Black Friday is Beckoning Me

We are experiencing some clothing difficulties in this household.

First: The baggy butt pants syndrome. If we aren't careful, people are going to start calling us "The Arseless Wagners". Specifically Brock and my little peanut Thing 2. Even though I could totally see Brock wearing those giant red stretchy suspenders, I assume they are hard to find, so I am thinking that simply new, smaller size jeans just might be the answer. Or maybe those padded tush inserts and more pizza for dinner. Probably just new jeans.......




That is a lot of undergarments for someone who isn't
referred to as "Homie".



This is not a fashion statement,
but more of an accident.
I think he is smuggling a loaf of bread in his pants.
At least I don't have to worry about cougars....


Second: Poor Thing 2 is having "A Christmas Story" issues with his winter jacket. Specifically, he cannot put his arms down at his sides. The coat is a hand-me-down from Thing 1, and I made the first time mom mistake of buying him the thickest coat available, thinking only about warmth and not considering silly things like Mobility or Use of Limbs. And while looking at him bundled up like a tiny Michelin Man with itty bitty arms sticking straight out it is pretty much the most adorable thing ever, it fills his little body with rage and ends up throwing himself on the ground and screaming in frustration. (*and then I may or may not laugh at him) So I suppose I need to buy him a new winter jacket.




Totally cute but not functional.


So like any evil genius, I started cackling, rubbing my hands together and formulating a plan.

Since I am fashion conscious and worked ten years in retail, looking stylish is a priority. Since I am a wife and a mother, my husband and children's appearance is a reflection on me. Since I am on a budget and worked ten years in retail, paying full price for clothing is a sort of sacrilege. Lucky for me, Black Friday is upon us and I received the Old Navy "Gobble Palooza 3D" flier which announces "3Days of Eye-Popping Deals! Entire Store on Sale".  Sounds good to me. Specifically the $10 and $15 kids and adults jeans and the 50% off outerwear for the family, because even though I don't like to spend money, I want my people to look fly. Plus anyone that advertises using the words "Gobble Palooza" and "Eye-Popping" deserves my business.




"Funufactured" is my favorite new word.
I funufacture stuff at my house all the time:
it's called storytime, mealtime and naptime.


Like any serious shopper that fears crowds, I went into my local Ft. Collins Old Navy store to scope out my route. Thank goodness the sale starts at midnight on Thanksgiving Day, that way I will be able to use my night owl Ninja tendencies to my advantage (forget this waking up at 3 am business, I would so much rather go to bed at 3 am....) While there, I was naturally distracted by the many cute items for ME. Like this awesome long sleeved tee that falls under the "Extremely Graphic Tees for the Family- $5" category. I also found myself some new skinny jeans and a jacket. I guess I am starting my own list for Brock to get for me. And when I say "for Brock to get for me", I mean, I will buy them for myself and inform him not to stress out about it because I "handled it". I'm a giver like that.




Forget about eveyone else. I want new stuff!
They really shouldn't let me out of the house.....



I do heart California. It's warm there....



No baggy bum here... although some
lunges wouldn't hurt me.



How cute is this jacket????

 I must say, I was impressed with the all of friendly people and well-mannered children.



Cute as a button! And they are all lined up and so mindful!



So cheerful, and colorful.

And you all know how I LOVE free stuff right? Well if I get there early enough and spend $40, I can get a FREE Kodak Easy Share Sport waterproof digital camera bundle. Winning.

Oh, and also, we have this sweet little family tradition of opening one package apiece on Christmas Eve. That package always contains new PJ's (freshly laundered by good old mom) so that everyone is wearing something cute and cozy for Christmas morning, especially because I always have my camera out and ready to shoot the scene. So every year I shop for new jammies for all of us and guess what? Old Navy's PJ's are $8 and $10 on Saturday. That is worth a trip right there. $40 would cloth the entire Wagner clan in comfy sleepwear. Score.




I feel like these pants specifically are meant
for unwrapping.....


