Memory Monday - The Sample Spoon

Bad Pic Quality. I blame the Spoons, not my camera phone...

Big Mama loves ice cream. I don't eat it a lot, so when I do, I don't waste my time on boring flavors. Come on, do I look, sound, seem like a chic who would be happy with vanilla? I didn't think so.

So, being that you know me better now, I will tell you of a cool place to get ice cream. Since I don't want to shamelessly plug I won't tell you who it was. **Cough**Cough** Uh-Huh...Cold-stone Creamery. 

It was a fun night. People, friends, my cackling aunts, family, and the same night as a formal dance at the local high school. Lots of prom princesses with there little tuxedo princes. Super cute.

We walk into the unnamed ice cream joint amidst laughter, high fives, and one girl wiping chocolate off the chiffon dress. As were standing in line, we come across the wonderful behind the counter helper. When I say wonderful, what I really mean is, the girl that wasn't asked to prom and know has to work because all the co-workers went which leaves her at the sorry ice cream store dishing fun scoops of ice cream to you guessed it, all her prom peers. Poor girl. I felt sorry for her at first.

My sorriness only lasted a split second when she looked sharply to me and my aunt and demanded our ice cream choice. Sheesh! She was so friendly. No wonder she had prom dates lining the block...

Anyway, my aunt quickly decided on a flavor. Being that my attention span is smaller than Lindsey Lohan's career, and one flavor for the entire visit just wasn't sparking and interest to me, I decided to sample everyone elses.

I see a canister on the counter with wording on the side. I quickly scan over the words reading "Sample Spoons". So I grab one and stick it in my aunt's ice cream awaiting the delish coolness. Just before I stick the spoon in my mouth, the stuffy No chance of becoming prom queen girl says, "Those are dirty!" I don't think she is talking to me, because why would they put dirty spoons in with the clean ones.

I know she's a smitten lonely no prom girl, but come on. That. Is. Gross!

"No I mean, those spoons are used." I stop with the plastic germ laden spoon almost at the tip of my tongue. I finally return the lonely girls harsh look as she points to the cannister that I finally notice clearly reading, "TRIED IT LOVED IT SAMPLE SPOONS"

I would like to point out the obvious USED sign. Could it be that this has possibly happened before?

WHY DIDN'T IT JUST SAY TRASH!!! Breathe, Big Mama!! Breeeeathe!!! 

Totally disgusted, I throw the ice cream spoon back into the canister.  Sure it wouldn't have been the end of the world, and lets admit it, with all the happy prom dates present, I understood the amount of saliva that would be passed around that night. Thankfully, it wasn't mine!

Memory Monday & 48 Cupcakes

First semester of college, so, okay, not so long ago. Psychology teacher announces that the next week will be the 'Phobia Presentations'. I was assigned the topic Agoraphobia, which is the fear of public places. Suddenly I felt agoraphobic. The teacher proceeded to inform us that we can't just stand and read. We need to present. We must inform the class on the phobia hitting certain information and must prevent something creative to associate with it. Video, Game, Movie Clip, etc.

You Tube, here I come. I searched many different places and found nothing that peaked my interest or proving that it was presentation worthy. Mostly just bad acting and drug addicts. Neither one I wanted to present on. So I continued looking and found this article about Paula Deen. You know the sassy silver haired 'Its all 'bout butter, y'all' southern cooking queen. As it turns out, she is a recovering agoraphobic.

Paula Deen. Butter. Food. Big Mama. Perfect!

Click here for the recipe and Thank You Paula Deen and The Food Network.

I found a delicious recipe that she labeled, 'Better Than Sex Cake.' I would like to personally add, that I don't like that title, however after a sample test, the cake was delish!

Paula Deen. Cake. Big Mama. Nicely Done.

Well, it was a messy cake. Covered in juices, whip cream, fruit, and coconut. Not exactly the take to class and pass around kind of cake. So I altered the recipe and turned it into cupcakes. I needed at least 4 dozen. So, with a plan in mind, I took off preparing my presentation.

Now, before I go further, let me add a slight huge wrench in the story. The week previously, the teacher told us how the presentations would be done. There was not a way for all of us to give our presentation. Not enough time. So, he would at first take volunteers, then draw names out of a hat. We would most likely do 10-15 students, depending on time. Bad news, if your name is drawn and you don't present, you fail the project. Fail the project, Fail the course. Capish?

Hmmm. Dilemma. A 48 juicy, whip cream, coconut dilemma.

I decide that it is too risky not to take the project. So, therefore Big Mama was at home just a couple hours earlier pouring cupcakes, cooling them, soaking them in fruit sauce, and of course the cool whip and coconuts happily added at class presentation time.

I pull up to the campus. 4 dozen cupcakes. Psychology class. Don't have good parking. Should have gotten the $20 parking permit. Hoof it. Nice man offers to carry the cupcakes. Thankfully! Of course. So I give him a couple.

Get to class. The instructors wife is there with bad news of a canceled class and a missing teacher. She casually tells me to freeze my cupcakes for next week.

Excuse Me?? FREEZE MY CUPCAKES? BIG MAMA DOES NOT FREEZE CUPCAKES!!

Breathe Big Mama! Breathe!!!

Turn around, nice man still holding 48 cupcakes. Hoof it again. He places them in my car, in which I give him a dozen more. We also had a neighborhood cupcake party.

The good news?? Email from the teacher. Presentations will be moved to the following week.

yeah. so. excited.

Next Week. 48 cupcakes. Hoofing it again. Didn't see the nice man this time for him to carry my cupcakes. Get to class. Teacher nonchalantly remarks on how nice it is for me to bring treats. I take a deep breath in hopes of shedding the last of 96 cupcakes. Class starts.

Teacher goes on to say, 'Okay, since I messed everyone up last week, for presentations, we'll only take volunteers. Who wants to go first?'

WHAT?? VOLUNTEERS?? BIG MAMA DOES NOT WANT TO VOLUNTEER!! 

I didn't have to do it the first time, just to find out that I didn't have to do it the second time either!???! Holy great mother of Paula Deen cupcake!

Yeah. Good Times.

