Bathroom Trauma

I was downstairs cleaning up the kitchen floor....more on that later.....as the kids were getting ready for bed last night when I hear: "MOOOMMMMM!! Come here quick! MOOMMM! Are you comin'? Hurry up, hurry up, MOOMMMM!" Immediately I recognize that tone of voice in my oldest and his panic cadence of his words. So I dash up the stairs...that's right...I dashed, betcha didn't know I could dash. Horrible thoughts are entering my head as I travel the distance to get to the bathroom where he is. Someone has slipped and fell and there is blood everywhere....someone knocked out a permanent tooth...someone tied their brother to the shower curtain and now he's stuck...someone put his brother in the toilet and now he is stuck......someone is missing a testicle....again...ugh, I hope it's not that. Those little guys are important!

In my mind I am halfway to the emergency room...and then I round the corner into the bathroom and THIS is what I see.

Jordan. Jordan with a bubble in his ear.

Uh, yeah. They thought it was cool that Jordan had a bubble left in his ear after his shower. Uh, yeah. I definitely HAD to hurry in fear that the bubble might pop before my arrival. Uh, yeah, thanks for that guys. I'm gonna go get a glass of wine now to calm my nerves!

Breaking Alabama News

First of all, did you see the countdown ticker? 7 months to the day! Wooo-Hooo, can't wait to see all things California in the rearview....except my California friends....you are very cool people. Now on to the bad news. 2009 BAH rates came out today. Instead of the normal 5% INCREASE that is typical each year......IT WENT DOWN $80. Yuck....but then I look at these pictures:




And I decide I will work at McDonalds and do whatever I have to do. Ahhh, to be able to sit in the living room with these boys who are all arms and lanky legs at this point and not have our knees touch will be divine. Well that, and to not hear, "Move over! I don't have any space!" quickly followed by, "I AM moved over! I don't have any space either!" Can't wait, can't wait, can't wait. I told the boys they can get dressed in their swim trunks on the last hotel morning on the way and when we pull up to the house we are going to throw them in the pool. Anyone want to join us?!

PS: BAH rates are obviously out for everyone! Have yours gone up? Down? Here's the link: http://perdiem.hqda.pentagon.mil/perdiem/bah.html

Bah-Humbug

I love a game. I love a contest. I LOVE a prize. So when the 2nd ornament exchange of the year rolled around this eveing I was a bit excited! A game(stealing) and a prize(whatever ornament you end up with)! How exciting! Until...well...until she did it.

SHE TOOK THE ORNAMENT I HAD THAT I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY LIKED. The one I won intially was beautiful like this:

Wow, I didn't realize how emotionally attached to said ornament I had become until it was no longer mine. -sigh- I still ended up with a pretty one,(in my heart however it looks more like this:)

The new ornament and I haven't bonded yet and with the bitterness and loss I feel in my heart for the really pretty one I wanted...I'm not sure we ever will. -sigh- Would it be wrong of me to cry myself to sleep over an ornament? Would it be even wronger to take out a pregnant lady?

Dignified at 6pm not so much at 10

I'm gonna have to be honest with you my bloggin posse. I have a story to tell and I don't know quite where to start. It involves some inappropriateness which isn't usaully my style...but,(you knew there would be a but coming didn't you) because it was just too funny to not pass on to my friends across America I am going to take a deep breath and share my story and just hope that you don't think less of me afterward. So here we go.

John and I headed to the squadron Christmas party last night. The party I was most looking forward to because so many of my friends would also be there. The evening started out well enough. Small talk, polite laughing, it was great. My friends and I looked like this:

Lovely are we not? Well, then....after dinner was VERY much delayed, and a few glasses of champagne entered my hands and the hands of those around me; my dear friend Christina leans over and says to me, "Tell Erin her boobs look slutty." Wow, I think inside of my head. That was kind of a random thing for my usually non-crass friend to say, but naievely I proceed to oblige her because I figured it was some type of inside joke that I was being a pawn in.

"Erin," I lean over and say, "Your boobs look really slutty!"

-enter the nightmare part of my story here-

"What?!" She gasps as she grabs her very modest, non-revealing dress. Immediately alarm bells are ringing in my head as I watch her face drop in horror...abort! abort! abort mission!...back pedal, back pedal, back pedal is all I can think. So out of my mouth quickly comes, "Christina told me to say that!" followed by an akward laugh.

