By Request

Here is the link for the cheat sheet

http://www.facebook.com/notes_cheatsheet.php

Have a great day, I'm off to play with the kids!

Just Playing

I just found a list of little cheat sheet things to change the words on my blog. I think you'll find the changes overused fascinating! Join me on a short journey into the world of boring life changing tricks.
I now know how to

strikethrough

underline

bold

etc.

Can you think of a bigger waste use of my time?

You know what's really geeky? I actually was excited to learn how to do these things...

Conversations with Pickles

Pickles: I think I'd like a Marine Iguana for a pet. (As I mentioned in previous posts, the subject of what-I-want-for-a-pet is a popular discussion around here)
Bud: I want a ta-NAN-tula.
Pickles: It's ta-RAN-tula, Bud, geesh!
me: Bud, when you're 8. Pickles, Marine Iguanas need the sea. That's why they're marine iguanas.
Pickles: I guess a regular iguana is OK.
me: we'll talk later.

*******************************

Pickles: Can a killer whale eat Dad?
me: I suppose, if Dad were in the water and the killer whale was hungry.
Pickles: Well, I hope that doesn't happen.
me: Yeah, me too.

*******************************

Pickles: When we go back to GA, can we live next door to GrandMomma?
me: No.
Pickles: Oh, well, can we live down the street from her?

*******************************

Pickles: There's this kid, um... There's this kid at school, um... This kid at school... He, um... He said, um... This kid at school said, um... Hey Mom?
me: What?
Pickles: What was I saying?
me: That you love me
Pickles: Oh yeah!

*******************************

Pickles: Mom, today at recess Mrs. Smith was giving everyone balls. When I asked for one, she said NO! I went off by myself and cried a little.
me (trying not to call this lady an ass for making my sweet Pickles cry): Oh no! I'm sorry honey.
Pickles: And then she came and said, Thanks for telling me that Ricky was biting people. Mom, that doesn't even make sense! I didn't say that. She ruined recess.
me: Well, maybe she's dumb. Grownups can be dumb too. (possibly not the best response, but much tamer than what I was thinking) Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe she had a giant bug bite on her behind and it was itching and making her crazy. Having an itchy butt can make you pretty crazy.
Pickles: Really?
me: Definitely. Whenever some teacher is being crazy for no reason, just assume she has an itchy butt.
Pickles: Ok, thanks.
me: Anytime buddy, anytime.

This conversation actually happened.

Let me set the scene for you.

A cold February day in WhereIlive. It's overcast, the wind is blowing. I'm anxiously awaiting the arrival of the mailman. It's nearly 2:30PM.

*mailman arrives at my stairs and steps on the pieces of cute ceramic mushrooms he had previously stepped on and broken*

me (not so nicely): Hey!

Mailman: Uh, hi?

me: Did you bring back those letters you took out of the mailbox two days ago?

Mailman: huh?

me (slowly): I said...Did...you...bring...back...the...letters?

Mailman: What letters?

me: I left three letters in the mailbox so I could get them the next day.

Mailman: Why would you do that?

me (rapidly so I could get the whole thing out): Because I have 4 kids. Only 3 Valentines' Day cards came so I was waiting for the 4th one to come so no one would be sad about not getting theirs. I left the 3 in the box. There was a letter paper-clipped to the front of the box, like you told us was the proper way to get things picked up. The others were inside. You should have left them in there.

Mailman: How's a mailman supposed to know that?

me (incredulously and loudly): Are you KIDDING me? There was an address on the front of the envelopes for THIS HOUSE! They had THIS address on them! They were already stamped from having been sent through the mail! How could you not know that?

Mailman: Oh, sorry.

me: OK, well they're all here now, so good.

*scene fades out*


I know the end was pretty anticlimactic, but what do you say after your shroom crushing mailman apologizes? I suspect he didn't entirely understand what the problem was, or why the crazy lady was yelling at him, but sheee-yooooot! It's HIS JOB to know about letters.

Weird News Wednesday - Underwater Edition

A few fish tails...


This little guy is see-through. Well, his head is anyway. He can look through his head to see what's above him. I like to think that's kind of how moms see behind them, but in a less creepy way.



Have you ever seen a mermaid? This lady is a double amputee who has prosthetic legs for walking, but wanted something different to swim. This is pretty cool.













I wouldn't mind seeing that lady in the pool, but seeing this fish while swimming in a river would scare the bejeebers out of me. Of course, I'd have to be in the Congo, and darling, I've just been and I simply shan't be able to fit it in again this year...