Memory Monday & Pranks On Dad

I am such a prankster. I will admit. I will even admit to making myself look the fool for a good laugh. Yes. Big Mama does that here all. the. time.

I am just now realizing how much crap I put my dad though. Literally crap. Like when I put a Baby Ruth candy bar in the bottom of the swimming pool for him to fish out. But this is not what this Memory Monday is about.

I can't believe I am admitting to such ridiculous, immature, time wasting stunts. Seriously Big Mama! Grow up!

No. I change my mind. They were hilarious! And I had a blast! And, as I get older, I still look for ways to torment my father. He deserves it. He created me, so blame him I say.

This particular time, is when I was traveling with him in his truck. I was like 16. Okay 18. Ahh, no. Actually I think I was married.

Anyway, off we go down the road. It's quiet. I am lost in deep thought about something silly I am sure. He is driving while chewing on a toothpick. Suddenly he grabs my leg while yelling 'Watch Out' like really loud! I jump out of my seat. He laughs hysterically like as if he totally 'one-upped' me. Which he always thought he did. I beg to differ.

"Very funny, Dad." I don't get how he can totally laugh at himself like that.

Seriously, who does that?

He then needs to stop at the bank or someplace boring, I can't remember.

He left his cell phone on the seat.

What a dope! He always made it that easy for me. I grab the phone book under the seat amidst sunflower seed shells and quickly look up a few places.

Hit the menu key, go to contact, select edit.

There is always this little voice that comes into my head at about this time, that says, "No don't do it, he's gonna kill me if do it!"

Which I of course ignore and continue on. I continue to edit a few contacts. The name 'Wife' stayed the same, but for some reason when he dialed the number it took him to a place called  'The One & Only'. Of course he wouldn't recognize the name thinking that someone just picked up his wifes phone to answer it. He would then say, 'Where's Jill'?

Awkward Silence. Funny look on Dad's face. Me, out of physical range admiring the entertaining confusion.

'Are you looking for your Wife, Sir? Is she here?' the phone answering guy says.
"Isn't this Jill's Cell Phone?" Still totally confused.
"No. Sir. This is the One & Only Saloon. Do you think your wife is here Sir, because I can try to look for her."
"No!" He realizes finally he has the wrong number. "I am sorry, I misdialed." Embarrassed. He quickly hangs up the phone.
"What the heck?" He stares at his phone is mixed confusion. I look away as if I don't notice. Biting my lip trying so hard to keep it together. It was really hard.

So, what does anyone do when they have the wrong number? They look up the contact and dial it again.

Which he did.

"Hello. The One & Only" The same voice he heard last time.

He quickly hangs up this time. He literally thinks he is going crazy. Then he looks at me. I warn myself not to make eye contact. Which I did. I start laughing hysterically.

My Father, then realized what I did, say's a whole lot of things that I can't say on blog. He throws the phone my way demanding me to fix it.

I am laughing hysterically. I guess if I laugh at my own jokes, at least I know who I got it from.

Memory Monday - Two's A Party, Three's A Crowd

I was with my Dad and my older sister. We were headed down to the local grocery story. It was the best years of my life. 

I was five. 

How do I say this respectfully....? We were dirt poor. We were a family with limited means. Dad worked really hard. If it wasn't for his hunting skills, we would have starved every winter. 

We parked in the parking lot, and Dad turns around to warn my six year old sister and me. He sternly points at both of our noses and remarks. "Don't ask for anything or I will bring you back out to the car to sit!"

Dad meant business and we knew it. 

We proceed to get out of the car. Wouldn't you know it, there was a hot dog vendor right outside the door. I'm holding Dad's hand on one side, and my older sister was on the other. I lean back to holler at her.

"Andrhea! Ask Dad for a hot dog!"

"No! You do it! Didn't you hear what he said? He'll make me sit in the car!"

No! Your his favorite! He'd make me sit in the car if I asked. Not you!"

She stops talking for a second. I know she is considering it. It was like leading a thirsty dog to water.

"Dad...." she starts out quietly. "Ummm....Can we....Umm...Have a Hot Dog?" 

She did it. I can't believe she fell for it. Hook. Line. Sinker. 

The vain in my Dad's forehead pops out. His jaw tightens. I feel the steam rising from his clutched hand. 

"What did I just tell you in the car? Didn't I say, 'Don't Ask For Anything?' Come on! Back to the car!"

He takes her hand and starts to pull her back to the back seat to seat belt her back in. He rolls down the windows, secures her in and with strict instructions tell her that we'll be back out in 15 minutes. 

I stay were we were with my arms folded watching the drama play out. "Its too bad." I think to myself. "She should really learn to follow instructions."

Dad then turns around from the car leaving the crying sister in the back seat. He takes my hand again and just before we walk inside, I turn around to the crying sister in the poor station wagon, stick out my tongue and wave with a 'Ha! Ha! Ha!' as Daddy and I go shopping. 

We had a great time. Wasn't I a dish?

It was a small town and no one wanted to rob our poor station wagon. She'd be fine.

Memory Monday-The Day I Fell Into A Rice Feild

Isn't it amazing the titles that follow the those two words. Memory Monday...it's like you never know what is next.

Let's be honest here folks, Big Mama doesn't know what is next. (I think she might be kinda crazy!)

Like of example, Falling into a rice field. I am fairly certain that our local economy does not include rice production.

Thank goodness for that!!

I was fourteen. Had a job, good friends, and got to go to the 'rich kids eat here' cafe spot in the school cafeteria that was too expensive for my parents to pay for.

I went all the time. Until my sister ratted me out and my parents called the school. What was the big deal? So, one tiny slice of pizza and salad was six bucks, I made my own money. Parents just didn't understand.

So I forged a note from my mom that said I could eat there again. Then I blackmailed my sister about driving the car without mom and dads permission if she ratted me out again. I may have pulled the 'your just jealous that I'm popular, and you have no friends' card. Even though, I really wasn't that popular.

Aren't I a dish?

So when an opportunity came for a foreign exchange program through the schools to send some kids to Japan for two weeks as a cultural exchange, I was all for it.

My parents not so much. The thought of sending their child overseas with two adults they didn't know, as well as ten other students they didn't know, and staying with a Japanese home stay family they didn't know had them feeling somewhat reluctant.

