My Panties are Having an Identity Crisis

"Houston, we have a problem."

That's what I felt like saying the other day when something really uncomfortable happened. I'm not talking emotionally uncomfortable. I'm not talking intellectually uncomfortable. I'm talking physically uncomfortable. The kind of physical discomfort that arises from one's panties having an identity crisis.

We've all had this happen, yes?

We buy lacy and frilly panties for those 'special occasions', maybe some over priced mini pieces of silk or cotton linked together by elastic the width of dental floss so we can look or feel uber sexy for a particular moment in time. When we put these undergarments on, we may experience a certain degree of ... ahem ... irritation. We expect this and are willing to put up with it.

Don't get me wrong, in my younger years, I often wore what I suppose could technically be classified as 'underwear' because they were 'worn under' your clothes - but let's be honest, it was only for show. Indeed, on some occasions, I didn't even wear underwear (bet you're glad you read that, hey Mom?), because really, was there much difference between au naturel and a thong? I guess at that time I simply got used to having a string running up my butt crack, and it just didn't bother me.

Flash forward four children and some major growth in the rear sector. I'm not quite to the 'granny panty' stage by any means - but I swear the only thongs you will ever see on me will be found on my feet. That isn't to say I haven't tried to go back - but it turns out that multiple pregnancies have made my butt crack a bit more 'sensitive' - and let's face it, if my a$$ isn't comfortable, neither am I.

So instead, I choose to wear 'comfortable' panties, and I'm ok with that. They work for me. Most of the time. Until recently, when one rogue pair seems to have decided it is destined for more.

A most unlikely offender.

I'm not sure what exactly happened. Perhaps it's because I have lost a lot of weight. Perhaps they are getting old and the elastic isn't quite as strong as it used to be. Perhaps it was because, in the very fabric of their being, these panties just needed a hug that could only be delivered by being squished between two hot and sweaty a$$ cheeks while their owner strolled along the Vegas Strip.

Whatever the reason, these suckers wedged up my butt so high I wasn't sure they were even going to be retrievable. I would try to discourage them by giving a gentle tug when I was certain no one was looking; however minutes later they would be right back up there, leaving me feeling like I should be out frolicking freely in the ocean rather than standing in the desert trying to subtly declutter my crack.

image from fanpop.com

The more we walked, the worse it got. My a$$ was NOT happy, and consequently, neither was I. In the end, while I would like to support these panties in their quest for whatever it is they are seeking, I'm afraid that, for the time being, they will have to be relegated to the bottom of the panty pile. The a$$ has spoken.

Husbands Say the Darndest Things

The other day my husband and I were on our way to town to do some shopping. For most of the trip, he proceeded to tell me about a new and creative business opportunity he had been thinking about. It was intriguing.

I commented that it would be great to possibly start a business someday, and he told me how great I would be at it.

Then he said - and I quote "I'm sure you'd be great at something - we just have to figure out what it is".

Image from www.socialnatural.com

I looked over at him and smiled. "Sounded a lot better in your head, didn't it?"

He nodded sheepishly.

I'm not EVER letting him forget this one - because, as it turns out, remembering stupid shit like this is one thing I am really great at ;)

What Do You Give a Guy Who Has Everything?

It's the age old question really. When somebody already has everything he/she needs, what on earth do you do for a gift when a special occasion arises?

I'm struggling with this as I write. It is our Anniversary next week, and my husband has, well, everything he needs or wants. For the most part anyways. And so, I am left to my own devices.

I conducted a little research - and noted that Hugh Hefner's new bride created a beautiful 3D collage of everything he enjoys - including a container of Strawberry Hagen-Daz ice cream ... apparently he loved it (the guy is 87 years old and wears pyjama's every single day - of course he's going to love it - he's weird!). I somehow don't think a gift like this is going to fly in my house though. My husband would probably mistake it for garbage piling up on the counter instead of a meaningful and thoughtful gift. Although it would necessitate a trip to the dump, which would of course, make him happy. Never know what you might find at the dump - glorious treasures often await.

So I got to thinking a little harder. My husband likes hot sauce - loves hot sauce as a matter of fact. I could head on down to a specialty store and pick up some unique sauce that would incinerate his stomach lining - cause nothing says love quite like a belly ache and subsequent fire in the hole. But then I came across this on Twitter, and thought, hmmm, I don't even have to go to a specialty store. No, I can just head on over to Sobey's and pick some of this stuff up . . .

Professor Phardtpounders has done it again!

At $8.99, it's a great deal, don't you think?

On second thought, I'm not so sure I want to put up with what would result from the back end of this gift, so perhaps I'll save that for another day ... like when I'm really angry with him and he's headed back to work the next day.

I thought some more. We are heading out on a hot holiday right away, and because my hubs has lost a lot of weight, his swimsuit no longer fits him properly. He swears he can still wear it; however I'm not so sure that it will be a good scene when he goes to get out of the pool and his trunks fall to his ankles. He might be OK with it, but I'm pretty sure the other pool patrons would not be. Perhaps a new suit would be an option? Thankfully a Facebook friend posted these the other day - they come in a multitude of colors as you can see; however I'm not so sure about the coverage ...

Then again, maybe not ....

I'm fresh out of ideas. I guess he's going to have to live with a family that loves him dearly as his gift this year. Unless you have some ideas you'd like to share ....

The "Newfoundland Experiment"

I'm not going to lie - my kids have driven me straight to the front door of crazy town this week. I love them dearly, but I seriously am counting the minutes until bedtime when they walk in the door at the end of the day. Feeling this way is not fair to them, I realize this, and so I try valiantly to entertain and engage with them as much as I can - but when they are constantly bickering and fighting and doing stupid stuff like throwing stuffed animals at light fixtures, I just want to crawl under the covers and try again tomorrow.

