Making the most of my "Dash"

Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

On the Motorcycle Class, Old Man Moses and being “THAT” student…

Over a week ago I mentioned that I am a big, fat, squawky-type chicken when it comes to quads and three-wheeled ATV’s.  Then I said I was going to take a motorcycle course.  Makes total sense, right?!  Obviously I survived the class, since you’re reading this.  I’m here to tell you that everyone else around me survived too.  Thank goodness.  However, I was really worried about Moses.    Truth be told, I still am.  But not from me running him over on accident.

The first day (night, actually) of our course, we had to do a classroom type setting.  We all were supposed to come prepared by having read our handbook and answered the questions in the back.  I was the first person there (insert Mister rolling is eyes and saying, “of course”).  A woman in her 60’s showed up shortly thereafter and sat by me.  A few other people trickled in, all in their 50’s and 60’s, and then Moses (not his real name) showed up.  I kid you not.  This guy, with his wispy white hair, translucent skin showing off his spiderweb of blue veins came shuffling, SHUFFLING, into class.  Wearing shorts and long tube socks.  FOR REALS, people!  And, class went from there…

The lady next to me proudly proclaimed to any and all who would hear her that she “just bought a Can Am!!!”  Then she would lean over and whisper to me, “I’m TERRIFIED of taking this class tomorrow!” Repeatedly.  RE-PEAT-ED-LY.  Then there was the woman all decked out in her Harley-Davidson gear (remember…CLASSROOM night) whose  husband came strutting in with all his HD gear on as well and asked if he could “sit-in” on the class to get a “refresher”.  Seriously?!  Yo, buttface, I just paid $250 smackaroonies for this class that you seriously want to sit-in on?!  The instructor said it was fine, particularly since he didn’t have a choice since the dude quickly followed his request with, “most instructors wouldn’t be okay with this, like they’ve got some issue with other people listening in on it or something.”  Yeah, he was THAT kind of dude.  Ugh.

Since everyone had supposedly done their homework, instructor-man said our four hour class should only be two and half hours. Tops.  But, he underestimated Moses and the HD chick and their ability to actually follow instructions. And hear (Moses).  And pay attention.  Three and a half hours (and 50 “I’m terrified’s” from Can Am lady) later, I was headed home, anxious to get to the actual motorcycle riding the next morning.  I was also anxious about Moses.  Most concerning to me was the fact that Moses should not be driving, much less motorcycling, on our public roads.

Morning came, and all but one of the students made it to class on time.  Moses was late.  I was full of nervousness. We were told to pick a bike, and get on.  I wondered if Moses had slept in.  Then, I wondered if he had died in his sleep overnight.  Then, I felt like a schmuck for thinking such a thought.  Then I wondered if he had family living with him and, if not, how long it would be before someone found the body.  That made me sad (it happens around here in this retirement community, you know), and a bit perturbed at my morbid thoughts.  During this time the instructor was telling us that he had coned off  two of the three entrances to the parking area we were using and should anyone attempt to come in that way he would “give them hell”.  Right after he said that, we noticed Moses was pulling up to the parking lot and aiming to turn in to one of the two coned-off driveways.  Those big neon pylons ain’t got nothin’ on Moses.  But, Moses must have realized at the last minute that he probably didn’t really want to enter that way, so he went to the third driveway.   Also, I was very relieved to know he woke up that morning.

So, there we were, 6 students on our bikes waiting for Moses to get on his so we could start class.  And, we waited…and waited. And Moses shuffled himself on over, helmet in one hand, gloves in the other.  He got to his bike, bent his head down, took a breath, braced his hands against the motorcycle seat, and shakily put a leg over.  Did you read that? SHAKILY PUT A LEG OVER.  I had the thought that I was probably going to crash during class, and I knew it was NOT going to be my fault.  Moses slowly put his helmet on, then his gloves, and then we were ready.  I  totally expected Moses to be THAT student.  You know, the problem student.  The one who can’t get their crap together and everyone has to wait for them.  So you can imagine my surprise when it turned out to be ME.  For the first 20 minutes of class at least.

