means to have faith in the face of fear.

Please pray for them…

Thursday, November 5, 2009

I'm Pretty Sure I'm Not Your Girl...

So I use Google Analytics to track the traffic to my blog.

It's pretty cool. It tells you how many visitors you get in a given time period, what country/state/city they're from, how long they're on your blog and how they found you.

The majority of my traffic comes from facebook - but some of it comes from people who are googling something and they find me.

You know how it is, you want to know about Butterfly Habitats and where you can buy them - so you google Butterfly Habitats and you get a million sites.

Based on some of the key words that people have entered, what I can tell you is this: The majority of the time, I'm pretty sure my blog did not provide what they were looking for (at least I HOPE it didn't).

Here is a sampling of some of the phrases that people entered and my blog popped up. Some of the searches made me laugh. Some of them made me a little nausous. Some of them just left me speechless.

(DISCLAIMER: In an effort to maintain a family friendly blog, I have omitted the R to X rated searches - but! If you're easily offended, do not continue reading.)

My Top Fifteen Favorite Searches

1. Childrens's curse words (Given Jack's love for the dark underbelly of the english language, I can see how someone would have found my blog with this search)

2. Forehead is squishy with steroids (I've got nothin'....)

3. How to control poop at school (Poop is a favorite topic of mine)

4. I wash my hair with battery acid (not a clue...)

5. Kid with a butt for his face (makes me giggle)

6. Looking for a goble head for obama (you know - a goble for president may not be such a bad idea).

7. Life is so much easier without panties on (I accept no responsibility for this whatsoever)

8. My mom and her huge butt (nope, nothin'...)

9. Personal space rules (I'm actually proud of that one - and I hope my rules on personal space helped some poor soul out there)

10. Puking at cracker barrel (YESSS!)

11. True stories about mermaids (Really? Ummm.... I wish I could find this person. There is so much I would like to discuss with her/him)

12. White people sitting in bathroom stalls (I will refrain from commenting on this one)

13. Groping panties in a bar (Hey, I warned you...)

14. You're a freakin' punk (I'm proud of this one too.)

15. Funniest blog ever (okay, okay, I made that one up)

So for those of you who found me using one of these searches - I hope you found enlightenment.

I know I did...

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

I Think it's Perfectly Normal; Part XXVII

First - I'm having a fierce battle with Writer's Block. If you have topic suggestions, I would greatly appreciate them.

What do you want to read about?

What do you want to know about me? (because, after all, it is ALL about ME)...

Anyway - on to my Perfectly Normal Post.


I think it's perfectly normal to avoid shopping at a particular store because of its name.

Case in point: DRESS BARN.


They couldn't come up with a name that doesn't have the word BARN in it?

I don't know about you, but I don't want my shopping experience to include feeling like a farm animal.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

I Want to Help You, Help Me

This isn't news for those of you who know me, but I can't cook.

Seriously, I know NOTHING.

I need to learn.

I want to learn.

From all of you.

Yes that's right. I'm looking to the blogosphere for help.

Keeping in mind that I know nothing, please give me some guidance. I'm seeking some simple recipes for family dinner. Crock pot recipes would be great. ANY recipes would be great.

Can you help out a hapless, culinary challenged mother of two ridiculoulsly picky kids? See, that's one of my problems. My laziness with learning how to cook has forged a dependance on mcdonalds, corn dogs and mac and cheese. Trying to get them to eat anything else is a recipe for disaster (ironically the only recipe I have mastered).

I dream of the day that we can sit at the dinner table and eat some sort of a casserole without my kids sobbing and vomitting all over the table (they can barf at the drop of a hat).

You all have helped me with book choices, dealing with potty training and night terrors and now I come to you again asking for your boundless wisdom.

In return for your wisdom, I will share my experiences (trust me Im confident that the stories will abound); I will even include pictures of the more frightening cases.


I need your help.

I need your recipes!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Two Short Stories of the Evangelically Challenged...

~Story #1~

I picked Jack up from preschool yesterday and we had this conversation about his day:

ME: Jack, what did you learn at school today?

JACK: We learned about the Bible!!

ME: Cool! What did you learn?

JACK: Oh I can't tell you.

ME: Why not?

JACK: It's a secret Mom - we're not supposed to talk about the Bible with anyone.

