It dawned on me in the kitchen today, not to be confused with it Dawned on me in the kitchen today, which would involved a splurge of dish soap somewhere on my body as well as a very bad afternoon for one of my mischievous children. I had an idea. It’s a simple idea, really. It’s this: Do you want to go green? Home school. Home schooling is the greenest form of education there is.
Think about this for a moment. We don’t get up and drive our children to school in the morning, only to be forced to idle our cars in a long line of idling cars, waiting our turn to pull up to the magic spot near the curb where it is safe for our children to exit. We do not reverse this process in the afternoon, either. Our children do not ride school buses. The fuel savings alone should make the average environmentalist giddy over the prospect of keeping their children at home.
More often than not, we remain in our PJs for a great portion of the day. This cuts down on the amount of laundry that we have to wash. That saves water. Fewer detergents enter the water stream. History in jammies is environmentally friendly, as well as pretty darned comfortable.
We do not use brown paper bags to haul food items to school for lunch. We eat at home, which consumes far less energy than the cafeterias that cook, serve, and clean up from large lunch crowds.
If everyone home schooled, our communities would not have to clear-cut a wooded area to build a brand-new state-of-the-art school, forcing deer and other wildlife out of their habitats, as our school district recently did. Bambi is running loose in our community, foraging through backyard vegetable patches at night. If we were growing victory gardens, the deer would win.
More than anything else, if more people home schooled there wouldn’t be the massive - everyone come at once - let’s register our children for school events like the one I participated in today. This year, Captain Chaos’ speech and occupational therapy services have been transferred from the county special education coop to the local school district. The SPED Coop determined that it was better for the students to receive services in their home school district than to receive them at a centralized location in our county. I was forced to get in line and participate in what I am certain will be a once-in-a-lifetime activity, public school registration. It was a zoo.
Upon arrival at the school I saw that there was signage for every age and grade level except pre-school, the class the Captain will be attending. After I asked a couple of questions, I was directed to a nice lady who handed me a ream of paper work to fill out. The paperwork consisted of forms that were already completed and in a file at the Coop with the Captain’s name on it.
“You do realize that my daughter is not a new student but a returning student, and all of the information that you are requesting is already on file,” I asked.
“If she was at the Coop last year, she is new to this school this year. Please fill out these forms,” she replied.
I noted that not one single form was printed on recycled paper.
“Can’t you just transfer her file from the Coop to this school?” I asked. The buildings are only ¼ of a mile apart. I was more than willing to drive over and retrieve the file myself.
“We can try. Fill out this additional form as well as the others that I have already given you,” she answered, handing me more paperwork. “The Coop may transfer the paperwork and they may not.”
“Does that mean we will have to re-do her IEP?” I pressed on.
“Oh, no, that will transfer,” the nice lady assured me.
If I understood this correctly, the Coop will definitely open Captain Chaos’ record and pull out her IEP and transfer it to the school district, but they might or might not send the rest of the file along with her IEP.
That makes sense.
Filling out the Captain’s medical forms alone takes an entire afternoon. I took the girl home, along with the paperwork, and let her loose in the house to terrorize her brothers. She had been sitting on my shoulders during my entire conversation with the nice lady at the school district, alternately leaning over to kiss my cheek and bouncing up and down, insisting the entire time that she had to go potty and had to go
Ultimately, the process was not too painful. I filled out the forms at my kitchen table, savoring a hot mug of coffee, signed them, drove back to the school and turned them in. No problems, no chasing the Captain, and no noise. Registration is very noisy.
But the entire process wasn’t very green.
By now you’re surely thinking, “Hey Arby, I didn’t know you were such an environmentalist. Impressive.” Allow me to let you in on a little secret. I’m not. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I like clean air and clean water and safe food to eat at much as the next guy. I recycle when I can. I try not to litter. I’m also fed-up with the man-made global warming horror predications that so many people seem to think is gospel when it is nothing more than conjecture support by highly questionable “science.”
Harumph!
But hey, if the save the earth crowd wants to really do something to save the earth, they should stay home and home school their kids.
