Meet Nate

So, Aquaman and I joined the 21st century...or possibly just the late 20th century...and got a real live cellphone. It's part of an effort to keep me and my extrovert tendencies connected to the world outside of our northwoods city. Namely, to keep me connected to Balabusta and Bee.

The problem with my GLORIOUS iphone is that Sprint was a leedle bit hasty in reassigning a used number to me. Enter Nate, stage left.

Nate used to have my cell phone number. Nate gets texts from needy, overemotional girls who have, like, so much homework and are feeling, like, super stressed and really, really would appreciate it if Nate could take their shift at the Pizza restaurant. (I don't like whiny girls, so they're on their own to get that shift covered).

Also, the stone cold girls who I think are gunning for Nate. As in, they may be the reason Nate changed his number. These girls sound like they are looking for Nate after a less-than-happy parting and want blood. I wish they'd text because their cold, emotionless voices scare me.

I also know what Nate looks like. Someone texted a picture to Nate that they've found his twin.

This is why all the girls are calling.

 

 

There's the random friend who I guess plays Marco Polo via text message? At least, that was what I was figuring when someone texted:

 

Marco?

 

Marco?

 

(Because I can't handle the thought of adding in Marco to the mix, please tell me it was a game of Marco Polo).

 

 

I was also invited to a poker game. Or probably it was for Nate, but it felt nice to feel included, and like I was making friends in the far north. But the game started at 10pm (hardcore poker) and I would have to bring a nursing baby. I wasn't sure what all the guys would think about that, so I passed.

 

And then, then, last night. Or this morning really. 1:51 am I received this gem:

 

 





 

(I don't know why the phone says 9:52, I got this at 1:51 when I was up with the Lion Cub)

 

Thankfully, Bee was up in the middle of her day on the other side of the world so we were able to discuss the dark turn Nate's life was taking. And to google what a 20 bag is.

 

 

 

 

 

Alas, Balabusta's not an easy woman to impress. When Bee filled her in on our

special naivete + math smarts, she assumed we were idiots trying to make meth and not able to read the recipe. Warm fuzzies all the way around.

 

And now, I may be off to text Nate's friend from Saginaw and tell him I don't know where he can score a 20 bag, but I'd be willing to pray with him and refer him to some treatment facilities.

 

--Kae--



Popping tags with baby in tow

Ye olde blogge was resurrected for the sake of a certain Grandma and Grandpa (and some Aunties) now that we live a distance away. If you aren't a relation, I encourage you now to look away from the most tedious train wreck of a post that's coming at you. Unless you enjoy detailed itineraries of nothingness. In which case, read on.

I started the day with a headache, which is the kids' favorite kind of day. It means I get a slow (slower than my usual molasses pace) start and they are welcome to all the science videos they want while I crawl to the kitchen. (Disclaimer: Pipsqueak does not enjoy these mornings. He doesn't enjoy anything that stands between him and his morning carbs).

Our day took a surprising turn for the better when my mom and dad (Balabusta and Pops) decided to cut their Canadian Border camping trip short. They may not have enjoyed the mosquitoes, cold, and torrential rains, but the kids and I were happy that all drove them straight into our needy, needy arms for a visit.

The raging river in the background is the one Blondie wanted to "explore".

 

And since absence makes the heart grow fonder, Balabusta and Pops brought us smoked salmon, smoked ciscoe, and cheese curds. You can take my word for it that it's like heaven's lunch buffet.

 

Then home for naps and a surprise email from Aquaman that tonight would be a good night to go out on the boat so we're all ready to go be spectators at our city's big marathon tomorrow. We had planned to sail up the shore and watch it, but Aquaman- while toiling away at work- got the idea that he and some of the kids should get a headstart going up the coast from the marina tonight. And by some of the kids, he meant all of them except the baby. (It might have had something to do with my not-overly-dramatic speech yesterday (and the day before, and the day before that...) about my mental exhaustion with all these little attitudes I'm daily butting heads with.

 

So, as of 5 pm I was off the clock. (Other than the six feedings I will be attending to during the overnight hours.) And the Lion Cub and I will be walking 2.4 miles to meet them at the harbor tomorrow.

 

Lion Cub and I started our party by hitting up my new favorite place in all the land:

 

 

 

 He loves poppin' tags. He's my little thrifting buddy.

 

 

2 rashguards/swimshirts for the big boys, a new pair of cargo pants for Lanky, a t-shirt for me, and a Savers Membership Card later, we rolled into Target to spend a bit of the birthday money Balabusta and Pops gave me:

 



Why, yes, they are from the little girls' section. They're way cheaper and way more comfortable than women's shoes. And sparkly gold.