~Story #2~

Jack is singing the song "Jump, Jump, Jump into the Light, Light, Light." He loved singing the chorus.

Over and over and over again.

JACK: (singing at the top of his lungs) Heeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight! Heeeeee is the Liiiiiight!

HOPE: Yeah, Yeah, OKAY JACK. He's the light, I get it. Now be quiet.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part VII

I can read!

Since I graduated college, I haven't done much pleasure reading. I've done a lot of reading for work, things like all of Patrick Lencioni, Malcom Gladwell, Marcus Buckingham - stuff like that.

But I haven't read any novels.

Until vacation when I started reading a little book called....


Don't judge me.

And now I can't stop. And every book I've read I've been obsessed with finishing. It's like I can't concentrate on anything else!

What's happening?

Since my vacation began on August 28th, I have read the following:

  • Twilight
  • New Moon
  • Eclipse
  • Breaking Dawn
  • The Secret Life of Bees
  • My Sister's Keeper
  • Shutter Island (this is the new Scorsese movie w/ Leo DiCaprio that's coming out soon. I HIGHLY recommend it)
  • The Russian Concubine (again, don't judge me)

I'm still reading The Russian Concubine - so I can't give a report on that one. But all of the others one were awesome. AWESOME!

On my bookshelf, just waiting for me to read them are:

  • Say You're One of Them
  • Friday Night Knitting Club
  • Time Traveller's Wife
  • Water for Elephants
  • The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society

I'm loving it. I have very little interest in television (which I am also loving).

Reading is so.....


Who knew?

Monday, September 21, 2009

I Love my Husband.

That is all.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part VI

"Schedule" is a dirty word.

In the words of my favorite comic Calvin & Hobbes, “there’s never enough time to do all the nothing you want."

That was our vacation this year. Oh sure, we did stuff – but the vast majority of our time was spent hanging out by the pool.

My favorite conversation of our vacation was as follows:

Heidi: So Kurt, what do you want to do today?

Kurt: I don’t know – whatever we feel like.

(long pause)

Heidi: What day is it?

(another long pause)

Kurt: I have no idea.

It doesn't get any better than that.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part V

Vacation is about Excess.

(This blog post could also be considered a vaction "confession" - but a confession implies an apology of sorts- and I make no apologies about this particular vacation behavior).

Let me preface this blog post with this: Don’t Judge Me.

We usually eat reasonably healthy food. We occassioanlly have have junk food – but we work to keep it under control.

Unless we’re on vacation.

As far as I’m concerned, Vacation is synonymous with Excess.

Do what you love to do – and do a lot of it; so long as it’s fun and relaxing (and legal). I’m not with really down with doing excessive amounts of work on vacation. You get the idea…

Anyway… the Goble Family enjoys Comfort Food.

So when the Goble Family goes on vacation, we bring out the Comfort Food (in abundance).

And a Comfort Food staple for us is GORP.

GORP stands for “Good Ol’ Raisins & Peanuts.”

Okay, so NOTHING about raisins and peanuts sounds comforting (or appetizing).

So we’ve made modifications (actually, it’s an old Rekstad Family recipe that has been carried forward).



This is our version of GORP.

Sigh.... It’s beautiful, isn’t it?

(you have to click on the picture to truly appreciate its beauty)
Of course, we also buy excessive amounts of new clothes while we're on vacation because by the time we get home, none of our clothes fit us anymore. But hey... You take the bad with the good, right?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part IV

Fresh air smells foul to 7 year olds.


We step off the shuttle and into the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.

We’re deep in the heart of Zion Canyon in Zion National Park.

It’s early morning (about 7:30 or so).

The breeze is cool.
The river is flowing rapidly about 100 yards from us.

There are trees all around us – and off in the distance is a beautiful meadow.

The rock cliffs that soar several thousand feet into the air are a deep rust color and seem to go on without ending.

There’s no one else around.

Hope and I are hand in hand as we start down the trail.

I inhale deeply – close my eyes and just soak it all in for a minute.

Hope does the same.

She inhales deeply and immediatley looks up at me with a look of disgust.

“WHAT is that smell, Mom?”

"What smell?" I demand. How could she hurl such an insult at the most beautiful place in the world?

She inhaled again - and this time cut it short with a load groan, "Ugh! The air STINKS!"

