What you see here is not a stadium full of loyal fans. It’s THE ENTIRE POPULATION OF Nebraska, in one place. Nebraska game day is the best day to do any of the following: Rob a house, because the homeowners NOR ANY COP are around, grocery shop, walk the mall, drag race on any street in State of Nebraska.
I’m in the midst of cramming a couple of years’ worth of cleaning for a birthday party. It’s two_fold because first my mom is getting here. And although I don’t THINK she’s the type to point it out, I just really don’t want the opportunity for her to see something and say, “Wow, Les. That brown smudge was on the wall was there the last time I was here…TWO YEARS AGO!” So, I’ve been cleaning. I’ve never really had a need to just wash a wall before, but I walked by a wall, and saw that it didn’t look the intended paint color, and went to town. It was like I’d rearranged the room or something. Ridiculous. I’m reminded of why I don’t clean…I don’t want to discover what iIve neglected for so long. Denial is much more clean in my book.
Secondly, I’ve been getting ready for the kids’ 5th birthday party. Last year was their first party where they got to invite friends and their parents because I don’t do well with kids, so please do not drop your kids off. But last year, I got a few remarks I’d like to address. Most of the remarks went something like this:
“You DO realize what weekend you’ve set their party for?”
“Oh, you mean Labor Day weekend, yeah, we make it a fun party for family and friends and then everyone can come into town if they want.”
“Is that Labor Day weekend? No, I was talking about it’s the first Husker game of the season.”
When I refer to ‘Husker game’, I’m only conceding to local terms of which no other sport is played in the fall except football. Nevermind that their kickass volleyball team is National Champs AND were just ranked in the polls as No. 1 for the upcoming season. 6′ hotties in shorts called “skins”, athletic goddesses that actually win. Nevermind that. No, a Husker game is only a reference to the one sport at Nebraska: football.
Mind you, I come from Texas. Football is big there too. There’s even a show about it. And I understand that Nebraska doesn’t have a pro team, and that’s the biggest university, blah blah blah.
But I was actually approached and suggested that I change the frikkin date of the party last year.
“But the game isn’t until the next day.”
“Yes, but we need to mentally prepare, have our pre_game meal, and go over the play books.”
“You don’t play for Nebraska do you, because the last female football player I’d heard of was a 20 year old kicker in Colorado. And you’re 35…and in Nebraska.”
“No, but we need to prepare our mind, bodies and hearts.”
I didn’t say the next, but wanted to, “You mean prepare for dismay, and disappointment? Or, what?” Had I said it out loud, I’m certain I would have been shot. And the lady would have gotten off with her defense being the aforementioned dialogue.
On a separate occasion, I was talking with a pal, (probably not after she reads this….sorry, but it’s just too blogworthy) and she said her husband told her if they had a BABY during Husker season, he’d PROBABLY be able to make it to the delivery, but he wasn’t sure he could make the kids’ birthday parties after that.
“Oh, does he play, did he play for Nebraska, or is he alumni, or the EFFN COACH OR SOMETHING?”
“No, just a fan.”
I remember going to a birthday party at a bowling alley last fall, and they’d convinced the place to turn the game on the screens INSTEAD OF THE KIDS’ SCORE. Their defense to this is that the kids are just as big of fans as they are. The kids were high on cupcakes, Dr. Pepper, and a showering of gifts, at that point, they didn’t care if you’d used them as bowling balls, but whatever.
So, this year, when I sent the invites, I got only one mentioning of the game. I must have opened my big mouth (Imagine that) before, because I didn’t get as many calls this time, but:
“That’s the first home game for Nebraska.”
“Well, I was just letting you know.”
So, Max and Lucy,
Timing was everything when you were born. When you were in my belly, fist fighting, Mommy just prayed you stayed in there as long as you could. I was told you’d be pre_term and be in the NICU. But we beat that. We went right past term for twins. The doctor said you were healthy and ready to come out, but you guys were having too much fun and just stayed put. At the time I went into labor, I was bouncing on a yoga ball, watching Dr. Phil. I was BEGGING for you guys to come out.