I eventually got my way on was on the plane with my BFF three short months earlier.

I can't believe they let me go overseas with two adults they didn't know, as well as ten other students they didn't know, and stay with Japanese strangers! 

Wasn't there Human trafficking?

Well, I guess that wasn't that much a concern fifteen years ago.

We went everywhere. We did everything, and were closely supervised.

Although I remember one kid got in tons of trouble for sneaking into the bathroom on the plane to smoke cigarettes. He put all the butts down the toilet at once which then got stuck somehow and released this horrible screech like noise through the entire plane because it was breaking the vacuum effect. Freaked everyone out. We nearly went down in middle of the Atlantic. Yeah, Good Times.

Getting back...One particular day, I was walking ahead of the group and we had just came out of somewhere. I can't remember well, it being fifteen years ago and such. I turned around so I was facing the group, but kept walking backwards.

I know, I was seriously as sharp as a marble back then. Go figure.

My lovely BFF said, 'Hey watch out!' and grabbed my arm. I took a step back and landed in a rice field just three feet off the concrete.

Yes, Big Mama fell three feet into a rice field.

In front of a group of about 12 people.

And bathroom cigarette boy.

And two responsible adults.

That were closely supervising us.

My shoes were ruined. They were the only ones I had brought.

Rice really stinks. Well, given that, and the fact that most foreign countries just smell really funny the second you get off the plane. I think it is because of the rice.

It was really embarrassing.

At every meal, someone had to say, "Please pass the rice!" Then bust up laughing.

Which wasn't as bad as actually having to eat rice at every meal.

It was, a great cultural experience. Rice field and all. Not everyone can say they've done that!

Memory Monday - The Restaurant Series & The Annoying Co-Worker

Did I ever mention that my parents once owned a restaurant? Yes. I think I did.

Notice I am breaking into the restaurant material. This gives me loads of blog material. Stories about Patty Melts, Bread Dough, and Tabasco on it way. Just you wait!  

My Dad and Mom are good people. The kind that let homeless strangers sleep in our house. The kind that hired 'less fortunite' people to work for us just so they could support their family. Even though Springdale is a thriving tourist location, it brings the drifters just as much as anywhere.

This came to no exception to hiring struggling family members. One, being my Uncle. He. Drove. Me. Crazy.

Always right, loud, obnoxious, liked to drink, womanize, and mouth off to anyone.

My parents are so good, that they will eventually read this post, tell me that I was not very nice and to delete it.

Then, I will slightly alter it. But only slightly.

He used to throw tomatoes at my shorts. Then laugh through his tooth. That's right folks. Not teeth. Tooth. True story. My good parents even bought him a set of teeth.

Which he eventually ran over with his car. bike. tricycle. :-)

One particular day, I was fulfilling my 749th day at the sweaty dishwasher. I served two seasons at old Bessie, so when I say it was 749th day scraping away egg yolk, ketchup, and bleaching coffee mugs, I was not exaggerating.

I was lost in cleaning up french fries from the sink when I something hit me right below the left cheek. Then I hear his obnoxious no teeth laugh.

Har! Har! Har!!!Blah, blah blah gag!

He threw a tomato and my shorts.

A sliced tomato.

A sliced ripe tomato.

A sliced ripe tomato that would only be delicous on a cheeseburger.

I hate tomatoes and I don't eat red meat.

Unless it is from a cow that I fed and raised and butchered myself.

I don't have a cow.

I look up and give him the death stare. I. Would. Have. Been. Scared.

"Har! Har! Har! Har! Don't say I never gave you anything!" He taunts me and laughs some more.

This is why there is karma in the world. I just want you to understand that there is no way I would ever, EVER do to anyone what I did to this man. It. is. Disgusting.

But for him, JUSTIFIED!

I watched. I waited. I observed. I noticed he was sucking a Coke through a straw. He had it placed on a near counter where he was working.

**IF you have a weak stomach, stop here!!**

I took a new glass to get him a new coke. Before I piled it with ice and filled it with refreshment, I pulled out my Oral Retainer and placed it in the bottom of his glass.

The term, 'On the rocks!' has just slightly changed.

Need I place adjective descriptions with Oral Retainer? Or can I just say, Oral Retainer and we would all understand? It was nearly shift change. Which meant we'd been working for at least seven hours. Which meant, I ate when I got there  at 6:00am., then again lunch like five hours later. Do I really need to continue elaborating?

I switched the old one he had with the special one I'd made. Just for him. Aren't I sweet??

I then waited. and waited. and waited. I watched. I didn't want to lose my retainer. They were like $300! There is no way I could explain this to my orthodontist, parents, and co-workers, and suddenly started to have slight regret.

But he deserved to pay.

Then, he takes a drink. A long drink. Then he drinks some more. I laugh hysterically.

Yes! Justice in the form of Saliva Coke! VIN-di-cation!!

Once I felt he had enough, I walked over. Took his coke. Dumped it out for him to see. Then I laughed.

Har! Har! Har! Har! Don't say I never gave you anything!!" I say, and I place my retainer back in my mouth.

It must run in the family. Except I still have all my teeth.

Memory Monday - Crazy Aunts & Dogs Everywhere

I know I have posted about my loud sarcastic crazy aunts. I love them. I love it when they come to see me and boss me around all day, and tell me how much they love me. Which usually includes a few bad words and slaps to the back of the head.

They always come to my house with a minimum of four dogs. Is it really that many? I honestly don't know. I lose count. My aunt Peggy works for Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. So, of course, when a dog comes in that just melts her heart, she brings it home...and then to my house when she visits.

If you think my house is loud and crazy with five kids and one dog, add to that 3-4 more dogs and two very loud sarcastic, cackling aunts. If my mom, their sister is with them then it is worse.

An hour into one particular visit, we were laughing outside, the kids were chasing the dogs, and once I stepped back into the house, I noticed a puddle. Right where Aunt Hopies Dog Peanut was lying on the back of my brand new microfiber couch.

"Hopie! Your dang dog (I did not say dang) puked on the back of my couch! What the heck! You here only a few minutes! These dogs are worse than my kids!..." rant, rant, rant.

