April 2010 | Kelley's Break Room

My Comment Column

When I just feel the need, I am going to have a section in my posts where I comment on comments. I'll be the comment commentator. Today, I think that is all I will do and you'll read why after you hear this story. After my last post, someone left a comment asking for my advice. Because I did not want to leave this nice person on pins and needles over the weekend (I feel the need to point out that I was being very sarcastic there), I thought I'd quickly update this blog. I'll just say the dang word. I noticed that I left blanks for the word "blog" in some places during my last post and then actually used the stinkin' word in other places. Blog, blog, blog. Ultimately, I don't like the word "blog" because it reminds me of head cheese. Sick, sick, sick. COULDN'T they have thought of a better name for that cheese?? Is it really made of anything to do with a head? If you are an expert in head cheese, I'd love to hear from you. I'd Google it, but I'm busy with my blog, you see. Head cheese reminds me of boars, boars remind me of hogs which rhymes with blogs which has the root word of blog. Doesn't everyone think of head cheese when they think of a blog? There, see? I knew I wasn't the only one. By the way, this cute image is from http://fuffer.wordpress.com/. So cute!

Our cantankerous office chair

I am sitting in a kitchen chair that I carried to the study because I broke our actual "study chair" today. Broke it. All I did was sit in it and then...crack.

It broke. This is rather ironic as I just joined a gym yesterday. I am pretty sure I heard the chair yell as his legs gave out, "I couldn't take it anymore! I told you to lay off the Easter candy!!!!!" I tried showing him my glistening, shiny gym card, but he turned away in disgust. My new, unused gym card came a bit too late for that stuffy, leathery, cantankerous chair. His bad attitude happened to be contagious, as you can see from the picture on the right. My oldest son will probably really become cantankerous (I love that word) when I tell him we can't make the broken geezer a 7th chair in our breakfast room.

Given my new interest in exercising, maybe next time I am on the computer I'll just do that pose where it looks like I am sitting in a chair. My plan will be to burn crazy calories while typing crazy posts. Actually, the reality would be that my blog posts would look like this: "Hello ev..." You wouldn't be able to see from your side of the screen, but I'll be passed out on the floor due to energy I had to expend to type out those few letters in that ridiculous exercise position. Exercising bites and I don't want to do it. I know when I arrive for my first class, everyone will turn my way and snicker.

Did somebody say Snickers?

Well, isn't that funny.

What is UP?? Do you like the breakroom's new wallpaper? I am telling YOU, that other wall paper took sooooo long to take down. We had to get the vinegar out, the scrapers, bottles of water to soften the wallpaper up, etc. It was SOMETHING ELSE (in my family, big problems are always "something else"). Ahhh!! Next time I am paying someone else to do it. Landon just didn't work fast enough.

Soooooooo, I'm talking about music today. I just added a "playlist" to this ___. Just after you pass the Ladies Room and the copy machine, you'll see it on the right. I really wanted to blast y'all with "Thriller" as soon as you opened up this ___, but I thought it might not be nice. You wouldn't have been expecting it. What if your computer's volume was too loud?? What if you are at work and people suddenly hear MJ busting out with "THRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLER!!!" Anyway, if you want a little BEAT while you REAT, then push the "play" button on that playlist...NAH-YOW!

Whatcha want to talk about? Michael Jackson? In kindergarten, a little girl used to call my sister and ask, "Hey, whatcha wanna talk about?" Silence. "Michael Jackson?" Hahahaha!!! I've never asked my sister if she said yes or no to her friend's question. She was in kindergarten in 1984-85. Let me Google & see what MJ was up to then. Give me a minute. Don't you go anywhere. What was he up to?!?!?! Thriller came out that year & he was burned in a Pepsi ad. I guess those two little squirts were on the phone for a long time.

A day in the life...

I began typing this post last night while I sat at the computer listening to an on-line continuing education lecture starting at 11:09 p.m. I apparently felt the urge to recap my day yesterday with my two little dudes on my _______. Austin is 5 1/2 and Landon is almost 2. Working mothers often ask me "how I do it"- staying "home" all day. Many days the solution is...I don't stay home. Yesterday I was a "stay-away-from-home-mom". I had to go to Gymboree at the mall to take back the coordinating sweater vests I had bought for the boys to wear at Easter. I loathe returning anything. I would rather keep those vests & use them as dog clothes than return them. But, I paid full price for them, I have a husband who watches the money & we don't have a dog.

