And this little piggy went to the ER!
These pictures, taken months ago, have absolutely nothing to do with this post except to show how cute this kid is. It is a good thing too, or else I might have sold him to the gypsies by now.
Sometimes The Husband has to wear a hard hat when working on huge computer systems in new construction. Here is The Son in his daddy’s hat.
The Husband has been giving pennies to The Son to put in his piggy bank. When I help him do this, I always say “Let’s feed the piggy! Oink-Oink! ”
Yesterday, I was following exit polls online while The Son played in the living room. I heard him say, “Oink, Oink! I a piggy. I a piggy Mama!”
“Aww, that is nice darlin. Can you be a cow now? Mooo. Wait! What is in your mouth?”
“Oink, I a piggy Mama!”
“NO! We do NOT eat money. Spit it out right now! No more pennies for the piggy bank if you try to eat them all.”
“WAAAA! I be a piggy! Money back! Mama, money back, I a piggy. WAAAA!”
Just for the record, two might be a little bit kicking my butt.
Filed under Boy is my face red, NaBloPoMo, The Son | Comments (9)“My wife made me do it.”
This would be the last time The Husband enjoyed dressing up for Halloween. 1984.
His wife loves Halloween, and he loves his wife. He loves her so much he will dress up like a tree hugging hippie. (You can really see the hole-ishness of that house in the background. Our washer was in the kitchen. Our dryer was outside.)
He really liked his sword this year, but got mad when I said that his Russian Cossack hat looked like a baby orangutan sitting on his head. See the dog dish on planter in the back ground? That is so Polly would not eat all of Katy’s food. She had a bit of a weight problem, oh, and no teeth. The crock pot is full of The Husband’s secret recipe little weenies.
This is right after The Son was born, we were cave people. I used a washable marker to give The Husband a unibrow, and he made me take it right off, but you can still see it a little. Look how long my hair was!
Turn about is fair play so here is me as a cave woman…..
…..and as a gypsy. This is the hole again. I hated that house; I think it was haunted. Also, I was a wee bit over accessorized.
Here I am as the not-evil-mostly-good-witch-of-the-south. My eyes were glowing red in this picture, so I tried to photoshop them and they came out looking kinda cyborgish. Also? Good lord, what kind of bra did I have on to get those suckers so high? Or maybe that is just how they looked before breastfeeding for 26 months?
Next up? Pictures of some of thehuckablog’s regular commentors.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Photography, The Husband | Comments (2)Lordy, this lady needed a baby.
I used to dress up my dogs for Halloween. Dogs? Oh, yeah I used to have another dog named Pollywog. I will tell you about her some day. I seem to be suffering from a case of writer’s block so until I can write, you know, like, um coherent sentences or something, I am going to be posting my favorite Halloween pictures. Today? The Dogs. I no longer do this; I dress up my kid instead. I no longer buy the dog presents from Santa either, just in case you were wondering.
I was sad I could not find more pictures of Polly dressed up, but here is one. She was a ladybug and Katy was a pirate.
The next year Polly was a witch and Katy was an angel. There is no picture of Polly (yet, I am still looking) but here is the most un-angelic angel ever.
Tomorrow’s pictures? The Husband.
Filed under Boy is my face red | Comments (4)Oh Susannah, Don’t you cry for me.
I was unpacking my suitcase fifteen minutes after we arrived in Branson. The phone rang and I answered thinking it was my in-laws down the hall. “Hi, Mrs. Hackablag?” “It is Huckablog.” “Sorry, Mrs. Huckablog, this is Candy with guest services. How is your condo?” “Everything is great so far, thanks.” “Mrs. Huckablog, we were wondering if you would like to come to an orientation for Whinedamn resorts, it is just 90 minutes long, and we will give you 120 dollars, in cash, for attending.” “No, thank you. Have a nice afternoon.” Click.