"Shut up you old Bag! It wasn't my dog!"
she shouts back.

"Yes it was! She's been sitting there for the last ten minutes getting away from the kids, and she threw up! On. My. Couch!!"

My aunt gets the cleaner as Aunt Peg and I roll our eyes at her and her pointless defiance. We continue on with our conversation until a couple hours later the same thing happens. This time in a different spot on the back of my brand new couch.

"AUNT HOPE!! YOUR BUYING ME A NEW COUCH! I HATE YOUR DOG!!" She swears at me, then turns to her dog.

"Poor Peanut. What's wrong, did the drive make you sick? I am not sure why he's acting like this. It is just not like him."

Then Me. "Why are you giving your DOG more sympathy than ME? Did you see my couch??"

Then her. "Shut up ya Slut! Your couch will be fine! I'll clean it again!"

Then me. "You call me a Slut one more time and I am putting that throw up in your pancakes for breakfast!"

Then they all cackle. I laugh. I have yet to be cool enough to pull off the cackle.

Our visit goes on. Peggy and I are standing next to the kitchen sink and Hopie says she has to go out and get something from the truck.

Just as Hopie shuts the door, we hear horrible sounds of cough, gag, choke. We look over and see Peggy's dog throw up on the floor.

That's funny. Pegs dog too? No. It looks just like the last three piles of yummy doggy throw up.

Then Aunt Peg. "Oh Crap!! It was my dog the whole time!! Hope's been cleaning up my dogs puke!! She's gonna kill me!"

Then me. "Don't worry Aunt Peg. Let me handle this." Were quiet and Peg's laughing with the hand still covering her face like she knows she is gonna get it.

Hope walks in the door. "Aunt Hope!" I yell. "Your dumb dog just threw up again!!!"

Aunt Peg and I laughed and laughed until our sides hurt. Tears rolling down our cheeks. We knew the truth yet it was just easier that way. It wasn't until the next day we finally told her, but only because we were tired of hearing her worry over her dumb Peanut.

Memory Monday-Old Pictures

I found an old picture CD of tons of pictures I had forgotten all about!!! I have to put them on for Memory Monday this week, they need to go to the blog book.
Enjoy!


Halloween 2004. Savannah was three and she had to be what she called a 'Hornicorn'. Super funny. We tease her about it every Halloween.




Theses Stinkers were forever pulling everything out of my drawers and dishwashes just to get in it! I had a fear they would lock themselves into something dangerous! I forgot all about this.



Rheesah has always had a gift with animals, so this pic is no surprise. I have seen birds land right at her feet. It is really endearing. Can't say that about the scruffy dog though...



This totally makes me cringe!! Ewwww! Gross! What is even more disgusting is that Jeremy left her there to go get the camera!! YUCK! I do remember this, we always had to make sure bathrooms were CLOSED!! She liked to play in any water, tub or toilet!


Rheesah again hiding in the dish cupboard. She is one here.


Hahahahaha!!! I don't think I have anything to say here...I mean I do....but...No!



Kaylah at about two weeks old. I had just fought off a major after birth infection that I thought I was going to die from. No exaggeration. Luckily we both lived!


Savannah & Rheesah holding newborn Kaylah. They are all so tiny!

Something I found interesting. Here are three of my kids at one year old. Even I have a hard time telling who is who...

Memory Monday - The Target Bike

I remember it like it was last week.

Oh. Yeah. It was last week. Wednesday.

The kids have been clamoring to ride their bikes to school. Did you see my Family Friday about the whole bicycle issue? If you haven't please, you must read it. It explains a whole lot.

So. Me. On a bike. I like bikes. Faster than walking. Not as high impact as running. Perfect.

It hasn't been used since before Kehlton was born. Then came Lylah.

I bought it at target. $100. Yeah. I even bought a bicycle helmet and a seat cushion that said I'd be riding on a cloud. I was serious.

So, the day came. Part of me dreaded it. The other part of me focused on how good I would feel when I completed the workout for the day.

I had promised the girls. The golden promise. No backing out. Big Mama had to get on the bike.

I thought that if I was going to do it, I might want a 'test run' before that morning. If I were going to pass out and die on a bike, I sure didn't want to do it in front of Wednesday morning school traffic. Yeah. That was a good idea.

The night before get on the bike, and go. It was pretty easy. It felt good actually. I was liking it. Go Big Mama on the Target Bike!

Next day, really excited and a lot more hopeful about getting a good workout.

Got the kids to school. Now I can go home with a slight detour. Push myself, not a lot, but a little harder.

Up a hill. Down a hill. Cool. It was only like 90 degrees. Felt really good.

Then a loud clanging sound comes from my awesome Target Bike.

What The Hehhhh....?!? The pedal fell off. Not just the little square thing, but the whole stem!

Seriously?? Not Ride-able. At all.

Seriously??

I am still close to three miles from home. What the heck am I going to do? I don't want to walk Huffy three miles home! Dang you cheap Target Bike makers!!! Maybe I should have splurged for the $120 one.

This is the scene witnessed by Mom's in their luxurious Mini Vans with the air conditioner blowing through there freshly conditioned hair.

Big Mama pushing a bike up the hill. Apparently she can't make it up the big hill.
I am sure they are admiring my ambition, yet pitying my fat butt as it can't pedal itself up the street!!!

I walk one block and notice a service station.

Hallelujah.

Except that I have no money with me. I want them to fix Huffy for me and wonder if they are Good Samaritans.

Maybe they will think I am cute. That might get me a bike fixing favor.

I'm sweating from working out, greasy black hands from trying to fix Huffy myself, grease on my face from wiping sweat away, hair in a messy bun with no make-up on.

I am soooo not cute enough form them to fix Huffy without payment.

Oh well. Try. Smile. Bat the sweaty eye lashes. Adjust the sports bra.

It worked. They fixed my bike.

I think its because I had total B.O and they couldn't wait to get me out of their shop.

Can I pretend that it was the sports bra?

Sigh. Oh well.

I pedal Huffy home the whole way thinking about all my bicycle ambitions going down the drain.

Then the loud clanging sound again and the broken, fixed, and broken again pedal hits my cement driveway.

Oh, well. At least this time I got home this time.

