Finally, the party's over. Almost.

The party started five hours ago, and everyone's left except for the Oddmans. They don't seem like they'll be leaving any time soon, either. At any rate, it's pretty much over, and I'm relatively certain I survived. Wish I could say the same for Raphael. The poor kid got so tired from all the excitement that he crashed at four o'clock, four hours before his normal bedtime, even though the party was still in full swing. From the looks of him, he won't be getting up any time soon.
The littlest of the Oddmans, Morgan, is almost three years old. Unlike Raphael, he's still alive and kicking. The kid running around, playing with Joey, and messing with a stuffed snake and an oversized matchbox card. They both seem to be having a good time.
Our Yankee Gift Swap was a huge success. For those of you not familiar concept, it's the same thing as a "white elephant" gift swap. Except, because the Divine Purple Elephant Queen doesn't approve of white elephants, we've taken to call it a Yankee Gift Swap. It's the only situation where the word "Yankee" can be used in our household in anything remotely resembling a positive context. That's just the way the family works.
At any rate, it was popular. I got some sort of Liz Clayborne (is that spelled right?) necklace out of the bargain, and Bob got some weird "Say what?" game out of it. The game's rather fun.

Anyway, I think I'll go join Raphael.

My daughter's insane

Here's the proof.
Friday was the last day of school before winter break. So what does Sally Ann do? In a moment of boredom, she and several of her friends wrote a Christmas song about physics, to the tune of the twelve days of Christmas. Here's the last verse:

On the twelfth day of physics, my teacher gave to me
12 hundred problems
11 strange dimensions
10 racing buggies
9 types of trusses
8 force sensors
7 roller coasters
6 new labs
5 hours of homework!
4 metric units
3 Newton's laws
2 vector graphs
and an apple falling from a tree!

To make matters worse, not only did Sally Ann write the crazed poem, she sang it to her physics teacher in class. She forced one of her shyer friends to sing along with her, and the poor girl had had so much sugar she just couldn't say "no." The teacher, Mr. Johns, is a bit strange, but even he didn't know how to react. The man just sat there with a goofy smiley and tried to pretend it wasn't happening, from what I heard from Sally Ann's friend.
Sally Ann is certainly following in her mother's footsteps, at any rate.

Ode to Gyro

I miss you Gyro!!!!
You aren't allowed to move.
Tell the folks in charge
that they're messing with your groove.

You need to stay in this city
not go away to some rural locale
I don't wish for you go away
and learn to milk a cow.

Yeah, I know I can't rhyme.
But surely you get my drift
I don't want you in Wisconsin
I don't want your home to shift.

Trig will no longer be any fun;
Silvia and Lonnie do agree.
We are sorry that you have to leave;
The thought fills us with no glee.

And so I wish to you
a happy holiday
whether you re very near
Or rather far away.

Bye Gyro! Keep in touch!
Love,
Your insane friend

(Note: Gyro is a friend of mine who was in the trigonometry class I took at the local community college. She's not going there any more, because she's moving to Wisconsin after Christmas.)

Countdown to the family party: 7 days

It's that time of year again, and as always, my darling old parents have decided to throw their annual Christmas bash. It's supposed to be on Sunday (a week from today) and I'm rather looking forward to it. We're going to have music and food and fun. As always, there will be a Yankee gift swap, and, as always, I hope it doesn't get to far out of hand. One year I swear we had twice as many people as their were presents. Those who picked first ended up with absolutely nothing. I think we'll be a bit more careful this year.
My dear old dad may be getting a bit senile. You wouldn't believe how many people he's invited. Then of course, there are the guests invited by me and Bob. Even the kids are getting in on the action. Sally Ann, my oldest daughter, blackmailed her brother Bob Jr. to invite a guy she likes. Another one of my kids, Joey, invited his entire 3rd period English class to bring their families. It could get a little crazy.
Hopefully my parent's house will be big enough to hold everyone. It might get close, especially when you consider that their one story ranch was barely big enough to hold myself, them, and my brothers when I was growing up. Forget crazy, this party has the potential to get downright insane.

