More Moab.

Us girls made it to Grand Junction, without incident.
We picked up the bags from the airport, and went shopping.
I had packed a plain white tee shirt and markers for Mikayla to make herself an "It's My Birthday Today" tee shirt.

(Lighting courtesy of Pizza Hut.)
We found a ROSS in Grand Junction.
Things were starting to balance out in my world...
Mikayla picked out a couple of presents, I found TWO(inexpensive)dresses for ME.
It was a miracle.

Then we drove back into Moab to meet up with everyone for dinner at Pizza Hut.
Our friends brought Mikayla a cake.
The whole restaurant sang "Happy Birthday" to her.

She finally felt like it was a real birthday.

Later, back at the hotel (Moab Valley Inn):

everyone went swimming in the highly chemically altered pool, and then we had a little family celebration for our new 8 year old, with candles squished into half melted ice cream sandwiches.

We stayed up late, listening to stories from Grandpa Randy and Uncle Jeff.

You can't put a price on memories like that.
Real, yet almost unbelievable experiences shared from a time long ago.
Hysterical giggling from both the kids listening, and the adults reliving the past.
My dad and his brothers are expert story tellers, with their descriptive narration- you feel like you are right there with them.
They had the most colorful childhood, growing up on a farm in Idaho.
I can't get enough of them.

The next morning, we got up, and ate some shoddy continental breakfast.
You know how I like my waffles, right?
Yeah, well, they got rid of the waffle maker.
I had to settle for eggs. And not the Cadbury kind.

Then the boys got the Jeeps ready for a day of trail riding.
Mikayla had her own Jeep.

It kept up.

The boys chose a trail that wuss-bags like myself could handle.
It was called the "Poison Spider/Golden Spike" trail.
I don't know who named those things.
I did see some funky looking spidery trees on the trail?

Spidery? Maybe?
I wasn't sure how Poison Spider was named, but I steered clear of any visible webs.
Some of the trail names made sense, because they contained the visual formations that they were named after. Like potato salad. The rocks there looked like dumped out, chunky potato salad.
Or Pig Rock.
You can see the pig...

I guess if I were to name the trails they would ALL be called "wienie rock trail" and that wouldn't be helpful to anyone trying to navigate that place.

Anyway...at the start of the trail there is an area where you can hike up this cliff and see some actual dinosaur tracks.
Here is Mikayla overlooking the cliff. You can see how high it was.

And here are the dinosaur tracks:

Then we headed out on the trail.
We went in a group of six Jeeps.

Along the trails you would run into other groups.
Sometimes where there was an obstacle, there would be traffic jams.
It is a busy week in Moab.
This is what it looks like on the trail, behind a caravan, through the windshield:

Here is the view next to me:

And in case you wondered where exactly the trail was...there are usually tire tracks:

Moab is home to breathtaking landscape.
You have to get off-road to access most of it.
Either by off-road vehicle or hiking.
Like this:

Cool looking plants:

It really is a camera friendly place.
Seems like every hill you crest opens up to another money shot.
But here is also where Moab and I part ways.
The cresting of hills.
Color me crazy, but I don't enjoy white-knuckling it for hours on end.
I really like pavement.
My husband is a wonderful driver.
He has skills.
He knows just how to maneuver his Jeep to climb steep rock cliffs...even when there is a perfectly good, safe and smooth path NEXT to the steep rock obstacle.
Jeeping is about the challenge of conquering obstacles.
Pushing your vehicle to the limit.
Through experience, learning to navigate the best possible line to drive.

Here is my question: "Why?"
Here is his answer: "Because I can."

So we did a lot of this:

And this:

And this:

And I did this:

(image courtesy of google, not my actual praying/sweaty hands.)
Then, just when my stomach would take no more, we stopped for lunch.
That was nice.

The kids played.
I napped. That much clenching can take a lot out of a person.
The girls colored the red rock with sidewalk chalk.
I brought it, cause I am cool like that. Totally a hit.
And if you ever go to Moab, bring some. And perhaps some Depends.

The boys entertained themselves the way boys do.

Like destructive numskulls.

We wrapped things up, and reloaded everything to finish the trail.
Quick family photo, before mom has an accident?
Mmmm, okay!

Not more than five minutes later, one of the Jeeps broke down.
And this folks....THIS....is what the men LIVE FOR.
I kid you not.
They hear the grind, squeal, and ping! of metal, and they literally cackle with glee.
CHALLENGE ON.
Bring.
It.