Meeting in the Breakroom

Let me first just say...there are no more ants anywhere in this house. I can hear my mom saying after that last post, "Kelley! You wrote about ANTS in your KITCHEN? People are going to think you are dirty!" I am dirty. Incredibly. I haven't taken a bath in weeks. People mistake the ring around my neck for a brown necklace. My hair is so greasy it looks like I just got out of the shower all day. People cough on the cloud of dust I leave behind as I walk. But the one thing I am not is a safe haven provider for ants. Those suckers are DAYD. They are DAYD & GOHN. I wish someone would get it through my 2-year-old's brown-curly-locked head that there are no more ants. The poor thing keeps seeing dark things on the ground & saying "Ants! Ants! Ants! Seeeeeeeee? Ants!" I get down on his eye level, smooth his brown locks with my hands and reassure him in my best, soft, mommy-is-here-for-you voice that I took care of those dang ants. "Those are just hissing cockroaches and flying termites, honey", I tell him. That seems to provide him with temporary relief.

Ants on the Ground

In my ol' time Gospel voice: I have deciiiiiided to follow Jesus. I have deciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiided to faaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhllow Jeeeeeeeeehhhhheeesus. I have deciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiided to follow Jesus. No turning baaaaaaaaack. No tuuuuuuuuuuuuuurning baaaaaack. I wish you were here now to hear me sing in my old time Gospel voice. I love hearing older people sing. I love it, I love it, I love it!! What I was actually going to say is that I have decided to post more...well, maybe twice a week. So, check back, ya hear?

I have the urge to divulge a secret to you. A secret that I didn't know I had until about 30 minutes ago. As I entered my kitchen after a hard morning of polishing the beads of the fan pulls to a glistening shine, I discovered:

Those bluebonnets need caffeine

My sister says I have ADD with my blog backgrounds. I tell her I'm about to get M-ADD & she'll be S-ADD if she keeps talking smack. We've made up.

Come on in here and join me for some coffee. Ohhhhh, okay, I don't typically drink coffee. When I feel the need to appear sophisticated (or when I am dying of thirst and anything will do- toilet water, dog drool, coffee...), I will get extremely large quantities of Hazelnut Carnation cream, several packets of Splenda & a squirt or two of coffee and mingle like a life-long coffee addict. As a young girl, I would mimic my grandmother drinking coffee with my mug of Coke and laugh politely at my imaginary friends' jokes. Subconsciously I must want so badly for people to think of me as one of those "gotta have my coffee" girls. It's true that when I am mingling with the fancy, intellectual coffee drinkers, I have to fight the urge to flash a fake smile and say things like "I am just a BEAR when I don't have my coffee" or "I've gotta have my coffee fix!" The truth is I have a secret addiction to Big Red. They don't put those in giant containers in churches, car dealerships, hotels or conferences, so I have to keep up my charade if I want to maintain my sophisticated image or quench my thirst for free when away from home. It's not working?

Seriously, though, I am glad you are back in "the breakroom". I enjoy typing out my silly thoughts and sharing about my life with all of my boys here and there. I know you have choices when it comes to where you spend your time and I thank you for choosing my little corner of the world for a moment. If you are trying to get out, you can't. Mwuuuuhahahahahaha!!! You are stuck in my world, my little dearie! Well, I guess not. There she went. I hope that girl comes back and visits again soon. Scaredy cat. *Sigh*

If you are from Texas, have you completed your good Texan duty and taken pictures in the bluebonnets yet?? Because Chris wasn't feeling well yesterday, I took the boys to a local bluebonnet field to take pictures of the boys by myself. If he had been with me, it would have been a lot easier to attach the super glue (which DOESN'T work on dirt or plants, it turns out) to their behinds. They weren't feeling me when I said, "Sit still right here for 30 minutes straight and give me a genuine smile at the same time while not moving or talking or pointing at the playground in the distance". I was able to get one decent picture of Austin. If you were to wait until the end of this week to take your pictures, you would probably arrive to find a lonely bluebonnet begging you not to squat your big behind right on it's head. "I'm the only one left!!", he'll sob. After he regains his composure, he'll ask for some privacy to grieve alone. I actually laughed out loud when we arrived at the field of black-and-bluebonnets, which sounds so, so callous, I know. There were empty patches everywhere, decapitated flower stalks, smushed flowers looking to be given a hand... Apparently, it is necessary to camp out in that field in the days before the bluebonnets spring forth so you can be the first in line to plant your behind & your children's behinds in the bluebonnets' faces. On top of the bluebonnet carcasses, there were lots of Madisons and Cadens being placed "just right" all over the field. It was tricky trying to get a picture of my two uninterested boys in a picture without someone else in them. Perhaps it wasn't the ideal setting, but the flowers that remained were beautiful and the experience was fun. They look like they're having fun, right?? Right?

Check baby, check baby 1, 2, 3, 4

I am just testing to see if this new e-mail notification system is working. But, since you stopped to read this post, let me share my favorite animal with you.