Old Peoples' Party

Great fun, don't you think? Yesterday, my mother and my father kidnapped me to go to my Grandmother's birthday party. Somehow, Bob and all of our kids managed to get out of it. We ate Dad's fried chicken (he just learned how to use a deep fryer), taquitos, chips, and other fun little munchies while surrounded by three elderly couples, not including my parents. It was a TON of fun. Just imagine it, sitting there in a pristine formal room and chowing down while the homeowner showed off the newest additions to her wardrobe. After dinner, we cut the cake (chocolate with pink and white frosting). The thing had only one candle on it, because after you get old, I guess you don't want to admit you're getting any older. But anyway, we cut the cake, ate it, and then talked for a little for awhile before leaving. I am extremely glad I went.

Decorating the Christmas Tree

I know it's been awhile since I last posted, but I've been busy with Christmas stuff. You would not believe how hard it is to go shopping for 9 1/2 kids. I literally have to keep a list of what I've bought for each kid. It's horrible. Two years ago, I forgot to get Michelangelo anything but some stocking stuffers. The poor kid was so sure Santa hated him that he ran to his room crying. I had to pretend to find a $100 bill under the tree with his name on it to cheer him up. I never saw any of that money again.
But anyway, we set up our Christmas tree yesterday. It's a bit of a sad tree; there are huge gaps where no branches exist. But after putting on about six or seven strands of lights, more beads than you can shake a stick at, and a surprisingly dismal amount of ornaments (no one felt like doing much after the Simpsons turned on), I am happy to say I survived the experience. Not sure I can say the same thing about Bob, of course, but he's expendable.
Halfway through the meal, I whipped up some hot cocoa for everyone to enjoy. It tasted okay, though mine was a bit watery and tasteless, and I think everyone had a good time. I had to make three kettles of water to ensure there was enough for all 11 1/2 of us to drink some. I don't know what I would have done otherwise.

You've got to see this one

As an apology for not having posted in the past week, I'd like to show you all this beautiful picture. I took it last Saturday night at Bryce Canyon, and it is (supposedly) the full moon. I know better, though.
The simplest of logic tells me that this is a picture of a UFO. as in Unkind Flying Object. The thing was a spherical flying object piloted by aliens in an attempt to take over the world via mind control. How do I know this?
1. Hordes of people came to take pictures of the "moon". While this could have been photographers trying to make extra cash, you and I both know that it was actually a collection of poor fools whose minds are already controlled by aliens.
2. Look at that glowing orb. I mean, come one. It could be the moon, but puh-lease. It's way to bright.
3. What are the chances of the moon rising at sunset the only evening I'm at Bryce Canyon? Slim to none. Obviously, the aliens know that I have a fairly high rank in the purple elephants' plot, and wanted to capture me for questioning.
Luckily, Bob, myself, and the kids all ran off before we had a chance to learn about alien torture devices first hand.

Aaalvin!!!!!

I can't believe they are making a movie about Alvin and the Chipmunks. Ezekiel and Michelangelo are thrilled, but I'm rather worried. It was such a fun show, I can't believe they'd risk ruining it with a live-action movie. That's just wrong.
Speaking of which, who's "they" anyway. In my everyday life, I refer to "they" fairly frequently, but I never stop to think who "they" are. I think in this case, "they" are the movie's producers. But I could mean The Man. Or Alvin. Or Theodore. Or the other one who's name slips my mind. I dunno.
Bob's staring over my shoulder as I write this. It's creepy. Go away, please.

Driving to Bryce National Park

As I mentioned before, we drove up to Bryce National Park earlier today. About a couple hours into the drive, the kids started noticing white stuff on the mountains off in the distance. By the time we stopped for gas, they had realized it was snow, and it was covering the ground around us.
My babies reacted the way any kids would. They immediately called for a snowball fight. Sally Ann and Bob III were the only ones smart enough to stay out of it. The other seven and a half all started going crazy, making slush balls and throwing them with varying levels of accuracy. By the time we'd filled up our tank with overpriced gas, there was no unused snow left in the gas station parking lot. Michelangelo and Ezekiel were sopping wet, and Elizabeth, Dud, and Joey were not much better off. I had to lay towels down on the seats of the Builder Mobile to prevent them from getting the seats wet. Bob Jr, Bob IV, and Dyda Jr. were all victorious, without a single flake of snow on them.
After we left the gas station, the view got better and better. We went through this place called Dixie National Forest, and with the snow it was absolutely beautiful. For the first time in a long time, the kids got to see trees taller than houses, and with a dusting of snow, it was amazing. The picture above is of Dixie National Forest with snow, so you can see how nice it was.
We were all disappointed when we found that there was no snow at Ruby's Inn, which is where we are staying.