Every one of them had to come over, and crawl under, and give their assessment.
Then, the broken part is discovered!

And here is the exciting part!
Every man digging through their own Jeep, scouring the rusty buckets of greasy parts to see if he is the winning guy who has an extra that will fit...
More miraculous than me finding two dresses at ROSS was the fact that the broken part needed to be WELDED!
Fear not, blog readers.
My Dad has a Jeep equipped with a portable welder.
He was ecstatic to be the winner!

IT NEEDED WELDING!!!
Sweet justification for the $$$ he dropped to accessorize his Jeep with a seemingly extravagant and previously unnecessary piece of equipment.

In spite of my sarcasm and negative points of view on Jeeping, it really was impressive and slightly cool that these men had what we needed, and knew how to fix it right out there in the sticks.
We were up and running in less than a half hour.
Back on the trail.

And headed back to the hotel.

The plan was to swim, (our hair was not yet as green as we would have liked) and get some sleep to hit Arches the next day.

"Jeep"=Just. Empty. Every. Pocket.

My husband is a die-hard Jeep enthusiast.
As a result my boys are also Jeepers.
Every year they make the annual pilgrimage to Moab for "Easter Safari Weekend."

They live for this weekend.
It is (obviously, hence the name) the same weekend as Easter.

Our school district has never planned Spring Break to coincide with Easter weekend. So lucky me! I get to spend a week with all my kids home, cooped up in the house, while Sam is out in the garage tinkering with his monster Jeep, getting it ready for the NEXT week, when they will all be gone.
Missing school.
For a week.

(Incidentally my two junior high boys are currently getting F's, we will see if they make the work up that they missed. I have my doubts.)

This year, Easter and the Safari encompassed Mikayla's 8th birthday.
Mikayla is a daddy's girl.
So, she insisted upon spending her birthday in MOAB!

(Previously, Safari weekend was "Girl's Weekend" back home. We went to movies, did our fingernails and dropped some serious cash at ROSS.)

I tried to talk her into staying home.
No dice.
I thought about sending her, and her presents, staying home myself, and just calling her on her birthday.
Guilt.
So it forced me to go along with them this year.

I found the easiest route possible.
They were going the entire week.
I would fly into Grand Junction, Colorado the day before her birthday, and would only have to suffer Moab Wednesday night through Saturday morning.
I even had a ride willing to pick me up in Grand Junction.
(About 1.5 hours from Moab)

So Wednesday morning, I packed up and went to the airport.
Checked my bag, and waited for the flight.

Somehow, the flight...the same flight that had 8 seats available when I set out to drive to the airport--filled up.
I didn't make it.
But my bag did.

There was a later flight going out to Grand Junction at 8pm.
It is a 4.5 hour drive to Moab.
It was 11 am.
I decided to drive it.

The road to Moab is a long, lonely road with nothing but sagebrush, occasional tumbleweeds, and hiding policemen.

There was not another car on that road, and I guess I am one of those types who judges how fast I am driving by the fact that I am behind a car, or passing a car.
I was not paying a lick of attention to my speed.
A radar gun was.

I didn't cry.
I was funny! I told him I planned on "flying" to Moab one way or another.
I was nice.
He was nice.
I even offered up an unopened bag of Cadbury Mini-eggs, for the officer to go easy on me.
He didn't reduce the stupid ticket at all.
Let's take a poll...since I can't call on my ticket for a few more days.
How much do YOU think a 91 in a 65 will cost me?

I am still sick to my stomach.

When I dropped into Moab, I realized I was in man-land.
The hills are so steeped with generations of testosterone that even the landscape itself has taken on a certain male likeness.

Can you see that?

The first thing we did there was go to "the arena." The arena is a trade-show, with vendors selling crap.
I figured out why Sam loves Safari weekend so much.
It is a mecca of all things Jeep.

This is what the parking lot looks like:

Jeeps, Rock Crawlers, Monster Trucks, Buggies....and my mini-van.
That apparently goes 91.
Who knew?
Just driving down main street in Moab during the Safari is a sight.
So many off-road vehicles just cruising around...

At the arena, there is an open area outdoors, with vendor booths.

The vendors had to trailer into Moab on semi-trucks.
The arena was surrounded by red rock cliffs.
It really is a cool setting.

Since it was Mikayla's birthday, the vendors were generous with her.
They pulled out special free swag from underneath counters and behind boxes.

She scored a couple of hats, a tee-shirt, a flashlight, and more stickers than she could carry.