So there you have it- THE PLAN. I will have to start inhaling the coffee at 8 pm on Turkey Day so I can be fresh and ready to Ninja my way through the other shoppers and snag some new stylish clothes at super low prices, and maybe a free camera too. Wish me luck because I'm a Black Friday virgin.



I'm pretty confident that I can maneuver through
the crowd.... people will fear the crazy in my eyes
and step aside.



If nothing else, I'm buying this shirt for someone.

Happy Shopping. Stay out of my way.

Peace, Love and Perfect Plastic People,
Johi


This is why we are friends.

Today I bring to you a long-awaited guest post by that hot firefighter friend of mine who brought you these three gems and coined the phrase "get the freshness".  Apparently she and her husband actually TALK instead of staring at the TV until they pass out. Isn't that cute? They don't have kids yet. Just wait.....

Enjoy. I know I did.


Yesterday I happened to see a close-up photo of a penguin on a windy day, and was shocked to discover that penguins have feathers. . .

Me, to my husband Tim: Did you know that penguins have feathers?

Tim:  Of course they have feathers, they are birds.  What did you think they had?

Me: Something kind of like whale skin. Of course.

Tim:  That’s ridiculous. 

Me:  Have you ever seen a penguin feather?  Have you ever stuck a penguin feather in your hat?

Tim:  Only platypus can get away with that.

Me: Platypus have fur.

Tim: Are you sure?

Me: What do you think they have?

Tim: Feathers.

Me:  They have a duck bill.  If they had feathers they would just be a bird.

Tim:  If penguins had whale skin they would probably be a mammal.

Me: touché

Me:  But puffins definitely have whale skin.

Tim:  sighs and shakes his head in disbelief that he will never get the last five minutes of his life back.

We decided to continue this scholarly shitshow by googling the duckbill platypus.  It turns out that not only does it have fur, but they are venomous.  Seriously.  They have a horrible talon on their back feet that is filled with poison.  It won’t kill you, but you won’t try to catch one more than once apparently.  Oh yeah- just for the record it turns out that puffins have feathers too.


Do you really still want us in your house? 



It looks harmless to me.... I say touch it! In fact, snuggle it!!
Poison filled talons schmalons.
animals.nationalgeographic.com



*****And to answer her question: This makes me want you in my house even more. Bring booze. And a hot tub.... then we can relive the "glory days". xxoo Johi

Canine and Kid Training 101

People often say things like "I'm a ________(Fill in the blank with Kid/Dog/Horse/Cat/whatever) person". I've always known that I wasn't a "kid person". I used to think I was a "furry/hairy animal person" (no reptiles thankyouverymuch), but honestly, I no longer know what I am.

Every time I hear my dogs barking and see them chasing a jogger/horseback rider/car/scary ugly man, I remember how I used to be a good dog owner, maybe even a "dog person", but that time has since blown away with the wind; along with my time to exercise, my sleep, my sanity and some shingles from the roof of our pathetic and decrepit garage. The problem is, Brock and I have had the dogs since the pre-kids era. In fact, we have had them just long enough to properly ruin them so that no one in their right minds would take them. Plus they seem to love us and shit like that.

Okay. We are kind of fond of those hairy beasts too.... especially the red one. Have I mentioned before that she is my favorite?




"Oh, hi. I'm not cute at all. Ball? Ball? Ball?"

Okay, the black one is cute too, in a kind of pathetic way.



"Don't you know that cameras steal your soul? Stop pointing
that thing at me!"

 So both of my dogs have this joyous little ritual of standing at our east fence and barking incessantly at anything that is going on in the neighbor's yard. Thanks to their giant black German Shepard that does the same thing, they can't complain. This barkathon happens multiple times a day, so much so that one of Thing 1's first phrases was to yell "DOGS! QUIET!" at the top of his lungs. Good thing we stopped calling them "Shit For Brains" soon after I brought my new baby home from the hospital (where I know the nurses were laughing at me because I asked them to show me how to change a diaper. And I was dead fucking serious.)