Joey Makes a Fool of Himself

My kids keep giving me grief because I only ever mention Dud and Bob Jr. in this blog. There are nine and a half of you, guys, so give me a break.
Anyway, I do have a story to tell about a different one of my kids. When we were leaving for our vacation this morning, Joey, my fifth child, made a bit of a fool of himself. He'd been zoning out in front of some cartoon channel when I called him to get in the car. Joey grabbed all of his stuff and raced outside. When he got to the car, my oldest two, Sally Ann and Bob Jr., pointed out that he still had the television's remote control in his hand. It was a very impressive feat, because Joey never even noticed he had it in his hand. Sally Ann ran the remote control back to the family room, but it was still rather hilarious.
Poor Joey will never hear the end of that one.

Dud loves turkeys

For the life of me, I can't understand Dud's obsession with turkeys. It's just weird. I mean, come on. The things may have awesome colors and be absolutely absurd looking, but that's no reason for the kid to want a pet turkey for Christmas. Is it?
Bob is doing much to get Dud to give up that dream, either. He's hinting about Santa Claus needing to know what turkeys eat and other such things. Dud may only be five, but he's still tech savy enough to know how to do a Google search for what turkeys eat. This is what he found:

Wild Turkeys eat a great variety of foods, including: insects, spiders, snails, slugs, salamanders, small lizards, small frogs, millipedes, grasshoppers, very small snakes, worms, grasses, vines, flowers, acorns, buds, seeds, fruits, clovers, dogwood, blueberries, cherries, hickory nuts, beechnuts, and other vegetation.

I don't think I want a pet that likes eating frogs, snakes, snails, and my vegetable and flower gardens. How am I going to explain this to Dud?

Turkey Day

You know, if Ben Franklin had his way back in the eighteenth century, the turkey would be America's national bird, not that dorky "bald eagle" thing we have today. I mean, come on. The bald eagle gives America the image of being a balding old man whose only remaining hair is as white as snow. That is certainly not how I want my country to be portrayed.
Anyway, my point is that I feel sorry for the poor turkeys, destined to die before winter sets in. It's kinda sad, in a way. Besides, turkeys aren't the key stone of a good Thanksgiving meal. Having good stuffing is infinetly more important. Stuffing makes the world go round, after all. That and the stuff that makes the sky blue. And the awesome majesty of the Divine Purple Elephant Queen. But that goes without stuffing.
I call for a strike on eating turkey!!! Instead, consume more stuffing for your Thanksgiving feast!

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The Glory of a Yard Sale

The garage has been cleaned out, so today we're having a yard sale at Mommy's house. It's great fun. The best part is that my mom can't be anywhere near the driveway when a sale is taking place- its just to painful for her to see precious possessions sold for 1/10 of what they are worth. Or worse, for free.
Dad, who'd been a salesman for 49 years, did most of the bargaining. He refuses to tell Mom what he sold the stuff for.
Mom, do not read the rest of this post.
My old bike and Dud's bike sold for a total of $35. The ugly divider (It has an orange sea scene on it) sold for $15. I gave away several of my old dolls and stuffed animals for free to some neighborhood kids. One little girl I gave some clothes to go along with the doll, including my first swim suit, which Mom still has for some unknown reason. Don't ask me why.
The fake guitar still hasn't gone, neither has my brother Tom's old golf set. No one's sure where he got the golf set from in the first place, though, so I guess it's okay. An unused tire from Dad's old red Jeep is still sitting in the middle of the driveway. The broken white lamp that my darling old Mother says is worth $100 is still sitting next to the perfectly fine black lamp which my ancient father is willing to give away for a buck.

Correction

My bad. My brother Ben was the one who pointed out the Ellen Degeneres similarity. Dad just said that Hilary Clinton looks like a lesbian Mrs. Partridge.

This one's for Dad

Pops and I are watching the political debate that's going on at the University of Nevada Las Vegas right now. All the Democratic presidential candidates are talking about the issues (though it sounds like they're arguing about who's cooler), and my Dad made an interesting point.
If you close your eyes while Hilary Clinton is speaking, she sounds a whole lot like Ellen Degeneres. Yeah, Ellen's ten years younger than her, but still. And then there's the fact that they look and sound alike. Check it out:
There is a definite similarity between the two. They're both women with short, blond hair. They're both stretching the limits of being "middle aged." They both have a slight southern twang when they speak.
I don't know about anyone else, but if I was trapped in a room with the two of them, and they both wore masks and identical outfits (Hilary dresses like she's ninety and Ellen like she's still in her twenties or thirties), I would not be able to tell the two apart without a great deal of effort. But I could just be being weird. That happens sometimes. A lot of the times.