I'm still feeling lazy so you still just get a lazy post. :)

Tag, I'm it.
I was tagged by Logan.
Logan is one of my sister's best friends and an adopted aunt to my kids. She has a great blog cataloging her preparations for her wedding. She's awesome at creating her own art/crafts. I hope she still blogs after the wedding *hint, hint*

OK, so here's the tag answers.


7 random/interesting facts about myself:
1. I paint with oil paints, but I like to use paint knives more than I like brushes.
2. I think the movie Joe Dirt is funny. Don't hate! I just actually know people like some of the characters.
3. E.E. Cummings is one of my favorite poets.
4. I love wearing red shoes.
5. I used to leave weird notes for my mom about when I'd be home, etc.
6. I know how to make homemade wine.
7. I would like to raise chickens someday.


I'm tagging:
Eve, Bekah, Curly Hair Days, and Livi
but only if you want to

I have strep throat for the first time ever.
I've taken 4 out of 6 finals in the last 3 days.
Hamster has a double ear infection.
So you don't get any kind of pithy post.

But you do get a good one.

It's a Pay-It-Forward post.

Be one of the first 3 people to leave a comment on this post and I will send you a handmade gift sometime in the next 3 months.
You get to pay it forward as well by doing the same thing for 3 people on your blog.
Once you leave a comment telling me that you want to participate, you need to make a pay it forward post on your blog within one day.
So, anyone game? You can be a friend, family member, or even a random visitor to this blog. Just as long as you’re willing to pay it forward, you are eligible to participate!


(I got this from a friend's blog. I haven't decided yet what it will be, but don't worry, it will AWESOME. :)

I'm gonna take a little break, what with having finals and feeling antisocial and all.

(A 4-grits post)

Facebook owns your soul.

OK, maybe not your soul, but it does have license to use anything you post to your page...forever.

I read this. And then I read these.

The first is an article that deciphers Facebook's terms of service, and the second is those terms.

To make it even easier for you, I'll quote a very special part of it.

Submissions

You acknowledge and agree that any questions, comments, suggestions, ideas, feedback or other information that you provide to Facebook ("Submissions"), are non-confidential and non-proprietary. Facebook will be entitled to the unrestricted use of any such Submission for any purpose, commercial or otherwise, without acknowledgment or compensation to you.

Later the terms go on to say that any "User Content" will survive any termination of your account. This means that if you read this and then immediately go and delete your account, Facebook will still have rights to use any pictures, phone numbers, websites, etc. that you posted in its archives. And the right to use those things at any time for any reason.

No need to worry about Big Brother, Facebook is watching you.

My Valentine

My husband James is far from perfect. He's rough with the kids without meaning to be, he's says things with an honest bluntness that's highly unpolished, and he's rebellious to the point of stupidity at times.

James doesn't know how to match his clothes and he doesn't care. He can't spell and he doesn't care. He also thinks social rules are ridiculous.

James doesn't look or behave like a "typical" Mormon guy. James wears earrings and has since he was 16. He has a goatee. He hates wearing suits. He never went on a mission (although he is looking forward to going on one with me when we're old).

In short, he's not the guy my mother would have picked for me to marry. She never would have chosen someone who's legally blind. Or someone who has a nasty habit of spitting (it is nasty!). Or someone who would want her daughter to live south of Atlanta in a place a lot more redneck than I grew up.

She would have chosen someone who had already graduated from college. Someone who says the right things and wears the right clothes. Someone who knows where he's going and how to get there.

But, my mom also would have chosen someone who loved me more than himself. Someone who would be willing to do anything to make me happy. Someone who was selfless in taking care of me and our children.

James is those things. Not the polished guy, but the other guy. The guy who makes me laugh, the guy who gently puts our kids to sleep with stories he downloads, listens to, and then recites because he can't see well enough to read them books. James is the guy who gives me foot rubs several times a week. He calls me several times a day to say "I love you". He tells me I'm beautiful. He thanks me for being a mother to our kids. He thanks me for everything I do for him.

James does know where he's going. He just sometimes takes the scenic route. Sometimes he needs help remembering how to stay on the right path to get where he wants to go. But I know that we were meant for each other. I don't believe in soul mates. Or in only one anyway. I think he and I could have been OK if we'd married other people. But I do think we're perfect for each other. We teach each other. We help each other. We love each other.

And although it's ironic that an artist would marry a blind guy, it works. I'm so thankful to be married to James. I wouldn't be the person I am without him.

This is what I want for Valentine's Day.



