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Well thank goodness some of my mail is being forwarded. I’d have HATED to have missed this since I am in the mood for love.
Bow Chanka Blah Blah.
******
Update on yesterday’s post….The corporate housing people replaced the washer and I’ve since done about 300 loads. Only 47 to go! Thanks to each of you for your concern about my silly laundry woes.
Also, we bought a house!
And! It was 7 degrees yesterday! Just a little different than Alabama.
So far, I LOVE me some Indiana. But there has been one hitch in the giddyup…
The first night here in Indiana didn’t exactly goes as planned. After finally getting all of our stuff brought in from the cars, I started sorting laundry. I had about five loads to do since I hadn’t had access to a washer for several days.
Laundry + just having moved and driven 800 miles with two (2) small kids = Very stressed Jennifer
I looked at the washer and realized it wasn’t a full size model, but rather one of those space saver types. This meant that instead of five loads of laundry, instead I had about 347 loads since you can only fit about one sock and a bib per load. I thought to myself, “at least I’ll get some laundry done before going to bed. It’s better than NONE.”
Within about half an hour of starting the first (and only) load of laundry, Tate informed me that the washer had overflowed and that there was about two inches of water covering our kitchen floor. I was certain that his alter ego, Captain Exaggerato, had just told me a GIANT lie.
Unfortunately the washer had overflowed and there really was about two inches of water on the kitchen floor and this water was starting to seep into the carpet in the dining/living area.
So our first night in Indiana was spent mopping. And mopping. And mopping some more.
347 loads of laundry + just having moved and driven 800 miles with two (2) small kids + two (2) inches of water on the kitchen floor + mopping (I despise mopping with every fiber of my being) = A very stressed and CRYING Jennifer.
(Just to be clear, I hadn’t overloaded the washer and the overflow was in no way my fault. Apparently the washer was just crappy and old and BROKEN.)
Wha? Uh. Where did that come from???? That’s not mine! Nooooo.
Boy bands? Ugh. I don’t even like boys bands.
*nervous laughter*
Oh my goodness! Another one???!!! Why I never!
*nervous laughter*
Just shut up okay. Like you don’t have three Backstreet Boys CD’s.
I pointed out the falling snow to Carson, who was kicked back in his car seat watching Cars for the fourth consecutive time. Needless to say, he was less than impressed with the barely visible flurries that were falling in Kentucky as we drove. Carson’s only experience with snow thus far has what he’s seen on Thomas and Friends. I suspect he was expecting mounds of the white stuff and for me to proclaim, “this snow is causing confusion and delay,” just like Sir Topham Hatt.
When we arrived at our apartment complex in New Town, IN, where we’re staying until we find a home to buy, there was about a 1/2 inch of snow on the ground. Definitely not much snow, you could see patches of grass where the snow had already melted, but certainly more than I’d shown him earlier in the day. Again, I pointed out the snow. This time, Carson was far more impressed.
“Snow!!!!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. “Snow, Mommy! Snow! Go play snow!!”
Soon we parked the cars and were able to get him unfastened from his car seat, he was beside himself with excitement. We set him down, his feet crunching the snow beneath his feet. He looked up at us with wonder and amazement, stomping his feet. Across the parking lot he eyed a grassy area, covered with even more snow.
“Go play snow, Daddy!!!” and he took off towards the field. Since he wasn’t wearing a coat or gloves, we had to coax him into the apartment to get the proper playing in the snow attire. We found that our apartment had a small, fenced patio overlooking a little duck pond.
“Go play snow, NOW!” Carson demanded as we hurriedly tried to wrangle him into a coat, hat, and gloves. Finally we opened the door and he stepped outside, making footprints in the snow. Back and forth he walked across the patio, checking out his footprints.
“Feet, Mommy!!! Feet” he pointed out to me. His face beamed with joy.
All this excitement brought the ducks in for a closer look (and probably on a hunt for some bread handouts). The sight of the ducks quacking and waddling through the snow, made Carson squeal with delight. Soon the ducks lost interest in us and Carson discovered that not only could you make footprints, you could pick up the snow. Removing his gloves, he felt it’s coldness on his hands. He smiled and looked up at us to see if he’d get in trouble for touching it. We showed him how to make a snowball, which he carried inside. Of course, the snowball soon melted, but he continued to look for it.
“Snowball? Snowball in kitchen? Snowball on table?” he inquired.
“No, baby, the snowball melted. We’ll have to get more snow later.”
He played in the snow several more times that day, until it finally got too late. He begrudgingly agreed to come inside, but only after promises that he’d get to play in snow many more times now that we live in Indiana.
I think Carson is home. I know I am.
Guess who has Internet access and is gloriously happy about it!?!?! I’ll give you three guesses, but the first two don’t count….
That’s right, genius! ME!
(And it’s not even stolen, which makes me a little sad because that would have been a far more exciting story to tell.)
Anyway.
I would like to take this time to give myself a swift kick in the arse since I packed away my camera at the bottom of a tote and couldn’t take pictures of a few of the things I saw on the drive, because BOY OH BOY did they make me chuckle. Sadly, this would have been a much better post with pictures. It’s the kind of thing that it’s funny if you’re there, but maybe not so much when you are just reading about it.
Anyway.
There was a sign along I-65 in Alabama that said, and I’m NOT EVEN LYING, “Go to church or the devil will get you.” This very helpful message was accompanied by the picture of the devil that looked suspiciously like the devil from those cans of icky deviled ham. Um? Can you say COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT!? I say that copyright infringement yields a far worse fate than not going to church. I suspect Jesus would agree with me.
Another sign that I saw on I-65, but this time in Kentucky, and I’m still NOT LYING said, “Jim Bob’s B00bie Bonanza next exit.” Okay, it didn’t actually say “Bonanza,” but I can’t recall exactly what it did say. That’s not even the point, though. The word “b00bie” was on a billboard and that’s some funny stuff right there. I was going to stop the car and have Tate take a picture of me and the kids in front of Jim Bob’s B00bie Bonanza because that would have been KLASSY.
Speaking of adult entertainment, there sure is a plethora of A*DULT BOOKSTORES! and A*DULT VIDEOS! too choose from along this nation’s interstate system. In one particularly thick patch of A*DULT ENTERTAINMENT offerings I saw a sign on the left-hand side of the road that said, “Turn here for all your A*DULT ENTERTAINMENT needs!” On the other side of the road, just opposite this sign was a message warning of eternal damnation, “You pay for porn in HELL.”
Wooooooooooow. That’s quite a deterrent.
See how this post would have been much better with pictures?? Meh. Sorry.
Exciting update….here’s a link to another blog that posted a picture of the church/devil sign!! (Thank you Google. I love you.)
I done tol’ you all
Mr. Linky ain’t here. Sheesh.
Go see Christina.
Get on outta here
Go on! Nothing to see.
Mr. Linky’s here.
