Doesn't everyone do a Sunday morning science experiment? BVD snap tests on your washing machine? No??? Weird.....
This was also most of my wild and crazy Saturday night as well. Jealous? Thought so.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
Wasted advertising dollars
I subscribe to a certain handyman magazine. Actually, I wasn't going to say it, but it really is Handyman Magazine. Turns out I couldn't come up with some clever alternate title to avoid copyright laws that I'm probably infringing upon somehow. And second truth, I didn't subscribe to this magazine, it is something that my folks give me every year as a Christmas present. Whew. Glad I got all that off my chest.
I love my magazine, but I wish that the editors would realize that not all of their faithful readers are 55+ year old white males with receding hairlines and prostate problems. (Or the worst: E.D. We won't even go there.)
Can't they throw in a nice shampoo ad? What about a little foundation or concealer advertisement? Perfume?
Eh, who am I kidding. Due to my hoarding and couponing addictions we have enough shampoo and conditioner in our house to last well into 2015. I wish I was kidding. Actually, I love it. Wesley wishes I was kidding.
So perhaps this will turn into an experiment of sorts. Does the power of advertising really work? Let's check back in another 6 months and see if I have filled our storage shelves with bottles of Rogaine and a digital-analog hybrid watch so I can "Tell Time Like a Man." Seriously, word for word what the advertisement said.
I love my magazine, but I wish that the editors would realize that not all of their faithful readers are 55+ year old white males with receding hairlines and prostate problems. (Or the worst: E.D. We won't even go there.)
Can't they throw in a nice shampoo ad? What about a little foundation or concealer advertisement? Perfume?
Eh, who am I kidding. Due to my hoarding and couponing addictions we have enough shampoo and conditioner in our house to last well into 2015. I wish I was kidding. Actually, I love it. Wesley wishes I was kidding.
So perhaps this will turn into an experiment of sorts. Does the power of advertising really work? Let's check back in another 6 months and see if I have filled our storage shelves with bottles of Rogaine and a digital-analog hybrid watch so I can "Tell Time Like a Man." Seriously, word for word what the advertisement said.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Snow Day
I love snow days.
I mean, I LOVE SNOW DAYS.
When we were little, we live on the edge of the flint hills. Which is to say, we lived where it was quite flat. When it snowed we needed to find a hill in order to sled anywhere meaningful.
We had a pond in our pasture a 1/4 mile from our house. My sisters and I trudged down there on one such snowy occasion to sled down the backside of the pond, down on the pond damn. Whoops... I mean, dam.
Karalina and I would have been in elementary school, big enough to be more than 40 pounds or so. Elizabeth was little bitty, somewhere in the preschool - first grade range.
We were fairly genius back then.... much like now. In our extraordinary physics calculations we knew that if we slid off the backside of the dam we would probably run right into the barbed wire fence at the bottom of that hill. Karalina and I then built an embankment at the bottom of our sled run in an attempt to keep us from running into that barbed wire fence. We would sled down the backside of the hill, slide up the embankment and then glide back down safely to the middle.
We were genius.
It came time for the little one, Elizabeth, to sled down the damn, dam bank. (I don't care how many times you watch Chevy Chase's Vegas Vacation, it never gets old.) Liza laid down on out red saucer and made her way flying down the slope. She followed the sled track perfectly; just like we planned...almost.
She made her way to the bottom of the track and instead of gliding up and then back down the embankment.... she used it as a runway of sorts and flew down the sled track, down the damn, dam slope and then used the embankment as a launching pad.
She gained quite the commendable amount of air underneath her as she sailed. She sailed right into a barbed wire fence.
When we ran down the sled slope and found her body she was hung on the barbed wire fence, unable to move. As I recall, her neck was resting near the top wire of the fence and the other fence wires were suspending her other appendages in mid-air. We had quite the time trying to pry our little sister off the fence while trying not to rip her clothing too badly and all the while trying to convince her not to tattle to our folks.
Good times, good times...
I mean, I LOVE SNOW DAYS.
When we were little, we live on the edge of the flint hills. Which is to say, we lived where it was quite flat. When it snowed we needed to find a hill in order to sled anywhere meaningful.
We had a pond in our pasture a 1/4 mile from our house. My sisters and I trudged down there on one such snowy occasion to sled down the backside of the pond, down on the pond damn. Whoops... I mean, dam.
Karalina and I would have been in elementary school, big enough to be more than 40 pounds or so. Elizabeth was little bitty, somewhere in the preschool - first grade range.
We were fairly genius back then.... much like now. In our extraordinary physics calculations we knew that if we slid off the backside of the dam we would probably run right into the barbed wire fence at the bottom of that hill. Karalina and I then built an embankment at the bottom of our sled run in an attempt to keep us from running into that barbed wire fence. We would sled down the backside of the hill, slide up the embankment and then glide back down safely to the middle.
We were genius.
It came time for the little one, Elizabeth, to sled down the damn, dam bank. (I don't care how many times you watch Chevy Chase's Vegas Vacation, it never gets old.) Liza laid down on out red saucer and made her way flying down the slope. She followed the sled track perfectly; just like we planned...almost.
She made her way to the bottom of the track and instead of gliding up and then back down the embankment.... she used it as a runway of sorts and flew down the sled track, down the damn, dam slope and then used the embankment as a launching pad.
She gained quite the commendable amount of air underneath her as she sailed. She sailed right into a barbed wire fence.
When we ran down the sled slope and found her body she was hung on the barbed wire fence, unable to move. As I recall, her neck was resting near the top wire of the fence and the other fence wires were suspending her other appendages in mid-air. We had quite the time trying to pry our little sister off the fence while trying not to rip her clothing too badly and all the while trying to convince her not to tattle to our folks.
Good times, good times...
Saturday, February 1, 2014
Why I sleep in the recliner
I'm sure every wife runs into problems like mine. Let me explain...
Friday night I got up to feed Kenyon around 2:30. When he was done eating and had burped, I placed him back in his crib around 3am. I made my way towards my beloved bed and saw that Wesley was taking up 97% of it. I gently shook him in an attempt to rouse him and thus gain access to at least 20% of the bed.
As I shook him, he mumbled something that I couldn't quite hear.
I shook him gently again and this time I could understand his response.
"Hey, there's some calves out up north you need to go check on. Go put them back in for me." He then turned his head the other direction and let it be known that he was done (sleep) talking to me for the night.
And with that, I made my way to my beloved recliner. Do non-ranch wives get kicked out of bed? If so, what for?
Friday night I got up to feed Kenyon around 2:30. When he was done eating and had burped, I placed him back in his crib around 3am. I made my way towards my beloved bed and saw that Wesley was taking up 97% of it. I gently shook him in an attempt to rouse him and thus gain access to at least 20% of the bed.
As I shook him, he mumbled something that I couldn't quite hear.
I shook him gently again and this time I could understand his response.
"Hey, there's some calves out up north you need to go check on. Go put them back in for me." He then turned his head the other direction and let it be known that he was done (sleep) talking to me for the night.
And with that, I made my way to my beloved recliner. Do non-ranch wives get kicked out of bed? If so, what for?
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