He's So Sweet

My co-worker told me about the best ice cream she's ever had. Bride's Cake from Blue Bell. It's white ice cream with hunks of wedding cake and almond cream cheese icing swirl. It sounded good so I looked for it at the store. I didn't see it. I was a little disappointed but I figured that the commissary might not carry it and I made a mental note to look at the next grocery store I went to.

Over the next two weeks I checked three other grocery stores and couldn't find the Bride's Cake ice cream. I asked my co-worker where she found it and discovered it's a real hot commodity and hard to find. Her friend found some and bought every carton in the store and was refusing to sell it!

Challenge accepted! I was going to find this damn ice cream... I made calls to local grocery stores. I recruited friends. I even called Blue Bell to get the delivery schedule. Come to find out, I was not the only ice cream psycho on the hunt. People were following delivery truck drivers around town trying to buy it straight off the truck! We got a hot tip from my co-worker's friend that the Blue Bell delivery truck was in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. There weren't enough hours in the day to be a working woman, wife, mother and ice cream stalker.

I felt like I had given it my best and maybe it wasn't meant to be. Because if it was as good as everyone said, I'd probably eat the whole thing and make myself sick. So I gave it a rest.

One night Josh and I got into a little argument and I threatened to withhold cookies from him. His response was, "Then I'm not letting you have any of the ice cream hidden in the garage freezer." My face lit up!! I was so excited. Until he said, "I'm just kidding. There's nothing out there."

I cried. I actually cried. Real tears. The first tear was for the ice cream. The other tears were because I'm a grown woman, crying over ice cream. How ridiculous could I be?!?

Weeks went by and I had really given up on my Bride's Cake ice cream. The stories I had heard! I didn't have the time and resources for this search to continue. But little did I know, Josh had been stopping at the store every day on the way home from work to look for it. And he did it! We got the ice cream. And it was probably worth all the trouble. Isn't he so sweet?

He Drank Too Much

My old college roommate and I have been reunited. She moved to Louisiana about 12 years ago and now we're only four hourss from each other. We made plans to go back to school shopping at the outlet mall somewhat between our homes. But instead, I booked a cabin in Pensacola and it only took one quick text message to convince her to come along. We're back to our old shenanigans.

We hit the beach hard! Jackson and Silas' swim lessons are really paying off. The two of them were real naturals on the hand-me-down boogie boards Josh bought for $5. They had a blast swimming. Silas was having so much fun he couldn't stop smiling, or laughing, or drinking the ocean. He drank the whole ocean!

It became obvious just how much ocean he drank the next morning. Of course he had a tummy ache. He also managed to blow seawater and algae out his butt and into his swim trunks four times before lunch. He made it to the bathroom once; just the once.

On the way home he spewed a tidal wave of vomit all over the back seat. A sea of Gatorade and lunchmeat. Hot, pink meat and most of the Gulf of Mexico. He spent the rest of the 4 hour drive home holding a large Subway cup over his face, just in case. Poor guy.

Just when I thought he was out of the woods and feeling better he gave me quite the scare. I went to wake him up for daycare and he wasn't in his bed! I said, "Silas?" And there was no answer. My heart skipped a beat before I found him in the bathroom, asleep. On the floor. Curled up on the bath mat. Half behind the toilet. With his face on the cold tile floor. Holding his Subway barf cup. Like a tiny little drunk. I guess he drank too much (ocean).

One Man's Trash is this Girl's Treasure

You can never have enough storage totes. And I was in need of one, again. I was headed out to buy yet another tote to store some of the kids' toys when I see a guy headed to the dumpster carrying a big blue tote. To ensure he was indeed headed to the dumpster and not just carrying his tote home, I drove around the block to stalk my prey.

Much to my horror, as I rounded the last corner of the block, I see him toss a perfectly good tote up and into the dumpster! So I stop to ask about the tote. Unfortunately, I was in the Suzuki and my window doesn't roll down anymore. So, I had to roll down the back window and yell, "Hey man, is your tote ok?" He was kind enough to dig the tote back out of the dumpster and empty it's questionable contents.

I open my trunk to haul home my new tote and I was shocked to discover I had previously filled the trunk with recyclables but never actually made it to the recycle center. So this guy watches in awe as I empty the trash from my trunk to make room for his trash. Then I proceed to put my trash back inside my trunk. At this point he can't get away fast enough. I knew I should be embarrassed so I just said thanks and finished loading up my garbage in my new free tote only to discover that my trunk was so full it wouldn't close!

I was only a few blocks from home so I took a chance and drove home with my trunk open and garbage waving in the breeze. Guess who I pass, because he lives on my street? The tote guy! Yeah. So he's tote guy. And I'm trash girl.
At least I didn't pay $12 for a new tote. I win!

These Boots Were Made for Walkin'

Until recently, my first and only pair of cowboy boots were a gift from my parents in fourth or fifth grade. They were black. They were authentic. I was ahead of my time...

I thought I was looking good in my black cowboy boots and stirrup pants when I headed to the bus stop that morning. I looked so good that I was running late and I watched the bus pull away from my stop as I walked down the hill.

No worries, the bus rounded the corner and I knew it would make two more stops before circling back to Park Ave. I picked up the pace and went from a gallop to a trot to get to the other bus stop. I failed to consider that the sidewalk might be a bit slick. It was the dead of winter in Iowa, the black ice state. 

It was the kind of slip and fall where everyone goes, OOOOHH! You don't even laugh. You know bones were broken. Specifically, my tail bone. 

