This Is The Place

I had a successful stint last year as Kindy-garten Room Mutha for Daws, so when I volunteered again this year, for Dyl's class, I had no qualms about my qualifications, or whether I could contain my irreverence. Apparently I should have been more worried. They never asked me, despite always being desperate for volunteers, so I guess it is a good thing I am not easily offended.

I did get to go on the last field trip of the year, and Dyl was pumped. A few days before the trip, Dyl brought home a note saying that there might not be enough room on the buses, for all the chaperones and to be prepared, if needed, to drive your own vehicle behind the bus. Me, still being a little sensitive from the Room Mutha shunning, asked Dyl if all the parents received a notice, or if Mrs. Ure only gave it to him. He said, that everyone got one, but that probably only the smart kids parents would get to ride the bus. That took me by surprise, and I asked him whether or not that meant I would be able to go. He was very exasperated and said, "Duh, the smart kids are in the afternoon." I was relieved, since he goes in the afternoon, but could not help but remind him that the smart kids don't say Duh, to get their point across. Duh.

In the end, as my friend Lynsi, and I, Crisco'd up to wedge ourselves into the already packed bus, we got booted as well, and only 1 or 2 parents were able to actually ride the bus. I believe it was a tender mercy of the Lord, as I can only imagine what riding a bus that cramped, all the way to Salt Lake might have been like. Plus, I was able to ride with Lyns, listen to good music, go the speed limit, have air conditioning, and stop for a cool, condensating Diet Coke on the way down.

By the looks of the few "chosen" chaperones as they exited the bus, it was the right move. Dyl and his buddies had a great time, and were fairly well behaved. As we were leaning on the fence watching the baby goats, one of Dyl's friends, who shall remain nameless, leaned over the fence and asked me if I would like to see a cool trick. I agreed, and he happily placed his index finger against his right nostril and with all his might, blew a long string of snot, (approximately 10 inches long) which he then made dance, by swaying his head. Right before the vomit reached my esophagus, he sniffed the snot stream right back into his tiny nostril. Now, I am no stranger to gruesome sights, and don't get bothered by bodily secretions, but this "trick" made me ill.

Dylan was speechless. He slowly turned his head to gauge my reaction, and I am certain his eyes have never been bigger. I stammered something about it being a sweet trick, but not to show me ever, ever, ever, EVER, again..............Ever. That's when Dyl and this boy dissolved into hysterics. Ah, little boys. In the recent weeks, since the snot incident, whenever Dyl references this kid, he says, "You know, the one with the sweet trick. "

The day was a success, and despite being from a farming community, the students all seemed to be enamoured with the baby animals. Lynsi and I were enamoured with the opportunity to load up all the sugary, sack-lunched students on the bus and ride home in peace and quiet

"If You Can Dodge A Wrench, You Can Dodge A Ball."

My Thursday night fantasy: kids in bed by 7:30, Daveskins and I, couched, in our coordinating flannel sweats, a new Office, ringer on the phone turned off, and then, who knows? It is hard to control myself when we throw on the flannel get-ups.

I took the necessary precautions earlier in the day, to make sure our evening would be fool proof. Double checked the DVR, shaved my legs, OD'd the flannel on fabric softener, and restricted fluids for myself and the Hoodlums, to avoid any extra bathroom trips.

When the invite to play co-ed dodge ball, at the church came our way, I should have done a reality check on myself, noting my thinly veiled anger issues, the size of the town we live in, and the fact that it was held in the church. I could have then politely declined, and stuck to our original plan.

But I did not.

We showed up to the church, and found that the ward we would be playing, was all-male, and all in their early 20's. Great. Our team was a hodge podge of middle agers to older agers, and my friends, Shanna, and Mindi. The rules were explained, a prayer was said, and the mayhem began. I have played dodge ball before, but was probably heavily medicated at the time, or was just young and out to have fun, because I certainly don't remember the feelings of utter rage brewing in my belly when someone took aim at me.

I had a great time trying to hit other people with the balls, but got really indignant when I felt a ball fly by me, clearly with the intent of getting me out. About halfway through the fun, time seemed to stand still, as my face took the full brunt of a close range head shot. I felt my neck twist around my body in true Exorcist fashion, and when the lights came back on, I swear I was looking down at my own ass. When my head finally snapped back to the correct anatomical position, despite being in the church, I let loose with a thunderous assault on the thrower's, Mother's, morals.