I try to compose myself amid such blasphemy.

I inhale again.

"What you smell is called fresh air, Hope. Fresh.Air."

"Yeah well...." she mutters and her voice trails off...

(long pause)

"... it stinks."


Monday, September 14, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part III

Laugh and the world laughs with you.
Fart and you stand alone.

We’re on the shuttle in Zion National Park.

There’s a little old married couple sitting two rows in front of us.

They’re so sweet together – he’s talking and she’s laughing softly.

I see the man rocking back and forth in his seat, trying to get comfortable.

Suddenly the look on the woman’s face changes. She looks irritated.

No more smiles, soft laughter or chatting.

Without warning, she gets up and moves to another seat at the front of the shuttle and glaring at him the entire time.

The man shakes his head and continues rocking.

And then I hear it.

A sort of muted trumpet sound.

What? What is that? Is that an animal? What is that?

I look around and don’t see anything.

No one else on the shuttle seems to notice anything.

The little old man is looking around the shuttle as he rocks from side to
side; undoubtedly searching for the source of the weird trumpety sound.

Our eyes lock.

He stops moving, mid-rock.

I hear the trumpety sound again.

The man gives me a big grin.


The trumpety sound seems to be in time with the old man’s rocking.

I begin processing.

Sweet little old lady becomes irritated and leaves husband’s side to sit in the front of the shuttle.

Sweet little old man rocking back and forth – seemingly in sync with the weird trumpety sound.

Old man’s big goofy grin is followed by more rocking and trumpeting.

And then the wind changes….

The little old man’s grin widens as my eyes begin to water.


WHAT is that smell…

Fortunately we arrive at our stop just as the gray fog is enveloping the rest of my family. We dive off the shuttle and breathe in the fresh air.

I hear the little old man laughing as the shuttle drives away.

He’s still sitting alone.


And trumpeting.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Vacation Revelation, Part II

I am more relaxed when my hair is stringy, my face is freckled beyond all reason and I'm not wearing any make-up.

When I'm at home, I never go anywhere without putting on make-up and doing my hair. It's just one of the many things that I'm uptight about.

But on vacation? I couldn't care less.

Behold, my vacation face...

Saturday, September 12, 2009

I Think it's Perfectly Normal; Part XXVI

My second toe is shorter than my big toe.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Hope's Homework Assignment

Hope’s first homework assignment as a Second Grader was to learn about her name. Who picked it, what it means and why it was chosen for her. She then had to present her findings to her class.

When I read over the questions we needed to answer, my heart sank.

I wasn’t concerned that the assignment would be too difficult for her.

I was concerned that the assignment would be difficult for me…

The story of how Hope got her name is kind of a heavy story – and I’ve never really sat down and told her about it. I’ve told her parts of it – but none of it was presented to her in a way that would enable her to talk about it with a room full of second graders.

See, Hope’s name came from a time of great sadness and fear in our family.

I was four months pregnant. It was my third pregnancy – my first two had ended in miscarriage, so I was pretty nervous about losing this baby too.

The call came on Thursday night before Memorial Day weekend.

It was 7:30.

My mom hadn’t been feeling well for quite a while and had undergone several tests – the most recent being a colonoscopy.

The colonoscopy showed a bowel obstruction. Surgery was required.

The diagnosis was grim.

Colon Cancer. Stage 4.

The call that I got was from my dad. Through his sobs, he choked out the words, "The doctor said 6 weeks."

My world stopped.

I didn’t need to do the math to realize that my mom was going to die before my child was born.

How could this happen?

My mom didn’t care how it could happen – she was going to make sure that it didn’t happen.

Her response to the doctor was, “You’re wrong. I’m going to be here to see my grandbaby and that’s that.”

It was a time of fear.



There was such a sense of finality to every conversation that took place.

6 weeks came and went – mom was still here.

Could it be that the doctor was wrong?

We received a new diagnosis.

It wasn’t Colon Cancer, it was Ovarian Cancer; still Stage 4. The doctor assured us that this was good news. “Ovarian Cancer responds better to chemotherapy” he said.

It was a time of optimism.




Hope that my mom would live.

Hope that my baby would live to be born.

Hope that I would see my mom hold my child.


In July, we had the "big" ultrasound.

I remember hearing the words: Healthy… Baby... Girl…

I called my mom to tell her.