Well, dear friends what Christina actually apparently told me to say was, "Your BOOTS look slutty." However my hearing was muffled by the champagne churning in my very empty stomach and I took boots to an all time low of boobs. Her boots looking trashy was apparently the inside joke so when your's truly hits her with slutty boobs she had no idea why I was insulting her so. So there you have it friends. The foot with the shoe on is still in my mouth; I've been trying to pry it out since last night and let me just tell ya, it ain't budging.

So Erin:

Here's to you my friend:

And let us all remember...she told me to do it.

And let the record show I think both your boots and your breast are lovely.

An 11 year old with a camera

Jason has been a bit obsessed with photography in recent months and wants nothing more than a camera for Christmas. Here's to hoping he gets one because this is just a sampling of what I find on my memory card on a daily basis:




And then of course periodically I come across one like this:

Which could be related to one like this:


Uhhh, I think it's about time to start talking to the boy about all things grown up if you know what I mean.

Dumb lamp...that's right I said dumb!

Really, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Here lies Jack:


Jack fell asleep on the chair the other night, homeboy is still having trouble going to sleep in his own bed, monsters in the closet, noises that go bump in the night...ya'll get the picture. So he fell asleep on the chair. So I had to take a picture. So after I took the picture I had to turn out the lamp that is behind the chair because we were all going to bed. And then....and then...it happened. The foofy stuff on the lamp got completely tangled around my necklace. Uhhh, what now? Well, I still had the camera in my hand so what else could I do? I snapped a few self photogs and here is the result.




Oh, and as a side note. While all of this was taking place John was sitting at the computer 4 feet away with his back to me. I just couldn't bring myself to call for him to help. I mean really, what am I going to say? Honey! I'm in a battle with the lamp and the lamp is winning. Or Help! I'm being chocked by decorative ivy! That is soooo not sexy. So I silently snapped away with the camera and then spent 10 minutes trying to free myself from the lamp's evil clutches. All the while he had no idea what was happening. Told you I couldn't make this stuff up.

A lookie look around the house

Well, my friends. I survived the first wave of the battle that is my home when I have been on the bench for a week. Now let us commence phase 2: germ warfare. This is where the comeback gets tricky because as you can see germs and other such disgusting-ness can be harder to seek out and destroy. Here are some examples of my enemies:
Exhibit A:

Funny thing happens when the dishes don't get done twice a day like they usually are. You quickly run out of spoons and your kids figure out other ways to eat their applesauce.
Exhibit B:

Ummm...I really don't even want to know so we're gonna go ahead and move on.
Exhibit C:

Two! Count them two! Containers of Pringles that whoever ate these(and I know which one you are!) decided that the trash can was too far away...not to mention there is no eating in the living room...and you probably weren't supposed to be eating chips anyway which is why you attempted to hide them. I'm on to you man!
And Finally:

Lookie look! Another funky sock! Under the TV stand....where it can proceed to stink up our lovely abode undetected....germ warfare. This heavy stuff people, send in the calvary. No seriously....HELP!

Mmmmm so good

So we have all heard that attage about the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Well ladies and gentlemen, may I submit to you that the way to their heart is through beer pot roast. Indeed, yes. Wanna give it a roll? Here is all that you will need:

First, a man. Here is mine(sorry you can't have mine, I have been attached to him since I was 16, I like him...a lot):


Followed by about 5 of these..any brand will do but just remember don't cook with what you wouldn't drink so please no Coors or Budweiser here...we can be more refined than that. These happen to be from Germany from one of John's trips...just don't tell him I used his good German beer for pot roast.


A crockpot...I think a pink crockpot(thank you Sheryl!) adds to the flavor of the meal somehow but you may choose any crock pot you like.


A box of this...comes with four packets, you will only need two.


And of course one of these:

Because what is a pot roast with the roast? Well, I guess it'd be pot...which I believe is illegal in all 50 states so I implore you not to make pot....but only pot roast so please ladies, don't forget the roast.

Put pot roast in said crock pot(wow, I'm just realizing there is a lot of pot in this pot roast in the crock pot) rub with the Good Seasonings on each side of the roast and then fill your crock pot up to the very top with beer. Put the lid on and walk away. Do not under any circumstances lift the lid at any time during it's 8-9 on high hour cooking time. As a friend once told me(hi Nancy!), if you're lookin you ain't cookin! Whip up some homemade mashed potatoes, use the beer as gravy for them and enjoy! (Just remember what I said about the no making pot thing....I ain't bailing you out of jail...okay fine..I'll bail you out...but only once!)

Oh, and furthermore..whichever one of my precious future daughter in laws happens to marry this child of mine, you will want to commit this recipie to memory because Punkie loves his pot roast!