No Patriots Tonight

It's very sad. They have the night off. No Patriots. I think I might cry.
...
Okay, I'm over it. They're just taking a tiny break in hopes of achieving true perfection in the coming games. They will, of course. But still, it's very sad. No good football games tonight. I should cry. Maybe I will.
...
Now I'm really over it. I think. Maybe. Perhaps. If I concentrate really hard, it doesn't bother me. Hey look! Ind is play Sd. Sd is winning. Ind may meet an embarrassing end tonight. Where do they get these names from anyway? team names make no sense. Who wants to root for a team named "Sd?" How do you even pronounce Sd, for that matter. "Essde?" "Sud?" "Ssduh?" At least Ind has a name I can say. It rhymes with end. Very convenient.

Poor Doggys

My family's going on vacation for Thanksgiving weekend. Bob and I invited my parents along and are considering taking our dogs. If we don't take the dogs, we'll have to leave them at their vets' office, and they hate that. Buddy, our shepherd-rottweiler mix, and Sparky, our cocker spaniel, go absolutely crazy there.
When we returned from our last vacation, we picked the dogs up from the vet. Buddy was so excited, he peed allover Bob Jr.'s leg. Bob Jr. didn't mind too too much, but it still didn't exactly make his day.
So we're in the middle of deciding whether or not we want to bring the dogs along with us. If we do, then they'll be thrilled. However, Buddy is a bit of an attack dog. He doesn't like strangers much, and if he bites anyone else, we'll have to put him to sleep. Therefore, there is some risk in bringing him along.
Mom is completely against the idea, not that she has much say in the matter. After all, she'll be our guest. However, if we bring them and her and she doesn't agree, it'll be one grumpy car ride in the Builder family van. Unlike my dear old mother, the rest of the family, from little Dud to my aged father, all support the idea of bringing the dogs along. What's the worst that could happen?

Mom's Garage

It's a nightmare.
A complete and total nightmare.
My dear old mother, who's been getting loopier and loopier with each passing year, decided that today would be a good day to clean her garage. She called me up and guilted me into coming over to help. Bob and our useless kids all found convenient excuses that prevented them from coming. So next thing I knew, I was at my parent's house, with my parents and brothers, standing in front of their garage. Dad soon drove off to go "shopping for supplies." Like we all didn't know he was making a clean run for it.
For a garage that is maybe six feet deep, twenty feet long, and seven feet high, it held a catastrophic amount of stuff. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought she had found a way to fit some kind of black hole into it to keep all her stuff inside the garage.
Anyway, it took the four of us about five hours to go through the thing. It's a lot emptier now, but only because most of the stuff is either waiting for the garbageman to come on Tuesday or sitting in our backyard, waiting for next week's yard sale.

Bob is starting to annoy me

He's obsessed with building a giant rocking chair. He leaves the house every morning at 4:30 to work on it and doesn't come back home until 10 at night. As soon as he gets home, he collapses into bed and sleeps until it's time to leave again. I never see him. I never talk to him. It's horrible.
From what I understand, the rocking chair is the key to his taking over the world, something I can not allow. World domination is the sole responsibility of the Divine Purple Elephant Queen, and he has no right to attempt interference.
Speaking of which, the Divine Purple Elephant Queen's plan to taking over El Salvador are going even better than planned. By 2010, we hope to control all of Central and South America.
Beat that, Bob.

My Dad is an old man

And boy, do I mean old. He was walking around with a cane yesterday. A CANE! The man acts like he's 150 years old when he's only a third of that age.
Okay, so he does have a medical excuse. His knee was bothering him. But still, it's kinda sad.

What's even sadder is what he did to the cane. It was practically antique. It's genuinely broken now. Before breaking it, he added red duck tape to the bottom of it so that it wouldn't slip and slide while walking. The duct tape did nothing to stop the handle from snapping off when he actually put to much weight on the thing. Because the cane was beautifully carved and fairly oldish, Mom was fairly upset. She called me to complain, and I drove over to their place just in time to stop her from throwing the cane out completely. Some good wood glue and it will be in one piece, though it may never work properly again. I don't think wood glue can support 200 pounds of force. I might be wrong though.

