Amazon Woman Goes Beserk!

Okay. It Has To Be Addressed:

What, praytell, must be addressed?
Oh, you know. The fact that I'm an Amazon.
We might as well discuss it and get it out of the way.

I'm sure you had no idea I was an Amazon Woman. You thought I was on the small, petite, short, cute, reasonably chubby side of life. Didn't you?
Or, you thought I was medium, beautiful, gorgeous, sorta kinda tall, and reasonably chubby. Didn't you?
But you didn't know I was gigantic, large, very large, huge, humongous, and almost beyond reasonably chubby. DID YOU?
Whew. I didn't think so. Because if you did know and you didn't tell me, why, I don't know what I would do...Prank call you? Saran wrap your toilet seat? Lash out and say ugly things? Yo mama wears army boots. But, you didn't know. Now you do. We all do and I feel so much better.
Thus, I give you proof.
Did I really just say 'thus'?

Look at the picture above.
No, stare at it.
Do you see what I see? My BOOBs are the same size as the new families heads. And, I'm 7ft. tall. I had to get on my knees just to be in the picture.
Shocking, isn't it?
I don't know why I'm so shocked. I've always been the tallest in my class. It all began at birth. Hospital nursery? Tallest. Entire human race? Tallest. New York City skyline? Tallest. Always the Tallest. And now the Biggest.
There are some benefits to being an Amazon. For example, I need not fear running out of gas on a lonesome, dark highway. I can pick the car up with my brute strength, which all Amazons possess, and carry it on my back to the nearest gas station. I can also carry 5 children on one hip at the same time. And cook supper while sewing matching denim jumpers for the family. Yes, these are the benefits. Who cares if I can't find a jogbra that fits even after looking for hours and going to thousands upon thousands of stores?

Let me know if you need help with any heavy lifting...

I Almost Shot Milk Out Of My Nose

It's true, I swear on my mother's grave, (except she's still alive) I ALMOST SHOT MILK STRAIGHT OUT OF MY NOSE THIS MORNING!!


THAT will wake you up...

I had just taken a sip of the special morning beverage which strengthens thy bones, and dove back into reading "Aunt Erma's Cope Book", written by the hilarious Erma Bombeck. Note to self: Don't ever do that again.


And that reminds me of second grade, when Holly Bashford, my best, best friend in the whole world (except I wasn't her best friend...I'm obviously still needing tons of therapy to get over it.) did shoot milk out of her nose while eating lunch in the school cafeteria.


It was a sight to behold. I wish I could see it again. And here's the part I liked the best. It happened because of something I said. Something funny I'd said, and then BAM!...a fountain of milk. I never felt so good in all my life and I've never been the same. It was Life Changing I tell you.

Right after that, at the lunch table, I broke out my ability to make a 'nub' and pet it with my 'crippled hand'. It was received well. Big laughs  and a few, 'oh that is weirds', but no more milk fountains.

So now I roam the earth, trying to recreate what happened in second grade. So far, no luck. Other than this morning...and that was only an almost, and its not quite as much fun being the actual milk fountain. I want to create one. I'm driven, in a psychopathic I won't stop 'til you do, type of way. Can you please start drinking milk when you read this blog and let me know if 'IT' happens? Because I don't think I'm going to feel complete in my life until it does.


Thankyou for your support.

  SECOND GRADE: My quest for another Nose Milk Fountain begins...

Okay, I'm Not Gonna Lie...

At first, it was bugging me...that these three daughters o'mine were missing in action on Mother's Day. They were hours away, spending the entire day, MOTHER'S DAY, with their father. And I don't blame them, if you catch my drift.

Gulp. Father, forgive me, for I am about to hurt somebody.

Yes, there were reasons. Somewhat valid reasons for this holiday, shall we say,  faux pas?
But for a moment, the reasons didn't matter. It bugged me. Something seemed wrong about it. 
Perhaps the simple  fact that it was MOTHER'S DAY and I'm the MOTHER?
I don't know, call me crazy.  

But the point is, I came to terms with it. And this is what helped me:

Meeting Bill Leonhard and his two daughters, Anna and Kessia. Bill and his wife, Penny are missionaries with Wycliff Bible Translators. They served in Ghana, Africa for 26 years. Penny, Bill's wife  passed away this February 2, from cancer. And of course, Bill and his daughters (there's 2 more not pictured, and 3 sons, not pictured, that's a total of 7 kids, just in case you're not good with math) are dealing with their grief and coping with their first Mother's Day without Penny. She was only 59, had served the Lord with all her  heart in Africa for most of her adult life, had adopted four little girls adding to their family of five, and was loved and adored by all.

Doesn't seem fair, does it?
But we who know and love God, trust Him. We trust that He knows exactly what He is doing. That He has a plan for our lives, and that He is, according to His word, working all things for the good of those who love him. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?...No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons neither the present nor the future nor any powers neither height nor depth nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And so, I ended up having a marvelous Mother's day! Surrounded by new family and new friends, I can see that God is faithful and is always in the business of blessing our lives.

I'm happy  my children were able to spend the weekend with their dad. After all, they need their father in their lives and they miss him when he's not there. And yes, I'm pretty sure I might be a saint.

With love,
Reasonably Chubby
That's Saint Reasonably Chubby to you, Mister.

You Know You're Hormonal When...

I know for sure, with absolute certainty I'm "hormonal" when I find myself tearing up at Home Depot commercials. I mean, seriously? The people in their little orange aprons with big smiling faces...I wish they were my friends. *sob*. Hallmark card commercials? I'm on the floor, a puddled mess of a woman.

It certainly doesn't help that my middle daughter, my precious child, who was in Europe for 3 months finally came home and stayed with me for 2 weeks. And then she left. Some ridiculous, "but mother I do have a job waiting for me and I need to find an apartment for the Fall semester" excuse she's been using since she was 10.

Two glorious, enchanted weeks, where we laughed and played and played and laughed. And giggled. And cooked. And talked. And watched movies. And biked. And shopped. And loved on each other.

I must stop now before I hyperventilate.

It's not easy coming to terms with the 'empty nest' years.

I loved being home with my 3 girls. I babied them, saying things like, I wub oo.

"We wub oo too mommy." Poor little dumb kids. Then, we'd all pile up on the couch together, like puppies from the same litter, and watch Disney movies and eat candy. Or the girls would play dress up, and stay outside all day pretending the 'hot lava' was coming...ohhh, the scary hot lava! I know, it makes no sense. That they did this until they were in high school. Poor little weird kids.

Unlike the mothers of today, I didn't raise baby geniuses, toddler Phds, or Preschool Einsteins.

No, I talked to them in baby talk until last year. Would oo like a cup of wa-wa? "Es pwees".

And then I sent them to college.

I know they'll be back. Someday. When they need a built in babysitter, or a loan. And I'll be here waiting for them and their babies, and I hope I like their husbands and that their husbands like me. (although, evil mother-in-law does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?)

Until then, the Ford pick-up truck commercial just came on. I gotta go...

P.S. I wub oo ebbybody, Happy Mudders Day!