I went about my afternoon, sort of thinking about that sales call. I ate dinner, visited some dinosaurs, met Elvis….still thinking about that call. I figured it out: 90 minutes, 120 dollars. That is what, 80 dollars an hour? That is pretty good. Hum. If I had 120 dollars I could pay for my little er, indiscretion. Everyone could go ride the train and I could sit and smile for an hour and a half and then meet them in time for lunch. I did not really want to ride the train anyway, and it would be ninety minutes free of toddler wrangling. I called Candy back, and she was THRILLED to talk to me. She asked how old I was, if we were above a certain income bracket (barely Candy, but you do not need to know that.) and what The Husband and I did for a living. She informed me that she had a spot for us to be “orientated” on Saturday morning, but my husband would have to come with me because of my age and since he is the “main bread winner” (and old.) Great, now I had to convince The Husband that listening to a sales pitch would be better than riding a scenic railway. It did take some time, but finally I talked him into it, on the one condition that I would do all of the talking and the saying no. (Remind me to tell you sometime about our crazy expensive cookware.)
Saturday morning we got up early so we had time to pack, check out, and get The Son settled with MMiL and FFiL. We walked in to this lounge type thing and saw dozens of couples sitting on cheap furniture. Half of them looked like rich, old retirees and the other half looked like middle class working people. We applied our sticky name tags with our names spelled wrong, and watched as various salespeople poured through the doors. A woman named Susannah came smiling to us, and lead us up into a hot, crowded room filled with lots of tiny tables. She spent a good five minutes pumping us for information, or getting to know us—you decide. What do we do, where did we meet, where did we go on our honeymoon, how often do we vacation, where did you go to school, where are you from? “Oh, I grew up twenty minutes away!” (I chose to ignore the fact her name tag said she was from Fairbanks AK). “Oh, I went to school at insert Alma Mater” (Really? You have a degree? Does selling timeshares really pay that well? ((then again, I have several degrees and I spend my days wiping applesauce off chins and singing songs about spiders. Never mind.))
After several minutes this little, overly tan guy walked in. His name rhymed with Fake-o. You could see the gray roots of his dyed black hair. He looked like he was either wearing heavy foundation or tanned daily. He went into this whole spiel about the links between health, vacations and living longer and working too much and blah blah blah. Every other sentence he would insert a….dramatic pause. He had so many…..dramatic pauses that I briefly wondered if he was having a series of small strokes. When he was done talking and pausing he showed us a video of lovely suites filled with average Americans singing the praises of Whinedam resorts. (none of the suites looked remotely like the ones that we stayed in that week), it was full of phony sounding statistics, and I could read the fine print from my spot. The organization responsible for these “facts”? The World Vacation Institute. Oooh, that sounds official. Then Fake-o told us how he had a heart attack “a year ago this month” and just fourteen days after quadruple bypass surgery he was on a beach in California, with his small son, at a Whinedam resort. He showed us a framed photo of the silhouette of a small boy holding hands with some guy running down the beach. He quickly waved it in front of our faces and then put it back on a shelf. Since we were at the front table, I could see the picture fairly well. I am pretty darn sure it was not Fake-o in the picture. It really, really looked like the picture that came in the frame. Also? FFiL had a quadruple bypass this time last year and spent some of his recovery time at our house. He sure as hell was not in any shape to be gallivanting on a beach fourteen days later. I call BS on Fake-o.
When Fake-o was finished with his brief work of fiction, Susannah took us on a tour of the compound, and it was lovely. I would definitely enjoy staying there as I vacationed. As we were walking she casually said, “I will be up front with you, it costs sixty-two nine.” That is exactly how she said it, sixty-two nine. I guess I was confused by what it was exactly that she wanted us to buy (it is a deed ((um, huh?)) for the rights to use Whinedam condos for a certain amount of “points” a year. Confused yet?), because I kept trying to figure out what dollar amount sixty-two nine was (that would be $62,900). I heard The Husband choke behind me. We should have just left right then and asked for our $120 while admitting that we were never going to spend that much money on a condo we could only use three weeks a year. Instead we continued the tour. I asked intelligent questions, oohed and aahed at the appropriate times, and then saw a clock. Our 90 minute “orientation” had been going on for over two hours. I told Susannah we needed to hurry this along, we had to meet our family, she rushed us into a VERY LOUD room, crammed with people. (When I brought up this detail to The Husband later on he said he noticed the same thing, and thinks they do that on purpose to overload people’s senses. They get nervous and hot and are more likely to rush and say “Yes” without giving it the thought 63 grand deserves.)
