Fort Duchesne Cemetary

Check out this rad cemetery I spotted on the way to Vernal, Utah.

The Fort Duchesne Cemetery:

I love visiting cemeteries.
They are fascinating.

I don't go for all the spooky, creepy reasons that draws a lot of people.

I like to see how different cultures commemorate their loved ones.
I think you can tell a lot about a community by checking out how they treat the dead.

For me, it's a peaceful place to contemplate mortality.

See!?!?! I'm not a disgusting, foul-mouthed blogger all the time! Occasionally my mind thinks semi-smart, normal things. I have feelings too, you guys. 

For some reason, Ryan loves them to.
Probably because he gets to get out of the car and walk around.

This cemetery was almost as interesting as the one I saw in Hawaii last December.

Every grave plot had a mound of dirt rising over the ground.
Some had handwritten gravestones.

It seemed kind of like a carefully done DIY job.


Each grave had been carefully decorated and personalized.
It was freaking awesome.

There were seemingly random things placed on top of them.
Like this full Pepsi bottle.

I'm assuming this person liked Pepsi a lot.

And look at this gangsta hat with the word DOPE printed on the front.

The DOPE hat is even better when you realize there is a stone snail figurine to the right of it.
A gangsta that had an affinity for snails... I feel like this person and I are kindred spirits.

Fasionable Pictures of Myself From The 1990's

I don't know how wise it is to post these pictures.

Now they will be available for anyone to blackmail me with.
Plus, I'm probably going to attract a lot of stalkers because of how incredible I look.

Thankfully, I am not burdened with wisdom.


I re-found these photos last week and cannot believe how stylish and good looking I was a kid.

I wonder what my mom was thinking when she bought me this catastrophe of a dress. Was she mad at me that day? Was I being punished? We may never know.

Look at this fine young specimen of a 4th grader.

That bow on top of my head would have been cute if I was 6 months old.
I remember this day well. It was my first day of 4th grade at a new school.

I thought I looked so awesome, and I was right.

I had picked this outfit out myself and styled it with a chic black belt so my shorts would stay up as high as possible. I did my own hair and hair-sprayed my home-permed hair thoroughly because I wanted to look this good even after recess.



I bet you never thought I was such a cool kid.

My pose here says, "I may have stole this shirt from my brother but I know I'm looking hot, and by the way, I have an attitude."

These cool contemporary backdrop pictures were not included with the normal school pictures.

I begged my parents to buy them since I thought I looked so awesome/radical. They bought them for me because I think they felt bad about the red polka dot dress.

I cut up the photos into the little individual squares, wrote personalized notes on the back, and handed them out to literally everyone I knew.

I was pretty satisfied with myself and looking back, I can see why.


Then I pulled out this treasure:

DAAANNNNNNGGGGGGG.

This picture is majestic.

Notice, if you will:

1. Large bow in my crunchy permed hair.

2. My bangs combed to the side because I was too cool for bangs that day.

3. Necklace made from a rolled up bandana and painted wood pieces from Micheal's.

4. FANNY PACK.

5. Fashion-forward modeling pose to show how cultured I am.

I even wrote on the back of this picture  -  You in you moddiling stage!  -  like I knew my 32 year old self would find it one day and wonder what was going on and why I was such a good model.

I hate myself so bad right now.

Ryan And Soccer

I'd like to bear my testimony that I know my kid is pretty good at soccer.
Also, I love my mom and dad and brothers and sisters. amen.

I signed Ryan up for soccer at Herriman Rec Center in hopes that he would learn teamwork, patience, and good sportsmanship.

I played soccer all through High School. If you don't believe me, check out this sexy picture of me posing in my uniform:

I played with my awesome friend B*tchie, I mean Christie.
And I have to recognize Laurisa for being the only teammate that would moon people with me out the back of the school bus when we drove to away games.
It was an integral part of my High School soccer experience.



I have kicked a soccer ball around with Ryan a little. We have a little net he plays with. Nothing too serious, but I taught him some moves. Soccer moves. Not mooning people moves.


We showed up at his first real live soccer game.
He had never really played a lot or with other kids so I wasn't expecting much.
I was expecting nothing actually.
Especially because he had such a bad attitude when he was initially assigned to the pink team. 

There were some kids on the other team with legitimate cleats and Adidas shorts, so I figured things were about to get real.

The first game Ryan's team lost 4-3. Ryan scored all 3 points for his team.
I was happy for him but thought it was just luck.

Each game he got better and was scoring 5-8 goals per game, usually all the points for his team.
Each game I got more psycho and intense.

You know those idiot parents who get all worked up over their kid's dumb sports. They freak out, yell at the ref, and have high blood pressure?

After the first couple of games I began to understand the struggle of crazy little league parents.

I had to constantly remind myself that it's inappropriate to get so worked up over a 9am soccer game between 3-4 year olds.
And I had to remind myself to stop mouth-breathing while rubbing my hands on my knees.





Ryan is awesome though. When other kids on his team helped him score, he would tell them "Hey! nice moves!", "That was some good teamwork!" or "Thanks for helping me score that goal!".

Looks like I was the one who needed to learn teamwork, patience, and good sportsmanship.
A good life lesson learned and it only cost me $40 and a few Saturday mornings.

So besides his constant announcements about his butt slime, it was a pretty good experience.

We are signed up for a summer league so Ryan can kick more butts and balls. Soccer balls. 

Curiosity Museum

A while ago we bought a family pass to Thanksgiving Point in Lehi, Utah.


It's a magical place of wholesome family fun, but more importantly a place I can take my little crotch-muffins to in the winter so I don't abuse them.