And you did. You were happy and healthy and perfect. We were so fortunate and lucky to get to go home with you, no NICU. And timing was everything.
Had I known that eventually we’d move to FootballFreakNation a few years later, surely, I would have incubated a week longer to prolong my swelling, incessant peeing, sleeping in a recliner, and overall misery. Had I known, I’d have put it off yet another week so that the freakshow would have been able to continue harmoniously without the kickoff game of Nebraska football affecting your birthday party attendance of FIVE YEAR OLDS. Ofcourse had I done all that, I’m sure I’d get this call,
“You DO KNOW that their party is for the SECOND game of the season. Couldn’t you have had them on Dec. 25 or something?”
I promise you this: This is your day. Mommy and Daddy celebrate this day with you. That you survived us for 5 years. For you, I promise a day to celebrate your timing. No kegs, no cable. I promise to unplug the tv in your honor. (Because I know a few of these crazies plan to sneak the tv on, I’ve seen it happen.) And in 15 years, unless you’re playing for the Huskers, you won’t find me anywhere near the kickoff game at Nebraska. If you ARE playing for the Huskers. They better stop the damn game and sing to you. Because I’ll say, “You DO REALIZE what day this is, DON’T YOU!?”
That’s how I roll.
This guy, by Nebraska standards isn’t necessarily a true fan, seeing as how he outwardly expresses his crazy. Most fans keep the insanity bottled up, or on their license plates…
At a lovely birthday party a few weeks ago. Happy 40th! Not me, by the way. Not yet. The party was a gathering of some interesting ladies. Interesting in that I went with my online girlfriend, I suppose. Did I just go on a date? hmmm.
None the less, Julz(holla!) and I are still fairly new and always on the prowl for other moms to hang out with. Our usual pick up place is the park, but on this particular evening, we exploited a birthday party. We didn’t CRASH it. We just took some time out to get to know the other guests is all.
One particular lady across from us was fun, and so, the conversation pursued into how we met our husbands for some reason.
So, I asked this particular lady, “How did you meet?”
Her reply was what I feel, is only blog worthy to prove my point about Nebraska Football Freakishness: “I was living in Las Vegas, and it was football season, so I went to the Huskers Bar.”
“Did you just say there’s a Husker’s Bar…in Vegas?”
“Oh, yeah. They’re all over. There’s a Californians for Nebraska, Texans for Nebraska….”
I don’t remember what else she said after that.
And cue the Twilight Zone theme.
That’s how I roll.
The first time I’d heard of “The Secret” I am pretty sure I was watching MadTV, it was a parody of Oprah plugging the heck out of the book. It’s hillarious.
Later, many months later, I’m having a pretty good conversation with a dear friend of mine and Dear Friend mentions the book, “The Secret”. And she wants me to read it. Typically, I don’t read. It’s overrated. I get my facts from the Colbert Report, and I’m too busy enlightening the world with this blog. But she’s got it on audiobook, so I obliged.
When Dear Friend suggests something, I listen. She’s that DEAR.
Basically, this book talks about the big effn secret. At first, I was ticked that they were going to not reveal said secret until the end. But by Chapter 2, or 3, it’s revealed. It’s the law of attraction. The power of you, attracting what you want, through the universe….wait, you lost me…say what? Did you just say I can send the universe a memo? Yes you did… I’m pretty sure what you’re referring to, crazy Australian lady, is what the great Tenacious D refers to as MindBullets. You want me to send mindbullets through to the universe?
Most of this I agree with. The end got a bit freaky. I’m guessing reading it would be a bit easier to filter than to listen to the chick tell me about it. None the less, a good message: You attract the things that happen to you. So, I attracted alcoholic parents, pooh_brown hair, my height, amazing friends, Ricardo, and the twins. I did all that? I wonder if I can send mindbullets for better hair. Some of this I buy into, but not so much the phenomenon and hype that comes with this book.
So, while I’m “reading” I can’t help wonder, did she suggest this because I’d like it & I’m already on this path of positive mindbullets or does she think I need to change?