We cried together.

Hope Noel was born on October 25, 2001.

My mom came and held her in the hospital.

It was a time of victory.



The doctor gave us 6 weeks.

God gave us 16 months.

It was a time of family healing.




Mom went home to be with Jesus on September 21, 2002 – just a month before Hope’s first birthday.

This was the last picture of them taken together.
It was a time of incredible loss.




Hope that comes from knowing, that because of Christ's love and His sacrifice, I will see her again. That my baby Hope will see her again.

It was - and still is - a time of hope....

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Vacation Revelation Part I

Three year old boys should not attempt housework without direct supervision.

I was straightening up the house. I had just finished throwing a load of clothes in the washing machine when Jack walked up to me and insisted that he help me.

I gave him little jobs to do – throw this in the trash, go set this on the coffee table, go sit on the quietly on the couch to keep it from flying away (you’d be surprised how often that one works), etc…

Little did I know that he had his sights set on something that was a bit more…. involved.

I continue my whirlwind cleaning tour with great speed and focus as I am eager to finish because I’m in the middle of reading the book, “Breaking Dawn” (the fourth and final book in the beloved Twilight saga) and taking a break from reading it has produced symptoms that can only be described as separation anxiety.

In my blinding dedication to return to my book, I focus all my attention on getting the house clean.

And then it hits me.

I haven’t seen or heard from Jack in quite some time.

As if sensing that I was thinking of him, I hear from shout at me from the hallway.

“Momma! I just do the waundry!”


I drop what I’m doing and run toward the laundry room. He’s not in there.

“JACK?!” I shout my voice filled with panic.

“In here Momma!” came the cheerful reply.

It was coming from the bathroom.



And just as I turn to make my way to the bathroom, I see him standing there – naked from the waist down, grinning from ear to ear, his shirt totally soaked, "water" all over his face, holding out a ball of sopping wet clothes – which have now created a pool of “water” at his feet.

“My helping you Momma! I did the waundry for you!"

With great trepidation I manage to sqeak out the words, "Where did you do the laundry Jack?"

"In the tooolet!" he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My mind immediately starts in with the coping exercises that it has so diligently practiced since the day Jack was born. Breathe.... Don't look at water now pooling around your feet.... Breathe.... Look at how cute he is.... He just wants to help.... Breathe.... You love him more than life itself..... Children are a precious, precious gift.... BREATH...... BA-REEEETHE!

I stand over the toilet with the eyes pinched shut for about 35 seconds before I finally look.

Judging from the substance in the toilet, the “waundry” wasn’t the only thing he did in there.


Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Can't blog....... reading Twilight series

I heart Edward Cullen.

Don't judge me.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Okay Friends, I Really Need Your Help on this...

Okay friends, readers, lurkers, I desperately need some help with this one....

Jack (my 3 year old son) refuses to poop on the toilet. He'll go potty - no problem at all. But when it comes to poop, he's as stubborn as the day is long.

He'll hide somewhere.... I'll catch him - trying to poop in his underwear. I'll take him to the toilet and sit him on it.

He will sit there and scream for a half hour - and never take a poop.

This will go on for days.

Until finally, he will wait till bedtime (when he gets a pull-up) - and poop in his pull-up.

This has been the pattern for the last 3 months.

And here's a little something to make it more fun:

He's supposed to start preschool on September 9th. He can't go unless he's fully potty trained.

I need your help.

We may not know each other.

You may not like to comment on people's blogs.

But please.

I need some advice!

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


For those of you who may not know what UGSFAW is - it stands for Ultimate, Gnarly, Super Fantastic, Awesome Week. It's our church's take on VBS.

It's an amazing week.

It's a gift to get to be a part of it.

I feel privileged to be a part of our church.

I'm so proud of my husband.

Here's just a few pictures from the week...

Kurt dropping in while tennis balls are being thrown at him.

The crowd worshipping.

Jeff Dennis leading the Worship Band in a way that only he can.

Our super cool Mascots.

My awesome husband.

The Green and Orange Teams listening to the lesson (this picture only shows half the kids that attended UGSFAW).

It truly was the most Ultimate, Gnarly, Super, Fantastic, Awesome Week of the summer.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

My Sweet Girl...