The Dishes. Of Doom.

I did a total count. There were 18 people eating at my table for dinner. Well, 18.5, actually. I forgot to include Dud. Poor kid.
So naturally, there are numerous dishes that now need to be washed. For each person there is a plate, a fork, a knife, a spoon, a cup, a desert plate, and a napkin. Not that I was the paper napkins. That's really not my cup of tea.
If I finish these dishes before midnight, it'll be a miracle.

P.S. These aren't the actual dinner dishes. This is a picture I grabbed off of the internet. My cutting board is not nearly as worn.

The neighbors visit

Our neighbors, the Lockes, are visiting th Builder house for dinner tonight. No sooner did I get home from a hard day of escorting kids to their Saturday activities than the first of the Lockes appeared.
They're really nice people. There are two little girls and one little boy. Dud likes to play with the boy, and the two girls adore all my daughters.
Dinner was delicious, of course, because my parents are also visiting. The house is stuffed. We had our nine and a half kids, Bob and myself, my parents, and all five members of the Lockes family. The table was stuffed. No elbow room allowed. None. Luckily, I knew what I was doing and managed to set the table just right to give everyone enough room to eat without getting in each other's way.
Ugh. Now I have to go do all of the dishes. Joy.

Homework is evil

Or at least that is what my kids say. It's been so long since I was their age, I really can't remember. Poor Bob Jr. had six HOURS of homework in just one class yesterday, and even little Dud had a solid hour's work to do.
I think I'm glad I'm not in school anymore.
Bob has imposed a new rule in our house: No doing anything until homework is completely done. The kids absolutely despise the idea. Evidently, when there's that much homework, there would be no time to have any "fun".
But what's the point of fun? I've never gotten it. You enjoy yourself for a short amount of time, and then it's over. I'd prefer something more permanent myself. But that's just me. Maybe I'm weird. I dunno.

Why you don't want to make an elephant mad

Hopefully, that's reason enough for you. Elephants are rarely truly angry, but when upset, they are not a pretty sight to see. One time I saw an elephant go absolutely crazy over someone dropping its favorite type of peanut (the Styrofoam kind) on the ground. Every elephant has its own personal peeves, and they are not things to be messed with.
When elephants get REALLY mad, they call in the Divine Purple Elephant Queen. She's their leader not just because she is divine, but because she is by far more frightening than the other elephants can be. The Divine Purple Elephant Queen is three times the size of normal elephants, and can squash a human with a single step if she so wishes. She can shoot fire out of her trunk, a sight which inspired ancient man to create dragon myths. The Queen has existed for years immeasurable, and will probably still be living long after any people alive now are gone.

You don't want to mess with the Queen

I suppose you're off the hook...

Alright, Mr. Beckett, you're off the hook.
Until the next baseball season, anyway.
In response to these developments, I forced that poor polar bear to completely consume the contents of the Coca-Cola bottle you saw earlier. The bear wasn't pleased, but like all good minions, he would do anything for the Divine Purple Elephant Queen, of whom I am a representative.
Now it's the Patriots that need to be worried. I want a perfect season, after all.

Fox scares me

The news company, I mean.
Check out this messed up article they published. It's just sick and wrong. There's no way it will actually happen, yet those delusions still exist. The Rockies are going DOWN tonight. They won't win. They won't come close to winning. They won't even smell the faintest whiff of potential victory.
I think Fox is just mad that Massachusetts, and by extension the Red Sox, is more "with it" than it is. After all, Massachusetts is a blue state, and Fox is about as red as it gets.
No offense to conservatives, but you have a seriously biased news source.

You're not off the hook yet, Mr. Beckett

Do the Sox won last night. Big deal. Tonights the night that really counts. I want this series to be over. A clean sweep of the Rockies. I know you guys can do it, and I'm not accepting ANY excuses.
None.
You'd better win. It should be a piece of cake. If you don't, then remember that "bottle of Coca-Cola" I showed you earlier.
Penguins and Polar Bears, Mr. Beckett, Penguins and Polar Bears.

Details, details

Don't think you're gonna get off easy, Mr. Beckett. I was recently informed that you aren't going to be playing in today's game.
I don't care.
If you're a part of the Red Sox and the Sox don't do well, it's your fault if they don't do well. Deal with it.
Be very careful of penguins and polar bears if they don't win tonight, Mr. Becket.