Now, on an entirely different topic, the Boss, who has long contended that she learns more about what goes on at home from this blog than she does when she is here, has been checking in from Fort Benning when she has had a chance. She read all of your comments of support and she was truly grateful. We all are.
Tomorrow we begin what is for me the toughest part of this excursion. Tomorrow the Boss and an entire plane load of other civilian and military personnel will fly to
When we get any news, you’ll get news. Until then, enjoy your weekend. Enjoy your families. Come back Monday for a little music mania!
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We received word from the Boss today that all is well after she got her @ss whooped by 80 pounds of Kevlar. Think Randy Parker in his red Michelin Man winter parka. From her description it sounded like two people had to roll her out to formation yesterday afternoon. I requested photos but I suspect that she either wasn’t that brave or she will conveniently forget how to upload pictures from her camera to my blog for our entertainment. With any luck, she won’t have to wear that stuff too often. The biggest problem that she seems to have so far is getting a good night’s sleep. The Boss told me that she is on schedule to fly out at the end of the week. I hope so. The sooner she gets her boots on the ground in
I miss my friend.
Having acknowledged some time ago that I am a confirmed curmudgeon, it was with great angst that I agreed to participate in our church’s poor slobs volunteers working at the zoo. Instead, I am one of the zoo keepers, the Grand Poobah of games, each of which seems to employ water and a variety of methods for getting people very wet before returning them to an air conditioned church. As much as I was reluctant to help out, I knew that if every parent felt as I do (and who knows, maybe they do) VBS would fail miserably. I questioned my own sanity while I brewed 16 gallons of home made bubble solution last Sunday night in preparation for making adult-sized bubbles using a swimming pool, a cinder block, and a hula-hoop, but I dragged myself in on Monday morning and did what comes naturally to me. Just like in the classroom, the kids came in and a switch turned on and I was laughing and joking and leading them through games. I was rewarded today with a “Gatorade bath” using the remaining water in the buckets after the Blind Man’s Basketball ended.
I’ll get the little buggers.
I took General Mayhem, Major Havoc, and Captain Chaos to the toy department at Wal-Mart this evening and searched for the loudest, most obnoxious horn we could find. Of course, in order to find the loudest, most obnoxious horn in the store, we had to try each and every horn that the store had to offer. We found the loudest horns in the bicycle department. There were only two different types, but there were 15-20 horns of each type in stock. We tried them all. For awhile the south end of Wal-Mart sounded like Colonel Hathi’s herd was tramping through the underbrush. The Captain merrily honked away with every horn I handed her, sqealing, "Party horn! Party horn!" in her sing-song voice. The Major honked his way through the entire store to the cash register after we finally determined which horn was best. It’s amazing how much noise three kids and one dad can make in public when the Boss is not in town to lend a little common sense to the situation. But, odds are that if she were in Wal-Mart with us, she would have walked to the other side of the store and pretended like she didn’t know us.
Tomorrow morning I will lead the kids through another round of “let’s get wet!” We’ll read a couple of Bible verses, answer a few questions, and then I’ll torment them with “Amazing Grace” played on a bicycle horn that sounds like an out-of-tune bag pipe.
It’ll be fun.
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I won’t be able to update my blog until later tonight, but I thought I would reward any wandering soul who took the time to check in with this tip:
Head on over to http://www.robinhoulette.com/ and read the entry “Water Beds, Helpful Hints.”
Sit down before you start to read and
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
P.S. If you enjoy reading comments, the first one is more than a little crass and inappropriate for children.
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It was a toss-up between this clip and "Cow Patty," but this song has a universal appeal that each one of us can appreciate. Enjoy Jim Stafford and "Don't Pet the Dog."
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In the comments section of yesterday’s blog, Junosmom wrote, “You never read some ‘ode to okra’.”
I thought to myself, “Ah...I don’t think so.”
Once again, the internet stalwart Google came through, proving itself as either an invaluable tool for research or the bane of modern existence. The search phrase, “Ode to Okra,” turned up 23, 500 hits on Google in .06 seconds. On behalf of all mankind, I’m mortified. Honestly, don’t you sometimes wonder how we’ve made it to the 21st century?
