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Mother of the Year Goes to.... Not Me

Every morning I go to the gym to exercise. I love it because I have a lot of friends there (it's my adult interaction for the day...hahah...but seriously...), endorphins are released, I feel powerful and strong....etc. Fast forward to about 10 minutes after I arrive home.

Kids are fighting over who grabbed the box of cereal first.

Tears are rolling down cheeks from, "Cameron looked at me in a mean way."

Fights are breaking out between who has to be the flippin' monkey in the middle...

You get the idea.

So pretty much all the good I do at 5:30 in the wee early morning hours gets completely undone. (Perhaps I should schedule my workouts to after the kids leave for school instead?)

Anyway, today was no different. The kids actually all got ready on their own really well without any fights. They had a good 20 minutes to kill before we had to leave for school. They decided to play a game (but not the blasted Monkey in the Middle game...No! No! I banned that game [and 'jinx&#…

Son of a Gun

My Dad loves toys. Four-wheelers, boats, cars, motorcycles, motorhomes, and at one time--snowmobiles.

We had never been snowmobiling before. But we were determined we could figure it out. Being the OCD person he is, Dad polished up the snowmobiles with "Son of a Gun" to make them nice and pretty. We headed up the mountains and were anxious to ride them.

When we got there, we quickly learned we didn't know the first thing about them--let alone how to get them off the trailer. We pretended like we were fixing the snowmobiles, and instead were secretly watching the other snowmobilers to see how they did it. Once we were confident we had it down, we made Dad do it. Then came the second tricky part--getting up a over a snow mound.

Once again we spied on the "professionals." It looked easy enough--just drive up and over. Once again we sent Dad to do the trick. He gunned it, and the snowmobile took off! But Dad did not. The leather seats were so slick from being polished with the "Son of a Gun" that he slid right off. As the family stood back watching him, we didn't know what to do. We stayed straight-faced until we saw Dad's reaction. We thought for sure he'd start up cursing. But instead he began laughing.


We had a good laugh about it.

That same day Tenille took the snowmobile out with Spencer and they got stuck. She couldn't get out on her own, so she told Spence to stay with the snowmobile as she trekked back the 1-mile walk. Dad was getting furious that they had been gone so long. Mom was worrying (like always) that something was wrong. When we saw Tenille walking toward us, we found out what happened and were relieved. (They had been gone about an hour--which was NOT like Tenille...aka our little "straight arrow.")

Anyway, my Dad trudged the mile walk back with her to find Spencer in an even deeper hole. Apparently he had tried to get the snowmobile out on its own and ended up sinking it in a few more feet. We all tried to dig it out, but to no avail.

The cursing began.

I'm sure Tenille said a prayer or something, because just then some nice "professionals" came by and showed us just how easy it was to get yourself out of a hole. We felt pretty sheepish for learning how easy it really was.

I was just happy we got it out, and that Dad was happy again.


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