So today I forced the children out of the house to "get the freshness". As I was cleaning the truck load of leaves and branches from the front porch that said "Welcome! Don't mind the mess- we're pretty lazy. In fact, please pump the septic tank while you are here.",  I heard the dogs start their chorus of woofs, but I heard another level of sound chiming in with this melody. It was my human offspring, bundled up like cast members of "A Christmas Story", standing at the fence and yelling at the neighbors in between the yapping of the dogs. Both boys and both dogs were in a little gang, eyes focused on the people and animals next door, unfurling sharp noises at their top volume. Did I mention that they were located directly in front of our garage? The one that looks like the location for the next "Saw" movie? It was like a scene from "West Side Story, the Hill Billy Edition". The image was quiet charming, I assure you.

My work here is obviously done. My quest to find my vocation has presented itself on a silver platter. I will be opening both a doggie day care and a childcare service soon, as I am clearly well-qualified for both, especially at the same time.

In all seriousness, today I have discovered the kind of person that I am: I am apparently a "Laundry" person.

First enlightenment, then the laundry....

Peace Out,
Johi

No funny today.

As I type this, my children finally stopped screaming...er playing... and are napping, I am awaiting 4:00 so that I can take myself to the doctor because I have been achy and hacking up tiny submarines for a week, my house is thrashed- complete with broken glass on the floor because a picture fell and broke, and my uncle is being transferred to another hospital so that he can undergo the surgical insertion of an LVAD (left ventricular assist device) as the result of two massive heart attacks that happened less than 48 hours ago when he was assisting his son with coaching a junior high girls basketball game.

I'd love to tell you about how I've been spending my time pondering the wonders of my little world, things like: what book should I read next and should I cut bangs again and what should I make for dinner and how do I get Thing 1 to recognize Thanksgiving as an actual holiday on its own and not just something that we have to endure until Christmas arrives? But the thing is, I can't. I can't find the funny because my heart is too heavy with worry for my uncle and his fight for his life. My soul weeps for his wife, my sweet and wonderful aunt, as she waits and watches, powerless and afraid. My strength fails me as I think about my three strong, independent cousins who are seeing their intense, tough as nails dad struggle to survive. I can't be funny today, and I can't whine about my own life because it is mine and I am free to live it at the moment. Not in a hospital, not in a state of chemical paralysis, not in a confused fog caused by a major trauma, but any way I please. And I am truly thankful for that.

Please send your prayers, good vibes, positive and healing thoughts to my uncle and his family. He is a pillar of his community, and devoted husband, father, grandfather, brother, son, uncle, cousin and coach. He is loved by many, especially his family. Let his life be long so that love can continue to grow and flourish.

Life is precious. Treasure it.

I love you all.

Peace and Love,
Johi

Positive Reinforcement (ie: PRIZES)

I really do believe in positive reinforcement. For example: just yesterday, when I finally got both children down for a nap, Black Dog was standing on the front porch barking her ever loving head off at absolutely nothing. So I opened the door for her (see? positive!) and whispered "You're an idiot" when she trotted by me.

Earlier this week, this bullshit week full of me failing~ my laptop breaking, the coffeepot breaking, the other coffeepot breaking, the other computer working so slow that it is mentally painful for me to attempt to use it and two sick (and one slightly possessed) Things, I got some of my very own positive reinforcement. I received the same award THREE TIMES. That's right. Three people that I have never slept with think that I am Versatile.

ver·sa·tile

   /ˈvɜrsətl or, especially Brit., -ˌtaɪl/ Show Spelled[vur-suh-tl or, especially Brit., -tahyl] Show IPA

adjective

1.

capable of or adapted for turning easily from one to another of various tasks, fields of endeavor, etc.: a versatile writer.

2.

having or capable of many uses: a versatile tool.

3.

Botany. attached at or near the middle so as to swing freely, as an anther.

4.

Zoology. turning either forward or backward: a versatile toe.

5.

variable or changeable, as in feeling, purpose, or policy: versatile moods.

*For the record: I am unfortunately not the proud owner of a versatile toe.