Now, I’m not certain what is more pathetic, the fact that a few thousand people invested the time and energy to write about okra, sing about okra, and read poems in public about okra, or the fact that I spent time and energy researching the snot-filled plant from Africa before taking pen in hand and writing my own poem in honor of the plant that is just as nasty to cook as it is to eat. If you don’t believe me, see this.
One website claims that Dale Wootton penned this little ditty concerning his love for okra:
“Song to Okra”1
By Dale Wootton
String beans are good, and ripe tomatoes,
And collard greens and sweet potatoes,
Sweet corn, field peas, and squash and beets --
But when a man rears back and eats
He wants okra.
Good ole okra
Oh wow okra, yessiree,
Okra is okay with me ...
It may be poor for eating chips with,
It may be hard to come to grips with,
But okra's such a wholesome food
It straightens out your attitude ....
If that’s not bad enough, Keith H. Peterson of
It's not fair what they say about okra
No, it's not quite as bad as it sounds.
From
From
It's just not chicken gumbo
Without that little pod.
It's not fair that the poor
lady's-finger
Should be viewed
As a food
Out of bounds;
It could thrill
And enthrall
And seduce you every time
And it would, if it weren't for slime.
Then I came across a listing for a “Song to Okra” by writer Roy Blount Jr. Mr. Blount’s “Song to Okra”3 looks amazingly familiar:
String beans are good, and ripe tomatoes,
And collard greens and sweet potatoes,
Sweet corn, field peas, and squash and beets –
But when a man rears back and eats
He wants okra.
Good old okra.
Oh wow okra, yessiree,
Okra is Okay with me.
Oh okra's favored far and wide,
Oh you can eat it boiled or fried,
Oh either slick or crisp inside,
Oh I once knew a man who died
Without okra.
Little pepper-sauce on it,
Oh! I wan' it:
Okra.
Old Homer Ogletree's so high
On okra he keeps lots laid by.
He keeps it in a safe he locks up.
He eats so much, can't keep his socks up.
(Which goes to show it's no misnomer
When people call him Okra Homer.)
Okra!
Oh you can make some gumbo wit' it,
But most of all I like to git it
All by itself in its own juice,
And lying there all nice and loose –
That's okra!
It may be poor for eating chips with,
It may be hard to come to grips with,
But okra's such a wholesome food
It straightens out your attitude.
"Mm!" is how discerning folk re-
Spond when they are served some okra.
Okra's green,
Goes down with ease.
Forget cuisine
Say "Okra, please."
You can have strip pokra,
Give me a nice girl and a dish of okra.
So, apparently there’s some literary (and oh, do I use that term loosely here) theft going on, or at least some debate as to who actually wrote the ode to this offensive little plant.
And then there’s this gem4:
Ode to Okra (mind the spelling)
Though others of my family disagree
You’re the scrumptiousest of vegetables for me.
It’s easy to grow you,
For those of us who know you.
(The rest of you will have to wait and see.)
You have a tough green outer shell,
You cook and cook but never swell.
Contrariwise you hold together
With integrity, whether
Baked or boiled or steamed (whatever).
Teeth tender skin,
Mushy insides.
(Some might say slimy to them “cor blimey.”)
A vegetable I keep on meeting
Two hours past eating
When your seeds are found lurking twixt my teeth.
In soups and stews I put you
I try to make you hide.
You are best dressed with batter
And deep fat fried.
By now I’m certain that the Boss is running to the
We’re all still adjusting.
1 http://www.law.com/jsp/law/sfb/lawArticleSFB.jsp?id=1133258715832
2 http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?res=9400E6DB123EF936A1575BC0A9629C8B63
3 http://hnn.us/blogs/entries/4731.html
4 http://serendipping.com/?p=6
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Alert reader MKPierce mentioned the real culprit behind the Boss’ recent battle with a kidney stone – GLOBAL WARMING! That’s right. Global warming! And since we all know that George Bush is solely responsible for global warming, my wife’s kidney stone was THE PRESIDENT’S FAULT!