Let me first just say that I was the one really terrified of class.  Not Can Am lady, I think she was just pretending to get attention for her Can Am.  I was straddling my bike, and the motor was purring (well, in a choppy idle anyway), and I felt like a HAWT MOMMA… Just until it was time to let out the clutch and duck walk it across the parking lot.  Seriously, NO ONE looks ‘hawt’ duck-walking a bike.  But, I was about to get my hawt back on as soon as he said we could lift up our feet and ride it back.  Except that my feet would NOT lift up.  My brain said, “lift” and my legs said, “oh HELL no!”  For some reason, I was in the midst of an outright limb rebellion.  I thought I was going to fall over, and I REFUSED to be the student in class who dropped their bike.  Not me. No way.  So, I duck-walked-attempted-to-ride-wobbled-duck-walked.  A LOT.  In fact, the whole class had to continue to go back and forth across the parking lot while I tried to figure it out.

I wanted to cry.  I wanted to quit.  But, I am not a quitter.  I asked myself why on earth was I even doing this.  Then, the instructor-man’s wife (who also is an instructor) came over to help.  She was my motorcycle angel.  She told me I could DO this.  Then she told me my ass seemed to have a mind of its own.  Yeah.  Seriously, she said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but your problem is that when you start to lift your legs up your ass  starts wiggling all over the place.”  I had NO idea what that meant, how that was happening, or what I was doing to make that happen.  I just stared at her for a second and said, “Well, it’s big, so it takes time for it to stop jiggling and settle down, you know??”  Except that she didn’t know,  she couldn’t possibly know, because she was this pretty petite blonde thing. But, she did appreciate my smart-assery about the whole subject.  After holding up the whole class for about 20 minutes doing an exercise they all got down within 2 minutes, I finally got my feet up and made it 20 feet across the parking lot. Yay me!  Then the instructor said it was time to move on to the next exercise… Going around the parking lot.

I did fairly well after that.  I stopped being “THAT” student.  Thank the Good Lord above.  Because that was awful. I managed to do a figure 8 inside a box that was probably about 15′ wide by 30′ long. I only stalled about 6 times the whole class, and every time it was in front of the instructor.  Of course.  I didn’t drop the bike, but I did take off straight for the instructor several times.  He really only had to jump out of the way twice (oopsies).  By the way, if you ever take a course and the instructor points in a direction he wants you to go… look in that direction, not at him.  Because if you look at him, you’ll head straight for him.  Every. single. time.  Also, you’ll look like an ass.

In case you were wondering about Moses, he only fell asleep on his bike (while we were stopped and listening to the instructor) once.  He did have to go get a chair to sit in, in between course set-up changes, because he was too weak to stand.  He couldn’t turn his head very well (which makes turning on a bike down right difficult), and he could barely hear the instructions given.  Or see the instructor’s hand signals, apparently.  But, he passed, even though he had to duck walk some of it himself.  And that, right there, should scare the living daylights out of anyone motoring around Havasu.

After passing the class, I felt like a HAWT MOMMA again (albeit with a big ass… thanks for that, instructor-lady).  I came home and Mister got the Honda Magna out and we took it back down to the now-emptied parking lot where I had just learned to ride.  I was ready.  I was excited!  I got on the bike and realized it was MUCH bigger.  A lot heavier.  It dawned on me that I had only just been qualified enough to ride a little 20HP Suzuki 250 around this parking lot, and now I was on a 78HP Honda 750.  And, I became terrified all over again.  I duck walked it.  A LOT.  I finally got the courage to put my feet up, and did ok (apparently the Magna is big enough to handle my fat ass).  I went around in a circle once.  One thing I did a couple times during class was to forget that the right handle is not just a handle… it’s the throttle too.  We didn’t have to use hardly any throttle at all during class.  Lots of clutch work, idling, and maybe second gear.  So, let me tell you that when you’re on a much bigger bike, and happen to be nervously turning in a circle, it is NOT ok to forget that your right hand is on the throttle… and then accidentally goose it.  I almost shat my pants.  I shit you not.