I told her we were interested but not ready to commit today. (I was trying to be nice Susannah!) She had to go get her manager to talk to us before we left. This anorexic looking girl, a few years older than me, came up with her eyes all bulging out. The first words out of her mouth were, “So how much can you put down today?” Er. I might have been playing along a little to well. The Husband looked panicked. (He told me when we got in the car I was lying so well he even believed me, that is amazing because usually I am a HORRIBLE liar.) I said we were not prepared to make a commitment right away. (Please let me leave scary lady, I just came to pay for my ticket!) She said, “Well you have to make a commitment today or you lose this good deal.” “Well, I am sorry, with the economy the way it is, it would be foolhardy of me to agree to spend this much on a non-necessity.” “You are looking at it the wrong way, instead of thinking about saving to spend for your vacations, you have to spend to save.” I could not suppress the giggles escaping my lips on that one. I think it ticked her off, because next she said, “You know, financially savvy people never have to think about it. They just say yes right away,”. Great. First you make me late, then you scare me with your eyes, and now you are insulting me? Does that really work on anybody? I chose to negate telling her about all of those financial tests that I studied for (and mostly passed), and just gave her a firm. “No, thank you. We are not interested.” She flipped over her piece of paper and then proceeded to give us a BETTER DEAL on something called the “VIP” package. Oh, so this is like buying a used car? You thought I was just trying to negotiate? I just want to leave, and never speed through a certain county again! “No, Thank You. We cannot commit to that much money. Especially not with your seventeen percent (!!!) interest rate.” “But, you can get financing on your own with a lower interest rate.” “How can we do that if you want us to agree right now?” “You just pay the $6,000 down and figure out the payments later.” “No, thank you. We cannot commit that much money.” (Dear God, let me out of here!) Scary eye lady huffed off without even saying “Bye”.
I looked over at Susannah, she had tears welling up in her eyes. Was she faking? Maybe, probably even, but I believe she was really upset. She saw her big fat commission fly away. I patted her on the shoulder and told her that she did a good job, that scary eye lady ruined it for her by pressuring us so hard. She gave me her personal email and cell number in case we changed our mind. She then had to bring over some old guy with a bulbous nose, blood shot eyes, and smelling vaguely of stale Bud Light to “check us out.” As soon as Susannah left, he sat down and said, “I understand why you said no. Here let me tell you a better deal.” He brought out more papers and gave us yet another price discount. I was amazed at the sheer tenacity of these people. I no longer had the patience for tact at this point. Our ninety minute “orientation” had turned into a three hour interrogation session. “No. We have to go now, can I keep these papers to think about it (and by think about I mean broadcast it all over the internet)?” “Oh, No, we can’t let you take the inventory.” Whatever dude. “Fine, we really need to leave.” He sighed, led us to the front desk. A weary looking lady counted out $120 in twenties into my hand, I turned on my heel and marched out, relieved to finally be free.
When we were outside, the first words out of The Husband’s mouth were, “How much do you think the timeshare would cost if they stopped giving $120 to people like us?” Good point darling. Oh well, we were $120 richer and had at least gotten some good blog fodder from our morning not riding the train.
Filed under Boy is my face red, Time Suckers | Comments (5)My little runaway, run-run-run-run-runaway
The Dog, Katydid, ran away yesterday. She used to do this with some frequency, but it has been months since she even made an attempt. The only way she got out this time was the utility guy opened our fence and did not close it when he left. We jumped in the Huckablazer and followed her as she ran through our neighborhood. The Husband had a pocket full of Goldfish and her leash, hoping to lure her close enough to re-think her jaunt. The Son called “KAAAAAATY DOG! KAAAATY DOG! BACK KAAAATY!” through the open window. I drove, and contemplated what to do when she darted across the street right in front of the truck. I have told you how bad she is right? She is a BAD dog. It is totally our fault, we let her do whatever she feels like, our only accomplishments have been potty training her and teaching her how to “be a ballerina” for a snack. One of our neighbors caught her and brought her home after about 45 minutes. To be honest, if it were not for the fact(s?) that The Son adores her, that she cleans up toddler food spills nicely, and that I think it is my responsibility to take care of her….I would have not even gone after her.