The dirty rotten scoundrel.
A simple Google search confirmed MK’s observation. The 103rd Annual Scientific Meeting of the American Urological Association (and don’t ya’ just wanna run right out and join THAT group) announced last May that global warming will account for an increase in incidences of kidney stones in the United States. The southern US is already known as “the stone belt.” This is not to be confused with “the stoner belt,” which is actually a chain of liberal colleges stretching up and down the east coast. Rising global temperatures could increase the size of the stone belt so much that 50% of our population could live in it by the year 2050. We must do something about global warming because we must SAVE OUR KIDNEYS!
I think that I read somewhere that the president is heavily invested in a company that makes artificial kidneys, and the hope is that by causing a world-wide increase in temperatures there will be so many incidences of kidney stones that there will be a corresponding increase in kidney failure, causing a world-wide need for artificial kidneys. The evil-doer in the oval office stands to make millions. We should contact members of congress and see that we get a windfall profits tax slapped on BIG KIDNEY. I think you should copy this into an e-mail and send it to all of your friends to warn them as soon as possible.
I’ve also read that drinking a lot of water can not only help in passing a kidney stone (the first thing they did in the hospital was give the Boss an IV to jack up her fluid level) but can also help prevent the formation of kidney stones. It goes to figure that the ED-in-the-OO is also heavily invested in BIG WATER. So, I guess it doesn’t matter whether you get ‘em or prevent ‘em. He’s getting rich either way.
The crook.
While there are many different causes of kidney stones, it appears that diet has a large effect on their creation, but we cannot allow something as astoundingly common-sensical as PERSONAL BEHAVIOR to enter into the great GLOBAL WARMING DEBATE. Foods high in sodium, too much calcium, dehydration, and oxalates can lead to the development of those tiny buggers that create such intense pain in spouses that they feel the need to breath heavily, thrash and moan, and generally make such a disturbance that they wake their sleeping partners. Rhubarb, spinach, strawberries, chocolate, wheat bran, nuts, beets, tea, and OKRA are high in oxalates, and should be avoided.
Oh. Darn. I need to stay away from OKRA. Shoot. What’s a guy to do? Well, if I must avoid deep fried flavorless green shoots filled with mucus, I guess I’ll make that sacrifice. And please, SOUTHERN CONTINGENT, save your comments about how I must not have ever had okra made properly like the way your grandmother made it. It’s a vegetable filled with snot. Deep fry it, dip it in cheese, bathe it in Hollandaise sauce – it doesn’t matter. Snot is snot.
Remember this the next time you go to the polls and vote for the person who will look out for your best interests. Research to find out if they take donations from BIG KIDNEY or BIG WATER PACs. Ask candidates whether or not they will do anything to save your kidneys. Then go home and eat a slice of rhubarb pie topped with chocolate covered strawberries and wash it down with a glass of tea. And when you’re thrashing in bed next to your spouse later in the evening, remember...
This too shall pass.
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Back when the Boss and I were dating she made an offhand remark that turned out to be quite prophetic. “Come with me, and I promise you an adventure!” I was thirty, single, had just finished a year of substitute teaching, had no contract for the next school year and probably wouldn’t make the next month’s rent, so I said, “Ah, what the hell!” I moved to
Fast forward 13 years.
We had thirty-six hours before the Boss left for
They didn’t believe her when she walked into the ER and announced that she had a kidney stone. They offered a few alternatives. Maybe it was a
We’re having it stuffed and mounted while she’s away.
She told the doctor that she didn’t have time for a kidney stone. She had things to do. She was deploying. He asked her where she was going, and then asked her whether or not she wanted to go. He pulled out a pad of paper and offered, “I could write something and get you out of this.” It was a kind offer but she declined. I drove back to the ER to find a happy, smiling, and somewhat tired Boss ready to go home.
We fit in some last minute shopping yesterday, a lot of laundry, a “Good-bye and Good Luck,” LOST-themed lunch/picnic from her co-workers, and a date at Applebee’s for Buffalo wings, beer and cribbage, the latter being one of our favorite things to do since we started dating.