Thursday, July 23, 2009

What We have Here is a Failure to Communicate

Jack (who is 3 years old) was put on Time Out.

I will spare you the details - just know that his urine, his realization that he possesses the ability to be a human squirt gun, the cat and my bathroom floor were all involved.

Okay, so Time Outs at our house involve him sitting on his rocking chair in his room.

He sits there until I say he can get up.

The door is closed.

Talking is not allowed.

The goal of the Time Out is two-fold:

Part One: Jack will reflect on what he's done wrong and how he'll NEVER do it again.

Part Two: Mommy can retreat to her room where she can lay on the bed in a fetal position and avoid doing something that will land her on the evening news.

So back to our story...

Jack has been on Time Out for approximately 5 minutes.

I walk into his room feeling a bit calmer - happy that he is sitting quietly in his chair.

I make my way over to him and crouch down on the floor so that we are eye to eye. Jack is wearing a VERY serious expression on his face and his eyes are big.

I gently take hold of both his hands and ask him, "Are you ready to be done with Time Out?"

"Yes Mommy" came the soft reply.

"Are you going to try and go potty on BelleBelle (our cat) again?"

"No Mommy."

I begin to feel a sense of triumph. I got through to him!! He understands why he's in trouble and he's not going to do it anymore. I am SUCH a good mom. I should teach a class; or at the very least receive the much coveted Mother of the Year Award. After this victory, I am a shoe-in!

With my confidence at an all-time high, I decide that it is now time to ask the most important question.

(ASIDE: I ask this question because I think it's important that kids can contextualize the discipline they receive. If they don't understand WHY they're being disciplined, they're just going to repeat the behavior and I don't think Jack (or our cat) will survive a repeat of this particular incident. Also, I want them to know that it's coming from a place of love - not of mean spiritidness).

I take a deep breath and ask,

"Jack, can you tell me why you got a Time Out?"

I hold my breath and watch intently as Jack's facial expression changes.

(I'm very eager to hear the words that I'm certain will come out his mouth which are:
"I got a Time Out because I tried to pee on the cat. I know it was wrong and I'll NEVER do it again. Thank you for making me understand that it was wrong. I'm sorry for peeing on the cat.")

I'm still holding my breath and beginning to compile my thoughts on my acceptance speech for my now-certain Mother of the Year Award.

But wait... Something is happening.

His expression contines to change.

It becomes..... dark.



He leans into me so that we are nose to nose. He inhales deeply and says with great conviction,

"I'm on Time Out..... BECAUSE. YOU'RE. MEAN."


(afterthought: Jack was not trying to be mean to the cat when he tried to pee on her. He said he was trying to cool her off. So don't call PETA on me.)

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

My Husband Thinks it's Perfectly Normal; Part I

So I've written a lot about things that I think are perfectly normal.

I thought it was time to rat out - uh... I mean share with you something about my husband.

He is terrified of bandaids.


He won't go near them.

He will walk around with an injury that looks like it requires stitches and will still refuse to put a bandaid on it.

He thinks it's perfectly normal.

I think it's an issue that warrants some sort of 12-step program...

Monday, July 20, 2009

For Fans of the Matrix Trilogy...

Saturday, July 18, 2009

Nordrstrom's Reject

So I'm at Costco. I see that they have swimming suits.

SIDE NOTE: I don't know that I can adequately convey my loathing of swim-suit shopping.


So if I need a suit and I see one - I just grab one in my size. I don't try it on (life is hard enough).

They had black swimming suits at Costco.

I walk up to the rack and reach for the suits to start browsing for my size.

About 20 feet away is the saleslady - lamenting to her co-worker about the fact that she didn't get hired as a salesperson at Nordstrom.

She sees me looking through the suits and says (from 20 feet away so it's REALLY loud) "Oh I'm sorry honey - we don't have anymore larges!"


But wait. There's more.

I look up at her, my face quickly beginning to change color.

She continues with this.... (note that she was still 20 feet away and is still talking at full voice)

"You really look like you should get an extra large anyway. I think we have some in the back - let me page somebody for an extra large suit for you."


I simply look at her and eek out the words "No need."

She resumed her conversation about her complete surprise at the fact that she couldn't get a a job at Nordstroms....


If only there had been some clue...

Friday, July 17, 2009

If You have a Problem; If No One Else Can Help; And if You can Find Them; Maybe You can Hire.... The A-Team.