I like the message of The Secret in hindsight and have even been coming up with my own personal mantras like, “The check is in the mail, the check is in the mail, the check is in the mail.” But on occasion the lady gets on my nerves and I have to replace her naggy Australian motivation with Tupac.
Off to transmit to the universe that I’m a size 8.
That’s how I roll.
PEOPLE OF OMAHA… (and driving distance neighbor cities) hurry, before the Huskers Football season starts:
This Wednesday, August 15th, I will competing in the Funny Bone’s Open Mic contest. The show starts at 7:30p but they ask that people get ther by 6:45p. Tickets are $5. You need to call and make a reservation:493_8036 and please tell them you are coming to see me, LESLIE MURRELL! (It helps me out a little bit.)
Please come out and help support live comedy. There will be lots of great comedians!! Especially ME! Fine, it’s worth atleast $5. Right?
That’s how I roll…
The husband looks all proud. But really, the wives just use him so they can have more wives. You don’t see polygamy the other way because really, what woman in her right mind would want 4 husbands? 4 wives makes sense, dontcha think?
Last week, Ricardo went out of town. I do realize what I’m about to post is shocking to most wives out there. But Ricardo pretty much works 8_5, at home two days a week, and always comes home for lunch. So, really, we are spoiled. And when he goes out of town, I have to actually DO MY JOB as a FULL_TIME SAHM. Whew! I realize we are very well taken care of, and the majority of moms out there, are kissing their men goodbye and tell them something like, “See you next week” or “See you at 7p.m.” because of a sweet ass commute they have or something like that. But not me. I kiss Ricardo goodbye and ask him what he’d like for lunch. Fine, I don’t even do that. He makes his own lunch when he gets here…I’m spoiled, I get it.
So, when Ricardo announced he was having to go out of town with only a 2 day notice, I thought of all my options. I guess I might have slipped into a panic mode. Because Julz(Holla!) sensed it when I called her.
“Girl, Ricardo is going out of town for FIVE DAYS! I’m trying to decide what to do…maybe I should road trip out to Texas with the kids before school starts, or maybe I could take them on a vacation on my own….”
“Simma Down Nah,” She said. Julz(Holla!) is a pro at single_mommin it. Her husband, Sven, he travels a lot. And the company in which he works for, squeezes every dime he’s earning out of him with meetings. He must be the most important person in the world of work, because everyone’s begging him to go to meetings. Sven works hard. And don’t get me wrong, I benefit from many perks of Sven’s job, being his wife’s online girlfriend and all. It’s been mentioned on occasion that I’m the reserve wife. We just make sure Sven gets fed when Julz(holla!) is out of town or something.
So, Julz(Holla!) and I come up with a plan to entertain the kids and keep everyone busy and wear their little butts out, all locally. It involved a slumber party, Saturday breakfast, a jaunt at the Taste of Omaha, and a baseball game. I’m sure in there somewhere, we went swimming at the pool. The problem (not for me) when good girlfriends circle up and rally to help another girlfriend out is that the reserve husband gets stuck with it too. And so, Sven, stepped up and helped us corral all 4 kids (3 four_year olds and one toddler) at the slumber party, breakfast, the Taste of O, and the baseball game.
It occurred to us when we were at the breakfast place….with another girlfriend, Katerz. Katerz is single with no kids and apparently, a glutton for punishment, came over to hang out for the slumber party and Saturday breakfast outting. So, there it is, right there at the breakfast table in a restaurant: Three wives, four kids, and a husband. It’s Big Love. Looked like one inter_religion polygamy_fest. Poor Sven. We joked about it, and giggled.