Here is my PRIZE!

“The Versatile Bloggers Award is given to bloggers who are capable of writing about a diverse range of subjects and topics. Once awarded, the recipient must a) compose a short dedication to the person who awarded them the award, b) write a list for their readers detailing things about themselves their readers don’t know, and then c) pass the love forward to five bloggers that they feel deserve to receive it too.”

The first award was from Becky at I'm just a Girl and I've Had it up to Here

I'm not sure what they put in the water in New Zealand, but I want some because this lady is hilarious. She can coin a phrase like no one's business, one of my favorites being "dirty whore fingered kids" (okay, it sounds bad out of context but she is brilliant, believe me), she can answer all those burning questions that you have ever had about defecating, and she is a musician, which makes me girl crush on her even more. Plus, I'm pretty confident that she is rocking a sexy accent.
I totally wish that she would post some youtube videos of her performing her music so that I can properly stalk her. (Hint hint Bex!)

Go forth and read her funny people. You will not be sorry, unless you decided to try and drink something whilst reading, because it will end up on your keyboard. You've been warned.


Then I noticed that my fellow Pisces, blonde (except she is brunette) and future sister wife, Misty from Misty's Laws honored me with the same award! Misty is the real deal: funny, gorgeous, down to earth AND smart. The kind of woman that you should hate but you can't because she is pure awesomesauce. She also provides a confidence booster with her "Weekly Whacked" column, where she snaps photos of people sporting the "Oh no you di-ent" look. Check her out because I know you'll love Misty. She is good wholesome fun mixed with all that other great stuff that we Pisces are made of (stuff like sweetness and wine and music and love and curse words and sexy-beastliness).
And if I have my way, I will soon show up on her doorstep and help her develop a proper Pisces unhealthy obssession with shoes.


After feeling all glowy and shit from reading both of those, I then discover that my other future sister wife Jen from "Jen" e sais quoi bestowed upon me the same award and I just sat down and let that winning feeling take over. Jen is everything I like about people: she is frank, in your face, mouthy, attractive and smart. She has that deadly combination of perfect comedic timing and razor sharp wit. Her phrasing should be trademarked. Seriously. This is one funny lady who could give any published comedian a run for their money. She really should quit her job and be paid to write comedy. Quick-someone pay the woman.
Go here for a little sampling of one of my favorite posts from Jen.


I want to give these three great bloggers a huge post-shower (but fully clothed) hug and say THANK YOU from the bottom of my tiny black heart. You all outshine me and I am honored to be sharing this here Internet with you.

I am now supposed to pass this along to 5 people and tell you all a bunch of shit about me that you don't know. Since I have a blogroll attached to two areas of my blog, please take a moment to come over here from Google Reader and visit my actual site, where you can find a year's worth of crap about me that you never needed or wanted to know and you can point and click on many different great blogs. Enjoy these reads- I know that I do!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,
Johi

P.S. Why don't you leave links to blogs that you love in the comment box below or comment on this post on facebook with links? Then the love will keep flowing! yay us!

Mommy Needs a Time Out

The kids have been sick for two solid weeks with some kind of hacking cough and lots of snot. I was doing a great job avoiding it myself until I somehow got the snot of my precious Thing 2 into my mouth and now I am fighting my own battle with the crud. On top of that, Thing 1 has been trying on his naughty hat pretty much every day and has spent a great deal of time alone in his room. I even took away all of his toys at one point. Not only does he have a chronic hacking cough which wakes him up at 5:30 every morning, he has been effing LOUD, super hyper and he has been testing the abilities of different objects to see if they have baseball bat capabilities. The problem with that is that he has been testing them out on the heads of his cute little girl friend and his baby brother. Needless to say, Mama is cooked. I wake up every morning to the ridiculously loud noises of my already awake children and I pass out every night, beat up from another day of constant high volume chaos.

This morning, my body woke up at 4:30 am and screamed "I'm awake for the day you lazy bitch! Let's GO!" Even though I ignored this call of Satan until 5 am, I submitted and went for a brisk early morning walk with the Red Dog, which killed two birds with one stone: 1. I completed my exercise for the day and 2. I had some much quiet needed time alone to think.