I think the A-Team was one of the greatest shows of the 80s.

I was a huge fan.

My Dad was a huge fan too. We had a van back in those days. He would drive up to a curb, slow way down, have me or my brother open the side door (while he was singing the theme song at the top of his lungs) and have us jump out.

Explains a few things, doesn't it...

Anyway. I never missed it. It was on every Tuesday night at 8:00.

I even have an autographed picture from Dirk Benedict (he played Templeton FaceMan Peck). I got it when I babysat his kids.

Yeah, that's right.



It was one of the best shows ever.

Oddly enough, Dwight Schultz (he played Howling Mad Murdock) also appeared on several episodes of another favorite show of mine, Star Trek The Next Generation (he played Lieutenant Barclay).


The A-Team was a classic.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

I Think it's Perfectly Normal; Part XXV

I will walk up to 15 extra blocks to avoid having to parallel park.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Refrigerator Revelations (GROSS)

I think that one of the reasons we go through difficult experiences is so that we can help others either avoid the same situations - or at least help them if they are going through a similar situation.

That's what this entry is about. It's me helping you. Warning you, if you will.

(Read on at your own peril and don't judge me).

The following is a list of things I learned while cleaning out my refrigerator:

  1. Moldy asparagus juice pooling in the bottom of your refrigerator smells worse than asparagus pee.
  2. If the expiration date on the deli sliced ham says 2/15/09, don't sniff it to make sure it's really bad; just trust that it is in fact, really, really bad.
  3. Juice left behind by a bag of rotting radishes has epoxy (very strong adhesive) like qualities.
  4. The jar of jam that was given as a gift in 2005 will become a permanent fixture on the second shelf if it's left sitting in the epoxy resin created by the rotting radishes.
  5. When stray baby carrots get left behind in the produce tray, they shrivel up and look like funny, little orange raisins.
  6. Three-year-old little boys get excited about little orange raisins - until they try one...
  7. The only thing that smells worse than the garbage bag full of rotting produce, runny leftover tuna casserole from Father's Day and the mystery meat from February is that same garbage bag after it's been sitting in the hot garage for two days.
  8. Cleaning one's refrigerator on a full stomach when you have a sensitive, trigger-happy gag reflex is a terrible, terrible idea.
I hope that the wisdom I have imparted on you has been helpful.

Thank you for this opportunity to share.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Touched by a (pint-sized) Angel...

Jack (who is 3) was playing on the playground at church this morning.

I arrived a few minutes early to take him to his class and was greeted by him being carried off the playground, crying hysterically.

He had fallen and scraped his knee up pretty good.

He saw me and started crying harder. He was so sad...

I picked him up and loved on him a little bit and that's when I noticed all the little kids that had followed us inside - all of them wore looks of concern on their faces. They wanted to make sure that Jack was alright.

There was one little girl in the crowd of kids who followed especially close. Her name was Lexi (she is also 3).

Lexi (seen here in this pic) taught me something today.

She demonstrated to me what it means to truly give of yourself.

Lexi has a little blanket (about the size of a cloth diaper or a burp cloth); it's her Nite-Nite. It is one of her more prized possessions. In the words of her mom, her nite-nite is her ultimate comfort. (for more detail, here's a blog post about it)

Anyway - Jack was now seated and was about to have his scraped knee cleaned (OUCH). The medicated wet-wipe touched his knee and he let out a shriek. Lexi was standing behind Jack - and as soon as Jack cried out, she put her hand on his shoulder and left it there.

At that moment I saw something in Jack's hands. He buried his face in it and he stopped crying.

It was Lexi's nite-nite.

Lexi had given Jack her nite-nite to help him feel better.

Her most prized possession.

And she gave it to Jack.

She saw that someone was sad and hurting - and needed it more than her. So she gave away the thing that matters most to her. No questions asked. She just said, "here Jack..."

I was so touched by that.

I tend to make things so complicated. I over-analyze, obsess, worry, etc. I'm ashamed to say that when I give something to someone, I have a tendency to make it more about me than the person I'm giving to.

Acts of giving should be simple. Simplicity is a natural by-product of taking the focus off yourself and putting it on the other person.