But by the time we’d gotten to the Taste of Omaha, the logistics were in full swing. Katerz had left, citing something about there’s a reason why she has no kids or something like that… We’re a wife down and now, out_numbered 4 kids to 3 adults. Mind you, it’s the hottest day of the year, it’s 4p.m. and we’re walking the kids around a little fair of food and games. At some point, Max had suggested his stomach hurt. I tried to poo_poo it off. The fake sick thing has been in full force at my house lately. So, I figured, out of sight, out of mind. As soon as we got there, we were waiting in lines with whiney kids. And by “kids”, I mean, MY KIDS. So, we walked them over to the kid stuff. All the big kids wanted to ride this spinning ride. So, they got on. In hindsight, this was not a great idea, folks. The girls were having a great time on the ride. And the ride seemed to go a long time. Just spinning….round and round…..round and round…It turns out, the ride operator was letting them go as long as they wanted, since no one else was waiting in line. That’s nice, except it’s spinning. And Max is starting to turn green. It’s 100 degrees out, and instead of his usually red_cheeks, he’s sheet white. No more smiles. Round…and round…. I ask if he’s okay and eventually, in mid_spin, he tells me “No! I’m not!” So, I walk over to the guy and ask him to stop the ride, we have one that’s gonna blow. Turns out, that stomach ache…totally not faking it.
We got the kids to a table and opted to feed them, since we were at the foodfest and all. Max was okay, but miserable all at the same time. All I could think of is, “This is the absolute worst place to barf, at a food festival, in the heat of the day.” I tried to scan for a good place to get him to in the event he started to blow, but never found one. Thankfully, he never barfed.
Big Love kicked in as we had wife sit with the kids while wife and Sven go get food for everyone. Then wife had to stay with one of mine while I took another to the potty. (A port_a_pot….eww) It was when we were leaving the place that Big Love never looked more prevalent. I’m holding Max, Julz(Holla!) has the toddler, and Sven has the other two. It was verbal small_group communication at it’s finest. Lucy was playing balance beam and fell and scraped up her knees. We just needed to get to the car. Max was getting heavier and I had his drink in my hand. So, Julz(Holla!) took it for a while. Then her toddler started to wiggle, so she had to hand it off back to me. The best multiple wives comment I ever heard was when I was starting to lose grip of the drink again. Julz(Holla!) came by and said, “Here, I’ll take the cup, mine (kid), stopped wiggling, I got it.” And together, like a well_oiled polygamist machine, we got the sick kid, the scraped_knee kid, and the other two overheated children to the car.
I was so happy to have them there with me. The kids were too. Lucy told me later that Sven helped her knees not hurt so bad. That’s so sweet.
All I’m sayin, is maybe, logistically, this polygamy gig ain’t such a bad idea. I’d LOVE to have some more wives. Seriously.
Sven is out of town this week. And I got a call and was so happy to answer it. “Get yo ass here now. (She didn’t really say it like that, but I KNOW she wanted to) I NEEEEED you. Kid B is napping and I have to take the dog to the vet, she’s spurting blood.”
My response, “Eww. I’m on my way.”
I can’t decide what feels better, being helped. A good friend, just knows when to help. Or, getting to help. A good friend knows when they can count on you. That feels good.
Ricardo is going out of town again. I better call Sven, and book him, but mostly, just his wife. I’m going to need a good wife to get through this.
But before he goes, Ricardo gets to be BigLove husband and take other wife and me and all the kids to Saturday Breakfast. I’m sure Ricardo is looking forward to it. He’s got to experience it…livin the dream, man….livin the dream.
That’s how I (and my other wife) roll.
I try hard to not make this a posting of cute and funny things my kids do. Only cute and funny things that I do…But really, every now and then, I find that if it makes me pee, or I have to pull over from laughing so hard, I should share it with you. Don’t you think?
Lucy is the oldest. And she knows it. Works it. Tells Max what to do all the time. Usually, if let be, Lucy will dominate any given situation. She gets the first bite, she gets to choose the movie, she gets to take a bath first, and usually, she gets in trouble first.
We’re driving down the road one day. As one big happy family. Ricardo and I are actually getting a moment to talk because I’ve just strategically passed a sleeve of crackers back to Max and told him to share.
A few minutes later I hear:
“Max! You only gave me two crackers and you have the whole bag! THAT’S NOT FAIR.”
A slight pause and then Max replied: “Well, it’s fair to me!”
