in case you missed it, college football season is in full swing.
also, our beloved colorado rockies just got spanked in the world series last night.
"so what?" you ask.
well, in our household, football PLUS baseball EQUALS ...
"sports on television"
a lot.
and "sports on television" means my kids are exposed to very "manly" advertisements for such consumer products as beer and beef jerky.
and it just so happens that, while i'm not a big eater of beef jerky, if i WERE i'd buy one brand and one brand only just because of the ads ...
Jack Link's Beef Jerky presents "Messin' With Sasquatch".
so we're in costco the other day and we walked past a display of beef jerky. not the jack link's kind, but the costco kind.
and all of a sudden wyatt points at the display and announces "there's some sasquatch".
oooooh, this is good ... he actually thinks beef jerky is called "sasquatch".
so being the exceptional mother that i am i snicker a little under my breath and tell him WHY YES, YOU'RE RIGHT, THERE IS SOME SASQUATCH.
john catches up with us and before i have a chance to share with him that our 4 year old has concluded that beef jerky is called "sasquatch" wyatt looks up at his daddy and asks him - while pointing at the bag of beef jerky - is that made out of SASQUATCH SKIN?
so, of course, we had to buy some, just to let him know what sasquatch skin tastes like.
it's salty.
but, of course, you already knew that.
Showing posts with label beef jerky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beef jerky. Show all posts
Monday, October 29, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
act your age, not your shoe size
so we pretty much live out in the sticks. we've got our wal-mart and our home depot and an entire antique shopping district but as far as "real" shopping goes, well, we've got to drive all the way in to san antonio.
and as we do, we find it necessary to pass by the evil "bass pro shop".
now, i'm not saying there's anything intrinsically "wrong" with bass pro shops ... it's just that being married to the guy i'm married to we rarely pass BY the bass pro shops where we don't have to stop and GO IN TO the bass pro shops.
and that's just not my kind of shopping.
camouflage bedding.
beef jerky.
fishing boats.
turkey jerky.
guns.
alligator jerky.
did i mention that this bass pro shops it's absolutely HUGE? and that they carry jerky?
which means i can lose john in about 10 seconds flat only to find him 2 hours later caressing a 12 foot long smoker/grill you can actually hook up to a trailer hitch and cart around town.
it's enough to make me curl up underneath the stuffed elk and cry. you know the stuffed elk over by the indoor fish pond stocked with thousand pound catfish that terrify my 4 year old. actually, i find them kinda scary too.
you may have seen us going in to bass pro shops before. i'm the 43 year old adult splayed out on the million degree asphalt kicking and screaming. that tantrum-throwing adult? yep, that's me.
riley and i did discover a little somethin' way up on the second floor the other day, though, right behind the "bow hunting" department.
they carry women's shoes ....
and not just the hip-wader-slogging-through-the-swamp-frog-gigging kind of shoes but REAL shoes. girly shoes.
you know, the kind where your toenails show.
so, naturally, riley and i proceeded to go to town trying on shoes while john and "his" son were downstairs, lost somewhere in the bait aisle.
and that's when i realized my riley, my precious little 11 year old daughter, has surpassed me in shoe size.
in fact, nothing in the bass pro shops inventory fit her.
she's already a size 11+.
so we went toe-to-toe and it appears her big toe, the boss of all the other toes, is the culprit.
he's huge.
he's the goliath of big toes in the big toe world.
even in a pair of flip flops* her big toe hangs over the edge like a cliff diver eyeing the rocks below.
*sidebar: we used to call these "thongs" but daughter informs me that today's proper use of the word "thong" implies fabric being crammed up your fanny crack and therefore it's not appropriate to announce in the middle of the bass pro shop shoe department that we're intersted in TRYING ON THOSE THONGS. which, of course, gives me license to stand there saying THONGS THONGS THONGS THONGS over and over thereby driving her in to a humiliated pre-teen frenzy.
now, i have to admit, my first thought was "oh dang, she's outgrown everything i'm going to be able to buy off the rack ... she's going to require custom-made italian shoes for everything ..."
but then i was overcome with the "she's only 11 ... how BIG ARE HER FEET GOING TO BE?"
and then i looked over and realize this sweet little 11 year old girl also understood the unspoken - all the cute shoes she sees in nordstrom and macy's and neiman marcus and sometimes target aren't going to fit her.
and just when i think she might be tearing up she comes up with this AT LEAST WHEN SOMEONE TELLS ME TO ACT MY AGE, NOT MY SHOE SIZE I CAN TELL THEM I AM.
and i'm relieved 'cause she's let me off the hook ... i don't have to justify marrying and procreating with a 6'7" man who is the carrier of the "huge foot" gene.
last night we were "chatting" about uncompleted chores and she looked at me, serious as can be, and told me to "stop messing with the sasquatch" ...
sasquatch? did she just call herself a sasquatch?