When Lexi gave Jack her nite-nite, she had no agenda, no contract stating when the nite-nite was to be returned or how it was to be used, nothing about what she wanted in return. Nothing about how she felt at all.

She simply gave it to him to make him feel better.

She didn't think about herself. She only thought of Jack.

So simple...

I made sure Jack was alright, hugged him good-bye and made my way back to the main auditorium for church. I stopped when I saw Lexi and gave her a big hug, trying to conceal the tears that were now pouring freely. I gave her a kiss and told her thank you. I know she doesn't know how much her simple act meant - but someday she will. I know that I will never forget it.

Thank you Lexi.... you made Jack feel so much better today. And you also reminded me of something so important: that I need to put others first. No questions asked...

It's that simple.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Like Father, Like Son (rated PG-13)

We were at Ruby's for lunch.

I lean over to Jack (who just turned 3) and ask, "Jack, don't you just love Ruby's?"

"Oh yeah Momma!" he said at the top of his lungs "...I LOVE boobies!"


Thursday, July 2, 2009

A Few of My Favorite Things...

I don't have much to say right now (shocking, I know). So, I thought I'd just go with an old stand-by. Here are a few, new favorites - in no particular order...

  1. The movie UP
  3. Epicuren facial scrub
  4. The dollar aisle at Target
  5. Push-pin magnets
  6. The color purple (not the book/movie - just the actual color itself)
  8. The Aflac Duck
  9. Vanilla Tootsie Rolls
  10. Cheap flip-flops from Old Navy
  11. Otter Pops
  12. Microwave Popcorn with Splenda on it
  13. Mansfield Park
  14. My daughter's new Chore Chart (see this post for details on why this is a new fave)
  15. Comments on my blog (not that I'm hinting or anything...)
  16. Pink Pearl Erasers
  17. Firefox
  18. Scramble on Facebook (curse you Laurel. you and your ridiculously high score)
  19. Bright pink toenail polish
  20. Little House on the Prairie - episode, "The Richest Man in Walnut Grove"

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Well it's a Little Late Now...

There's nothing like getting critical information.... after the fact. Here are few examples of times when I've been on the receiving end of ill-timed information/advice.

  1. You’re supposed to poke holes in the potato before you bake it
  2. It’s not a costume party
  3. Mom, I feel like I'm going to throw up
  4. Your microphone is still on (oh man... this is a whole separate blog entry)
  5. You're supposed to grease the pan
  6. You should have hit Forward - not Reply (said one millisecond after sending a less than friendly email - to the person I was being less than friendly about)
  7. May induce hyper-activity in children (I read this 20 minutes after I gave my kids Benadryl in an effort to get them to sleep through a 5 hour plane ride)
  8. I just waxed the floor
  9. There was a cop back there (said to me just after I caught a glimpse of the flashing lights in my rear-view mirror)
  10. That milk is expired (spoken just as I took a big gulp)

Timing really is everything.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Wide My Body, Narrow My Bathroom Stall...

Spanx are the greatest invention EVER.

They are like girdles. On steroids. They can re-shape any shaped body to make it look a little better.

Body shaping garments are a life saver. They save you all that time that you would otherwise have to spend on exercising. I mean really... Why exercise when you can conceal?

But I digress.

The thing about Spanx is that they're pretty tight. So much so, that you need to allow yourself extra time when going to the restroom lest you run the risk of having an accident...

It is ill-advised to wait until the last minute to go to the bathroom when wearing a Spanx.

I really wish someone had told me this.

Let me set the stage for you.

I'm on an airplane. I'm returning from an advertising summit in New York City.

I'm dressed in a suit.

And I'm wearing a Spanx.

One other thing: I'm terrified of going to the bathroom in airplanes. Seriously.


I will do whatever I can to avoid going to the bathroom on an airplane.

The flight is non-stop.

It's 7 hours long.

I put off the inevitable trip to the bathroom for as long as I can.

But at last the moment arrives... I can deny it no longer.

I need.... to use.... the bathroom.

Right now.

I climb over the people sitting in the center and the aisle seats and make my to the bathroom.

The flight is full - every seat is occupied - including those that are up against the outside wall of the lavatory.

I slide the door open and am greeted by the teeniest, tiniest bathroom I have ever seen in my entire life. I had to walk in sideways because my shoulders were too broad to fit through the doorway.