She also got a poster signed by some chick, that I guess is famous in the Off-Road community. There was a whole line-up of guys ogling her.
And it wasn't in admiration of her knowledge of drive-lines, if you know what I mean.

This was the only booth that appealed to me:

Those hammocks squished into a tiny bag, but they are weight tested to 1,000 pounds.
Plus, that booth was the only one that wasn't touting greasy metal parts, and the salesmen in that booth had all of their teeth.
(As a side note, independent of my opinion, Sam bought one of those hammocks!)
He still has money.
He isn't saving to pay for a ticket.

There is another part to the arena, it is an indoor vendor booth.
A huge barn/warehouse filled with booths:

More of the same crap from outside.
Greasy metal.
Glassy-eyed, open wallet-ed men wearing hats.
And vehicles with ginormous knobby tires.
Here is Sam and my Dad, whom I lovingly refer to as "Dumb and Dumber."

See how happy they are?!
They want to buy.
They NEED to buy!

I guess that is how I feel when I go to CHA.
(A scrapbooking trade-show.)
Me:
All the deliciously scented fresh ink printed paper.
And thick textured cardstock.
Paper trimmers, and scissors, and chipboard and inkpads...

Sam:
The cloying odor of axel grease.
D-rings and O-rings and transfer cases. (I have no idea what I am typing.)
Seat covers, antenna flags and portable welders.

I think I understand my husband better, having seen the arena.
Different venue.
Same obsessive unexplainable love.

The arena had a restroom.
That appeared to be a bonus.
I figured with all those men, all they needed was some scrub oak, and possibly a gallon jug.
I was really glad I have mastered the art of squatting, however.
The soap by the sink will give you some insight to the state of the restroom.

I did not use the soap.

When we were done at the arena, we split up.
The men went to run a jeep trail.

Me and my girls, and my friend took off to drive to Grand Junction to retrieve my luggage, and also do some shopping.
For non-greasy non-metallic things.

I Think Spring Is Coming!

These are my flower girls.
They helped me plant bulbs last fall. It has been fun to see our bulb friends come up.
Some of them haven't come up...yet.
I am hoping they are just lazy and not dead.

I know I am setting myself up for failure by being excited about the prospect of warm dirt in my hands and sun on my back.

I think I even heard a lawnmower today!

I can't get too kRaZy, because reality is, in Utah- it will probably look like this tomorrow:

And I will be:

Awesome Free Sample!

Just a quick head's up, here.
I ran across this and wanted to share.
It is a free sample for a little bottle/jar of Valspar paint.
If you have something kicking around your house that you have been wanting to alter or spruce up...now is the time.
It ships right to your door. (For free.)
It says it comes with a teeny painters tray and a little roller brush too. (For free.)
Awww, for cute!
Plus a $5 off coupon.
One per address. (Bummer.) Cause there are so many colors I WANT TO HAVE.
Here is the link!
VALSPAR SAMPLE

Happy Painting!

“My Core’dinations Creative Frenzy”

A couple of years ago, I worked freelance for several scrapbook product companies.
I would make projects for those companies, showcasing their product, for trade-shows, catalogs, magazines and online galleries.
It was great!
I got to work from home, scrapping my own photos, and when they were finished with my projects, they mailed them back to me.
Plus, I got paid, AND got free stuff.
It was a lot of fun, but a whole lot of work.
I found myself torn between being a professional scrapbooker (I still laugh at that title!) and a professional mom.

I made the decision that my kids needed me more, and stepped down from my positions on all of my design teams.

Well, after achieving my goal of acquiring my masters degree in professional mom-ing,(that and now my kids are all in school full-time) I find myself with a lot of free time.

I am ready to come back.

I miss people in the industry, deadlines, the smell of fresh ink on brand new paper, and most of all, the creative process.

One of my favorite companies that I worked for was Core'dinations Cardstock.
I met them at a trade-show, when they first started the company, and I remember being blown away by their unique cardstock.

I know that sounds totally geeky.

They came out with cardstock that had a black surface on the top, but a colored core. When you tore the cardstock or sanded it, it revealed the colored core.
Remember back in grade school when you would color a picture with crayons, and then color black over the top, and scratch the paper down to the color?
Yeah, that.
But in cardstock, and without all the effort.
They called it "Black Magic."

Then they came out with white cardstock, with a solid colored core.
It was called "Whitewash."
Soon followed by a gorgeous rainbow of regular, textured and pre-embossed cardstock.