I was pretty much done on the Magna after that.  Mister took me out to another area the next day to practice some more. I did, but I am still extremely nervous on the Magna.  We all got sick with the flu after that, so I didn’t get to practice anymore on it.  Mister could see that I was visibly stressed by trying to ride the bike, but I was giving it my best.  I don’t want to be so scared that I won’t even get on the bike, and I was starting to head down that path.  The Mister, as he does in all things, observed all of this and made a plan.  That man bought me another bike.

Ruby.  Rebel Ruby!

Ruby. Rebel Ruby!

SERIOUSLY!! He just bought me a bike today!  He knew I was comfortable on the little Suzuki 250, so he went on Craigs list looking for that or a Honda Rebel 250 for me.  He came up to me at 11:30 this morning and said, “Missy, I’m leaving for a couple-three hours”.  Since Mister and I are basically never apart, I just looked at him and said, “Wha….???  Gone?  For THREE HOURS??  Where are you going?”  He told me he couldn’t tell me, and he took off.  Except he was gone for FOUR hours.  And he brought me back the prettiest little Rebel in the whole wide world.  She’s an ’87, a rebuilt engine, aftermarket pipes, chrome engine guard (and highway pegs), sissy bar, and the seats look fantastic!!  The gears are smooth, the brakes are great, and I can RIDE it!  And I did too.  I hopped on that baby and ran down to the cul-de-sac and came back with a big grin on my face. By the way, her name is Ruby.  Rebel Ruby.

Riding down the street with Ruby.

Riding down the street with Ruby.

Seriously, Mister rocks my world.  I told him thank you about a billion times tonight.  When he said, “Why?!” after the billionth time, I told him it was because he didn’t need to do this at all.  That I could have learned on the Magna.  It would have been the hard way, I would just have taken a longer amount of time to get my confidence up; but that him getting the Rebel made it easier for me.  His reply?  “Honey, my job in life is to make your life easier.”  I. Love. This. Man.

Well, that’s the whole motorcycle story “enchilada” (as Mister just said).  He thought I was going to just write a post about the Rebel, but I’m far too wordy for that.  Context is important.  People (me), need the background story.  Plus, I was dying to tell you all about Moses (NO pun intended there.  Seriously).  If you made it this far in the post, I’m impressed.  And, I’ll leave you with wishes for safe riding.  If you’re not a rider, watch out for them, ok?

How I almost died from stupidity. Twice.

Actually, I’m fairly certain I can think of at least three times, but for today I will only relate two of the times.

I used to spend my summers in Oregon at my grandparents’ ranch. They would often have many other family members come and stay for a period of time as well.  This particular summer, a family member was visiting with his 3-wheel ATV.  I think it was a second or third cousin of mine, but I can’t remember exactly.  I was either 12 or 13 at the time and eyeballing his ATV.  Watching him ride around the property made it look like a lot of fun, even though I was terrified of it.  He asked me if I wanted to ride it, and I hesitated.  My dad was standing there and the guy/cousin/dude asked if it would be okay.  I said I didn’t know how to ride or shift gears, and they told me I would be fine in first as I rode around.  So, I nervously but excitedly got on and slowly started around.

I have to stop here and explain the layout of the ranch.  The house was situated to one side of a little valley between two mountains.  There was a small pasture beside the house.  It was probably as wide as a football field and about three-quarters the length, with a little creek running right through the middle.  It was sunk down about 5 to 6 feet on the house side, and had a dirt road that rimmed around it, elevating to about 15 – 20 feet as you got to the back side and started to round the corner to head back to the house.  That back corner also had a roughed up, old wooden rail fence bordering it.