While I walked in the light of the full moon and looked at the constellations, I reflected many things, but mainly I was thinking about how fucking cold my thighs were. Then I considered buying myself some decent long underwear or flannel lined jeans. Then I wondered if anyone still made flannel lined jeans because they probably weren't great sellers seeing as how they would make a woman look like she gained 15 pounds in her lower half. So I continued to stride out with my legs quickly turning into blocks of ice as Red Dog sniffed out all the beguiling scents of coyote piss and goose shit nature.

As I rounded the corner of the path... alone....on this silent dark morning, technically still night in my book, and saw the reflection of the full moon in the still water of the pond, complete with steam rising, I realized that it was eerily quiet and I should have never watched that werewolf movie and I picked up my pace.

I might as well have been strolling by this....



Then my mind turned to the reality that my Things have been tag-teaming to wear me out. Seriously, I am exhausted Every. Single. Day. I wake up tired and I plug through the day, one step behind them cleaning up messes and listening to them laugh and shriek and throw things and break toys and cry and then I feed them again and clean up more messes and so on and so forth. That is when the fantasies started about the years when my boys are a little older and in school. Then I was all I could even send them to boarding school in Switzerland! and then I realized that wanting sending children away is what every "evil" woman does in the movies.  So I revised my thinking to: I won't send them AWAY, just to a local boarding school where I could see them on weekends.... And maybe that woman isn't evil, she just wants some time with her husband without little needy screamers in the background... But then I realized that I like having dinner as a family and the bath/bedtime routine is sweet and I thought They could come home at night too.... Then I realized that the schedule that I am desiring is called "public school" and I felt all sad thinking about how very soon both boys will be gone five days a week to school and I started thinking that I would actually like one day a week dedicated to one-on-one time with each child and two days of week of family time and three days a week where I can be alone for 8 hours straight to clean and straighten and write and draw and finish an ever loving thought.

That is when I returned to the day dream that is my go-to feel-good image: the one where I am wealthy and fit and have time and boobs and a part time nanny and my husband and I take exotic sexy vacations to balmy beaches and we travel with our children (and nanny) to history rich destinations and eat decadent food that no one is allergic to and I felt better.

I then returned home to have coffee and a shower and I felt slightly recharged and almost human so that I can actually ENJOY my children today instead of fantasizing about being AWAY from them. And if that fails, there is always book club tonight.

I remember this moment was enjoyable- maybe I'll shoot for this today.

More Marital Guidance.

I would like to state for the record that:

1. I warned my husband about me before the second date. It may have even been before the first one. I said something like "I am a moody, demanding, grouchy pain in the ass. I may look like fun and games, but this shit is about to get real, so don't say I didn't warn you." And then I passed gas in front of him on the third date, because I wanted him to know that I was serious.

2. With a lot of hard work, communication, wine and laughter, we are doing the best that we have in our marriage since our first six months. Hallelujah!

That being said, my husband is a great man. He is kind. He is mellow. He can be a pushover, but he can also stand his ground like no one's business. He is hilarious. This is why we work. He and I are either exactly the same with our ideals and characteristics or we are polar opposites.

Yet, one of the things that we do not agree on is his driving.
I think he sucks, he thinks that driving like a 98 year old man with no reflexes and dementia is safe.


No problem, you say! You just drive Johi.

I say, "Bitch, shut your whore mouth (Thanks to Aunt Becky at Mommy Wants Vodka for that phrase). Naturally, I like to be chauffeured everywhere. So me driving all the time is not solving Jack Shit. Besides I'm busy controlling the temperature and the radio, and watching for those pesky turns and stop signs."

So instead I attempt to "help" Brock by pointing out his driving faux pas. It is baffling to me that the Butthole has yet to thank me for all my hard work and thoughtful guidance. Talk about being ungrateful. Sheesh!