I just love cardstock.
I wish they had cardstock conventions, like Star Wars conventions.
For paper geeks like myself.

Anyway, finding myself looking to expand my daytime life (beyond my afternoon nap...)until the kids come back home again from school, I looked into some options.

It just so happens that Core'dinations is having a design team call!

I put together some projects for the call, and I will see where it takes me.
I hope they want me back.
You can click on any of the images to make them larger.
Here are some cards I did.
All of them are 100 percent Core'dinations cardstock:

A couple of layouts:
This is one I did using come Quickutz border dies. When I sanded the cut dies, it exposed the lighter core of the cardstock, and then I adhered them to cardstock of the same color.

This next layout, I used Core'dination Vintage collection for the background. See how it looks like a painted canvas?

The circles, and the top letters of the title were made with Black Magic cardstock-sanded to reveal the core color. I also dry embossed the circles for texture. The butterflies, and shadow letters are cut from regular colored cardstock, with a lighter core. You can see the lighter core when it is sanded.
Here is a close-up:

It's a pretty texture, this cardstock, no?
And then, while I was sitting around watching General Conference on Saturday, I made this:

I really like it.
Usually the things I make I could take or leave, cause they look really "homemade" to me.
But I actually like this. (shrug)
I cut all the flowers and leaves from the Core'dination Whitewash collection, using Quickutz dies.
Then I rolled the petals a little, and added rhinestones or pearls.
The quote reads:
"Remember that children, marriages, and flower gardens reflect the kind of care they get." --H. Jackson Brown Jr.
Here is another shot to show the dimension:

And a close-up:

Can you see how pretty that Whitewash texture is?
Do you love it too?
No?
Just me?
Okay then.

And in other news...here is a small public service announcement to follow up on my last blog post.
I have received many e-mails.

Do you morons think that if I knew where to get Mexican diet pills I would still be in the United States? Heck no!
I would have a sprawling ranch in Puerto Escondido.
I would be fluent in Spanish.
I would be a Mexican Pharmaceutical Importer.
I would be rich beyond my wildest dreams.

At the very least I would post some pictures of myself "giving back" to Mexico, by doing some humanitarian work...and "oops" please ignore the fact that I am wearing an immodest string bikini in those imaginary pictures because I AM SO FREAKING SKINNY FROM THE GRAPEFRUIT JUICE.

Or perhaps the pills.

I've Been Drinking.

Recently a friend mentioned to me this new/really old diet plan.(I remember the Grapefruit! 45! diet going around when I was still in Garanimals.)
You are supposed to drink a cup of grapefruit juice (Unsweetened 100 percent grapefruit) before every meal. It is supposed to suppress your appetite.

Some lucky duck nameless friend-of-a-friend coincidentally lost like 6 pounds in less than one week doing this!

It's the same garbage you hear when someone tells you about the new Cabbage Diet, or the Cayenne Pepper Cleanse. I swear there is a new "get skinny super quick" plan every week. And someone knows someone who dropped weight just like (snaps fingers) THAT!
It was easy!
It is healthy!
I never buy into this crap.

However, the friend that is telling me all this, looks thinner than I have ever seen her. "I have been doing it for a while," she said "I don't know if I have lost weight or not, since I don't get on the scale, but my pants fit super, super loose-I even have to DRY THEM NOW. All the way. In the dryer."
And her pants were still baggy.
Her tight pants, people.

The only reason I put any stock into this whole debacle is because when I was pregnant, and in my first trimester puking my guts out- the only thing that would settle my stomach was a grapefruit. No lie. You would think all that acid would churn things up worse, but no. I peeled those suckers and ate them like an orange, and miraculously kept them down.

Therefore, I scientifically deducted that there must be some truth to the whole grapefruit affecting the stomach claim.

I am reporting back that I have been doing it for about three weeks.
Tanking back on the bitter, and vile juice. Ocean Spray was onto something, watering this junk down, and mixing it with apple juice.
Straight up grapefruit is almost painful.

I have lost exactly no pounds.
However, I have noticed that the reason it suppresses your appetite, is because it makes anything you eat following the juice taste like complete ka-ka.
It literally kills your taste buds for a good hour.
But then after that, you have to try to revive those poor shriveled taste buds, and cleanse the horrid aftertaste from your palate.

Chocolate is the only thing that works for this.

Oh, and the friend who told me about grapefruit juice diet?
The suddenly really skinny friend?
Finally caved and admitted she has been importing Mexican diet pills.