Post & Rail Fence

Post & Rail Fence (Photo credit: catchesthelight)

The house had a second story sliding glass door facing the pasture.  That part of the house had been a sort of recent addition, and so the balcony outside of the door had not been built yet.  It was just a door that opened and dropped straight down to the ground.  It also looked perfectly across the pasture towards the elevated corner of the pasture.

Now little Christy (that’s what everyone called me when I was younger), was motoring her way around the pasture.  In first gear.  It felt like 30 miles per hour to me, but probably really more like two.  And it was awesome!  I was slowly making my way around the pasture, and climbing up the back road towards the corner.  Which looked not so high from the house, but as I rode up towards it I felt the road closing in on me, becoming narrower and narrower.  The cliff (yes, now it was a sheer cliff straight down from the road) made me feel like I was on the Guoliang Tunnel Road.  I slowly came to the peak of the corner, and stopped.  

The road banked to the left as it rounded that end of the pasture.  The angle was terrifyingly sharp (it wasn’t really).  I didn’t know what to do.  It looked like if I went down the road, the steep angle would make me roll off towards the “cliff”.  I didn’t know what to do.  Get off, leave the ATV and walk to the house?  No, that would make me a chicken.  And, I am NOT a chicken, even though I am the biggest chicken in the world.  I stayed in that spot for hours a minute or so, then decided to just cowboy up and head home.

So, I punched it.  But not on purpose.  I also had turned the wheel to the left when I stopped, but didn’t realize it.  The pasture had that wooden fence on the upper corner, except the cross posts in the area I was at were gone.  So, I roared off the cliff, tumbling end over end over end.  Not really, but it felt like it at the time.  Of course, that part of the “cliff” was covered in blackberry bushes.  Which is NOT fun to crash through.  I sort of felt like briar rabbit.  Except I wasn’t happy about it.

Dad had been watching me crawl around the pasture on the ATV from the second story sliding glass door.   I remember lying on my back, twisted up funny, wondering if I was going to die or had broken any bones.  My head was turned facing the house, and I remember looking sideways at the door as my dad jumped out of it.  I was thinking he could have killed himself doing that, as he tore across the pasture to get to me.  When he got there, with all the drama that a 13 year old could manage, I asked him how bad it was. I think he sorta laughed and told me it wasn’t that bad, I had just fallen off the back of  the ATV as it lurched forward down “the little hill” (little hill my ass!).

So, despite a few scrapes from the blackberry bushes, I was fine and so was the ATV.  Except that I was terrified of the death machine.  That afternoon, dad told me I needed to get back on it.  I refused.  He insisted that it was something I MUST do.  I refused.  We ended up compromising a bit.  He would drive it, and I would ride on the back.  Totally safe, and since he was operating it, I knew everything would be fine.

He choose to go up the one of the mountain roads behind the house.  It was a gradual climb, but ended up getting steeper.  Which would be completely fine, had I not been clinging to him for dear life and begging him not to go fast.  He, not wanting to traumatize me further, kept it in first gear and we crept up the road.  Which was getting more steep.  Which made me cry out for him not to go faster.  Which made him say he had to go faster to get up the road.  But he didn’t.  And so gravity decided to take it from there.  Creeping up a steep hill with two people on a three-wheeler will only end in one thing.  Flipping over backwards.  Oh. Yeah.

I stood up, crying like a big ol’ baby, and screamed at my poor dad that I was NEVER. IN. MY. LIFE. getting on anything like that again.  NOT. EVER.  And, as only a 13 year old girl teenager can do, I stomped down the hill bawling my eyes out all the way back to the house.  I’m pretty sure he was trying so hard to keep from busting up laughing, but the mouth contortions and twinkle in his eyes gave him away. This whole incident was probably one of my favorite memories with dad.