That's not a Coke.

I don't care who told you what, that penguin is not giving that polar bear a Coke. Nope, that's the top secret plan of what they'll do if the Red Sox don't win the game tonight. You don't want to know what's inside of it. Top secret, highly confidential stuff. It's so classified, even the Divine Purple Elephant Queen doesn't have access to it. And let me tell you, the Divine Purple Elephant Queen knows EVERYTHING. She knows what you're having for breakfast next Tuesday morning, even if you have no idea. She knows when you'll finally stop putting off your least favorite chore. She knows what your first word was, when you said it, where you said it, and what you meant by it.
So let me tell you, this is top secret stuff. I shouldn't even be telling you it exists. But if I didn't, I'd feel guilty. So be prepared for what will happen if the Sox don't win tonight. Especially you, Mr. Becket. And Big Papi, you should be sweating in your sleep.
Though you better not be sleeping 20 minutes before the game.

Old Dad and Co.

In honor of the Red Sox game tonight, Bob and I invited my father, a die-hard Red Sox fan, over to watch the game. Dad brought along a friend.
So now we've got two old dudes starring at our television, counting down the milliseconds until the first pitch is thrown. It's horribly boring, so I'm stuck blogging for something to do.
On the plus side, Dad's a good cook, for all he is quite a way over the hill. Tonight for dinner he is making Chicken Cordon Bleu, one of his favorite meals to make. I can't wait for dinner, but I can wait for dishes. Where's Bob Jr. when you need him? Dumb kid had to run off to sleep over a friend's house tonight. To bad none of the other 8.5 kids are any good at dish washing.
5:02. That means there are 28 minutes left until the game. Yay!

Case and Point

The one on top is a rocky mountain oyster. The one below it is an oyster.
Which would you rather eat?
Go Red Sox!

I want to see this again soon

And I mean soon. As in tomorrow. You guys better win tonight! The Rockies don't stand a chance. Keep on cremeing them. Show no mercy. None. Nada. Zip. They are what stands between you and your second World Series Championship in three years. Sure, they've got Rocky Mountain Oysters for sale in their stadium, but you're Boston. In Boston, oysters mean a type of mollusks, not bull testicles. I think you guys have the upper hand.

If you start loosing, keep this in mind:
Penguins and Polar Bears.

Sound System Setup

Bob is WAY to lazy.
He refuses to do any of the handywork around the house, even though he's a professional builder. His excuse is that he doesn't want to bring his work home, but I know that it's just him wanting to sit in his easy chair and watch TV.
Anyway, he bought a new sound system for our living room while I was out yesterday. This morning, he made me set it up. It took me three hours to get the thing to work properly. The sound quality is amazing, but the thing was almost more trouble than it is worth. I am annoyed.
This isn't the only time Bob has made me do that sort of thing, though. When our oldest son wanted a weight bench, who do you think set it up? When our daughter got an iPod, who set that up? Whenever there's anything to be set up, it's my job. Fun, no?

Let's go Red Sox!!!!

I'm wearing my green "pride o' the neighborhood" Red Sox shirt just for you guys. You had better win the world series. If you don't, well, I may have to send the penguins and polar bears after you.

Trust me. You don't want that.

Go team!!!

Cover Up

On second thought, forget I said anything in that last post. It was all a lie. Ignore it. I have absolutely no plans to help purple elephants take over El Salvador. None. Nada. Zip. I swear, it was all a lie. I swear on my sister's grave.
Oh wait. I don't have a sister. Never did.

Bob and the Purple Elephant plot.

Bob and I are deeply in love. It is so nice to be married. We are so happy together, and with all of our kids. Life is bliss.
Anyway, my apologies for not having been on recently. I was working on my plan to help purple elephants take over the world. It's coming along quite nicely. By February of 2028, everyone should be bowing the the Divine Purple Elephant Queen. With the help of the penguins from the north pole and polar bears from the south pole, we should start taking over El Salvador, which is our first target, in a matter of months.
At first, we'll trick them into thinking it's just a small, peaceful internet campaign. We'll send every El Salvadorian email account a picture of the Diving Purple Elephant Queen with a message saying something along the lines of "This is the Divine Purple Elephant Queen. Submit to her Wondorous Rule." Then, slowly, we'll start a political party. Before you know it, we'll be in charge and we'll change El Salvador's government to a dictatorship, with The Queen as the dictator.
It will be awesome.

