Splashin Segalla's Waterpark! (Cleves 3rd birthday)

In keeping with my tradition of going way, way overboard on birthday parties, we turned our backyard into a waterpark on June 20th, 2008. IT. WAS. AWESOME!
The birthday boy had a blast, as well as everyone else. As you can see, while the kids went crazy playing in the insane heat -

the adults............

sat under the easy-up of course!
Cleve blowing out the candles on his cake...

which I DID NOT GET A PIECE OF! Why? Check out the photo below. This was the cake after being outside for 10 minutes. Drat!
Despite the party being totally rockin' awesome, the end of the day was cool too. Thats when everyone went home, and we had the jumper and waterslides all to ourselves! We jumped in the jumper together-
and had a splash bomb/water balloon fight!But was Cleve's birthday really over?
NO WAY DUDE!
In this family, we CELEBRATE birthdays. Birthdays are the days we get to celebrate how excited we are that that person is HERE on earth with us! Since the joy we feel from someone being here with us is multiplied by like, 8 and a half million when it comes to our kids, naturally, our birthday celebrations are super duper!
As per our family tradition, on Sunday, June 22nd (Cleve's actual birthday) we filled the house with balloons for him to find when he woke up!

Yay!
Of course, this is what Cleve did to all my hard work by the end of the day --but hey, his balloons right? And I was feeling fine after getting a crack at chocolate cake #2!!!
Yuuuuuuum!!!!Another fabulous Segalla birthday celebration! Happy 3rd Birthday to my little man! I love you so much!!!

Poop File #4 BAD MOON RISING,

First off, I would like to officially CONGRATULATE my son Cleve on being potty trained!
Good job Cleve! When you can read in about 2 and a half years, you will say, "Thank you, Mom!"

Ok, Poop file #4. Now, I know you are all wondering how all of these horrifying instances could keep happening to me. I am not a, who cares? kind of mom. I am careful to the point of paranoia! Yet I seem to have diabolical bad luck. Whenever I "turn my back", literally or figuratively, a crisis strikes! In my next post, I will relate my past most embarassing moments, and you shall see.
Anyway, this horrifying story happened about 8 months ago. This one was inadvertently Joe and I's fault. We had gone on a long car trip to Utah, and in yet another of those seemingly endless timing snafus that kids seem to come born into the world with, Kurt had to go to the bathroom in a long 50 mile stretch between rest stops. After deliberating the pros and cons of having Kurt hang out of the window, we decided against it and pulled off the road. Joe took Kurt behind the car and found a handy rock, perfect for the astrodynamics and technicalities of...going behind a bush.
Anyway, everything went smoothly, and we continued on our way. Little did we know that we had then cemented an inaccurate philosophy into Kurt's three year old brain.
"If there is no bathroom immediately apparent, it's okay to go anywhere!"
Cut to the park, a week or so later. Except for three men installing a camera security system on the park rec center, we were the only people there. Kurt runs frantically up to me.
"Mom, mom, I have to go!!!"
Well sadly, I had no idea where the bathroom was. Despite searching, there were none to be found! At that time, Kurt would not have made it home. I also thought he was only suffering from the effects of drinking too many capri suns. So, since there was no one around, (except for those security men, but they were busy working!)I told him to quickly run behind a tree. BEHIND a tree. I grew up in a home with five other females and no boys at all. Since I have been married, and had three male offspring, I have learned how convenient boys are. Since I seemed now to be in a pickle, I took the convenient solution, and, sigh, paid the price.
Anyway, before y'all start judging my poor judgement, please remember some wise words.
"Let those who have never made mistakes cast the first parenting manual."
So, distracted by my other two sons, wether or not Kurt proceeded to do what I had told him to escaped my notice for a few moments. Even one moment is enough for a small boy. In his entirely sensible reasoning, Kurt deducted that this park was similar to the impromptu rest stop we had conjured up on our Utah trip. Combined with my careless misunderstanding of what he actually needed to do, embarrassment inevitably ensued. I turned around, and noted two immediate things. Make that three.
1. Kurt was NOT behind a tree.
2. It was a bad moon rising, if you get my drift.
3. The chatty security men were suddenly not so chatty anymore. Dead silent, actually.
OH. MY. HOLY. MOLY. COW.
Yes, yes, I felt like an idiot. What must those men have been thinking about me? That I casually and frequently let my children use the world as their restroom? But more importantly, I wondered if I could impale myself on the stroller! Especially since the torturous scene continued on for several looooooooooooong minutes. (I apparently do not feed Kurt enough bran.) Since Kurt was - indisposed - I couldn't immediately do anything! All I could do was shield him with the stroller, pray for death, and call Joe. When he picked up, I related the events, and waited for kindly spousal comfort and wisdom. I heard, "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
HAAAAAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!"
Then he caught his breath, and sympathized with my plight.
After my fiber deficient son was done, I carefully explained to him where it is actually appropriate to "go." Since it was not really his fault, I was not upset, but I don't know if he heard all of my calm speech anyway, as they were pretty much lost in the lightning speed of us flying the coop.
So you see, we all make parenting mistakes. I just hope those men get the laughs they deserve when they tell that tale at every family gathering for the rest of their lives.

