Saturday, May 7

I do NOT loves me some wascally wabbits!!!

Ok, so John got home after working approximately 483 13 hours today. Here's the conversation we had about ten minutes after he walked in the door:

John: 'Ah, my dearest Brea, most precious, beautiful, and wise above all other women! How I have missed you in these long hours of our absence. How faired you and our lovely progeny on this day?'

(Ok, fine. What he really said was more along the lines of, 'Hey baby. Gah, I'm glad to be out of the store; my shift was crazy long. How was your day with the kids?' But come on. My translation sounded way better.)

Brea: 'I'm glad you asked; it was great! We accomplished a lot, caught up on school and laundry, shot the bows out back, got all our church clothes picked out ...' blah, blah, brag about productiveness, blah, blah, blah

John: 'Wow, that's impressive. The house looks great, by the way. Any reason for getting so much done?'

(I thought for about 3 seconds about being offended by that last comment, but seeing how he made an accurate observation, I decided to take the compliment and run with it.)

Brea: 'Ok, this might sound a silly ...'

(John raised his eyebrow at that.)

Brea: '... a little sillier than normal, but I had this dream last night, and I was taking names and kicking ass in the middle of this medieval battle ...'

(both eyebrows were raised after that)

Brea: '... ANYWAY, so when I woke up, I felt like listening to Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries. So I did. I've always loved that one, and it set me in a very conquering mood, and I've decided I'm doing the same thing tomorrow. If it works, I'm totally adding it to my morning routine.'

John: 'The ride of the who the whaaaaaaaaa?'

Brea: 'Richard Wagner? German opera composer? Ride of the Valkyries? Any of this ringing a bell?'

John: (crickets started chirping)

Brea: 'Seriously? Um ... ok. Hold on, don't go anywhere.'

(I ran off to get my laptop, and pulled up Ride on YouTube, and played it for him.)

John: 'Oh, you mean Kill The Wabbit! Yeah, I know about that composer. You know, they used to play him at a lot of Nazi rallies. Hitler was a big fan of his.'

Brea: (long, chirping-filled pause as I tried to figure out which question to ask first) 'Whaaaa ... ? They did? He was? Wait, kill the wabbit? Dude, I'm not a Nazi!'

John: 'Chill. I didn't call you a Nazi. Come on, Kill The Wabbit! Bugs Bunny? Elmer Fudd? Any of this ringing a bell for you?'

Brea: (cricket noises swell to symphonic proportions)

John: (raises the eyebrow again)

Brea: 'Wait, the one where Elmer Fudd looks like a Viking trashcan? Yeah, I remember that one.'

John: 'Cool. I was getting worried that you hadn't heard of it.'

(I just looked at him for a minute.)

Brea: 'Isn't that supposed to be my line?'

So now, do I have shrill Valkyries screeching in German stuck in my head? Nooooooooo ... I've frickin' got frickin' Elmer Fudd singing frickin' 'kill the waaabbit! Kill the waaaaaaaaabbit!!' stuck on a terrible loop in my frickin' head. I liked it better when I was dreaming about opening up a can of medieval WHOOP ASS.

So now I just may have to kill John, and talking about putting a damper on my Mother's Day. 'No, officer, I haven't seen the tiny pieces of his body that I buried out back John this morning. I'm very confused, also!'

If he starts singing Rebecca Black's Friday (oh, yes, that's right. He does it to annoy me!) at any point tonight or tomorrow, IT'S ON.

I'm just saying.

Now where did I put that hacksaw ... ?

(No, I'm mostly probably totally kidding. Really. Promise.)

Friday, May 6


Ok, it's now been OVER a year since I've posted. This has got to be a record, even for moi. So here's a quick update on the last year of my life:

Sam, The Eldest, is almost 9, and getting to be more like his father every day. This is usually a good thing. He's been playing baseball (yeah, I'm going to admit that he RAWKS my socks off ... he's GOOD!), and participating in AWANA Club, and he's about to finish second grade in a few weeks. He's responsible and steady and my favorite child.

Evie, the Drama Mama, will be 8 this summer. She's reading every single thing the can get her hands on (no, I have no idea where she gets THAT propensity!), and she becomes more like me every day. This is occasionally a good thing. She did the same AWANA Club as Sam, and she'll also be finishing second grade soon. As much as I doubted at times, my friends were right, and cursive didn't kill anyone in our household. She's dramatic and loving and my favorite child.

David, my Danger Boy, is 4 ... and nothing but trouble. Don't let the huge dimples fool you; he's not to be trusted any further than you can throw him. He'll be starting kindergarten when we begin our next school year, and he'll tell you that he knows multiplication ... and then start yelling out random numbers to prove his point. He's the toughest kid I know and idolizes his siblings and he's my favorite child.

Elizabeth Skye is 13 months old ... and God help that poor child, but we call her The Beetle. Or sometimes just Beetle. I'm not kidding. She doesn't answer to Skye, but if you holler "BEETLE!" from the other side of the house, she comes a'running. Or a'toddling, as it were. She has a smirk that screams TROUBLE, and she loves to hug people, and her favorite pastime is looking right at you, throwing something on the floor, and sweetly saying 'Uh oh!' She is mischievous and the most beautiful little thing with curls and dimples ever and my favorite child.

Two of my dearest recently found out that they're pregnant, and are due within a few weeks of each other. My mom's comment? "Oh, I'm so happy for her!" Followed by, "Brea, this isn't a race. DO NOT go and get yourself knocked up again!"

a) it's totally a race (hi, I'm a FIRSTBORN!!!), and out of the three of us, I'm WINNING already.
b) I need like 37 more babies, so I'm not ruling anything out.

John and I, with the occasional help of our family, just finished putting a 400-square-foot deck on the back of our house, complete with railing, gates, and stairs. I've never physically worked so hard in my entire life, and had so much fun at the same time.

And on that note, my feral monkeys are losing their minds, and need some wrangling. We're off to the store, but I promise that I'll be back more often.

And to the person for whom I'm writing this post ... you know who you are, and I love you so much, and I wish I could see you every day!!!!!!!!!