About 4 years later, I went on a date.  I lived up in the mountains and it had recently snowed.  My date had a quad.  I was hesitant (actually, I was downright chicken-livered, about ready to pee-my-pants scared) to ride it, but we were out with another couple and I didn’t want to show how I felt.  Or be laughed at.  So, we took the quads out to a back forest road, covered in snow.  When he took the quad out of the truck bed and I noticed that his headlight was actually a 4-cell Maglite duct-taped to the top of the broken head-light.  I should have been concerned.  Instead, I hopped on the back, and squeezed my eyes shut as he tore off down the road.  Did I mention this was at night?  Yeah.  So, not being able to see where we were going (with my eyes squeezed shut), and clinging to him like a spider-monkey, I managed to stay on when he whipped the handle bars to the left and we skidded to a stop.   Next to a cliff.  A real cliff.  That he didn’t know was there, he just decided that was the time to turn around.

NEVER. AGAIN. I said.  Never would I ride anything that was an open air “vehicle”.  Particularly anything that was called a “quad” or “ATV”.  I refused to ride a motorcycle with anyone but my dad.  I even signed a document written to my father when I was younger saying that I would never ride a motorcycle with anyone but him.

Then, I met Brad.  He has a purty bike.  She’s a beauty.  A canary yellow Honda Magna 750cc.  I was so tempted to get on.  And, he’s the most careful person I know.  So, I rode with him.  I was his “seat cover”.  I LOVED it.  Also, he didn’t put me in any terrifying “I’m gonna die” situations.  Mister recently bought a Honda ST1300.  He put the Magna up for sale.  I did not like that.  Not at all.    I had also recently starting watching Sons of Anarchy on Netflix. Which can mean only one thing.  Mister couldn’t sell the Magna, because I. MUST. RIDE.

Honda Magna 750ccSoon to be mine to ride (if I survive motorcycle class)!

Honda Magna 750cc
Soon to be mine to ride (if I survive motorcycle class)!

Yes, seriously, I have gotten the bug to learn how to ride a motorcycle.  So, I registered for a course in December.  The first available one being scheduled for February 1st-3rd. Today.

4 Cylinders!

4 Cylinders!

I’m hoping that I can continue to say that I almost died twice (ok, three times) from stupidity.  I’m nervous and excited. And, if you see a canary yellow Honda Magna with a redhead on it around Havasu, get out of the way, ok?!

Do you ride a motorcycle? 

What do you love most about it?

Something special happened on May 7th…MAY 7TH!

Hey... It's official!

This morning when I got to the table, I noticed that Mister was on my FB page and was busily typing.  He shifted the computer so I couldn’t read what he was pounding out on the keyboard, and I laughed and told him that I would not read it.  I immediately got busy trying to find a “Good Morning” picture for the page, as I usually try to do every morning.

I was in middle of typing out my good morning message when I noticed Mister kept looking at me and then my computer screen.  After the fourth time, I remembered that he had posted something and I asked him if I needed to see it before I posted my picture. “I don’t know” was his reply.  I just looked at him funny and asked him again if I really needed to stop what I was doing and check it out.  This time I got a coy look and, “I don’t know, maybe….”  I huffed a little (ok, A LOT), because I knew I had to stop in the middle of posting a picture, copy what I had written, and go see the page.  In my mind, I was already focused on having to go back and start reposting the picture again and admittedly, was a little annoyed at the thought of re-doing something I had already started.  And then I saw his post:

“Happy Semi-Anniversary, Sweetheart. Six months ago today, we were married! I continue to see that my first impression of you was very accurate. When I first saw a picture, the word that came to mind was “Empathetic.” I see that many folks get to see that in your writings and pictures also. I love you, Beautimus!”

And my first thought was, “ARRRGGGHHHHHHH!”  I even smacked him on the knee.  I must explain why THAT would be my first reaction.

I feel like I’ve been married to Mister forever.  Not in a bad forever kind of way either.  We were already so completely committed to each other that our official wedding day was just that… the Official Day that it was “government” approved (and the day we went for a really cool boat ride!).  As such, EVERY day is a special and wonderful day with Mister.  It also means that I constantly forget our anniversary date.  I even blanked on it when I went to the Social Security office and they asked me what date we were married.  I gave the man a blank stare, and then frantically searched the marriage certificate for the answer.  Thank goodness Mister was sitting there, and he calmly said, “May 7th.”  Yes, that’s it, May 7th! Note to self: Sear this date somewhere in your brain, and not in the What-we-had-for-dinner-last-Tuesday part of it.