Through the haze of profanity, I caught out of the corner of my eye, a flash of Daveskins, hurling his body over the enemy boundaries with arms cocked and loaded with balls, ready for a rapid fire assault on the S.O.B that hit me. Like Braveheart's last declaration of "Freeeedoooom!" I heard Dave yell, "Thaaaat's My WIIIFE!" And then he went down in a blaze of glory as 10 enemy dodge ballers pelted him mercilessly. I've never felt more protected in my life.

The anger never really subsided, and I tried to channel it into physical strength, but my swearing just got worse. Right around the time I started to threaten Mr. I-Hit-Ladies-In-The-Face-Cause-I'm-SO-Strong-And-Lame,(yes, I am refering to myself as a Lady.) and telling him I was going to run over his face in the parking lot, the game was over. We beat those suckers in the final best out of three, and better than the thrill of winning, I left with my dignity intact, and a full knowledge of Dave's love.

Next time, we will probably just choose the couch.

My Baby Elephant

I got to spend the day with Em at the zoo. We don't often have some good one on one time together, and it was so nice. We spent most of the time gawking at the baby elephant and riding the merry-go-round. She spent the day telling me how cute I looked and pointing out "adorable shirts" on people. She is a little fashionista, and loves anything pink.

Later we met up with our collective BFF's, Halle, Brinley, and Brittany. It was a great girls day.

Yay For Soccer......being over.

I don't mean to enrage, or offend soccer fans, but it has to be the worst spectator sport in the world. I can't think of anything more tortuous than running all the way down the field, thinking, 'Oh, yeah, it's going to happen this time.' Then, whoop! Some sucker kicks the ball, and you're back to square one. I know some people love it, but what it boils down to for me, is a crap load of running, not an awful lot of hand-to-hand combat, and possibly only one person, scoring one goal, and hopefully, it is with his head. Hmm.

The only thing that makes soccer tolerable, is watching these two little Stud Muffins. Emma and I had a great time cheering them on, and admiring their athletic ability. They run, like they have someone else's genes, and both scored and deflected about a million goals. The Boyz actually really liked soccer, and after Dave was bullied into coaching, I think he was glad he did. He was a great coach, and has so much patience for all the kids. It was hilarious to see the girls on the team, hanging on his legs, and hugging him after the last game.

Some intense strategy sessions.

Who wants to be the goalie?

If You Were Home Schooled, Skip This One.

The Broadbent Family has been contemplating an addition to the family as of late. Since I'm not keen on getting any fatter, missing out on any amount of sleep, and my breasts have really given all that they care too, I am more interested in getting someone else's baby. Perhaps a Labrador Retriever.

It's funny how the second you start ogling dogs on the computer at work, all of a sudden, your co-workers are lining up, ready to pawn off their "best dog ever." Uh hm. It they were so frickin' great, why don't you just keep them yourself. And really, the 'I'm moving, and am just so down trodden not to be able to take with me.' Only works if we aren't co-workers and I know you aren't moving.

Dawson stayed home sick today, which is just spectacular since he is only two days out from a 10 day course of antibiotics for Strep. He gets sick if the wind blows just right, and it will be forever my fault for only keeping him on the teat for 4 months, at least that's what the La Lechers say. I did my best, but I do curse my lactation deficit regularly, and usually while I am standing in line at the pharmacy for the little guy.

About 10:30 he got his second wind, or the Motrin kicked in, and he and Dylan were driving me nuts. I stepped out of the shower to hear some grunts and screams, and while I usually let them settle things, "boy style", I leaned around the corner for a visual and found both of them trying to put on the same t-shirt. They almost had it. Two sets of arms out each arm hole, and Dawson's head through the top, with Dylan's face desperately trying to work its way up. The t-shirt was so taut against Dyl's face it looked like pantyhose, and I had to calculate the distance to the camera, and how much brain damage might have already occurred. My calculations were off, because as soon as I had rescued Dyl, they both started laughing and giving each other knuckles.

So hilarious.

I am blessed to have the kind of rapport with my children, that when I say, "I am going to shower. I will only be gone 15ish minutes. Please do not get near Dawson, so that you don't get sick." They listen and follow my instructions to a T..........shirt, that is.

I threatened Daws with going to school late, and Dylan with an eternal timeout, and Emma just laid on the couch glued to Sesame Street, not even noticing the Boyz or me. When she gets in the Elmo zone, the house could crumble around her and she wouldn't be fazed.