About a month after The Husband and I got married, I was watering flowers on our front porch and left the front door cracked. An adorable wee little bunny hopped across the yard, Katy saw it, and slipped out the door before I knew what was happening. Now this was BC (before child) and Katy was my baby. I bought her a coat and even a little hat to wear. She was our flower dog at the wedding for cripes sake. I loved that dog. I dropped the hose and ran (barefoot of course, lordy, we never wear shoes around here) after her. The front door was left wide open and the hose was left running. I thought I would catch her in two minutes in the neighbor’s yard. But she ran, and she ran, and she ran…..and, I followed her. She weaved in and out of quiet rows of houses. She crossed two busy streets. And, I followed her. “Katy! Katy! STOP! COME BACK TO MAMA!!” I sobbed, and wheezed. My feet hurt. I did not have my cell phone to call The Husband, and we had traveled some distance by this time. I saw her run into the parking lot of the neighborhood Walgreens, I thought, thank the Lord, she is cornered. Then an elderly man came out the front door….and she went in! That damn dog was INSIDE Walgreens! I followed her. As soon as I stepped inside the front door, the cashier said, “EXCUSE ME! Excuse me, Ma’am you can NOT come all up in here with no shoes on!” I stared at her and gasped out, “But my dog just ran in!” “WHAT!? You can’t bring no dogs in here!” “Yes, I realize that, help me catch her and we will both leave.” We finally got her cornered by the Wet and Wild makeup. I scooped her up and with my head held high, dripping sweat, my filthy, sore feet screaming, we started for home.
Of course I had no leash, I had no belt or shoelace to use as a leash, she was too short to let her walk without me crawling beside her, so I carried her, all thirty-two pounds of her. When I finally reached home, it was an hour after she first bolted after that freakin’ rabbit. The hose was still running, creating Lake Erie in the front yard. The front door was still standing wide open, the living room now a humid black fly breeding ground. I dropped Katy in the entry way, walked back to the office where The Husband and BIL were doing some sort of geeky computer something, and stood in the doorway with my hands on my hips. The Husband looked at his new bride, covered in sweat, dirt, and dog hair and said, “Hey, what happened to you?” They did not even know I was missing! Men! Hummff. Dogs! Hummff.
Filed under Boy is my face red | Comments (3)Overheard in the Huckablazer.
a note: The Son was not in the vehicle at this particular time, just thought I should mention that before I get emails telling me you are calling CPS. Oh, and keep those Elvis stories coming, you have 24 more hours!
“Good Lord, what is this crap you are listening to?”
“What do you THINK it is?”
“It sounds like the background to an Eastern European porn.”
“How do you know what European porn sounds like? It is a Russian pop singer.”
“Where the hell did you find a Russian pop singer to listen to?”
“I was letting The Son watch trucks with jet fuel on YouTube, and we watched one on the streets of Moscow, and then YouTube recommended this video of a girl who has a song called Traffic, so I clicked on it. You know, the YouTube rabbit hole.”
“Turn it off, it is horrific!”
“No, listen to this song.” (turns it UP!)
“Did you BUY this CD?”
“No, I burned it.”
“You have illegal Russian music? The Russian mob and Interpol are going to come after us.”
“No, it is legal. ”
“So you paid for it from I Tunes or something?”
“No, it was free.”
“I wonder why.”
“Listen, this is my favorite song.”
“No! It is so bad that it makes me want to have you pull over so that I can rob that convenient store just so that I can go to prison to learn how to make a shiv so I can stab it in my ear to keep from hearing anymore of this!”
“You are such a drama queen.” (Turns off CD.)
Filed under Boy is my face red, The Husband, stupidity | Comments (5)Overheard at a church not my own.
“Can you say your scripture? Remember it is for God so loved the world, John 3:16″
“For….God….so …um….the word!”
“Good!, that was close, and where is that it in the bible?”
“um…..”
“John……..?”
“John………Deere!”
Filed under Boy is my face red, faith | Comments Off