I Should Just Stay Home.

It's funny how sometimes life gives you situations where you are forced to associate with people you would not ordinarily hang out with if given the chance.
Like on an airplane.
You are stuck for hours on end next to a perfect stranger.
You have to sleep next to them, eat next to them, even ask for their permission, and then assistance, to move for you to use the bathroom.
Awkward.
Or in a movie, most of the time I would NEVER invite those obnoxious idiots from the theater into my family room to take in a flick.

But there you are...dealing with folks that fate chose for you.
I must be getting old.
Cause I have less and less tolerance for people.

There is this lady that goes to my gym.
She is one of those people that you really can't tell how old she is. She has short cropped hair, is a little heavier, and wears full body spandex.
She mostly shows up to cycling, although I have seen her elsewhere, or better yet, I have smelled her elsewhere.
That is not as rude as it initially sounds, I will get back to that later.

Anyway, cycling.
The gym has started a new cycling class called "Cycle-Tone."
You ride the bike, but also implement hand weights.
It is pretty intense.
More core than you would think, as it is more difficult than one would expect to try to stay upright on a vinyl bike seat while also:
not holding on to handlebars
and pumping your arms with weights.
And chewing gum.
And texting. (We will get to that later...)
And trying to breathe THROUGH YOUR MOUTH.
Why through your mouth?
Well, it just so happens that this particular lady that goes to the gym is an herbalist.
She is super-de-duper into essential healing oils.
The concoction she chooses to slather onto her body to work out smells like a mixture of:
Very Cloying Eucalyptus

And Feral Cat Urine

It is not a good smell.
Not.
NOT!
NOT!!!!
Sometimes, in fact, I want to cry, when I get a bike, and then she comes ambling into the room, and chooses a bike in my general vicinity. It's not like the whole class can't smell her, but being close in proximity is almost unbearable.
(And this is coming from the lady who potty trained twins, has three teen boys (and a husband) who play sports, and whose fridge at any given point contains toxic "mystery foods.")
I have a high smell tolerance, but truly...when you are in a class that is intensely aerobic, and forces you to breathe deeply and often...do you really want your air scented of eucalyptus and cat urine?
Nay, I say unto you. NAY.

Anyway...
The second part of the story is the Fight Over the Fan.
The cycle class is in a small room.
I think only 30 bikes fit in the room.
It is long and narrow.
There are three fans.
Sometimes even the briefest puff of recycled air when you are melting into a puddle of sweat is an absolute necessity.
It gives you hope to go on, man!

Well, this lady, hates the fans on her.
"They make me cold!" she said.
So here I am, on my bike, getting ready to start class...she plops onto the bike next to me, and then goes over and adjusts the fan so it will not blow in our direction during class.
Whaaaaat?
I went over and turned it right back.
I didn't even explain myself.
I was so boiling mad that I had to smell her, AND with no fan to buffer the air between us?
Not gonna happen.
I like the fan!
I am a fan of the fan!
And I figure if she doesn't like the air, she can sit in the back of the class, in purgatory, where it is dark, and you can't hear the music, and there ARE NO FANS.
She likes being in front.
You wanna know why?
So she can see her phone.
They turn the lights out in cycle, and there are no windows.
It's great!
No one can see you grimace.
No one can see your back fat (allegedly) jiggle when you are pushing yourself.
No one can see if you actually turn up the tension on the bike when the teacher tells you to.
I love cycle.
Smelly lady has to see her phone.
Cause she texts.
The.
Whole.
Class.
She has turned Cycle-Tone into Cycle-Text.

This is why she gets cold.
Cause she doesn't really work out!
I will never judge someone for coming to the gym. Never.
If you come, and you genuinely try, even if you can't do everything...I think you get full points.
But to attend a class, the same class, for YEARS...and not really take part in it, when the class is constantly full, and people who want to work out get turned away...I think that is just stupid.

She just leisurely pedals and texts.
And sucks back on energy gel.

She told me one day that she had had a weight problem her whole life, until she discovered essential oils!(and would I like more information?)
"I have always worked out as hard as I do now, and the weight never came off!"
Really?
That's weird.

She is a nice lady. Just smelly. And a fan mover.
And doesn't really get it.
When class is over, she always gets paper towels for all her friends in the class, to wipe their bikes down with.