Anyone wanna train for a 5K with me? Anyone??

My Childhood Neigborhood from The Writers Workshop

Mama Kat & The Writers Workshop.
Your childhood neighborhood.

I grew up in the most gorgeous place ever.

Springdale, Utah, just outside Zion National Park. I was born there. There wasn't much to do for a kid. Lots to do for a tourist. Swimming, shopping, and hiking that would take your breath away. But for a kid, not much.

We used to sneak up to the camp grounds in the middle of the night and switch all the ice chests around different camp sites. It was never any secret, everyone knew it was the local kids. We all did it.

Then we moved to a small town 10 miles away called Virgin Utah.

Yes. Virgin. That's the name. They sold T-shirts at the town post office that stated, Virgin Utah. I Didn't Say I Was One, I Said I Live There

Not quite as classy.That new Toby Keith Song is coming to my mind... Minus the Blonde washing her car. Cheesy Toby, really. That never happened in my neighborhood.

I lived there for about five years, then we moved back to Springdale.

My parents owned this restaurant for awhile.

They made a killing. All the locals loved us. Were were talked about everywhere. True story. I worked my trash off for like, 15 years.

Then they sold it and blew all my inheritance.

I. Am. Not. Bitter. Really.

I had fun as a kid. Lots of Horseback riding, river playing, four wheelers, and the occasional 45 minute drive to where I thought there was really something to do.

Dance halls, malls, and movie theaters. My hometown didn't have any of that.

Sheesh. I had it so rough!

Memory Monday & Family-isms

You know those simple, yet funny, sometimes eye rolling things your parents, and soon your in-laws say all the time? Catch phrases maybe? Here are some of ours taken from both sides of the family.

When my dad was asked for something from us kids, like money, later curfew, or the like, He'd say, 'Want in one hand, crap in the other. See which one fills up faster.' Thanks Dad.

A favorite one of mine that I tell my kids all time, which applies to everyone In my opinion think, "Don't believe everything you think."

When sweating, My mom would say, 'It's hotter than a Popcorn Fart in here!'

My Dad would say when stressed 'I feel like a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest!'

When my father-in-law was hungry or fasting, he'd always say, "I haven't eaten' since yesterday and tomorrow will be the third day."

My favorite towards my kids, 'What-ever!' in the valley-girl tone.

When working hard, and not feeling like your getting ahead, my Dad will always say, 'Don't let the ______tards win!'

My Moms more popular one, 'I fell like I have been shot at and missed, ____ at and hit!'

Or when I complain about having so many kids, my Dad would also say, 'Well, thats they gettin you get for the gettin you got!'....o-kay! Thanks again Dad.

Memory Monday & 5 Broken Arms

Yes. Five. Which is weird being that I only have two arms.

Broken arm #1. I was five. It was a dark and stormy night. Well, that might be an exaggeration, it was actually a bright and sunny afternoon. My cousins were in town and we had all decided to go to the park. Teeter-Totters were all the rage when I was a kid. Remember those? You never see them any more.

Picture this. Two kids on one side, two kids on the other side. Teeter-tottering.
I happen to be the kid holding on to my cousins waist. He falls, catches himself with his foot, but hence the waist grip, I fall, don't catch myself and land on the rock hard concrete below. Okay, another exaggeration. It was actually the lawn.

I must have landed weird because my arm felt funny. I look at it. There was a rock stuck in my arm! I must have landed on a rock! Gross!!

"Pull it out! Pull it out!" I yell and scream frantically. My cousin, older and stronger of course, pulls and pulls. He was strong. He was like eight, but he rode a motorcycle which totally freaked me out!

Then, the rock moved back inside my arm. That's when I realized it was my bone. Ehhh, gross. I pass out.

A helpful tourist getting my mother, an ambulance ride, and one straight jacket later, I was in the hospital for surgery and a weekend stay over Easter crying because I knew the fat bunny wouldn't find me in room 315.

Broken arm #2. Remember those electrical spools that the utility company would use then leave laying around? How come they don't do that any more? Remember how kids used to roll them over on their sides and walk on the middle as it rolls? Hence broken arm #2.

Funny thing, my parents didn't believe it was broke. I remember going to bed that night because it was throbbing so bad, I couldn't sleep! All I could do was cry. I was 11 and was starting the sixth grade. Finally the next day, after more complaining and crying they must have finally believed me took me to the doc. They felt really bad when they x-ray came back and I got major sympathy for days.

Broken arm #3. The end of sixth grade.

Now, you may be asking, How does a picture like this result in a broken arm? Oh, let me tell you! Do you see the long, heavy, death-defying steel beam that it has hanging from that tiny little chain? Yeah, if you had the choice, would you want to walk around it, or under it? I wanted to walk around it, the only path was to walk under it. Like as if! So I decided to walk around a construction truck to my destination. Well on the other side of the truck was a bunch of construction debris. Little stuff like more steel, tools, blah, blah, construction blah. I tripped. Broken arm #3 and as an extra bonus, I cut my leg really bad and had to have it all stitched up.

Broken arm #4. We used to have a truck that looked just like this to haul garbage out of the family business. I had to drive it. It was a beast with tricky clutch.

I was 16. We called it Bruno. I liked it until the fatty broke my arm! It was very simple. Get in the truck. Drive. Get out of the truck. Not much to it right? Well one day as I was on the getting out part, I push open the door and the door hits the hinges with force, and springs back at me before I was completely out of the way. It jams 3 of my fingers backwards and gives me broken arm #4.

Broken arm #5. I am just realizing that this is the only normal way I have broken my arm. It was really simple. Roller blades, big hill.

The part that really ticked me off is that I was 19 years old and in beauty school. wouldn't you know it, those instructors kicked me out of beauty school for having a broken arm! Okay, another exaggeration. They postponed my starting date.

On another Memory Monday I will talk about the Electrocution and getting stitches in my tongue. Yeah. Good Times.

Memory Monday & The Day I Made My Kids Clean A Burger King

Oh, I love my Memory Monday meme. Love it! It brings such relief and comfort. Especially posts such as this one.

I have one sentence to give you and any mother will completely understand. Right. Away.
Four Kids. One Dog. A mini van. Eight hour trip. Just Me. Okay that was five sentences, and one may be incomplete. But I am sure you know where this is going.

