Weekend Sleepover

For a belated Christmas present, our family is getting our floor retiled. Bob, lazy old man that he is, absolutely refuses to do the work himself, so we had to hire some guys to do it for us.
The new tile was chosen by my dear old Ma, and is a weird reddish-brown color.
Anyway, because our house is covered with a thick layer of dust and we can't even walk on the floor half the time because the tile's wet or something, all 11 and a half of us are staying over my Uncle Mick and Aunt Tammy's house. They have a good sized house, but when you add the two families together, there are 15.5 people in it. We slept over last night and the night before, and now it looks like we might be staying tonight as well.
Joey is thrilled about this whole sleepover thing too. He's spent all this morning and a good portion of last night walking around in circles and moping. He's watched everything on his iPod, he says, and he's tired of playing video games. Joey is a fairly convincing moper, and I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered all the other times he's acted this way. Nine times out of ten, it's a carefully orchestrated act designed to make me and Bob feel sorry for him and give him something or take him somewhere or something along those lines.

Patriots in the Playoffs

The Patriots have their first playoff game tonight. For those of you who were surprised by their perfect season so far this year, don't be. They were under strict orders from the Divine Purple Elephant Queen to win every game they played. They know that if they loose a single game, then her Divinity will punish them to a life of eternal orangeness once she takes over the world.
And who in their right mind would want to be punished with the orangeness? The practice has been outlawed by the United Nations. They say it's inhumane to lock a person in a room with orange light bulbs, orange floor, orange ceiling, orange walls and feed them nothing but oranges and sweet potatoes. And of course, the person himself would be wearing nothing but, you guessed it, orange.
The Pats weren't to crazy about a life of orangeness (who would want to live so deprived of purple?), so they have no choice but to go undefeated through the entire season. If they loose tonight, though, don't expect to be seeing Tom Brady any time soon.

Happy Belated New Year!!!

I truly, genuinely, totally apologize for my recent absence and the lack of posts caused by it. I'm sorry.
But, seriously, it's Bob's fault. he bought me one of those new-fangled iPods, the one that's like an iPhone without a phone or a camera, for Christmas. As a direct result of that, I became addicted to buying television show episodes off iTunes. So far, I've purchased and viewed the first three seasons of "Numb3rs". Now I've started obsessing over "Bones" There's no time to do anything else when you can be wasting $2 per episode on television shows.
In fact, the only reason I'm writing this now is because I'm downloading another three episodes of "Bones" on iTunes, and it's taking awhile.
Anyway, the kids are starting to complain about how they never see me anymore. I've been spending half my time hiding in my bedroom staring at the 3" screen of my iPod touch. The other 12 hours a day, I'm either sleeping or performing my duties as chef/maid/taxi driver, all of which Bob is to lazy to perform.
Does anyone else think I'm obsessed?

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.