Since the fan incident, I no longer make that cut.
Sadly, I have to walk over and get my own towel.
I suppose I should chalk this up as a learning experience in patience and tolerance.
Looking for the good in people and all that.
But I am secretly hoping she dislikes me enough to not want to sit by me anymore.
Or my nose burns out.

Either one would be great.

Good Purchases.

Sometimes I buy things, and I really hit the nail on the head in terms of appropriateness.
Like this shirt I bought for Brendan:

This is what he normally looks like:

$3000.00 worth of Braces.
Toothbrush optional.
The beginnings of acne.
Does not believe in hair product. And by "hair product" I mean any sort of gel, pomade, combs or brushes.
Clearly he has some photo-worthy expressions, too.
This is all he was willing to give me.
Serves him right that it hit the blog.

The tee-shirt covering "the goods" was a definite improvement, no?

Then we have this gem.
I believe it is self-explanatory.

The only thing missing from the shirt, to make it a completely accurate depiction is a Stonehaven Dental sponsorship logo.

One scooter biff.
Sedation dentistry.
Two extractions.
Insanely long, grotty roots: look at these suckers!

So basically, it cost us $623.00 for her to match that shirt.

And this post could alternately be titled: "The Dentist: and the Many Reasons That They Love The Wadleys."

Apparently I Missed Pi Day?

What the...?
Of all the stupid things I have ever heard, that right there probably ranks up in the top ten.
Right underneath "eating carrots will make you see better."

I ate carrots like a rabbit on Meth, and I am still blind as a bat.

I hate Math.
I can't imagine someone drumming up a whole holiday based on celebrating some stupid Math number.
Equation?

I don't even know.
And how do the herds of nerds celebrate Pi day, anyway?

I suffered through all kinds of Math classes that I was promised I would use later in life.
Let me tell you what.
The only Math you need to know, they teach in second grade now.
I know this, because I occasionally help my kids with homework.
Second grade is as far as I can actually "help" them.
Basic addition and subtraction, some fractions, and multiplication.
What else do you need?

As a mom, you need to be able to count your children.
That is a given.
Unless you stick with just one, smarty pants.

Cut a pizza into equal slices. (Is this Geometry? I never took it.)
Figure out shopping discounts. (30% off? Hard. I just do 10% three times, and round up a little just in case.)
Follow a recipe. (Double a cookie recipe that has 2/3 c. cocoa? Just measure 2/3 cup twice. No brain cramping adding those fractions.)
Figure out how many treats you need for a soccer team. (13 players, the box of granola bars comes in 5's. Four boxes. Siblings always get in line too.)

I think I could choose a better holiday to celebrate than Pi day.
For instance, right off the top of my head...
Sweatpants Day!

Never mind, that is everyday for me.

At least I posted!

Even though have nothing exciting to write about, here is what I don't like today.

That I had to put sunglasses on, cause the sun is actually out, (after cowering behind snow-dumping clouds for the past seven months) and its sudden appearance hurts my cave-dwelling eyes.
And no, the sun is not warm here.
That would be way too much to ask.
When I put my sunglasses on in the car, the lenses fog up and I can't see.
They fog because the air is so cold in my car.
"Why don't you turn on the heat?" you may ask.
Oh, I do.
But I don't get warm air shooting out until the exact moment that I reach my destination.

This is why I never leave the house.

But I have to get out to go to the gym.
I am breaking chairs and stuff!

I am also feeling gross.

We ate Panda Express last night.
I think that Chinese food is like a one night stand.
(Not that I have experience there, but I had a short-lived stretch where I listened to Country Music, and am therefore an expert.)
You will always, always regret it the next morning.

Stupid Orange Chicken.
Sitting like brick in my gut.
And sodium bloat.

In case you didn't notice, that was a haiku.

Thank you, thank you, I will be here all week.

Look What I Did!

Yep.
I sat in it.
Snap, crackle, dump.
Only I caught myself before I hit the tile with my overinflated rump.
Total self-esteem booster!

Now one could arguably say that the kids had previously cracked the chair.
(They did.)
Or that the chair was originally purchased at the RC Willey Clearance Outlet.
($10!)
Or maybe it was on a weird angle?
(Uneven grout particularly prone to storing food particles.)

Truth is, I sat in that chair, and it gave up living.
My weight was more than it could take.
Maybe through frequent pump classes I have acquired abnormally strong gluteal musculature, capable of shattering chairs or cracking tanning beds?
Or that chair could simply be a quitter...

But deep down I know my scale doesn't lie and those Cadbury Mini-Eggs aren't eating themselves.

Ugh.