 

 

And then a white knuckle-ish drive home:

 

 Maybe not so scary for people who don't have a history of driving into lakes/ponds during fog.

 

 

And the Lion Cub was all tuckered out from our exciting evening:

 



 

And my victory dance of the quiet evening was cut short by Mr. Giggles:

 





 



I may or may not have figured out uploading this video. Summary: Lion Cub laughs like a donkey. No baby giggles here.

 

 

Where we then proceeded to write the most boringest of all blog posts. The end, amen.

 

 

--Kae--

Listen up, Jacques Rogge

I'm surfacing from my new evening love- watching Olympic swimming and gymnastics obsessively- to share my thoughts on the Olympics. IOC, take note. (Don't worry, no spoilers here).

In no particular order:

1. Olympic swimmers should not wear nose plugs. If you're in the Olympics, thus one of the best 
     swimmers in the world, you should be able to handle a bit o' water up the old schnoz.

2.  The women swimmers are really good about congratulating their competition after a race. Hugs
      and all. I don't know if the men just find it awkward to hug in the pool while they're scantily clad
      in their little compression shorts, but I think they could pick up a good dose of Olympic spirit
       from the women's side.

 

3.   Gymnastics- will it ever end? I can't handle any more late nights.

4.    The media is fickle. I never realized just how desperately they want to shape public opinion until
       I watched their Michael Phelps coverage. ("Now we love him, now we speak with scorn of his
       lack of training, now we dredge up nasty comments from teammates, now he's winning so we
       need to respect his amazing Olympic record. And just for kicks, let's play up a little rivalry
       between Phelps and Lochte that may or may not really exist). How am I supposed to blindly
       follow whatever the media tells me now?

5. I don't think I'd make a good Olympian. I start finding myself cheering for other countries because
    hasn't the US won enough medals yet? Can't we spread the gold around? Also, I just don't like to
    work very hard.

5. Olympic commercials rock. Thanks to some commercial (that must not actually be that good
    because I've seen it a million times and still can't remember what it's advertising. Something
    related to computers) I have a new favorite song:

   

         And a new favorite commercial. I'm not going to admit to weeping. Maybe a poignant tear
         trickling down my cheek:

Sleep...I so desperately need sleep...must watch women's individual all-around...Jamaican sprinters...

--Kae--

Scandalous and more scandalouser

I'm deeply disturbed by the women in our country. 50 Shades of Nastiness and Magic Mike. Enough said. Off my soapbox now.

--Kae-- (Don't worry, Bee, I'm taking all the credit for looking down at society from my high horse.)

Links (not of the sausage variety)

Since no one is tending this blog (Bee, you have a computer and therefore could post. I know because you skype me from your computer), I thought maybe I would just point you in the direction of some better, more active funniness.

Camp Patton is guaranteed to ease your guilt about anything you do as a mother. Until you see what Grace does with were mad sewing skillz. Or baking. (It doesn't matter if she has skillz or not, she bakes at all and that's all that matters.)

Wit not Leisure needs to be mentioned now, before Mrs. Grey blocks me from her blog. (I used to think it was creepy to lurk on blogs, but have now decided that it makes me a bigger creeper that I comment on the poor woman's posts almost daily).

And if you're looking for celebrity news (because I'm willing to bet you're classy like that if you're friends with me), you shouldn't be getting it from anyone but Suri. Because she serves the news with a side of snark. And that makes me feel like a bigger person.

Maybe someone will own up to running this blog. Maybe.

Sisterhood

Bee and I had a phone conversation last weekend that went a little something like this:

Bee: "I keep checking the blog to see if you've posted anything."

Me: "I know. I keep checking the blog to see if you've posted anything."

In the background you could hear Señor Marine's pleas for a popsicle (he was recovering from knee surgery)

Bee: "One of us should post."

Me: "Yeah. Did you hear that Jessica Simpson finally had her baby?"

Long pause while Bee lets me know she couldn't possibly care less.

Me: "I think if we were celebrity sisters, we would be the Simpson sisters."

Bee: "The twins?"

Me: "Ashlee and Jessica aren't twins. They're just like us. An edgy younger sister and a ditzy older sister."

Bee: "I thought you meant Marge's sisters. The twins."

Me: "Because we don't shave our legs and are chainsmokers?"
Bee: "Because they don't really do anything besides stand around and heckle people."

And this is why you get such quality posts from me and Bee. You're welcome as always.

PS- For those of you who were concerned, Señor Marine got his strawberry popsicle.