The sloth. It's not because of how lazy the dadgum thing is day after day, although sometimes I do envy such a life. It's just that I crack up (at least inside) every time I see that face. Sloths have very high self-esteem, so don't feel bad for them.

IBS ain't just for people

Do you remember the awful story about Jessica McClure falling down a well in Midland, Texas in October 1987? She was caught in that well for 58 hours as workers frantically tried to free her. Her mother was not sure if she would come out in one piece? Last night I possessed a similar sense of horror...over my onion skins. Those stinkin' onion skins were caught in the deep dark recesses of the PVC pipes under the kitchen sink and were begging to be rescued. Would I ever get them out??? Without a thought for my own safety, I tossed everything out from under the sink, started twisting and turning PVC pipes with all of my strength until...at last...the putrid water sprung forth and my darling onion skins fell into my hands. Relief!! They had been caught in those BIG, DARK pipes for MINUTES!! They cried, I cried.

Onions don't usually bring tears to my eyes, but this time they did. I really should have some type of agency examine the care I give to my food. Several of my food friends have been suspended in between the world of the kitchen light and my forceful, angry, unrelenting hand and the sewage (isn't that where they go??). So many times I have had to play Mrs. McClure and rescue the suckers. Shouldn't a garbage disposal be able to take it like a man? Maybe my garbage disposal has IBS. It just can't take much before I have to be the hero. It seems everything does him in- onion skins, meat, potato peelings, old nails, shards of glass... After I finished with my plumbing duties, I needed to vacuum the dishwasher detergent that was covering some of the cabinet under the sink. I remember looking at my vacuum like it was an idiot when it could hardly suck up the powder. It was POWDER, people! I wasn't asking it to suck up old batteries! I have my garbage disposal for that. When it finally began eating the dinner I had set out for him, I immediately noticed a white powder filling the air. A vacuum with IBS, too?? Unheard of! It wasn't until I was in the doctor's office with my sick appliances that Chris informed me he just hadn't put a bag back into the vacuum cleaner the last time he used it. Communication could be better around here.

Throw Me from the Train

Some wonder where I get the ideas for some of the topics I write about. Some wonder where I find the pictures. Well, it's an ancient Chinese secret (I was dropped on my head) & I ain't tellin'!

Did you see I am getting fancy now with a "subscription" icon to the right? I look at other blogs and become inspired. I also want you to drink my Kool-Aid.

Austin & Landon are still keeping me busy! I love it, though. I wish I showed them I loved it more! I sometimes feel that I get too irritated too easily with them during the day. I am often too impatient. I have been known to quickly stick them in these backyard contraptions pictured here when they are actin' the fool.

(Remind me to make those arm holes smaller and to give Austin a little kick in the rear for smiling and laughing during his punishment.) Although it doesn't show in these pictures, I often feel my choices to be impatient, angry or harsh result in my boys being those same things in a more dramatic way. When I was little, the verse about not inciting your kids to anger always came to mind. It was my way of saying to my parents, "See! You're doing something wrong, too! You are making me angry!" Ephesians 6:4 says: "Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord." I need to remember these same words for myself or else Austin will be quoting that scripture to me (well, at least he'll be quotin' scripture. Can I get an Amen?).

I'm too lazy to think of a segue right now and want to bring up another topic.

I wish I were one of those girls who look beautiful without make-up on. Heck, let's get real. I wish the same thing when I DO have make-up on, but that's a topic for my therapist (that I don't have).

Seriously, though, if I were to post a picture of what I look like right now, you'd knock over your computer screen or drop your cellphone/iPhone/iPad and begin screaming. It is 11:40 p.m. at night. I am in my pajamas and my face has been washed of all it's make-up. If you saw me this way, your arms would flail wildly above your head while you yelled, "Did you see that?!?!?" Chris did that the first time he saw me this way. He had to have roses delivered to me daily for the next month to repair my broken heart. Here's the deal: I want people to in no way recognize me when my hair is nappy and my face is funky (and, yes, I am referring to when I have not gotten ready for the day, Smarty Pants). I only want people to recognize me after I've had a shower,

blow-dried my hair, put my make-up on and brushed my teeth. (FYI, that is not my usual order of getting ready. I typically blow-dry my hair, THEN get in the shower.) Anyway, people always seem to recognize me no matter what I look like. It's not frequent that I let people outside of my unfortunate immediate family members see me like I am right now, but sometimes these close encounters of the third kind cannot be avoided. Right now, I look a lot like that actress from the movie "Throw Momma from the Train" made in 1987. I looked like this earlier today, too, when my neighbor dropped by unexpectedly. When I answered the door, to my chagrin, she didn't flinch, hesitate or pause. She just asked me if I wanted to go on a train ride.