Stomach Flu

About a year ago I thought that I had the stomach flu. Days passed and I still had the flu. Then I took a pregnancy test. Gunther, I'm so glad I didn't have the flu. My heart overflows with love for you.

Super Turd

We have a new vehicle in our "collection". We call her Super Turd. Jason bought her from a farmer down the road for $200.What a steal! He has put $100 into her and she purrs like a...a...bobcat with rabies. Another farmer offered us $800 for her. Who knew we could turn a profit on this beauty? Jason doesn't want to sell her, though. We have a shortage of crappy vehicles here.

This is our vehicle roll call:

• 2 Vietnam era military jeeps (one runs)
  
• An 80's something Jeep Cherokee that is lifted to the sky. AKA: Jeepzilla (runs)


• A very rare 1968 Jeep Gladiator (This one is fully rebuilt, but is in aprroximately 185 pieces. Guess whose name is on the title? mine)


• A 2000 Jeep Wrangler.It's lifted, has a bunch of bells and whistles, and is actually worth more than $1000. Why do we own this?


• A 1991 Chevy Suburban. It is actually in premo condition. It's our "grocery getter".


• Super Turd...eh whatever she is.

Don't go pulling out your wallet and trying to make me an offer. Oh, no! I couldn't part with any of these beauts.
There is an old Jeep truck that my husband has been eye-balling, and it goes up for auction next month. Dear God, Please let someone with a really deep wallet show up and way out-bid my husband.

Gee, a comic book collection seems like a great hobby now, huh?

Teen Wolf, Is That You?

Last night we went to the Oklahoma City Thunder game. It was a good time, except the fact that I spent half the game trying to figure out what in the world the mascot was supposed to be. We had good seats and he was all of twenty feet away, but it was still baffling. He lowered from the ceiling, in a dramatic fashion, right before the game. My reaction was: "What the f*&4@ is that? Teen Wolf?"

Turns out he is "Rumble the Bison". That was what a sign indicated "This way to get Rumble the Bison's autograph". Jason wouldn't let me go get his autograph, though. Party pooper.


Tell me you don't see the similarities.

Brothers

I don't have a brother, but I was blessed with two sisters. Even though my sisters are much, much older than me(insert groans coming from Wisconsin, and Virginia), we are still close. I have never once wished for a brother. My husband has two sisters, and although they all get along and have love for one another, he has always wanted a brother. I can kind of understand; I'd feel shafted if I didn't have same-sex siblings.

Our children are the only set of brothers within the family. I have the honor of watching their relationship form and grow. I fully expected that Barrett would resent the baby, that I had ruined his life by having another child. To my surprise, he adores the little guy. He has from the the day he met him. He pats his head, he brings him blankets, he holds his hand in the car. Gunther is his little friend. I'm tandem nursing, and Barrett often "pets" Gunther while they are both on the breast. Many times they fall asleep head to head, each one on his respective "ninny". Although it is/was difficult having them so close together, I'm glad that it worked out this way. Since Barrett was so little when Gunther was born (16 months), neither of them will ever remember being without the other.

I'm excited to see the journey they take together. I'm sure there will be squabbles. "Mom, Gunther is touching my toys!"......"Mom, Barrett hit me!"

I think that they will always be close. I don't feel guilty for getting pregnant while Barrett was still a baby anymore. He seems very grateful for his "nursing buddy".

Antonio Drives

Antonio, my ornery, s.o.b. of a rooster thinks he runs the world. I think Jason took this picture about thirty seconds before Antonio attacked him. Antonio doesn't attack me, just my husband. Good boy, Antonio.
The crazy thing is that this Vietnam era Jeep actually runs. My husband bought it for sixty dollars. Lucky girl am I to find such a savvy collector of vintage vehicles (sigh). Oh, my baby always did want a car farm.

No Dignity

I was digging through some files on the computer today and I found this picture. My husband took it with his phone, and I had completely forgotten about it. This was one morning a few weeks ago, when I was trying to do my business and Barrett busted in and demanded that I wear his dog hat. By demand, I mean he irately squealed at me until I put it on. Jason followed suit with the camera. Looking back on it, I could swear they were in cahoots.

I will not be black-mailed, so I am going to share this with the world before anyone else has the chance to hold it over my head. So phllllltttttt to you, Jason!

Oh...by the way my house is under renovation. Those are like million year old exposed walls behind me.

Diaper Chump

At my baby shower for my first son I received a "Diaper Champ", which is basically a glorified receptacle for dirty diapers. It is useful. It seals up, keeps the smellies away, and prevents the dogs and toddler from accessing its contents. When Barrett was first born, a week and a half would go by before I even needed to think about emptying it. Lately the thing fills up in about....oh, three hours (give or take ten minutes). I cram as many diapers in there as possible. I lift the lid, do some shoving and make room for more. I always know, in the back of my head, that I am only making it harder on myself for when I really do have to empty the thing.

Why do I put this chore off? Well, we don't have trash service like you city-slickers are accustomed to. No magic truck arrives to carry off our nasties. Nope. We must either: A. burn our trash (Nothing burns like a diaper fire. Those things sizzle for days), or B. My husband drives our garbage around in his work truck until he disposes of it in a dumpster at work. You could call it a company perk. Anyway, there is not always a handy place for me to transport the contents to.

By the time I have decided that I must empty the thing, it is bad news. It's like birthing a giant, soppy, plastic bag from a narrow, plastic birth canal. I have to turn the thing on its side and coax the bag of diapers out. The trash bag typically weighs about forty pounds....and I am barely exaggerating. It's physically draining and the whole time I am fearing the worst: a tear in the bag.

Jason had the nerve to ask me a question while I was battling the diaper champ this morning.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm emptying the damn diaper thingy." I said, through my teeth.
He was in the other room, and he was inquiring what I was doing, so that he could ask me to do something else. I walked past him, with my 50 pound bag of soaked diapers.
"Don't ever ask me a question while I am doing that. If you had ever done that once, then you would know not to talk to me while I'm doing that."
"Oh, I have emptied that before." He replied.

Yes, he emptied it once while I was in the hospital after having our second son. I chose to let the converstaion end, so that I didn't stab him right then.

After some thought, I have realized that we don't need a "Diaper Champ", we need an industrial dumpster. I could fashion a shoot from the window, so that the diapers just slid out to the waiting receptacle in the yard. We don't have neighbors to complain about such a monstrocity. Why not? Some fat guy named Louie could come in his truck and pick it up once a...uh.....every three days.