Just to ram my point home, let me give you some examples:

For instance, I do not believe that driving under the speed limit on the road, yet hammering the gas pedal upon entering the roundabout is safe. Nor do I believe in stopping in the middle of the intersection once you have already committed to going through the intersection. I also firmly support turn signals. I also believe in driving 75 mph on the interstate (or 82, if I am being totally honest), not 62 mph. I also believe that, even though the road is gravel, hence bears no painted lines, one is still supposed to drive on the appropriate side (that would be the right side here in America), yet my wonderful husband seems to have some magnetic pull to the left. Maybe he is British? Maybe he is a rule breaker? Or maybe he is just trying to infuriate me. (<----- ding ding ding- winner!)

The other element that I would like to bring up is that we generally take my vehicle, the one that I have had since before I met my husband, when all of us are together. Mainly because he is a giant slob in his vehicle, it always smells super bad and his truck rides like a meat wagon.

So we were heading down the canyon yesterday and I look over and he is revving the RPM's in my truck (it is a stick shift) at over 3,000 and his foot is depressing the gas pedal. I'm all "Dude. Shift." and he is all "I'm coasting. Shut up." and I'm all "But you aren't coasting, you are stepping on the gas pedal. Just shift." and then he lectured me about his foot position on the gas pedal and I ignored him and looked out at a field of cattle and said to Thing 1 "Can you count the cows, buddy?" and Brock guessed "35!" and I gave him a sidelong glance and said loudly "47!" and Thing 1 said "What cows?"

Then we drove for another 30 seconds and I was all "I totally want to go back and count the cows and see who won." and Brock said "I was thinking the exact same thing." But instead we kept driving and we both felt better because in each of our minds we were right. And the sun shone down upon my filthy dirty truck as Brock "coasted" down the mountain in third gear with his foot stomped on the gas pedal and together we made fun of people kayaking in the Big Thompson River when it was 35 degrees outside. What kind of idiot does that?

We rock.
The end.

How to keep the romance alive.

Brock spent a month growing a beard just so he could shave it right before Halloween into a "Sonny Bono mustache". Hey, we take our costumes seriously around here. That is why I found him pants to wear a mere two hours prior to the party.




The beard in the beginning stages.



The best pants ever.

He walked around in public for two days with the stache but without the Sonny costume, causing people to think that he was serious. It was tragic. I didn't kiss him for two days. I couldn't.




Hey baby... Simon and Simon called,
they want their mustache back.

I really wanted him to put on my sexy cop uniform with the short-shorts, but I had lent it to my fabulous and leggy girlfriend which was great for all the men at the party she attended, but kind of sad for me because I felt that Brock would make a great Jim Dangle from Reno 911.



So wrong it is right.





 The comedy is mostly about the mustache.....okay, and the penis reference.

The final straw for the mustache was brought to light yesterday when Brock met with his insurance agent, who normally gives him a hard time in that "fun" way that women give Brock a hard time. This time, instead of joking with him, she was all business. My guess is that the stache was probably creeping her the fuck out. At the end of the somewhat awkward discussion, he pointed at his face and informed her of his Halloween costume, which made her audibly exhale and say "Oh Thank God!"

So Bow-Chicka-Now-Now walked into the bedroom late last night (okay, it was 9:34 pm but I experienced a hell day and was beyond exhausted) and said "CHEESE" and I looked at him quizzically. Then again he said "CHEESE!" and I was all "What? So... you ate some cheese?"  and he finally pointed at his fully shaven face, with that hopeful expression for sex, which made me realize the absence of Senor Caterpillar and I said "Oh! You shaved. God I'm tired" and fell asleep, only to be awoken an hour later to the melodic tune of his freaking abnormal chainsaw snoring.

And I couldn't even poke him in the rib because of all that "broken rib" bullshit that he has been moaning about so I laid awake dreaming of sleep and Magnum PI, because that is one man who could pull off the mustache and the short shorts, without a trace of irony.



Tom Selleck is the man.





And that is how you do it folks.

Peace, Love and Moo-staches,
Johi