One hour into the drive. The shrill like scream comes from my then three year old. It makes me want to careen into the median and into oncoming traffic.

"What the heck?" I scream. "Seriously, this is how it's going to be? Seriously?" With the word seriously repeated more than three or four times.
"She's touching my pillow!"
"Well she won't stop pulling on the seat belt!"
"I don't want to sit by her! Can I move? Please!?"
Then me again. Seriously!?!

I make my usual list of demands and threats like, 'That's it! I am making you listen to the Book of Mormon Cd's', 'choose the right!' and 'be the bigger person!' as I continue to travel eighty miles per hour. I think the whistle of the windows and the wind noise block out the tone of my high pitched yelling voice just perfectly for them and I am convinced they hate me. My four (at the time-except for the three month old boy, he was still sweet & perfect) children that took in total, over 45 hours of natural child birth...Hate me.

This pattern continues on until the fourth hour. The half way point where I can't say 'I am going to turn around a go home if this is how your going to be!' anymore. Really didn't make sense if I were closer to our destination rather than home.

My last resort comes very soon just before the fifth hour. Tears. That's right. Tears and guilt. Lots of it. Now is the time I verbally express to them the hate that I know they have for me. I cry. Hard and irrational. Somewhere in my sick mommy mind, because that is where they drove me to, I am starting to have a sick satisfaction of knowing that the manipulative waterworks is actually working. Yes! Crying is a wonderful tool in which I wish I would have pulled out in hour three.

They get quiet. Mom is crying! They have never made mom cry before, and just like that...silence. I continue to wipe tears off my face as I squeeze the last final ones that I possibly can. Sniff! Sniff!

That only worked for a small while. Then all crap hit the fan. Rheesah touched Kaylah's Pet Shop and it all started again. This time worse than ever.

"That's it! You blew it! You have had ump-teen million chances and you blew it!" I start to get angry, but then I see solace in the form of a great idea. Burger King just off the next exit. I take it. I pull into the parking lot ignoring questions like, 'Mom! What are we doing here?', 'Mom, can I get a happy meal?' and 'I have to pee!' I simply walk into the Burger King looking as calm and collected as a single woman with a full nights sleep. I walk up to the counter and ask who is in charge and if I can speak to them. A minute later, a woman manager walks up to me. Perfect! A woman! Probably a mom that would totally understand! I explain to her the situation, the crying, and the lost pet shop that somehow managed a suicide jump at mile marker 428. I ask her if there was possibly some light cleaning that three young girls could do if I promised I wouldn't sue the pants off her. She agreed.

This was the fun part. I take all the kids, the kenneled dog, and a unread magazine that I had bought a week ago inside the Burger joint. The manager comes out with towels, Windex and a large Dr. Pepper which was for me. In light of me previously dumping that cute Doctor, I had to have an old visit with my old unstable relation-shipper. It was high times of real stress and the need to emotionally indulge.

I sit. Put my feet up. Prop the cute perfect baby boy where he could smile at me, gulp the taste of an unhealthy relationship, and watch as this manager bossed my kids around. The sweet smell of Windex and victory. The feeling of getting the reprieve and the understanding of a whip-cracking Burger King Manager took all stress out of my body. It was like a day at the spa with cucumbers on my face!

I would get an occasional 'pity me' look from the kids as the wiped tables. A silent begging for me to save them from the misery. I almost felt bad. "Put your back into it, Girls!!" I say as I finish my current article and gulp some more.

Nah. I didn't feel bad at all.

The Assistant Soccer Coach

Remember the Memory Monday about The Pregnant Soccer Coach? I told you there was a sequel to this story. If you don't know what I am talking about check this out first before you keep reading.

Now in light of becoming the soccer coach to my seven year olds soccer team, purely by accident by the way, I was assigned a very nice lady to assist me. Since my hubby works evenings and nights, he was out. I can't remember her name, but she was very nice. Her daughter was a really good soccer player too. Maybe not as good as Rheesah, but that point could be argued later.

I am not sure what it was about me, green grass, or a black and white soccer ball, but my assistant coach always had to pee. Every practice, every game. I wondered if she held it just for soccer time, or if she really had to pee every 20 minutes of her life.

One day at a game, right at the highlight of our only season goal, we were running up and down the Field yelling commands, and she stops me to ask where the bathrooms are. I point to the scanty potty house directly behind us, which in fact clearly states that it is a bathroom, and off she runs. Then, on with the game.

This continued over the period of the six week soccer season. One particular day at practice, she walked over to the field with a bit of a spring in her step. 'Yep,' I thought. 'She has to pee again'. I looked around, this soccer field was in a residential area and not where we hold the real games. The only things around were houses and a cemetery.

On with practice. Until finally she looks at me, I was waiting for it, and states, "I have totally got to pee!" I look around. "Hmmm....well...You can ask that house right there, but other than that I don't know of any bathroom close."

She looks around. Her eyes look through the houses lined across the street. Then to the cemetery. "I think I am going to walk through the cemetery. Maybe there is a Porta-Potty." she states.

A Porta-Potty?? You mean in case some dead people have to get up and pee in the middle of the night? I think it, but I say nothing. I continue to coach.

Aren't I the pregnant one that should have to pee on command? No Rheanna! Coach the seven year olds! Focus! Yeah that's right, I bring my mind back to the practise and not the assistant coach disappearing into the graveyard looking for a spook house porta potty.

But I can't focus, because I know any minute my sweet darling assistant coach is going to drop her drawers in the graveyard. She must have thought that she was out of sight, because that is what she did. She totally dropped it right there.

People could be arrested for this right? I mean, I am not the classiest thing in my hometown, but surely this is at least a class A Misdemeanor...right?

I am still so shocked to this very day. As I write this even. Just shocked. Its like one of those really weird dreams you have.

Once she comes back, with a look of great relief on her face, I ask, "Did ya find the porta potty?" She of course answers quickly and she is back to coaching the game.
Well. Alrighty then.

Memory Monday--Are Ya...?

I get myself into trouble. One of these days, maybe I will get a clue?