I slide the door shut. Panic sets in (I'm unbelievably claustrophobic). Of course I'm also panicked because I have to go so bad that I think an accident is imminent.

I begin preparing myself to use the facilities - and am suddenly reminded that I have to somehow get the skin tight Spanx off - which will be quite challenging since there is not an inch of spare space around me.

I start to pull them down - but am unable to because my right elbow keeps hitting the wall of the teeny-tiny bathroom. I'm able to get the left side down - there's more room on that side because the sink is there.

But I'm stuck on the right side.

I begin perspiring.

I'm growing increasingly desperate to relieve myself and to get the heck out of the teeny-tiny bathroom.

The fact that I'm sweating is not helping my attempt at getting the Spanx off. It seems to be acting as some sort of adhesive. I manage to turn around so that I'm now facing the toilet. My right elbow now has more room (it's on the sink side now).

I wedge my thumb down between my squishy, sweaty muffin top and the top of the Spanx and pull down as hard as I can.

I hear it first - and then I feel it.

A popping sound.

My thumb.

There's something wrong with my thumb.

Sharp pain shoots up my hand causing me to lose my balance in the teeny-tiny bathroom. I begin to fall toward the toilet. I quickly jerk myself back into a standing position and spin around trying to regain my composure.

I am now facing the door - my back to the toilet. I wobble back and forth for a minute, and gingerly try to remove my thumb from its elastic prison - but am unsuccessful.

It's stuck. And I'm pretty sure it's swelling which makes the prospect of freeing my thumb less and less likely with each passing second.

I realize that I have no choice.

I grit my teeth, inhale deeply, hold my breath and yank my hand out of the waistband of my Spanx as hard as I possibly can. This causes me to slam my elbow against the wall, at which point I lose my balance again and fall face first into the door.

I see white light.

Pretty, pretty white light.

And then I hear a voice.

A far-off voice.

"Everything okay in there?"

Oh dear Lord...

"Yes - I'm just fine - thanks...." I manage to respond.

Fortunately, that last yank was enough to loosen the Spanx from its deathgrip on my sweaty, squishy muffin top.

I'm able to relieve myself.

I wash my hands - careful not to touch my steadily swelling thumb. I try to straighten my hair in a futile attempt at covering the welt that has now taken over half of my forehead.

I slide open the bathroom door - carefully avoiding the open-mouthed, gaping stares of all the people sitting there who had heard me slamming into the walls of the teeny-tiny bathroom.

I hang my head and shuffle back to my seat - and vow never to wear Spanx again.

But I got over it. Hey, anything is better than exercising, right?

Yeah.... I still wear them.

Just not on airplanes...

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Kurt & Heidi




Kurt and I started dating in 1990. We were 16 years old.
We got married in 1994.
I love him so very, very much.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Chores, Justice and Mixed Emotions

So today was launch day for Hope's new Chore Chart.

Emotions were mixed.

Kurt and I were walking around with a bit more bounce in our step at the thought of Hope becoming more responsible and doing a bit more around the house. Hope was walking around with what appeared to be the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Her new responsibilities included emptying the cat box, clearing the dishes after a meal and loading the dishwasher.

Kurt showed her how to do each job and we created a new chore chart for her.

I was in her room putting her laundry away and she walked in, mopey and despondent. She saw me standing there and cut me "the look."

Without a word she began hanging her new chore chart on the door. She asked me "Will Jack have to do chores when he gets older?"

"Yes Hope." I replied knowing where this was going.

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "yeah right - he won't have to do any chores because I'm already doing everything."

I stifled a laugh, remembering having those same thoughts when I was her age. It was clear she wasn't thrilled with the new arrangement.

She continued her muttering as I left her a room. I could hear her saying, "I don't know what Jack's going to do - there isn't anything left to do - this is so unfair, the cat box is soooo gross..." I made my way down the hallway, rounded the corner where Kurt was standing with a big grin on his face, his eyes bright with excitement.

I thought he was going to say something like, "Our little girl is growing up - she's so responsible now - she's growing up so fast;" you know - all the things that go through a parents mind whenever their child demonstrates that he/she is growing up.

As I got closer, he started jumping up and down, the grin got bigger, he held out his hand to give me a high five and whisper-shouted "no more cat box!"

As I said - it was a day of mixed emotions.