We are the Desert Dwelling Hobbits (DDHs)

We are the desert dwelling hobbits.
The case is larger for Joe and I, because we are short, and round, and in my case, have enormous feet. Fortunately, we have not grown the feet hair that is customary to a hobbit, but I am sure its coming. Anyway, lots of people out here are tall and narrow with tiny feet. However, I still maintain that choosing to move to the high desert is a lifestyle choice. Move to Hesperia or Victorville, and you are choosing the life of a DDH. (you got that, right?)
No, I am not weird. And no, I am not a "ringy", or a "tolky", or whatever you would call someone who considers Lord of the Rings second only to the bible. I just noticed a similar quality one day, something we Desert Dwellers share with those round little beings.
"Out of my way, peck!"
(that has nothing to do with anything, I just felt like throwing that in there because Hobbits remind me of Pecks, I love that movie, and I knew I'd get that in a blog eventually)
Anyway.
Joe and I have decided to paint our house.
As we were choosing between sea foam, and skylark (green, blue, you know.) we decided to drive around the desert and check out what color combinations are popular out here in the real windy city. (Whoosh off, Chicago!)
It turns out that Joe and I are groundbreaking homeowners out here in the hot land! In our revolutionary decision to add some color to the brown domicile we call home, we are disrupting the hobbit-similar tradition held dear in this community!
How dare we change the practice of painting our home the exact color of the dirt/sand that surrounds it! Which brings me to why that makes us Hobbit-cousins.
Hobbits build Earth homes covered in grass to hide, to blend in to their surroundings.
Well, are we not the same? We too inhabit -inhobbit- homes that "blend in." With every house exactly matching the front yard, we are practically invisible! Throw in some faux rock siding, and we might as well be underground!
I use the "we" tense. Sadly, our quest for tan emancipation has not occurred. Yet.
"we" are like hobbits in our sand colored homes that disappear. But as soon as we manage to slap up that sage (or sky) colored paint, it will be a "them."
Heck yeah!!!!

The "secret" life of people who listen to Ipods at the Gym

Hello folks. The title of this post suggests that I have given up on Costco to lose me my baby weight. I still maintain that you can burn lots and lots of calories from shopping at Costco. Unfortunately, Costco turned out to be, as the saying goes, "too MUCH of a good thing." The good thing referring mainly to giant pies, and huge flats of muffins, and 30 pound bags of cookies. I now am on the "Costco Flush Diet". So, its back to the gym for me.

This post title had "secret" in the heading, because, as we all know, gyms are not private. Whatever you do is on display for all the world to see. This being said, I have discovered the phenomenon that when you are working out publicly at the gym, and wear an Ipod, suddenly your hot, sweaty, activated body has gone incognito. Without headphones on, you are self conscious. You are aware of bodily functions, weird movements or sounds, and everyone around you. But when that music fills your ears, and blasts you to your otherworldly workout zone, you are invisible.Here is a famous question.
If a tree falls in a forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound?
This can be compared to,
If you do something embarrassing with headphones on so you cant hear it, does it still make a sound?
Yes.
Duh, right? Here is a list of things that people do with headphones on. They cannot hear themselves, so in their reasoning, neither can anyone else.

Sing loudly, and very, very off key.
Not to mention the fact that most people do not know all the words to the songs they are listening to. So, if you happen to be next to one of these American Idol contestants, you will hear this.
hmmmmm...ddaaadaaa...LOVE IS WONDERFUL.....hmmmm...dadadada....OH YEAH ITS TRUE.....dadadummm....PEACHES....dadadummmdee......DANCE ALL NIGHT WHEN......dummmmdeedummdadadum....GOIN ON....dumdum....CAAAAAAAAR!!!!!!!!

Farting.
I'm sorry to say this, but people fart when they work out. And when they are listening to music, they don't restrain themselves like they would anywhere else, because they cant hear themselves blatting loudly, so obviously no one else can either, right?

Dance.
Head bobbing, karaoke accompanying, arms flinging, bootie shaking moves!!!!

Panting
When gym goers work out, they get out of breath, that is a given. With no headphones on, it is slightly more difficult to restrain your breathing, but you do it anyway. This is what you hear next to someone with headphones on.
HUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH, UUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH, HEEEEEEEEEGGGGGHHHH, AAAAAAAGGGGGHHH, HUUUUUUUGH, EEEEEEEEGGGGHHHH, HOOOOOOOGH, AAAAAAAAAAAH, HAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!
I actually prefer this form of breathing. It makes me feel that as long as the person next to me is bleeding from their lungs and is about to die, I myself can probably bump up my StairMaster to level 2.
And now for me. It is my turn for the confessional. I was recently given an Ipod for my birthday, so I too, became "Invisible" at the gym. I turned the critical eye on myself while hoofing it up and down the cardio machines, and realized what I do that I mistakenly thought no one could hear me doing.
I whinnie. Like a Horse.
When I am getting into it, and its getting harder and harder to keep going, I noticed that I push air out through my lips. For some reason this helps, but last night, I heard it after taking my headphones off for a few minutes.
PPPPPBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWBBB!!! Of course that's unreadable. But imagine the sputtery sound a horse makes in movies, and on TV and such.
That's me.
Imagine working out next to me, minding your own business, when out of the silence, a horse whinnies!!! Again! And Again! Loudly!!!!
So, I have started working out every night, whinnying, dancing, farting, singing, and loud panting. I am not knocking those who work out. I admire the healthy body seekers. But there is humor in everything, and if I can find the humor in the lung searing, muscle torturing, nose assaulting (fat melting) atmosphere that is the gym, I will die. Oh, I mean trying to find the humor, not exercising. (I hope!!!)