Nothing says I love you like being able to poop at the same time. And just so you know, I want my TwoDaLoo upgraded to include the LCD TV and iPod docking station.

Weird News Wednesday

Do you have blue eyes? Then we're cousins! Researchers have decided that there was a single mutation bajillions of years ago that turned off a certain gene making someone's eyes brown. So some cavewoman had a blue-eyed baby and that baby probably mated with a relative. Hey! Don't hate on the cavebaby! I'm sure the dating pool wasn't that big back then. And so on, and so on. Which leads to me. Which everything does, right? Well, on this blog anyway.

And when you blue-eyed cousins come to visit, we can hang out in my new invisible tree house! Ok, so I don't have one yet, but when I grow up, I'm totally gonna build me one.

This one is for my mom and dad. The mayor of Snellville, GA, my hometown, has asked for a police escort to go to the bathroom. He's sort of afraid of the automatic hand dryer. No, not really, he's just afraid of a council member. Just remember, the next time you call the police, and it takes a few extra minutes while you're being stabbed/robbed/raped, that the police are busy. Don't worry, the cops will get there, right after Mayor Oberholtzer flushes and washes his hands. To my non-Snellvillian readers - the city's motto is "Everybody's somebody in Snellville." Doesn't that make you feel all warm and fuzzy?

Here's a story that actually IS warm and fuzzy. Russian scientists are producing goats who produce human milk. Got that? Let me say that again. Goats will give human milk. I really don't have any thoughts on that now, I have to wrap my mind around it first. But I do know *for a fact* that Victoria Secret has followed suit by coming up with a special line of bras just for goats.

Remember when I posted about that gross lady at the dermatologists office who described in way too much detail her issues? Well, the good thing was that I never have to see her again. Unfortunately, I do have to see the gross women I go to school with.

*I know that ended with a preposition, and I don't care*

You may have the same kind of gross women at your job/school/gym too. You know, the ones who quite colorfully their stitches, their kid's diaper contents, their husband's size (bank account or whatever).

There are two women in particular who go to school with me. They sit and discuss their in and outs. *Any pun you can think of, definitely intended*

Michelle! Why don't you sit somewhere so that you can't hear them?

Well, dear reader, because there is a particular little lounge that is only open to undergraduate students and the doctoral students have to keep out. So we have our own little piece of heaven down in the basement so we have space to study, eat, discuss personal details and whatnot. And that's pretty much my only option for studying, unless I want to lug all my books, lunch, and purse through the labyrinth that is my school.

So, from 1-1:45 everyday, there are two women who discuss all the details that best friends should share, but they do it front of anyone who happens to be in the room at the time. It's very hard to tune it out. I've taken to going down to the computer lab to avoid hearing about how their little darling said blah blah blah and how hilarious it was. Or how their husband said blah blah blah and how irritating it was. Or how one of the professors said blah blah blah and how asinine it was.

Why don't people consider other people? I know that you, special one, never do things that would irritate someone else, so maybe I shouldn't bother asking you.

They might as well just chew their toenails or pick their nose or rub their behinds on the carpet...

I think that would just as appropriate as having verbal diarrhea all over the undergrad lounge.

Ewwww, nasty!

OK, I'm done.

Snow Day Sledding

This is what we do for fun here too. It's not all watching cars try to make it up really big hills.


Pickles rolling around in the snow


I took a camp stove and made hot chocolate on a picnic table



Hamster was done with sledding early and decided to play with his trains in the car



Yes. I took a picture of Pickles crying. It will be filed with the pictures I have of Pickles crying at the zoo, the museum, the library, the amusement park, fireworks displays, etc. It's for posterity. So when he's a daddy and he whines about having a whiny kids later on, I'll have proof that he is getting what he deserves. Uh, I mean, he's just sensitive.



This is what Bud did while the rest of us were sledding. He doesn't like to be cold. Smart kid.

The reason there are no close-ups of Sassafras is because she was sledding down the hill with our friends while I was taking care of three little boys who didn't want to have any fun. Hopefully our friend *hint, hint* will email any pics she took of Sass.

Whatever shall we do about Michael Phelps smoking weed?

Here's my thoughts on the Phelps' BongGate.

Get over it.

Thank you.


Oh.
You probably wanted more, huh? Seeing as how you traveled great distances through dangerous territory to get to this here blog, I guess I can oblige.

OK.
First of all, I don't think marijuana is bad. That is not a very popular opinion within the church I attend but so be it. I feel that used as an herb, marijuana can be helpful and useful to a range of dis-eases. If legal, my garden would contain a small plant snuggled right next to chamomile and lemon balm.