Oh great googly. Too fun.
That’s how I roll.
I should have known this. I mean, after all it WAS Dustin Hoffman who said it. Had it been Tom Cruise, I’d never agree. Ever. However, it was the Hoff. And yes, it’s taken me almost 20 years for that to ring true in my head. I’ve always known that indeed, KMart sucks. However, it’s right in front of our subdivision. Did I just say that? I just realized that we’re devalueing our house with KMart there. I better call the neighborhood association. I wonder if we have one….
Anyhoo, I got home from what can only be described as 2 hours of hot and difficult labor. Max was sick, Lucy fell and scraped both knees. All we needed to do was to just make it home. For Googly’s sake, the kids were ASKING me to go to bed as soon as we got home. So, we walk in the door, and kabblammo. I smell pooh.
I don’t know if Farley the WonderDog’s intestinal system is shutting down or if he’s just eating bad, (and by bad, I mean, grass, cereal, tootsie pops, and the crotches out of heavily soiled pull_ups) but he butt_puked all over. Yeah, I said it. I’ll say it again: Butt_Puke. So, I have one limping kid, one belly_aching kid, and I have to haul them SOMEWHERE to get carpet cleaner. So, I opt for the closest place, KMart. And by the way, I’ve been in the backwoods of Texas, in some pretty shady KMarts, not as bad as this one. I don’t know why I keep going. But this time, I’d justified to myself, and to my pathetically tired and aching kids that it was the closest place.
So, we go in, get the kids settled in a rider basket gig, and get our stuff. It didn’t take long, and there was actually a guy who pro_actively asked if he could help me find my paper towels. So that was nice. It’s the check out that was bad, (and by bad I mean, made eating the crotch out of heavily soiled pull_ups look like a cake walk). Three of the 12 lanes were open. One had a lady fighting with her last breath of air for a discount on top of a discount with an extra discount. You know the type:
“I think you should take 10% off of this because the box is torn”
“Ma’am, that’s why it’s 30% off today.”
“Well, I want to talk to a manager.”
“Ma’am, I am the manager.”
“But you’re twelve years old.”
The other one was the line I got into. There was only one lady in the line, and I had two very tired and meek children. So, we went in line. Next thing I know, she needs a price check. When the manager leaves to price check the towel with suspiciously no price tag on it, the checker chick starts in,
“She’s taking her sweet ass time because she’s pissed at me.”
And the effn lady customer with her golf visor actually eggs her on:”Oh, really, why is she mad?”
“Well, I pissed her off earlier and she told me to leave, but I told her no. My dad’s the manager.”
Really, does your daddy know you’re laying your KMart laundry out to some lady and getting a bit liberal with the ol potty mouth while my four_year_old twins are hanging on every word? Where’s your daddy now? Do you think he could help us at the check out line? I’m all for cussing, but I have my kid_dar on usually, and I know when to hold em, and when to fold em. That’s for sure. Besides, she didn’t even use one ioda of creativity with her minor explicatives. It pissed me off.
So, I went to the other guy. And he, my friends, was a moron. The line never moved. The guy was checking out, there was an issue. Eventually there was something that was resolved, the couple pays with cash. The guy takes the cash, looks at it, like “What the hell do I do with this?” and walks away. Yep, walks away. Very slowly. Just walked away with the cash in his hand. I could not believe it. I explained to my kids we were leaving. I did what I rarely have ever done, if ever. I left the full cart there, and walked out.
Max was so sick and tired and I’d promised him a Sprite. So, I just explained in my very proud mommy voice as loud as I could, “Sweety, we’ll get that at Super Saver!” And we left.
Kudos to the kid at SuperSaver who was atleast 15 years_old, but very kind, and listened to my very entertaining story. So, now, I forbid myself to go into a KMart. Atleast the one here. I told Max and Lucy when we got in the car, “Kids, the next time mommy says we’re going to KMart, remind me that I promised myself I would never do that….ever.”
“Okay Mommy. Can I have my Sprite now?”
That’s how I roll.