How We Rock Apple Blossom

Hunneypunkin was in pain and wanted me to fix it, but I suspected there was a gallbladder or appendix problem which is beyond my scope of practice, as is diagnosis, so I did the only thing I could do at a million o'clock: I went to sleep.  But when a billion o'clock rolled around, Hunneypunkin developed chills and tremors that shook me awake.  (Rude!  Also frightening.)  So I Googled his symptoms because THAT will alleviate your fears when it's dark outside.  I took a shower and told Hunneypunkin I was going to pack him a nice overnight bag and we were going to take a little ride to have some of his internal organs removed.  So he stayed in bed till his alarm clock started singing, and then he went to work.
Hunneypunkin came home not long past noon, napped around the house until the walk-in clinic was closed, and decided he should see a doctor after all because it's more fun to pay an emergency room bill.  Plus, this is Apple Blossom weekend, so driving into Wenatchee at thirteen yards-per-hour on Friday night is awesome.
The ER peeps were friendly.  Hunneypunkin got intravenous fluids and some pink smiley-face tape on his arm.  I got some apple juice and a heated blanket because I cease to produce my own blood sugar and body heat when I run on no sleep.  Doctor Niceness said Hunneypunkin had an infection of some sort but they would need to run some tests to know anything more.
Next a tiny Nazi woman with a tight little bun (in her hair I mean) entered the room to administer the WASL, MSP, SAT, and ACT.
This is admittedly the first time Hunneypunkin has ever been in public in his jammie pants, which was a little embarrassing at first but I was glad later because those hospital gowns don't want to stay closed in the back.  I had to beat several nurses off Hunneypunkin with a stick because in a hospital gown he looks like Jeremy Renner as Hawkeye the Avenger.
Ultimately we were sent home with the assurance that Hunneypunkin is likely to die from something not related to what he is currently experiencing, and probably a long time from now.  He's feeling a little slow today, but he's sort of up and around.  Which is good, because Saturday is Caramel Mocha Day, and if Hunneypunkin couldn't take me out for coffee, I'd have to go out with Fernando the Pool Guy, and I don't understand Spanish very well.
Next year I'm going to come up with a better idea for Apple Blossom weekend.

Parental Discretion Advised

Breasts are in the way.
They have to be worked around to shave under the arms or to see the bathroom scales.  I tire of having to turn sideways to reach stuff on the top shelves.
I cook in small kitchens, I work in small offices, I shop in small aisles, and I can't focus all my energy on the tasks at hand because, even though I'm not all that stacked, I still have to make a conscious effort to keep those babies from running into things.  Or people.
Hugging can be awkward.  If I just wanna give somebody a hug, I just wanna give somebody a hug, so I usually just give somebody a hug.  But then I wonder if I should have side-hugged.  Or maybe I should just lean forward a bit.  Maybe it would be better if I gave more of a loose hug.  But really, when you love somebody, don't you just want to get them as close to your heart as you can?  So you squeeze!
Am I too concerned about this?  Should I be more concerned?
Half the world is trying to avoid touching the chestical area while the other half is trying to cop a feel.  Seriously, people, they're just fat blobs in an undergarment.  (At least, you hope they're in an undergarment.  For the record, mine are in an undergarment.)
I'm not saying I want to be rid of the pair that I sport.  I'm simply stating a fact of life.  Breasts are just in the way.
For those of you who are looking for a Jeremy Renner reference, he won't be making an appearance in this post.  That would be too awkward.

Acceptance Speech

I love to hate awards shows.  Or maybe I hate to love them.  Listening to acceptance speeches gives me an ulcer.  They all sound equally awkward whether or not they're rehearsed or pre-planned.
Is it negligent to not write out an acceptance speech if you know you've been nominated?  Is it presumptuous to write out an acceptance speech when you don't know you'll win?
I've decided to plan my own acceptance speech now so I'll be ready for the awards I'm certain to win in the future.  They may only be World's Crappiest Blog awards, but I believe in being prepared.  Here goes:

"I'd like to say I'm humbled to be nominated for this award because all the other nominees are my heroes, but the truth is I know I deserve this award more than they do.
I thank my family, who supported me.  As well as my family who didn't.
Thanks to all my fans, you both rock.
[Next I'll extend my gratitude to My Besties and a list of seventeen random names no one will recognize.]
I also thank Fernando the Pool Guy, my good friend (or whatever) Dromiquine, my sisters-in-law Lovesme and Hatesme, Jeremy Renner, and Jake from State Farm for being my inspiration whether they knew it or not.
But first I'd like to thank God, because He owns everything anyway, whether you believe in Him or not.  I just couldn't say that first or some atheist would've shut off the mike."