Sadly, it is not legal. So there will be no small plant in MY garden for now. I will not do any illegal thing that will give the govt reason to remove my kids from my ward. They are too precious to me.

I feel the govt has made a non-lethal helpful plant illegal for various reasons, including wanting to collect the revenue created by arresting those who ingest it.

Also, I don't think people should smoke anything. Putting something that is burning/has been burned into your body is harmful. There are much better ways to introduce it to your body.

And one more thing before I make this slightly relevant to Michael Phelps. This is rhetorical so you don't actually have to answer it, but - What is the difference between someone taking a prescription mood-enhancing drug (like say, Prozac) and self-medicating with a plant/herb?

So, having let you see a small amount of my philosophy regarding this, I'll actually relate it to the title of the post. Michael Phelps can do whatever he wants. His smoking weed at a party in SC has absolutely nothing to do with my happy little life out here in the Midwest. If he's high, 900 miles away, it doesn't affect whether or not I take my kids to the library, or whether I decide to play the Wii vs. studying, or what I make for dinner. (makes me sound kind of boring, huh?)

If he has broken some agreement between himself and his sponsors, or some rules within the various swimming organizations to which he belongs, then let them deal with it. I really don't think that banning him from competing in the next Olympics is a valid punishment for making a stupid mistake. Marijuana is a much less dangerous drug to take than alcohol, and yet no one bats an eye if an athlete wants to have a beer or 12 after a competition. And it's his off-season! I really think that his recent behavior has no bearing on what kind of swimmer he is.

But think of the children! Yeah, you do that. If your kid's role model is some kind of sports celebrity, then you have other problems besides whether or not Phelps can compete in 2012.

One of those posts that is probably only interesting to my mother. And then only slightly.

Sassafras (she's 9) told James she wished she could raise the dead. Before we could contemplate how deep our little preshy's mind was for thinking that thought, she set us straight. You know, she continued, so then I would have four hamsters.

Sassy's hamster died today. Or maybe yesterday. Sass said the hamster was buried under the fluff and didn't smell so great. Just to set the record straight, here's a list of the hamsters she's owned, along with their method of, ahem, disposal.

1. Nibbles, aka the Greatest Hamster in the World. He developed a tumor that eventually took over half his head and...anyway, it was gross.

2. Libby, short for Libbles (to rhyme with Nibbles). She was perfectly fine until Bud decided to give her a bath. And used hand soap. And then tucked her soapy body back into the cage for Sassafras to find. That was a sad sad day here.

3. Whiskers. Whiskers was a bratty hamster. She never could keep her room clean and she talked back all the time and she bit people. Kind of like Sass except for the biting. Whiskers was found today.

4. Lightning. This is the hamster that spent a couple of days missing right after Sass got him. He isn't dead...yet.

Lest y'all think Sassafras is a bad hamster mom, she's not. In fact, she's pretty awesome at taking care of her own pets. She cleans the cages herself each Saturday. She makes sure they have food and water daily. She buys all the food and bedding herself with her allowance. Did I mention she's 9? Which makes it all the more tragic that her hamsters continue to meet untimely deaths. I mean, the little things only live a couple of years anyway!

Poor Sassafras...

I just hope they don't have restless souls. How creepy would hamster ghosts be?

Dear Christian Bale,

This is very difficult for me to write.

I'm breaking up with you.

You've been my movie boyfriend ever since I saw you in Empire of the Sun in the theater in 1987. You made my heart flutter in Swing Kids and Newsies. I swooned for you in Little Women. I loved you in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I even watched Reign of Fire although it wasn't really that good. You were my favorite Batman. Anyway, my sexy (ex)boyfriend Christian, you have just become too much of a bully. I recently heard audio of you berating a lights guy on the set of one of your movies. I had to turn it off! And then go wash my ears! This is the last straw Christian. You've been too mean for too long. I've heard rumors that you are difficult on set, but I didn't want to believe. But the writing is on the wall now. This can't go on any longer.

I can't, in good conscience, have imaginary children with you anymore. I'm afraid they'll turn into imaginary grown-ups who kick their dogs or something. You're just not a good imaginary father figure anymore.

So we must part ways, movie boyfriend. No, no! Don't cry! Or cuss! Or yell at/beat the imaginary hired help!

I'll probably still watch Terminator 4. But my heart won't flutter.

It's over,

Michelle



Oh, and if you could not tell James that I've had a crush on you for 20 years, that'd be great.