I have a chiuaua, chauauaha, chiauhaua a little dog that looks like it belongs to a gay guy. I used to like it until it found its man hood and lifted it leg on my piano. Then I wanted to turn it into re fried beans and sell it to Taco Bell. Lets face it, I still do and it wouldn't hurt Taco Bell to up the quality a little bit anyway.

Well, for a lot of people that I am really jealous over, they like to sit with a glass of wine after a long day of work, kids, and nearly losing all insanity. Me, no. I play cards. I guess that is the sober Mommy thing to do. I am really thankful for being Mormon, otherwise I think I would be an alcoholic. A good faith is definitely a life saver!

Anyway, I am off the point of the Memory Monday Story.

One night while playing cards with my dear old Sweet Mommy the leg lifting dog came up to where we were. He just stands there and stares at me like my brain waves are going to intercept his messages any second. He is still quite young and not so trained. So I say in hopes to train him, 'Do you need to go outside Hercules?' Yes. Re fried Beans' name is really Hercules.

Suddenly, I remember that you can train a dog to any phrase and make him think that it means 'go outside'. Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes. My evil mind went to work. Hmmm...but what phrase could I say to the leg lifting Taco Bell Special?

"Hercules, are ya queer?" he looks at me with a tilted head. "Come on, lets go outside!" Then repeating 'are ya queer' over and over again. At first, this revelation of immaturity was quite amusing. Now, I must admit, listening to my seven year old in the background while I am on the phone, or talking with the Relief Society President (a leadership calling in our church) repeating over and over again,'are ya queer' and listening to a two pound dog dancing around ready to go outside to relieve his 'queerness' has become somewhat of a family habit that I can't get anyone out of.SIGH.

I am afraid it worked and its stuck. Makes me wonder what phrase I can come up with for when he is hungry?? It hasn't came to me yet.

Memory Monday & The Pregnant Soccer Coach

Ohhh, I haven't done Memory Monday in a long time. It is much over due.

Yeah, I played soccer in school. I could totally kick!. I wasn't one of those sissy afraid of the ball girls, or afraid of kicking anyone else in the shins. It released a whole lot of anger as an adolescent.

Rheesah decides this past school year that she wants to play. I didn't even suggest it for fear of scaring her away. She was begging me!! I was afraid that she would Sissy out like the other girls I used to kick in the shins, so I made her do soccer ball head-butts before I agreed. I was impressed! However, held my composure.

Okay, so I am signing her up at the city office like signing a athletic scholarship to a major college. Down at the bottom of the sheet, there is a small box with the words, 'Check here if you would like to be a 'Parent Assistant'. Oh what the heck, I thought, "I will bring oranges!" I totally thought about buying myself a Soccer Mom bumper sticker on my way out of the city offices.

I get the letter in the mail a week later. I am reading her roster and game schedule. We were team #4. Happily labeled the Bristol team. This is how the conversation in my head went...
"The Bristol Team...?"
"Why did they name the team after Rheesah?"
"That's weird, do they have another player named Bristol"
"---OH! Wait is says Coach Bristol."
WHAT THE @#&*$!!! I AM THE COACH!!!???

I guess 'Parent Assistant' means 'Coach'. WHY DIDN'T THEY JUST SAY COACH?!?.

Lets recap. Six weeks of soccer, Ten seven year old girls that composed of three to four real players and six to seven Sissy's, and one stupid mom Six months pregnant with a case of oranges sitting in the kitchen. I say to myself,Come on McFly!! THINK!!!

We lost all the games, but we were able to score one goal. Isn't that enough for a scholorship? I have to say however, Rheesah was goalie most of the time, and BOY! Could she Kick!!


Stay tuned in later Mondays for the second part of this story, 'The Assistant Soccer Coach That Always Had To Pee.'

Memory Monday...Bra and Daddy's Panties

so i admit to being a total and complete prankster growing up. let's face it. i still am. i will even allow myself to be made the fool for a good laugh. some sick genetic gene implanted in me before birth that has caused lists and lists of Memory Monday stories.
case in point...
i grew up in this big log cabin type home. it was out in the middle of no where with the closest remnants of any resident being a ghost town and a cemetery with all the head stones reading, 'killed by Indians'. it was a short dusty drive towards any civilization.
seeking our own fun was a must. i remember being totally bored and really wondering what i could do to get even with a few people. sometimes even getting the 'one up' was better. i did that a lot too.
well i was really tired of being teased about a certain piece of undergarment that I had. lets just be honest, sometimes being sixteen comes with some sort of growth spurt that is uncontrolled and hardly understood. that being said, i was tired of the comments!
my aunt was staying with us at the time. she brought her laundry basket with her braziers and set it on the bed. to remain modest, i must say she was much more endowed than i ever have been and i have beat her by quite a few kids!!
anyway, i took the biggest brightest piece of lingerie i could find and hung it up for her. right over the dinner table on the big deer antler chandelier. wasn't that sweet of me to take such good care of her delicates?? she didn't notice it for weeks, yet it was the topic of every ones conversation.
well, here is the thing. you can't actually take part in laughing about this kind of thing while being naive enough to think that it would never happen to you.
my father is a hunter, which i know is totally off track of this story and doesn't seem to make sense yet, but stick with me here...
he hunts whatever he can get a permit for. so sleeping in the family room, living room, or eating at the kitchen table had to be done with no imagination at all. if you thought you'd seen a huge animal with massive teeth, fangs, or antlers coming after you from the other side of the wall, chances are, you did. they don't look friendly, they hardly look dead...and they are everywhere.
so, after a bad prank pulled on me by my father, i decided it was payback. a nice big piece of tighty whities hanging from the deer antlers right in the living room. right inside the front door. exactly in the bishops view when he made a family visit a week later. that's right a week. for such a prized possession of my fathers, it took a week for him to notice his trophy kill sporting a nice pair of fruit of the looms in his house. he warned us kids to never touch the 'game' as he called it. I must say that the elastic on those things shoots like a rubber band!!
now...you might think they got me back somehow...and maybe they did. but please! lets have some tact! talking about other peoples delicate clothing articles carries no class at all!