Middle Earth Meets Narnia

Galadriel is bored by herself, so I sent the following text message to a friend.
"We were wondering if you have a billy that might be interested in hooking up with our she-goat."
I almost collapsed when my friend replied that Tumnus would love to have a conjugal visit.  Tumnus?  His name was Tumnus!  That was funnier than Jeremy Renner!
So our friends are fencing off a private suite in their goat pen so the other wives won't fight with G.  Meanwhile Lefty and Hunneypunkin are building side racks that will convert our lawnmower trailer into a livestock hauler.  Now if both parties agree to the arrangement, then sometime in May or June we'll get to find out what kind of kids result when a powerful elf-witch from Middle Earth marries a kindly faun from Narnia.

My Family Portrait For Our 2014 Christmas Card

Not enough space to fit my life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout in the portrait.  Maybe next year.

This Post Has No Title, The Print is Too Small

I broke my glasses, right in the middle.  My life-size Jeremy Renner cardboard cutout is just a giant blur.  Hunneypunkin promised to fix my glasses by with some nice electrical tape to make me look even cooler than I already do.  Hunneypunkin is also just a giant blur.  So without my glasses Hunneypunkin and Jeremy Renner are identical.  Just like they are in real life.  Which is what makes Jeremy Renner a hot guy.  I hope I'm hitting all the right keys because my computer screen is just a giant blur.  I have one last pair of contacts but they feel like sandpaper and after wearing them several hours the world is just a giant blur.  If you've seen me in public and thought I snubbed you please forgive me.  I probably just mistook you for a giant blur.

I Make My Own Traditions

I've never gone trick-or-treating.  Rapunzel and the Wookie didn't believe in that sort of thing when I was a sprout, and to their credit I've also never gotten kidnapped or poisoned or a razor blade in an apple.  When I became a parent myownself, I was always volunteering at the local harvest party, but solo because elk season coincides with Halloween so Hunneypunkin was roaming the hills with a rifle as a manly man should.  After making up costumes for myself and my peeps (I couldn't afford to buy any) and then spending a good couple hours NOT stealing candy from babies (because that's what it means to be a harvest party volunteer) my two ounces of remaining energy had to go into getting my babies home to bed.  Not trick-or-treating.
Seriously, people.  It takes a lot outta you to watch all that chocolate fall into those chubby mitts, without sneaking a little armload for yourself.  Thank a harvest party volunteer, today!
We used to all carve pumpkins together before elk hunting.  But my pumpkin patch failed this year, despite my "Welcome Great Pumpkin" sign on the fence, and my skin blisters if it touches raw pumpkin.  However, I have no allergic reaction to orange balloons tied with green ribbon and wearing Sharpie'd faces.
This year, Angel Doll, Lefty, and The Precious think they're too old for me to dress them up in costumes.  Brats.  Pixie's elfin friend lent her a sparkly formal gown that, paired with Pixie's flaxen locks and Angel Doll's braiding skills, transformed Pixie into Disney's Queen Elsa.
So tonight, Hunneypunkin is roaming the hills with a rifle as a manly man should.  I'm trying to keep my mouth off the candy that Treasure and Angel Boy haven't eaten yet.  Lefty is enjoying a bowl of cheese with chili in it.  Pixie is collecting chocolate homage from the citizens of Arendelle with Elfin girl.  Angel Doll is burning a cinnamon candle and watching The Addams Family, and The Precious is Youtubing the Ghostbusters theme song.  Everybody's arguing over whether we love or hate Monster Mash.  (What's not to love?  It's a graveyard smash!)  I'm wrapped up in my favorite blanket, sipping hot cider from our own apple trees.  My jack-o-balloons and Jeremy Renner's life-size cardboard cutout are watching me sort through my rubber stamp collection while I search Pinterest for Christmas card ideas.  I have a dark chocolate Reese's.  I think this is the best Halloween ever.