Keepin it real

Now as many, many, many of you know I aspire to be June Cleaver. I need not no fancy job, no fancy office nor lunch dates with clients. I enjoy that my clients are about four feet tall and quite often smell funny. I love to cook, enjoy homemade rolls rising on top of the oven, and love to have fresh vacuum lines in my carpet. Well, apparently even June gets a nasty cold now and again...though they never showed that on TV....hmmmm, gonna have to ask the Beav about that. So John is top notch when it comes to kid wrangling when I am doing my best...unsuccessfully....to remain concious during daylight hours when I should be taking care of my kids. Homeboy will swoop in and get them to where they need to be, take them out to lunch...the works. When we are in good health he will take a few loads of laundry up to our room, put on a game and fold clothes. Yes, I know, he's cool. Now honey, this is the part where you look away.....are you gone? Okay, ladies...let's just keep it real. He can't do both kids AND housework at the same time....he has that male genetic inability to multitask. Yikes! Which means that everyday I am sick I know in the back of my mind the work load is building minute by minute.....waiting...taunting me if you will.....for my recovery so it can rear it's ugly head right in the middle of my kitchen. So here it is in all of it's dirty dish glory. 3 days sick and counting so here I go. I have popped a few motrin and I am diving in. If no one hears from me for a few days call the paramedics I may have been swallowed by the pile of dirty socks.

A Martin family record! Grrrrr.

I think I am incompetent. (That is different than incontinent...that would just be a whole other set of problems.) Jordan came home with 3, count them, 3 DEMERITS today. 3 demerits, 1 day. Really, could we get the kid a medal or something? Thus I have come to the conclusion we are most definitely unfit parents and someone should really be checking up on our parental abilities. Now here is where the real problem lies. This kid is funny. This kid is nothin but funny. He has an uncanny ability to make up funny dances, say funny things in funny voices, and find humor in everday life. Jordan is everybody's buddy. He is a rockstar of the 5th grade. Jordan loves people and people...well, the 11 and under crowd...love him. He funny, very, very funny. Now enter school. They don't think he is quite as comical as I do, nor do they apparently see the virtue of his comedy. And that is where east meets west, the rock becomes the hard place, the petal hits the metal, the.....uhhhh, I'm all out of analogies...but you see what I mean. So what to do with this boy of ours? All I can reason is that if we can get him through the 5th grade he may have a shot at this colorful world of ours beyond the confines of the playground fence. Good luck Punkie! We are right behind you all the way, you rock...I don't care what the dumb demerit says. (Just don't tell your teacher I said it was dumb...she'll give you another demerit, yikes!)

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

Jack has asked me to tell you that in leiu of toys or other such lovelies, he would prefer 25 pairs of uniform pants this year. Yep, no new basketball, no new scooter, definitely no lego batman....uniform pants. He tears holes in the knees...much to my delight....not.... .at an average of a pair every two days. That's what the boy wants. And really, who are we to stand in the way of a boy and his dream? Meanwhile, if anyone needs me I will be at the local fabric store taking sewing lessons. Help!

Pass the Geritol

John and I stepped out to Christmas party #2 last night...it was a bit like being at a fraternity party at times I will confess...I haven't seen breasts flying around like that since the days of nursing twins. I truly was bracing myself; for there were a few cups that were about to overfloweth if you know what I mean. I had a tremendous urge to tackle a few of them and then proceed to stuff their 19 year old breasts back into their too tight dresses where they belong....would that be inappropriate? So while the young one's were running around playing a very funny game....(though it is of note to reference above information regarding tight dresses and misplaced anatomy that a game involving running was probably not their best choice.....errrr get my drift?....) they were probably feeling like this:

John and I felt a bit like this:

Pa and I found those young-ens to be entertain'......we gotta go take our pill now and lay down for da mornin nap cause we gotta get up and churn butter later...busy day.

Remember when?

Remember when we were kids the front of the Wheaties box had amazing athletes like


or



and

And how we would stare at those boxes and dream of one day becoming that star? That top notch of an athlete to land OUR picture on the front of the box? Now Honey Nut Cheerios is no Wheaties, this I know but come on! Juan Soler? Who the?! What the?!...... Really?!So Juan, my 11 year old read about you this morning...nay, looked at your picture this morning...because your description was in espanol...and from what we could discern you are a telemundo star and Jason and 10 friends could win a trip to see you in fabulous Las Vegas. Good for you Juan. We salute you and your great hair. Keep up the good work.