Bob Jr.'s New Job

Now that school's started up, Bob Jr.'s decided to get a job. Since he's still in high school, most jobs are out of his reach, but one option remained. The elusive and marvelous minimum wage job.
Now Bob works eight hour days each weekend and an hour or two after school each night, flipping burgers at our local burger joint. Bob Sr. and I are so proud of him. He makes a mean bacon burger with extra cheese and no tomato. A little to much ketchup maybe, but every one has their faults.
DUD was so jealous of the fact that Bob Jr.'s actually making money that he insisted on a raise in his allowance. Instead of ten cents a month, he is now proud to be earning eleven cents, for all the house work he does. You've gotta love four year olds and their concept of money. I don't think he realizes that the amount of money he owns is only enough to buy about two candy bars a year, and I'm not going to be the one to break it to him. That would be his father's job.

My hat collection

They hang on the wall in me and Bob's bedroom. There are seven of them, when they are all hanging. On the far left is a simple white hat, the kind I wore on Easter when I was a kid. Next to it is a simple, boring, baseball cap from the '06 National Mock Trial Championship, which Bob Jr. participated in. The third cap is a joker's hat, with red-white-and-blue coloring. It has eight light up red balls on the ends of each segment that sticks out of it, and when I turn the hat on, the lights flash. Then there's the cowboy hat that I don't remember getting, and the purple paper bag hat that I got at a party. This hat was made, and then I got to decorate it. I attached multicolored pipe cleaners to the edges of its top, and bells to those. Time has caused the bells to pull the pipe cleaners down torwards the ground and droop. A black and white cap that always reminds me of my grandfather on my mom's side is next to this one, and the final cap is shaped so that it looks like a pink manta ray, with large eyes that creep me out, and my head stuck below it, so it looks like I'm being eaten by the thing when I wear it. Those are my hats.

School's started

Actually, it started two weeks ago, but still.
Dud's starting first grade this year, and Bob Jr is a senior in high school. It's crazy to try to drag all my kids to school each day and get them home each night. Luckily, Bob Jr. drives now, so I make him help. Bob Sr. is to lazy to be useful. His work's distracting him. Something with a giant rocking chair, I think.
The point is, my life's been hectic for awhile now. Don't be surprised if I don't post much during the work/school week--- I'm so busy I can hardly breathe.

Ode to Google

Oh Google your many uses are useful,
You can be used for almost anything,
The internet allows you
To try to make the whole world sing.

But where did you go yesterday?
I could not check my mail
I had to do a Yahoo! search,
Because Google's did fail.

I tried to see what was in the news,
But nothing seemed to be going on.
The computer said it could not be found,
It changed its mind this dawn.

At nine o'clock this morning
I tried to use you again.
To my delight Google worked
And still worked at ten.

Google, your useful for many things,
from images, to Earth
SketchUp is a lot like CAD
To a new internet gave birth.

Why I don't listen to music

Crazy, I know, but I really don't listen to the stuff. It's a waste of time, really. I have better things to do than spend hours with my ears plugged into a digital device. My eyes and fingers spend enough time doing that, thank you very much. It'd be a different matter all together if any of the "modern" music people listen to was any good, but it isn't, so I don't bother. There are about three bands/types of music I'll actually listen to, and none of them are particularly popular at this time of year.
My free time is better spent enjoying silence on my computer, watching online movies, or reading books. I don't want to risk damaging my already selective hearing any more than it already is by blasting music, so I don't even bother.
Logical? Probably not.
Oh, well.

"Mama Elephant"

Mom,
Kindly don't post nonsense jingles on my blog. It's weird. Not that this blog isn't weird, of course. But my point is this is my blog. If you want to babble about elephants going to church, feel free to make your own. Call me and I'll show you how. But please, please don't comment on my blog illogical stuff like that. Thankies!!!!
Dyda

Orange Whale has a Blog Now

Alright, here's how it works. That horrible Orange Whale has made his own blog with which to diss me. I am highly offended by the dissing, but quite flattered that he felt so threatened by me that he had to make his own blog with which to fight me. Very impressive. Of course, it would be a lot more impressive if he managed to use proper spelling and grammar, or something remotely resembling it, at least. You can't have everything, I guess.

Necessary Madness

Alright, Mr. Orange Whale, I see how it is. You clearly don't love purple elephants the way I do--I understand that. But that doesn't mean that you have to force your disgusting orange whales on me. I don't want to eat orange whales, and since the only good whale is found on a whaleburger, orange whales are completely useless.
Sorry, dude.

