Monday, March 23, 2015

I miss my blog. And funny things keep happening.

I miss my blog.

I miss writing down those crazy/stupid/disgusting/funny things that I DON'T WANT TO FORGET but always do.  Because it's easy to forget the funny part of life.

Studies have shown that forgetting about the funny leads to early onset cantankerousness.

So, I'm reviving the blog.  Hopefully to write semi-regularly again, but I know myself well enough to know that I'm not promising anything.

Meanwhile, here are the funny things that popped into my head which I don't want to forget.

Funny Thing #1. My kids are loving Eye of the Tiger right now.  I have no idea why my husband decided to play it one day, but they are in love.  They beg to hear it all the time.  As well they should.

Liam loves to tell us about "things you've never seen".  Usually this is true because he tells us about things that are absolute nonsense.

So, while we're jamming to Eye of the Tiger he says with his usual passion, "I LOVE this song! I do! I LOVE it!  And there's another song you've never seen! It's called the F of the Dragon."

It took me a couple seconds to figure out what mental path his three year old mind had toddled down to get to from Eye of the Tiger to F of the Dragon, but when I did, I laughed hard.

Funny Thing #2.  We got a dog.  He's the size of a small bear and if you're wondering what he's like, he is a hairy, drool-y Eeyore.

Yes. That is exactly what he's like.  Here's a real picture...

The funny thing about the dog is that he refuses to do u-turns.  Refuses.  He'll walk into the kitchen, nose around looking for scraps - which of course he doesn't find due to my exceptional house cleaning practices - then, to leave he backs out.  

Even if he's turned himself so far around so he's almost facing the exit, he turns himself BACK around and drops it into reverse to leave.  

We make loud beeping noises while he does it because he's such slow, lumbering thing.  

I really want to call him short bus, but I feel as though that is derogatory to all the sweet children who ride short busses.  He's just like some sort of old folks home van driven by a geriatric patient who does 16-point turns to get the van out of a parking space at Walmart.  

For instance, to get to our garage you go downstairs then u-turn to the right.  The dog has been known to go down the stairs, turn left and wait patiently until someone opens up the garage door so he can back himself out.  

I feel as though I should get him rearview mirrors.  

Funny Thing #3. Not funny, but makes me happy:  It's March which means open burn season here. That means we get to collect the vast amounts of wood laying around in our, well, woods, and BURN it!  I love fires.  And I love when it's drizzly so the kids all throw on their cowboy hats.  Even my little girl who was sick so bundled up against the drizzle.  I love how everyone's hair smells like campfire for the rest of the day.

We're so very Montana.

I have to say I don't feel as though this post really lives up to the funny post I feel like it should, but I'm rusty.  And I'm happy to know that now that I'm writing again, my little brain will cling to those funny things until I can write them down.  

Hope everyone is doing well!  

Monday, August 4, 2014

You like Khgunk?

Ok, this is another post about Liam.

I blog because I remember the parts of my kids tiny years that I blog about better than the parts I don't.  And my blog is always heavily weighted toward the kid who's about 2 or 3 years old.

So I realize the blog is Liam-heavy lately, but he's two.  And two-year-olds are hilarious.  They get a bad rep, but that's just because they are passionate.  About EVERYTHING.

See?  Passionate about his "Sauce Boss" crown.

And it's easy to remember how passionate they are about not getting that toy they want.  But they're also passionate about funniness, and wonder, and encouragement, and kindness.  

And questions.

Liam and I were in the kitchen the other day when he looked at me with the blazing hot intensity of a million suns and said, 

"Hey!" He was using that oddly macho-man voice that he uses.  It's somewhere between a mafia hit man and a disgruntled, middle-aged, German businessman.  "You like khgunk?" 

I stared at him blankly.

He continues to look desperately at me and now points at me too.   With a crooked finger.  (Because he never points with a straight finger.  It's always hooked so you really don't know what he's pointing at.)

"You like kkhgguunk?!?!"

He was SO intense and I had SO little idea what he was talking about that I was feeling a bit taken aback.

Me: "Gunk?"

Liam: "No, Kunk!"

Me: "Kunk?"

Liam, looking aggravated, "No!  KKKUNK!"

At this point I'm starting to laugh because it doesn't usually take me this long to figure out what he's talking about.  So I start 20 questions.

Me: "Is Kunk a food?"  We are standing in the kitchen, after all.

Liam, looking at me like I'm stupid: "No."

And he gives me nothing more.  

Me: "Uh... is Kunk a....toy?"

He sighed here, as though it was exasperating to have to deal with such an idiot.  "No, Mom.  Kunk.  Smells yucky.  A Kunk."

Lightbulb ON.

Me:  "OOOOH!  A skunk!  I forgot you have something against starting words with 's'!  Skunk!  No, I don't like skunks.  Because they smell yucky."

And he grinned at me.  "Me no like kunk either." 

And he left. 

"Glad we had that talk!" I called after him.  But he was passionately on to something else. 

And it's a thing now.  Everyone in the family now hollers at each other, "Hey!  You like kgunk?"'

It's fun.  You should try it. 

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

'Nana Bed

I let Liam help me make banana bread.

Well, I started to make banana bread and Liam came running across the kitchen hollering, "I help you?  I help you make 'nana bed in that - wha- wha- wha- what you call that red ting?"

"My mixer.  And yes, you can help."

From that we should take away 2 facts.  

1. Liam is in the phase of verbal development when he stutters.  And it's cute.

2. I deserve a pat on the back because I just quadrupled the time it's going to take to make banana bread.  Maybe pent-tupled.  
But look how happy...