Needless to say, every month that has passed since our wedding day (MAY 7TH!!)  I have forgotten our little mini-anniversary’s.  Mister, ever the romantic, has remembered every single month.  About a week ago I remembered and I told him Happy EARLY Anniversary.  He refused to accept it and said I was cheating.  Hey…whatever helps, I’ll take it at this pathetic point.

Since my early anniversary comment didn’t count, once again, Mister remembered first.  I was determined to remember the 6 month anniversary too.  But, like I said, EVERY day with Mister is special and wonderful.  So, it’s understandable why I would miss this one. Right?! *Hangs head in shame* I will NOT forget the 1 year anniversary.  I will not, will not, will NOT!

Mister… I love you with all that I am.  You have made my days so wonderful that I can’t even differentiate between the special days and the “specialer” days.  You bring out the very best in me, and every day you remind me that I am a valuable person.  You have loved me the way no one on earth has ever loved me before.  Always aware of my strengths and weaknesses; always encouraging one and ever careful to never abuse the other.  These months have flown by, and yet they feel endless.  You make my life beautiful!

Living my dash with the most wonderful man ever…


Got T-Shirts?!

I hate that I've read this shirt many times. MANY TIMES.

Mister loves funny/witty T-Shirts.  He is definitely a jeans and T-shirt kind of guy.  Actually, here in Arizona he’s a jean SHORTS and T-shirt kind of guy. I’d say a fairly decent sized section of our closet is all of his hanging T-shirts smooshed together, and he’s got quite a collection!

I tortured him last night by asking him to get out all of the “good” ones so I could take a picture of him in them.  Yes, he actually put on about 25 different t-shirts and let me take pictures.  I’m certain that is the definition of torture to all men.  He was a good sport about it, however I’m also just as certain there is going to come a time when he utters the words, “Do you remember the time when you made me…” and I will regret this.

Without further ado, here is Mister and all of his T-shirts!

I have to start with this one, because I've heard many times, "You were 16 when I got this one...HAHAHAHA!" Yeah. Ha Ha Ha

I think this could fit almost any situation...

This can't be said enough times about some people.

If you're gonna procrastinate, this is the best reason for it.

Ah... Don Quixote. Some days it really does feel like a Tilting at Windmills kind of day...

He asked me if he should wear this one on our wedding day. He's alive, so that means he made a wiser choice.

I don't care who you are; or which party you are, or aren't, a part of... That's funny right there!

I've decided this must be his favorite T-Shirt. Simply because he ALWAYS seems to be wearing it whenever I'm taking a picture of him.

The HAM radio shirt

Mister and his Bad Ass Biker Shirt

The Eternal Maze. Otherwise known as Life (IMHO)

He got this one free in Sturgis, but also makes sure to wear it to the Oregon Country Fair.

This one actually caused a co-worker of mine to say to another co-worker, "But didn't Reagan die?!" D'oh!

Mister definitely does... Ha!

Seriously, more people need to pay attention to this one!

I bought this for him Christmas of 2009. I make sure he wears it. Often. 😉

Nothing to see here... move along!

Um, Yeah, right....

Thank goodness I wouldn't know anything about that...

I'm thinking there may be some issues here...

The perfect St. Patty's Day shirt!

The best Halloween shirt!!

You betcha! (He's also NOT allowed to wear this one at any sort of Christmas gathering where there is mistletoe and other women)

I could see Josh being responsible for this

I know it's not a t-shirt, but I had to include this here!

I love getting T-shirts for him at, and here’s a couple more I’m very tempted to buy him:

Yep, THAT sounds familiar.

Just because somedays you need to get a gold star for doing something...