5W's and H

Who?
Bob
What?
Built
Where?
Rio de Janerio
When?
August 26, 2626
Why?
He wanted to.
How?
Using his tools.

Bowling

Today Bob and I took the kids bowling. DUD managed to get a couple of strikes, and Sally Ann managed to bowl a one-fifty. I was so proud of her. In case you were wondering here's a list of all my kids in order of birth.
Sally Ann
Bob Jr.
Bob III
Bob IV
Joey
Dyda Jr
DUD
Elizabeth
Ezekiel
Michaelangelo

Ode to the Red Sox

The Red Sox are my favorite team
They play basketball the best.
And they go up and down the field
In adorable yellow vests.

Yes, I do love the Red Sox.
I like watching them make touchdowns.
Whenever I see them play
My smile is no longer a frown.

I could tell you more and more,
about how they hit their puck
but I now must leave
and wish the Red Soxs luck!

Just call me Mrs. Builder

It is my name after all. Unless your Bob, or DuD or one of my other 8 kids, you have no excuse. This means you, Mom. And you, Aunt Tia. And you, Uncle Chignik.
Oh wait. Chignik isn't my uncle. It's a town on the Alaska Peninsula, northeast of Perryville. My bad. Sorry Uncle Galena. Oh... wait. That's another Alaskan town. Shoot. I can't remember Aunt Tia's husband's name. Oh, well.
Oops. My bad again. I don't have an Aunt Tia.

Ode to Eggpie

Eggpie, oh eggpie, how I loveth thee.
Thy taste is like a fake egg
and to obtain it
I would surely beg,

But if I could eat you every day,
Then I would surely be sad
for thy taste is but a special treat
Eat to much and I'll go mad.

Thy crunchy taco crusts do fill me
Thy yummy ham bits I adore
Thy cheesy goodness I do love
And will love forever more.

Thank the purple elephants for fake eggs
and the pie that they do make
pop it in the oven
and for forty minutes bake.

Yo

yo, yo, yo. What's up homey g-dogs. What's forshnizzle in the henizzle todizzle? Why do you eat cheezits in the hizouse?
See, I'm gangster, yo!

I am truly disappointed.

What's wrong with purple elephants? What's wrong with you people?
Purple elephants are vital to our economic structure... They keep the world turning, and the turn worlding. Without purple elephants, we'd be stuck in the stone age.

They are infinitely better than orange whales or shadowfates or whatever. tsk tsk tsk.

Vital Question

How is it possible to not love purple elephants? You may have seen the rude comment someone claiming to be named "orange whale" left on my first post. It was completely uncalled for.
Anyway, the question is, how is it humanly possible not to completely adore purple elephants? They are amazingly awesome. You have to love 'em.
By the way, how can you like orange whales? it's unnatural!

Mascot

Here's our blog mascot... do you like it?
if not, to bad for you, because I couldn't care less. This is my blog. If you don't like it. Make your own.

Ode to Loonyness

My brothers say I'm crazy
They claim I'm insane
They think that I've gone barking mad
and truly lost my brain

My friends all agree,
They think that I'm nuts to.
They roll their eyes and laugh
at all the things I do.

No matter what they may say,
I know the truth.
The voices all tell me
That I am no goof.

Ode to Popcorn

Oh yummiest of movie snacks,
your taste fills me with delight.
I want to enjoy your buttery taste
All day, into the night.

But when I try to eat you,
your taste quickly fades away
and I am left with nothing more
until the next delicious day.

Your color is so pleasant,
your taste is truly fine,
I love the crunch burnt bits
Oh, they are so divine.

If only I could show the world
your buttery delights
for then the lonely days
would be filled with crunchy kites.

Me and Bob

I LOVE Bob the Builder. I like to think he loves me to. We are very happy together, and our nine and a half kids are also. We try not to talk about Wendy. She's evil.
Our half a kid, Dud,was named after his father. Since he's only half a kid, he only has half a name, and when you cut Bob in half you either get Dnl or Dud, depending on whether you cut off the top half or the bottom half. Bob and I talked for awhile, and decided Dud made more sense than Dnl.

Boredom

Due to extreme boredom, I am starting this blog. I expect no one to read it, nor will I any include any personal information on it. It will be extremely random. Enjoy!

By the way, purple elephants rule!