Like Son
Have you ever heard that expression, like father, like son? Well, I certainly hope that it is true.
Happy Father’s day Husband. You have a great dad, you are an amazing father, and I fully expect to have a daughter-in-law say the same thing about The Son someday.
Filed under Family-blame the DNA, Parenting for Dummies, The Husband, The Son | Comment (1)Huckablubber update: Week two of six
How is going this week people? I have finally kicked this stomach bug, I got my self nice a dehydrated from all of the ….well you get the idea. After I got all re-hydrated, I gained back two of the seven total pounds I lost while sick. I confess, I have not gone to the gym. Yes, we do pay for it regardless, and yes it is a huge waste of money on weeks like these. I just did not quite feel up to it-but tomorrow! I swear! I have gone on several long walks, and pushing The Son in his car, or holding the dog’s leash is quite a workout. I have also been taking him to his swim class, which is much more work for me than him.
As far as food goes..well for the first part of this week it has still been whatever I could keep down, and I think it made my stomach shrink, because I just have not been all that hungry. Yesterday was the first day I felt like eating, but again, I do not want to win by pretending to be an Olsen. The Husband is either incredibly sweet or he is sabotaging me, because he keeps asking what I want to eat. What sounds good? Do you want me to buy you some ice cream? Gah, that is how I got in this problem to start with.
Anybody have any tips for us this week? Any inspirational stories? Great low-cal recipes? Anything but how to lose weight through eColi. Oh, and I think we have our super awesome cool prize nailed down, I will hopefully announce it during next week’s update.
Speaking of updates, we are still working on getting all of the pictures over from the old site, sorry about that! And what do we think of all of the lovely ads over to the left? Are you bored? Click on the ads on theHuckablog! Sad? Click on the ads at theHuckablog! Can’t sleep? Ads! Marriage problems? Ads! Worried about the election? Ads! Anyway, for everytime someone clicks on an ad from here, whole half-cents will come rolling into my pockets. I will have that pack of gum paid off in no time.
Filed under huckablubber | Comments OffAlas, he is not a herpetology savant.
Gecko is not referring to a small lizard. It is not a reptile at all. Gecko means bicycle, tricycle, motorcycle. Duh, people, how could you not guess that?
Filed under The Son | Comments (3)Holy Heck! Look at this!
All it took was me threatening to put more embarrassing pictures of The Husband up and Voila! The NEW and IMPROVED TheHuckablog! There are roughly 98 things still wrong and that are going to take time to fix, but you get the idea. Posting may be light as I pitch in to get all of the pictures and things up…but it will be worth it. Everybody cheer for The Husband! YAY! If he can’t do it, no one can!
Filed under The Husband | Comments (7)Sock it to him baby.
You know what my husband told me? To stop posting pictures here until the new site is up. That means NO MORE PICTURES OF THE SON until he is done with the new format. You know what else? After he told me this he has watched eleventy hundred episodes of Sliders on instant Netflix instead of working on my bloggie baby. So I am going to post an embarrassing picture of him. Just because I can, and he is ignoring me. This will be THE LAST PICTURE on thehuckablog version 1! In other words, bond together! Guilt him into finishing v. 2.0! You know you will miss The Son’s Sweet face until The Husband is done.
Let Evening Come
Let Evening Come
by: Jane Kenyon
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
(pictures taken in my backyard, at about 7:30 in the evening, one night last week)
Filed under Photography, Poetry | Comment (1)
No Regrets: Tattoosday
When I was 19 I spent a week in Gulf Shores, Alabama, with Cat, Hey You Richardson (HYR from here on out), and this horrible girl with whom I have no idea why we were friends. We will just call her Jennifer…because that was her name. We were all relishing our first real vacation without grown-ups. Um, I mean we were all responsible adults looking forward to enjoying a quiet week of museums and nature walks. We drove there in my parents super cool, white, ‘95 Chrysler minivan. Somewhere around Jackson, Mississippi, someone suggested getting tattoos on our last day at the beach. I wish I could say I was not onboard…but I was. I spent the rest of the way down there sketching a pink ladybug on a dainty little daisy to be placed on my left big toe. The whole week we talked about our tattoos, and visited a local parlor to insure its cleanliness…and proximity to the beach. We had an awesome time and on the last night we piled into the van and drove to the tattoo parlor.
When we got there we spent a good hour going back through the books of pictures of their past work. There was this HUGE man behind the counter with gruesome skeletons, snakes and things all over his arms and thick neck. The artist was a stringy-haired, old woman (she was probably only like fifty-five, but decades of sun and smoke will do that to a gal) with animal and insect tattoos everywhere. She raised the frayed legs of her shorts and lifted her shirt up so we could see them all. She made us sign releases (that no one read) and had us pick our final choices.
Very quickly Cat was out because she had, as the lady said, “Peter poisoning” and it is unsafe to tattoo PG ladies apparently (I think Cat was relieved, she was never quite sold on the whole idea). Jennifer decided to get a purple daffodil on her ribcage. HYR opted for a blueish-greenish dragonfly on her lower-back, hippish area. They had the exact hot pink ladybug on a daisy that I wanted, but when I said that I wanted it on my big toe, the Cruella lookalike refused. She said that “toe tats” never look right and would not last long because the skin sloughs off so fast. She insisted that I pick another location. I decided on my lower stomach, and signed my release. Jennifer went first. I watched intently as the needle pop, pop, popped through her flesh. She clenched her teeth and never uttered a sound. The tattooed Cruella praised her and said, “that area hurts like hell, be proud girlfriend!”. HYR was up next. Her tattoo was only about the size of a half dollar. It was over in no time, and I think she would say that the worst part of the whole thing was having to lower the waist of her pants in front of snake/skeleton arms.
It was my turn. Jennifer and HYR were urging me on, saying how cute it would be, and how it would hardly hurt at all. Cat said nothing except that I had better be darn sure. She sat there all cute and newly pregnant, and I knew that I would be that way one day as well. I could just picture my belly swelling and growing. And my sweet little ladybug stretching and distorting. I saw my glorious pregnant belly with a giant hot pink roach on it. As I stood there dithering, praying for a way to get out of this after two of my friends had already gone through with this ultimate girl bonding moment, Cruella said, “I am not inking you. You just go home and play with some stickers little girl.” Embarrassed, relieved, chided, and overwhelmed with joy I walked out of that tattoo parlor with the soft sand on my feet, stars glittering overhead, and waves crashing nearby. I have never set foot in an “ink” shop again.
Both Jennifer and HYR went on to get further artwork done on their bodies. Jennifer quickly turned into a ink connoisseur and had several by the time we graduated. HYR got a lovely, if large, daylily on her back our Junior (maybe Senior?) year. Cat has never gotten one, and I promise you she has not been pregnant very much out of the last nine years. Sometimes I will see a tattoo that I kind of like, but never a ladybug. At the gym I will see a tattoo on an older woman and it always looks lame. I have no regrets that I remain uninked. It is just not me. Oh, and my belly? It has a giant pink stretch mark going right through that once dreamed of daisy patch.
Do you think these people regret their artwork yet? If not now, then soon, I am sure.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Friends-All three of them | Comments (6)