Sometimes life just isn't that funny. And I refuse to blog about the mundane or not-so funny stuff in my life. If you're looking for that stuff just jump on over to Facebook or the evening news. At any rate, there just really hasn't been anything worth blogging about lately, until yesterday. Now prepare yourselves for some serious funny!
Two days ago we got about 6 inches of snow, added to the 2 inches we already had. And yes my friends, that gives you......enough to go snowmobiling!! I bought a helmet off of Craigslist yesterday for $30 (new they are anywhere from $85 to $200), so I was set. So after returning home with my children I decided it was time to fire up the arctic cat 500 we bought this fall. Now the newer models have an electric start and all you have to do is push a button. We are not new model folks, so therefore ours has the standard pull-start. These were not designed for small women (or a hobbit, as I am often referred to around here). So I pulled, and pulled, and pulled. I worked up a serious sweat cranking on that stupid pull-start. I texted my friend Austin (snowmobile guru) and whined that I couldn't get it started. He replied that he found that funny and that perhaps I was "less than snowmobile material." I retaliated by calling him some choice names, and then returned to pulling on that damn cord. That's right, failure is not an option!! That snowmobile purred like a kitten while I stood there in 10-degree coldness and sweat like a whore in church (don't gasp at that phrase, my dad taught it to me so it's legal).
I had a blast scooting around the yard, down the driveway and out around Helen's cabin. I am truly snowmobile material, hobbit or not, because "I have a need, a need for speed!" Unfortunately, all of my determination and enjoyment landed me a big fat back ache that was a good reminder you "pay to play."
Moving on. I decided a nice warm soak was the perfect remedy for my exertion and subsequent aches so I happily placed myself into the tub. I was probably only in there 30 seconds before the first child asked, "Mom, when you're done can I have your bathwater?" "Sure," I said, "now get out." Approximately 2 minutes after that another child pulled back the curtain, "Are you done yet?" "No, get out," I replied. It is hard to relax with constant interruptions, not to mention every time you pull the curtain back (because apparently if I can't see you I can't hear you), it lets a big old draft of cold air in. Finally, after 15 minutes, Noah got sick of asking. He jerked back the curtain, stood there buck naked and informed me, "Mom, you are done!" Alrighty then, it looks like I am, like it or not. Note to self: Lock the frickin' door from now on!
As I had failed to achieve soaking satisfaction and I was pretty tired, I surmised an early bedtime was called for. As soon as the boys were tucked in, I turned in as well. About midnight Noah crawled into my bed (as he does most nights). This only roused me enough to roll over. However, the small cold feet that then jabbed my back, my legs, my stomach, my butt and who knows how many other places completed the job of waking me. I lay there thinking that an alien probe probably felt about the same and that sometimes I wouldn't mind being abducted by aliens because it would be like a vacation. Then I thought, "Seriously?? They'd probably make you a slave and you already hate taking care of the 4 people in your house now, imagine a whole spaceship full of needy little creatures?" With that I snuggled back in and drifted off.......