The Curiosity Museum is included on the pass we bought.
It's one of the cooler kid's museum's I've been to, so out of like, 2-3 kid's museums, it's cooler.

When you walk in to one of the areas there is a huge marquee sign that kids can climb behind and create their sweet little kid messages.

Ryan wanted to try it out.
He was looking through all the letters and became pretty frustrated when he remembered he can't spell or read.
I offered to help him.
He told me he needed help spelling "nut butt".
He was very proud that he knew "butt" started with a "b" and ends with a "t".

And to be honest, I was pretty proud too.
He is growing up so fast.


Then, on the other side, he wanted to spell "fart head".
I am a mother who tries to foster learning and creativity in any form, so of course I helped him out.

We left them in place and hurried downstairs because I was dying to watch other parents notice our inappropriate creations.

I took a bunch of Statistic classes in college.
I sat down across from the sign to collect data while my kids terrorized a toddler play area.

After analyzing the reactions of parents who read the marquee, I can say with a 98% confidence level that all dads smile and/or laugh out loud when spotting the bad words on display, while most moms do not find it amusing.

One mom was so appalled, she sent an older child up to destroy the profanity.
I could tell the kid was laughing on the inside while still trying to act offended at the message for his mom's benefit.

It was was super funny and satisfied my heart.


While this museum is cool, it also contains a parental torture chamber. This exhibit was inspired by Dante's 5th circle of hell.

It's about 20 drums that are controlled by devil children, using a simple touch screen.

It is awful and don't ever go in there.


There is also a game where you stop on jumping frogs. When you stomp on them, they flatten and stick their tongues out like they are dead.
I'm not surprised my hyper-active kids can spend a solid 30 minutes here.
I play with them and count it as my cardio for the month.

So sometimes I get all fancy and do Tyler's hair in a little mo-hawk and he looks a little douche-baggy but don't judge me. I'm just trying to live my life.

There is a huge jungle themed climbing gym - complete with boogers, hair, and used band-aids. The three staples of any good play place.

I have some other cool pictures we've taken there, but that would require my getting off the couch and finding my phone cord, so just imagine some in your demented heads.


Rating:
9/10
I would totally take my kids there again... especially since I have a pass so it's technically free, and my kids have some bloody band-aids we would like to dispose of.

Butt Slime

Having sweat in your butt crack is a humbling experience.

Anytime I get Swass, my brain starts thinking about how everyone around me must have Swass, and how we are all humans and we are all equal because we all have sweaty butts.

Swass. The great equalizer.

After I've inventoried people around me, I then select who must have the worst Swass and I feel sympathetic towards them.
Then, for the rest of the day I think about butts and curse my brain for being so disgusting.

Great. Now I am thinking about butts just cause I typed the word "Swass". There goes my day.


Cryin' Ryan  HATES any moisture between the cheeks. HATES it.

When he was younger and first starting to realize he had a butt, he would get very worried anytime he sweat in it.

He looked at me, horrified that this kind of injustice exists.

He was trying to get my help and explaining what was wrong.

"MOM! I HAVE BUTT SLIME! I'M SERIOUS! THERE IS REALLY SLIME COMING OUT OF MY B-HOLE!"

Then it was my turn to be horrified.

I hurried to the bathroom while he followed me all bow-legged and careful.
I was expecting the worst, as someone should when they are potentially dealing with a kid that says they are harboring butt slime.

I went to clean it up and there was nothing there.
I told him he was fine.
He would not accept my diagnosis and insisted I wipe off the slime.

That's when I realized what I was dealing with. Sweaty butt.

I dutifully wiped his crack like any good mother should.
Ryan appreciated it and felt he could go on living a normal life.

Now, anytime Swass rears is ugly head/butt, Ryan announces to the world he has butt slime. Literally yells it out.
This happens in public all. the. time.

He has no shame.
Soccer games are the worst.

We get a lot of grossed out/judgemental looks from other people.  I wish they were more tolerant of kids with sweaty rear ends.
The way our society discriminates against butt slime have-ers is appalling. 
Butt slime victims are humans too.

Both of my kids suffer from Swass. 

I hope this post brings more awareness to this awful problem.




(In the interest of full disclosure: this post is not sponsored by the Children's Butt Slime/Swass Foundation For Equality and Inclusion.)



P.S. I'm still thinking about butts.

Vernal Adventure/March 2016: Part II

Our second day in paradise/Vernal, Utah promised to be incredible.

There was no way we were going to waste a second of it.
We went directly to The Utah Field House of Natural History Museum better known as the dinosaur museum.

I was here over 20 years ago as a budding young bull-sh*tter doing research for a dinosaur report. My parents decided to make a little trip out of my homework assignment, and all 7 of us kids were packed in the trunk and taken here.

My parents used to bring Super Soaker water guns on road trips to spray us in the face if any of us were bad.
I tried that with my boys, but they thought it was funny and acted worse so that I would spray them again.


Anyway, check out these fashionable pics of me as a child.

 I made Ryan pose with the same creepy dinosaurs.





 





Speaking of creepy dinosaurs, look at this guy again:

And look at this prehistoric killer beaver thing:

*full body shivers*
And I thought this was a child-friendly museum.

I was glad Tyler got free admission since he liked playing with the electrical boxes more than expanding his knowledge of our dinosaur friends.

I just let T-Bag play with them because he was being a little punk on that trip, and I figured if he got shocked that would teach him a good lesson about playing with electricity.

We spent 1/2 a day there then left our Jurassic paradise and headed home.... Squirting my kids in the face with a water gun the entire time.