Joshua and the Cold Shower Mis-Adventure

Grand Canyon August 2010Moving to the desert has really helped me to understand what a precious resource water is.  Conserving water was quite a change for the kids and I, after having lived in an area where wells were commonplace and water was abundant.  The kids and I have had to change many of our habits, one of which is 5-minute-or-less showers. While water conservation is incredibly important, the water bill is even more so.    Ironically, water is actually very cheap.  It’s not that the water bill is expensive, it’s the calculation they base on the water bill to charge you for your sewer that gets you.  And boy-howdy, if you’re not careful, it will put a serious dent in your bank account. So… 5 minute or less showers are required for the 5 people living in this household.

[Insert wistful memories of long showers where you could stand under the hot water for 5 minutes to wake up before beginning to actually shower… As well as memories of long, hot soaks in a bathtub filled to the brim… *sigh*]

Another change desert life has brought is the fact that during the summer you do NOT need hot water to take a hot shower.  Most people turn their hot water heaters to the lowest setting, or even off.  It simply is so hot that you don’t really need the water heated.  Which means that showers are always taken with the knob turned all the way to cold.  And on the 115° – 120° days you try to sneak the first shower so the water is as cool (warm rather than hot) as possible.  There’s just something really gross about showering, and then sweating as you’re trying to dry off.


Image by scottnj via Flickr

Having said that, we’re going to insert Joshua into this little desert life informational post.  We told Joshua to take a shower the other night.  We time the kids to make sure they stay under/at the 5 minute mark. I thought I heard him making noises while showering, but I wasn’t sure.  After four minutes he comes out of the bathroom, with a towel wrapped around him, bawling like a four-year-old.  I asked him what was wrong, and he said, “The water is freezing! It was taking forever to heat up and I had to take a cold shower!”  The poor kid’s lips were even blue.

Mister and I felt badly and told him that we know that this time of the year we’re needing to actually use the warm water setting again and it takes a few minutes.  We reminded him we would never count the minutes it took for the water to warm up for his shower, and he should have let us know what was happening instead of torturing himself with a cold shower.  We also told him if it takes a long time again, to let us know.

Last night Joshua went in to take his shower.  We started timing him as usual, and right around the four-minute mark Joshua turned off the water and came out to tell me that the water was still cold.  We immediately knew something was wrong.  It only takes a minute or two for the water to warm up in our shower, which is the furthest away from the water heater, while his bathroom is the closest to it.  I went into Joshua’s bathroom with him while he was insisting that the water knob was turned all the way over to hot.  Um… No, it wasn’t.  It was all the way over to cold.  He became so upset with me, insisting that it has always been over on “hot” [cold!] and he’s taken hot showers from it before.  I reminded him about how hot the summer heat makes our water, and that we had ALL been taking hot “cold” showers until recently.  The look on his face as that information went through his brain and clicked into place was PRICELESS.  He started giggling, but then quickly became very annoyed when he realized that he had twice tortured himself with cold showers unnecessarily.

I went out to the living room shared with Mister what had happened.  While we certainly don’t like wasting water, nor do we like the kids having to torture themselves with cold showers, we did sit there laughing for quite a while about Joshua’s unfortunate mistake.  I mean, hey, why would anyone try turning the knob the other way when you could stand under a cold shower for 5 minutes?!

Enjoying hot showers while living my dash,


Monday Funny


It’s time to bring this video back… My son, Josh, would be so mad, but he doesn’t even know about this blog… So I’ll get a pass for now.  I can’t WAIT until he gets a girlfriend, because this will be the FIRST thing I show her!!

A little backstory:

We were housesitting for a friend about 2 years ago.  I heard Josh whining in another room, but Josh always whined.  So, I tuned him out.  Then my oldest daughter ran in and said Josh was stuck and needed help.  THAT is never a good thing, and especially at someone else’s house!  I ran into the dining room… and there was Josh:

He survived, and thankfully SO DID THE CHAIR!  Every time I need a good laugh, or would like to annoy Josh, I watch this video!

Living my dash (as an ornery Mom)


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