AWESOME. THAT'S ONE LESS HALLOWEEN COSTUME I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT.
and as we do, we find it necessary to pass by the evil "bass pro shop".
now, i'm not saying there's anything intrinsically "wrong" with bass pro shops ... it's just that being married to the guy i'm married to we rarely pass BY the bass pro shops where we don't have to stop and GO IN TO the bass pro shops.
and that's just not my kind of shopping.
camouflage bedding.
beef jerky.
fishing boats.
turkey jerky.
guns.
alligator jerky.
did i mention that this bass pro shops it's absolutely HUGE? and that they carry jerky?
which means i can lose john in about 10 seconds flat only to find him 2 hours later caressing a 12 foot long smoker/grill you can actually hook up to a trailer hitch and cart around town.
it's enough to make me curl up underneath the stuffed elk and cry. you know the stuffed elk over by the indoor fish pond stocked with thousand pound catfish that terrify my 4 year old. actually, i find them kinda scary too.
you may have seen us going in to bass pro shops before. i'm the 43 year old adult splayed out on the million degree asphalt kicking and screaming. that tantrum-throwing adult? yep, that's me.
riley and i did discover a little somethin' way up on the second floor the other day, though, right behind the "bow hunting" department.
they carry women's shoes ....
and not just the hip-wader-slogging-through-the-swamp-frog-gigging kind of shoes but REAL shoes. girly shoes.
you know, the kind where your toenails show.
so, naturally, riley and i proceeded to go to town trying on shoes while john and "his" son were downstairs, lost somewhere in the bait aisle.
and that's when i realized my riley, my precious little 11 year old daughter, has surpassed me in shoe size.
in fact, nothing in the bass pro shops inventory fit her.
she's already a size 11+.
so we went toe-to-toe and it appears her big toe, the boss of all the other toes, is the culprit.
he's huge.
he's the goliath of big toes in the big toe world.
even in a pair of flip flops* her big toe hangs over the edge like a cliff diver eyeing the rocks below.
*sidebar: we used to call these "thongs" but daughter informs me that today's proper use of the word "thong" implies fabric being crammed up your fanny crack and therefore it's not appropriate to announce in the middle of the bass pro shop shoe department that we're intersted in TRYING ON THOSE THONGS. which, of course, gives me license to stand there saying THONGS THONGS THONGS THONGS over and over thereby driving her in to a humiliated pre-teen frenzy.
now, i have to admit, my first thought was "oh dang, she's outgrown everything i'm going to be able to buy off the rack ... she's going to require custom-made italian shoes for everything ..."
but then i was overcome with the "she's only 11 ... how BIG ARE HER FEET GOING TO BE?"
and then i looked over and realize this sweet little 11 year old girl also understood the unspoken - all the cute shoes she sees in nordstrom and macy's and neiman marcus and sometimes target aren't going to fit her.
and just when i think she might be tearing up she comes up with this AT LEAST WHEN SOMEONE TELLS ME TO ACT MY AGE, NOT MY SHOE SIZE I CAN TELL THEM I AM.
and i'm relieved 'cause she's let me off the hook ... i don't have to justify marrying and procreating with a 6'7" man who is the carrier of the "huge foot" gene.
last night we were "chatting" about uncompleted chores and she looked at me, serious as can be, and told me to "stop messing with the sasquatch" ...
sasquatch? did she just call herself a sasquatch?
AWESOME. THAT'S ONE LESS HALLOWEEN COSTUME I HAVE TO FIGURE OUT.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Backseat Rules
On Sunday we spent 14 hours in the car with our 10 year old and our 3 year old driving back home to Colorado from the Texas Hill Country. The trip is about a thousand miles and normally takes a good 15 hours but thanks to the “Honda with an attitude” that passed us right in front of the Braums Dairy right outside Dumas, Texas (lovely, just lovely) we drove, um, a “little” over the speed limit through New Mexico. The elevated rate of travel plus the “potty-stops-only-when-you’re-in-pain” rule got us here a full hour faster. Yeah.
Somewhere around Eden, Texas (home of “Venison World” where you can purchase deer meat “homegrown in the Garden of Eden” ... wink wink) those of us who rule from the front seat instituted a new rule for those individuals residing in the back seat.
IF IT ISN’T NECESSARY TO SAY IT, IT’S NECESSARY NOT TO SAY IT
This rule was implemented as Wyatt became enraged at Riley, who dared to LOOK OUT HIS WINDOW.
Riley then retaliated with the “big-giant-bug-eye” move that nearly drove Wyatt wild as he fought to reach her from the constraints of his carseat.
Thankfully they were strapped in to their separate corners.
As you can imagine, there were lots of unnecessary words flying around the backseat ... for about a minute ... before the above referenced rule was instated with authority.
IF IT ISN’T NECESSARY TO SAY IT. IT’S NECESSARY NOT TO SAY IT.
The rest of the trip was butter. Even the chain-smoking gas station attendant meandering through the gas pumps in Raton, New Mexico barely got our pulse up. The kids held hands and sang “kum bay yah” the entire trip ... okay, maybe not, but they DID share some beef jerky.
Anyway, Great Rule.
I plan on breaking it a lot on this blog.
Somewhere around Eden, Texas (home of “Venison World” where you can purchase deer meat “homegrown in the Garden of Eden” ... wink wink) those of us who rule from the front seat instituted a new rule for those individuals residing in the back seat.
IF IT ISN’T NECESSARY TO SAY IT, IT’S NECESSARY NOT TO SAY IT
This rule was implemented as Wyatt became enraged at Riley, who dared to LOOK OUT HIS WINDOW.
Riley then retaliated with the “big-giant-bug-eye” move that nearly drove Wyatt wild as he fought to reach her from the constraints of his carseat.
Thankfully they were strapped in to their separate corners.
As you can imagine, there were lots of unnecessary words flying around the backseat ... for about a minute ... before the above referenced rule was instated with authority.
IF IT ISN’T NECESSARY TO SAY IT. IT’S NECESSARY NOT TO SAY IT.
The rest of the trip was butter. Even the chain-smoking gas station attendant meandering through the gas pumps in Raton, New Mexico barely got our pulse up. The kids held hands and sang “kum bay yah” the entire trip ... okay, maybe not, but they DID share some beef jerky.
Anyway, Great Rule.
I plan on breaking it a lot on this blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