So back to the new dog part. Once I decided it would be irresponsible to send Daws to school, and I am all about being responsible, I decided to punish them with shopping. That is the worst thing either of the Boyz can imagine, so we loaded up and hit the Outlets in Park City. After a painful hour of shopping, and three pairs of much needed shoes, we spied the animal shelter, Furburbia, and I chatted up the Hoodlums about going in to see if we could find the mutt of our dreams.

They weren't open for a couple of minutes, so we stood outside and watched the kittens from the window. They were adorable, and we were all feeling warm and cuddly watching them. The Boyz began to daydream aloud, all the wonderful Lassie-esque adventures awaiting them and their future dog, and Emma was staking claim to the puppy sleeping with her. Before we knew it the Closed sign was flipped and the door unlocked. We stood on the brink of a new beginning for our family.

The warm and cuddly feeling lasted approximately 3 seconds. We were not prepared for Furburbia. It is a different dimension than we live in. The non-stop barking hit us like a ton of bricks when we stepped into the store, and even more harsh was the welcome we received from the bandanna wearing, fur covered, animal worshiping employees. Oh, boy. It rocketed me back through time, to touch on every experience I have ever had with a home schooled kid. I think it is great if you love animals, but you don't have to sacrifice social skills, to prove your love. The line between activism and just plain wacky, is not that thin.

The two women working there,(way past just being animal lovers) glared at us, and I could feel the resentment that we caused by breaking their human/strays barrier. I felt like we had just intruded into their morning ritual of cat licking, and possibly thrown off their whole schedule. As we made our way back to the dog section, the first Plexiglas enclosure moved a few inches as a drooling, snarling, scarred up Pit Bull rammed his face into the glass and made Dyl jump three feet. It was the first of many, "Please Mommy, not that one."

We quickly moved on to the next cage which was a play-by-play re-creation of our first experience. They had 4 nasty, snarling Pit Bulls, a nasty, snarling Blue Heeler, some mutt puppies huddled in the corner of their cage, scared out of their wits, and a nasty snarling yellow lab. It really made it hard to pick just one.

As we were reaching the end of the nasty, snarling collection, their was a guy adopting a white, long haired, medium size, hyper dog. The dog was on a leash, but the new owner was not controlling it at all. The dog nudged between my legs and started vigorously licking Emma's face. She was already petrified from all our family pet shopping, and I was a little on edge from all the weirdness, so I shot the guy my best, 'Get control of the dog, or I will gut you both,' look, which he was oblivious to. The dog charged forward and reared up against Dyl, who had long ago, assumed the fetal position. I grabbed the dog's collar, mid-air, and jerked him back and told the guy to get control of his bleeping dog.

I swear the place went silent. The man's jaw dropped open, the Cat Ladies stopped licking/grooming, and it seemed like even the Pit Bulls gave it a rest for a minute. That's when I turned on my heel, and said, "Come on guys, we'll get our new dog from a puppy mill."

Seriously. I know some people think of their animals as their children, but even if that were the case, and my kid goes up to another child on the playground and licks their face, or sniffs their butt, you can be damn sure there will be repercussions, swift and fierce.

I guess we will keep looking, but probably just on Pet Finder, so we can see the dogs in the shelters, without the "shelter" experience. And hopefully, by the time we find our right match, the kids nightmares will have ceased and they will be open to the addition.

Open Dinner Invite

We are having Cedar Plank Salmon with a Maple-Soy glaze...............



Or maybe just some hot dogs.

Obsess Much?

Dyl is being a freak about his cantaloupe. We are using it as a threat, as a reward, and as a funny party trick. The poor kid is obsessed, and I have to cut him off after a cantaloupe per day. I am glad he likes this healthy fruit, but without much starch, I am afraid he will buy himself some serious diarrhea.

I knew we had a problem, when Dave limited his intake in one sitting, to half a melon, and he started twitching and drawled, "Are you trying to ruin my life?" It's ugly. We may need professional help, and unfortunately I find myself in the role of enabler, as yesterday he talked me into buying 3 melons at once. He said, "Let's start with 6." I said, "Um, no. We will start with 3." He smiled and started loading them up. What a sucker I am. I have never bought 3 cantaloupes in one shopping trip that wasn't for an extended Powell trip.

He takes his cantaloupe very seriously, and concentrates on getting ever last bit of his ration.

He has a freak out when it's all gone, and I am laughing and trying to capture his "life being ruined."