Yesterday was no exception. Everything I cleaned was undone within an hour of completion. B and L couldn't get along to save their life. By the time Z walked in the door after school, I already felt like I had been wrung through the ringer.  Then I remembered we needed to get a prescription refilled. sigh. Off to the pharmacy we went.

I don't usually take all the kids to the pharmacy with me - but I had no other option. It went about as I had anticipated, and by the time we were paying and leaving, I wondered aloud "Is it bedtime YET?". And this is precisely when my moment of brilliance hit . . .

In Newfoundland, 3 1/2 hours ahead of us, it was INDEED bedtime. And so began my elaborate attempt at deception.

While sitting at the dinner table eating, I informed the kids we were actually on an airplane destined for Newfoundland. Then, while they were putting their dishes away, I changed the clocks in the kitchen to Newfoundland time. I reset the time on my phone as well - good call, because they did indeed check to make sure the clocks in the kitchen were actually right.

Newfoundland bound.

Upon arrival at our destination, we took a quick cleansing bath, then it was off to bed, because it was so super late of course. They did comment that it was very bright outside for being 9 p.m. - I agreed and told them this was why Newfoundland is so magical.

On our way upstairs I happened to mutter something about needing a little Screech to make things more authentic - well, the kids delivered. For the next 45 minutes there was screeching like you wouldn't believe - and towards the end, it was mostly coming from their mother! I threw in a few "Take a gawk at yer crooked mother " and "oh me nerves" for good measure. Apparently they hadn't caught on to the Newfie lingo just yet because all I got were quizzical looks.

By 11 pm Newfoundland time they finally fell asleep. Shucks. Same time as always Alberta time. Oh well, at least it made the evening a little bit more ... entertaining. Sigh.

Here's the best part ... our Newfoundland adventure didn't just stop there. Nope. Not a chance.


At 3 a.m. I opened my eyes to discover Z staring at me intently.

"What are you doing?" I gasped.

"Getting up. It's 6:30 in Newfoundland ... can I have a snack?" he replied.

My friends, I was not as enthusiastic about his genius math skills as I should have been. Sigh.

Oh well, at least I was half awake when my cell alarm went off a short while later because I forgot to reset the time on my phone. Son of a ...

And In This Edition of 'Ben Says' . . .

Fresh off the heels of trying to explain what Ken was trying to do to Barbie at Auntie's house (if you missed the previous blog post, click here), we encountered a similarly challenging question on the 12 hour drive home later that week.

We were well into the mountains when the DVD player died and the children were left to their own devices. For a long while they played 'I Spy' before settling into a rousing rendition of 'Who's Breathing On Who' and 'He's Touching Me!'.


Just when we were about to pull over and let them find their own way home, Z posed an interesting question.

"Where did people come from, anyways?" he asked.

Ben says -
"Duh. They come from your TUMMY, Z!"







After clarifying that he meant where did the first people EVER come from, Mike and I attempted (poorly) to explain both the religious and evolutionary perspectives.

Ben says -

"Is that why Z's so hairy?"

After consoling his sobbing brother and re-iterating for the thousandth time that Z is NOT and NEVER WILL BE a monkey, we moved on to how mountains were made.

Ben says -

"Well, mountains might be made of rocks but clouds are made of cotton candy"

My husband launched into a long and detailed explanation about how clouds are made and what they are made of. And when he was finally finished ... 

Ben says -

"Nope. Pretty sure it's cotton candy Dad."

Man I LOVE that kid!

Oh Barbie! What Are You Doing?!

A few weeks ago, I encountered this on my way into the kitchen . . .

Now I get that they are 'in love' and 'just married', but really, they had to go and get all romantic on my kitchen counter?!?!!

I looked at my husband accusingly, certain that he had put them there like that to see how I would react but he feigned ignorance. He swore up and down that he had no idea how they got that way. I still don't believe him.

Fast forward to a week ago when we were staying at my sisters house during spring break. We were headed to our oldest daughter's performance that evening, and I had forgotten my curling iron at home; however my sister was kind enough to lend me hers. It took her a while to find it.

When she finally brought it to me, she was blushing. She explained that in her search for the curling iron, she had come across Barbie and Ken in a rather compromising position. Of course, I had to see for myself.

I opened the cabinet door and was greeted with this . . .

Well, at least it wasn't on the kitchen counter.

Launching Rockets

A few weeks ago we had the pleasure of going to spend a night with some friends who have recently moved away. The kids were thrilled to be able to play all afternoon/evening and then get up in the morning and do it all again. Man I wish I had a tenth of their energy!

One particular toy they loved was a mini rocket launcher. It consisted of a foam rocket that flew into the air when you stepped on the plastic launcher - they played with that thing for HOURS - laughing and giggling and seeing who could make it go highest. It was awesome.

We returned home and fell back to our regular routines. One afternoon the kids headed upstairs to play - they were quiet for a while and then the house was filled with the melodic sounds of their laughter and delight. It was wonderful . . . and I was curious. Usually quiet followed by laughter indicates an idea of epic proportions in our house, kind of like the time they were using the rolling laundry hamper as a go cart and almost rode it down the stairs . . . but I digress . . .

I tiptoed upstairs and peeked into the room. The three of them were huddled together giggling, when suddenly they all fell backward and I saw a white thing launch into the air. As it fell to the floor the belly laughs resumed.

Yes my friends, they had found my tampons.

Because really, what else could you use as a rocket substitute?

Sigh. At least they weren't walking around with them stuck up their noses . . . until later that day anyways ;)