So I got my softened butter into the mixer and realized I was out of sugar.   Since leaving a two-year-old unattended by a mixer and surrounded by baking ingredients is stupid poor parenting, I unplugged it and moved EVERYTHING else out of his reach.  

Because that boy loves to add things to the bowl.   

Like picking up the big salt canister and shaking it over the bowl where a batch of cookies are mixing.  

I will never again grumble when that little salt chute is hard to open.   It's obstinacy saved our cookies.

But I digress.  

I cleared the counter, gave some sort of motherly warning/threat/ultimatum about messing with the mixer and scooted down to the garage.  

Where I found no more sugar.  

Which turned out to be ok, because since Liam couldn't reach any of the baking ingredients, the resourceful boy found crumbs, fuzz and an old, crusty piece of shredded cheddar on the floor which he squished deep into the soft butter.


Obviously the whole making banana bread idea needed to be counted as a loss.  I threw away the defiled butter, wrote sugar on the shopping list and looked sadly at my over-ripe bananas.

Now, you could make a case that the moral of this story is that I need to keep a cleaner kitchen floor,  but I'm going to choose to take away from it the eternal truth that you can never trust that a two-year-old will not cause trouble.   

Sunday, July 27, 2014

I've got the GPS - never need a map again!*

Driving to the grocery store this morning Belle asked, "Can I tell you how to get there?"

Me: "Sure!"

Ok, the exclamation point indicates more enthusiasm that I was able to whip up because this exact scenario plays out every time I drive the kids somewhere.  But I tried to sound encouraging.

Belle: "Ok.  You go around...THAT TURN RIGHT THERE!"

Wait - you should know the setting so that this story can reach its full potential.
credit: Ed Suominen

To get from our house to the store (or anywhere else we go) we drive:
  • 2 miles along a winding forest road which has approximately zero side streets. 
  • Turn left onto the highway. This is the only turn.
  • Drive along the highway through pretty valleys and forests for 10 miles to town. Again, minimal side streets.
  • Every single thing we do in town is actually on that highway.

So when Belle was yelling "THAT TURN RIGHT THERE!" she was not in fact telling me where to turn, she was referring to the winding turns of the road itself.

This continues almost non-stop.


As you can see, it turns into more of a driving lesson than actual directions.  And maybe you can see why I hesitate just a moment before saying "yes" to someone wanting to holler "directions" at me.

We get to the highway and she says (calmly for once), "Turn here."

Me: "Right or left?"

Belle, looking and pointing left: "Um....RIGHT!"

Me: "Nope. That's left.  Remember, you write with your right hand.  Write-right.  Easy to remember.  Which hand do you write with?"

She tentatively raises her left.

Me, laughing: "Never mind.  I'm turning left."

Belle: "Now... GO STRAIGHT!  NO!  TURN HERE!!!"

All of this is once again referring to the turning of the road itself.

And as if that weren't enough, now that we're on the highway, every 45 seconds or so Liam shouts, "CAR COMING AT US!"

He's hollering about that car driving calmly and safely in its own lane of traffic headed the other way.



Belle:  "Straaaaaaaight...NOW TURN!!!"

If you had only an audio copy of our trip, you might think it was a bit more exciting than it really was.

Half way to town (which is a whole 5 minutes into her directions) Belle stops, clearly exhausted, and sighs.

"You know what mom?" she says, "If that car in front of us is going to the store, just follow them.  And if they aren' just find a different car and follow them."

*quoted from that funny little lost car in Disney's Cars.

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Love Hurts

I'm just going to skim over the fact that I haven't blogged in six months.  Let's just pretend we just chatted last week, ok?  Ok.


Yesterday Belle convinced a butterfly to land on her finger.

Never-you-mind that I had told her a hundred times that butterflies are scared of people and will try to get away.  Especially from little girls who run shrieking after them.

She did it.  It sat on her finger while she walked all the way across the yard hollering for everyone to come see her and the butterfly "who is getting used to me!  I think he really likes me!"

Sure enough, there he was, perched prettily on her little index finger as though she were Princess Aurora.
"His front legs are not sticky," she explained patiently to me, "but his back legs are.  That is how he stays on my finger, even if his front legs slip off."


I'm no butterfly expert, but it seems like all their legs should have the same amount of stickiness.

Then she turned so I could see the back of it.


"Honey, is this the butterfly you caught before in the net?"

"Yup!" she answered positively beaming.

"The one whose leg got pulled off?"

"Yup!  But he's perfectly fine!  I knocked a chunk of his wing off too, but he can fly perfectly! And he loves me!"

And I couldn't.  I just couldn't sit by and let this continue to be so cute.

Because what she had called the "sticky back legs" was really butterfly guts that had oozed out of the missing leg socket, glueing the poor creatures rump to her outstretched finger.


To my credit, I didn't actually say "Ew."  Although I won't rule out the fact that she might have seen it written clearly on my face.

I tried to explain what was going on and suggested she might want to go put the poor amputee on a soft piece of grass and come wipe the bug guts off her finger.

Belle's deep love of the butterfly faltered slightly while she tried to get the ridiculously sticky innards off of her skin.  But then she tracked the little guy down again and tearfully chased it across the yard yelling her goodbyes and declaring her love until the insect hobbled - or whatever the airborne form of hobbling is- out into the forest.  Probably to die.

Wait, is a butterfly an insect? Hold please...googling... Well, yes. But funnily enough, things are insects partially because they have six legs.   So, I guess his insect status is now a little iffy.

Good thing he has Belle's undying love as wind beneath his now injured wings.