Memory Monday...The Sniffing Waitress

Aunts. Not the Picnic Pesky kind, but still all the same!
I love my aunts. My moms sisters. They are loud, they curse like sailors, and they don't care what they say in front of anyone. Here is a keen memory of my loud crazy sarcastic aunts. With me. In Public. Like in Front of People.

One day at lunch in a loud busy restaurant. We all order our soda's except for one aunt orders milk. The server brings out the Milk, Root Beer, and Pepsi. She, being inexperienced, can't remember which one on the tray is Root Beer. She picks up the Pepsi and smells it. Literally. Right in front of us. Totally sniffs the Pepsi. Gross! We all look at each other wondering if we really saw what we just saw.

No way, right??

Yes. Way.

Well apparently the sniffing waitress got it right, cuz she proudly holds up the drink asking, 'Okay, who had the Pepsi.' Genius of the Sherlock sniffing waitress.

Now if that is not bad enough. She decides she needs conformation. She then picks up the Root Beer. And you guessed it. Sniffs it. 'Yep, that is the Root Beer alright!'

Classic.

There is one drink left on the tray. The milk. The poor innocent glass of white sitting calmly on the server tray, so far, sniff free.

You know how sometimes you want to say something to whom ever is with you, but you don't want to hurt their feelings so you gently whisper it in your buddies ear.

No. Not my aunts. No.

The one with the Milk is genuinely concerned. She states with loud state like voice, "If she sniffs my_________milk, I will shove it up her _______!!" well I think you get the idea.

I censored it here. I know silly right. But trust me it was not censored and the sniffing waitress heard it. I think she might have cried a little.

The good news is she didn't sniff the cheeseburgers when they came out!
Thank Goodness!

Memory Monday - The 'For An Occasion' Story

We once had this cute fiery red Head staying with us. She was 10...going on 25. You know the type. She stayed with us for about four months and was a lot of help and fun to have here. Man could she clean! I miss her terribly!!! For other reasons beside her cleaning of course.

One rare school night, we were watching an episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. Love the show, but they always seem to have the cheesiest hosts! Seriously Walt Disney...of all the genius characters that have been created by masterminds such as yourself, all you can come up with is Bob Sagot and Whatever Burgeron??

Anyway, one particular clip started with a best man at a wedding giving the traditional toast. He stands and raises his glass in the air and the subtitles start as he speaks ..."Fornication..." he says as it spells out on the bottom of the screen, which brings amounts of surprise from the wedding guests and a look of death from the Bride as she sits with her Groom awaiting a romantic toast. The Best man immediately realizes how it sounds with the gasps coming from wedding guest. He clears his throat, regains composure, and starts again...'For An Occasion such as this...' he corrects, and amid all the laughter the clip is over.

My husband and I laugh, not quite hysterically, but if you had seen the look coming from the Bride, you would realize she was actually on the wrong show and her episode of Bridezilla was previewing in the following week.

Remember the little red head in the room? She looks up at my husband and I with the 10 year old ignorance, yet demanding the 25 year old answer. "What does fornication mean? Why is that so funny?" We simply reply that she can ask her mom later and not to worry about it. Now who are the ignorant ones here? Her? Or us thinking that answer would settle the conversation?

So we go one with our lives until...the next day. I am sitting in her fourth grade classroom with her teacher looking over progress reports, homework, and reading charts. The fun of parent teacher conferences. Her teacher stops mid sentence and asks..."Oh...Yeah...Did she watch some interesting TV last night?"

I start to think for a second...America's Finniest Video's...interesting? "No." I say. "Why do you ask?"

"She came to school today and the first thing she did was pull down the big dictionary. She had all the class members looking up the meaning of the word Fornication."

Great! The teacher proceeded to tell me that she had to put the dictionary away and tell the students that the word fornication is not a bad word, but certainly not a school word. So, they needed to go home and ask there parents if they really wanted to know what the meaning was.

So that is the story of thirty sets of parents explaining to their ten year old child what fornication actually is, or like me, telling them not to worry about it until they are older...yeah, like that is going to work!
Aaahhhh...Good Times.

Memory Monday-Hi, Meet Petey

I must apologize before I write this. My husband finds it hilarious and weirdly so does everyone he tells, I doubt I will get the same reaction.
So, the best dog I had ever had in the whole world was Petey. He was trained to his bed, didn't run away, stayed out of my bedroom, left the kitchen on command, was very gentle with the babies, and did not have any bad manners or potty messes in the house. This pic is with him as a puppy. Isn't he cute?
The only thing that I had not been able to completely train him on was getting into the trash. He was horrible!! If I had left the house with out taking the trash out with me, it never failed to be all over my floor. There were quite a few episodes of me cursing the dog while he was hiding in his kennel away from me as I was picking and sweeping disgusting trash off my floor! He knew he was in trouble too! He would sulk for a good day after me being mad at him. He knew it!
Well, the most disgusting part was the fact that someone had thrown a dirty diaper into the inside trash instead of walking it outside which is a major NO NO in the house.
Yep you guessed it. I leave the house, unbeknownst to me that there is a dirty diaper in the garbage. Petey then sees a wonderful opportunity of his favorite pastime event while I am gone, and I return to another another disgusting mess on the floor. This time, however there was an added Jewel. You guessed it, the dirty diaper wide open on the floor that this so called 'well mannered' dog had apparently enjoyed!

DISGUSTING!! I wanted to cry! IT WAS HORRIBLE!!

I proceed to clean up the mess, yelling and cursing at Petey the whole time while he was sulking on the other side of the room. Once the mess was cleaned up, I was still angry for sometime.
What distracted me from the incident was a knock on the door. It happened to be one of those solicitors that come around for like Cable TV or selling magazines, I can't remember. What I do remember is Petey coming around the corner happy to see someone besides me that would show him some love after the reprimand I gave him. I still to this can not believe what happened next. The guy put his papers down and grabbed Petey and picked him up started hugging and petting him like it was his own long lost pet!!! Worse yet, Petey was licking his face! Yes! Right after the trash/diaper incident!!!

I WAS MORTIFIED!!

I could do nothing. I was helpless even to this poor solicitor. I was going to tell the poor guy, but I thought to myself, Whats done is done. He does not need to know. He eventually said goodbye, I put the dog in the tub.