I looked too good to cry. So I picked myself up and got on that bus. The bus driver asked me to sit down. But I told her I couldn't. She saw me fall and was nice enough to let me surf all the way to school. 

I never even made it to class. I walked in the front doors of the school and straight to the nurse's office. They called dad, he picked me up and took me home. His famous words were, "If you're going to be home all day you might as well fold this basket of towels."

It took 20 years to work up the courage to buy a new pair of boots. I won't wear them if there's even a hint of frost. Another blow like that and my tail bone might break off completely. God knows my ass can't get any flatter. 

Roll On

I had to drive about an hour and a half for a manicure appointment today. It's rare that I take any time for myself so I decided to be super basic and strut into my nail appointment with a jumbo Starbucks latte. 

Instead, I barged in late to my nail appointment with a bladder on the verge of exploding. I whipped into the first empty parking spot I found and flew through the door of the Medical Spa and Day Salon asking for a bathroom like they were a gas station.

After a pee like Tom Hanks on A League of Their Own, I sat to get my nails done. It was lovely (but totally not worth 90 minutes of holding in my coffee to get there). As I stepped out of the salon here's how my thoughts unfolded...

Hey, that looks just like my car. 

But I parked on the other side of the lot.

Where's my car?

Wait, that is my car.

Why is it on the sidewalk?

Oh shit!

Did it hit that pole?

OH SHIT!

That's right! My car rolled across the parking lot, hopped the curb, hit a pole and sat on the sidewalk while I got my nails done. That pole was the only thing that kept my car from rolling through the front door of a doctor's office. 

I stood there with my mouth hanging open for God knows how long. Once all the pieces came together I was too embarrassed to even check for damage. Other than the pole. That damage was rather obvious. 

I got in, drove right off that curb and never looked back. I couldn't believe I did that. My car developed a new feature in her old age. You can take the keys out without putting the car in park. Isn't that convenient? I'm blaming my bladder for the whole incident. Honestly, no human can think clearly when their eyeballs are floating. I'm surprised I even remembered to take the keys out. 

Hog Hunt From Hell

On this day in 2011 there was a series of unfortunate events.

Josh and my dad left with some friends to go on a hog hunting trip in Oklahoma. When we were kids, and my dad would go out of town, disaster would always strike (see Turkey Burrito). Apparently, it's a law of nature. When the man of the house is away, you're doomed.

In ONE day, I had to be rescued by two different uncles, my mom and a neighbor.

Uncle LeRoy and his big red truck had to come jump start the big blue truck when it left me stranded at my grandparents house.

Because we were all buried in a few feet of snow, my neighbor friend Chris brought his snow blower over to dig out my driveway.  I had already been shoveling for quite some time when he came to help. After he left, I stayed outside for a while longer working on the sidewalk. Completely frozen from a few hours of shoveling, I was shocked to discover that I was locked out of the house. It was 11 degrees...

I called my mom. She gathered up all the spare keys she could find. Surely one would belong to my house. But just in case none of them worked, she picked up Uncle Todd and his bucket of tools on the way.

They arrived, guns a blazing! Uncle Todd and his tool bucket went straight to work trying to break in through the basement door. Our plan was to Uncle Buck the door open. As he started pulling the frame off the wall my mom and I suddenly remembered the collection of keys. I managed to let myself in the front door and met Uncle Todd face to face before the whole door came off the hinges in the basement.

After I warmed up I started my big painting project. Since Josh hates to paint, I planned to get the living room, dining room and halls painted while he was away. Nothing like ending a long hard day with a spilled can of paint on the carpet. Because we all know that when the man of the house is gone, anything that can go wrong, will.

PS - I ended up doing that big painting project twice. Half the cans of paint were flat and the other were semi gloss. And I almost died once by falling off a makeshift scaffold that I created over the open staircase =)

Hover Girl

On the way home from Reno we pulled into a gas station in Fernley to fill up. The second the wheels stopped moving Jackson says he has to go potty. Suddenly, Silas does too. We have a parenting courtesy where we try not to leave the other person out numbered, if we don't have to. But, like an idiot, I volunteered to take them both inside to pee in an effort to save time.

The three of us entered the women's restroom and headed for an open stall. To my disgust, I found a toilet seat covered in pee. It wasn't just a little accidental dribble. Oh no! It was like a gully washer of a urine storm all over the toilet seat.

This was an otherwise well maintained public restroom. They even provided plenty of those handy paper toilet seat covers. In this situation, who needs to hover? Eww and ahh all you want about gas station bathrooms. But if you're too good to sit on the seat, maybe you don't deserve one. Pop a squat over a tumbleweed and take a leak. Because those who hover force other people to hover. It's a vicious cycle. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you're the one who always "pees on the seat" and makes public restrooms "so disgusting?"

We promptly stepped over to the next stall where Silas peed in the toilet, not on it. Since his work was done, I pulled up his pants and let him out of the stall because, well, three is a crowd and I'm not exactly petite. Jackson was up to bat and I stood there waiting for him to go. And waiting and waiting. He says, "It doesn't work" which is code for, just kidding, I don't have to go, sucker.

As I'm wrapping up my lecture to Jackson about lying and pretending to have to pee just to get out of the car, Silas reenters the stall with Jackson's hat and says, "here you go!" I tell him thank you and say good job for peeing and I take the hat. The wet hat. The wet hat...

Because unlike you, Hover Girl, I try to teach my kids to clean up their messes. Unfortunately, the mess was yours and he cleaned it up with his brother's hat. So for the love of God, the next time you have to pee, just use the damn paper protector and sit your ass down!