As I write, she is sleeping. It is Friday morning, and in a few minutes I have to wake her. We are going to load the car, drive to Target to purchase a digital camera for her trip, and then go to the airport to drop her off. She flies to
Our next adventure begins today!
P.S. For those of you following the adventures of the last few days, the proper attire is underwear. He was a former welder with big, strong hands, and he wasn't cute.
Works for me.
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So, the Boss looked at me across the dinner table tonight, and casually mentioned, “I have to call my sister.”
“Which one?” I asked.
“I have to ask her what is appropriate to wear the first time a strange man sees me naked.”
Like I needed this bomb dropped in my lap only two nights before she deploys for five months. I don’t think the two most important girls in my life have any idea of the stress they create for me with their casual conversation.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My massage tomorrow,” she explained, laughing at me. One of her sisters is a masseuse in Florida. “The masseur is a guy.”
Where’s the bourbon?
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Last night, Captain Chaos uttered five words that are guaranteed to strike fear in the heart of any father of a daughter.
“Hey, boys!” she exclaimed, waving across the table at her brothers. “Look at me!”
“I can only hope,” I observed to the Boss, wincing. “That she grows out of that statement by the time she turns fourteen!”
The Boss laughed, looking at her four-year-old twin. “She won’t.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I was a bit boy crazy at fourteen.”
Hmmm....
It’s time to clean the shotgun.
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Recently, I was sent an e-mail from Captain Chaos’ Occupational Therapist at Children’s
I guess the first big change is that Major Havoc no longer comes to us crying because Captain Chaos hit him with her “glove.” Water no longer makes mom and dad jumpy. Now our only concern when the girl is playing in the front yard is preventing her from planting her face in the bird bath and drinking. She smells a lot better, too, since she once again takes regular baths. I know that I have written about these things.
Captain Chaos discovered that if she starts talking as soon as her eyes open in the morning and keeps talking until her eye lids collapse in the evening she never ever runs out of things to say. Never. She chatters so much you’d think we brushed her teeth with gun powder each morning and dried them with a lit match. “Look, dad! I found stinky piggies underneath the blankets!” she recently exclaimed at
Music is quickly becoming a big part of this little girl’s life. She loves to drum. Sometimes she even uses a drum. Usually, she drums on the Major’s head. It’s quite amazing to watch, really. Her coordination is excellent. She’s developed a good, fast, two-handed rhythm that she can maintain for 10-15 seconds, and when she uses open flat palms instead of closed fists he tolerates it fairly well. If anyone has a set of drums they’d like to donate to Ringo’s therapy regimen, let me know. She’ll play bongos or with sticks.
The Captain is also singing and dancing daily. I'm seriously considering teaching her Groucho's trademark song as a tribute to the children's favorite babysitter, Lydia. We’ve been given a large keyboard that she likes to play with, doing her best impersonation of Jeff Wiggle. One of her favorite activities is watching a Wiggles
The best part of her developmental burst is her use of both hands. She keeps her left hand open more than she keeps it in a fist. While she does tend to keep her arm at half mast, she will lower it to her side when we remind her. She will sit at dinner and eat with both hands. She will hold a spoon and a fork in each hand and try to use them together. She is throwing and catching balls better than before. The Captain will even change hands and use “lefty” to complete a task when we tell her too. We are quite pleased.
In June, we told the Captain’s cardiologist about the immobilization therapy at her annual check-up. He laughed, observing that it sounds quite barbaric but that the results of such an exercise are fantastic. He was correct. We are thrilled with her progress.
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Growing up, I loved to watch old movies. I watched Abbott & Costello, Laurel & Hardy, Buster Keaton, the Keystone Cops, Charlie Chaplin, and my all-time favorites, the Marx Brothers. I watched their movies and waited to see Chico play the piano and Harpo play his harp. But my favorite Marx Brothers clip is...
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Buckling from the pressure of two small children pleading to let the chickens out of their chicken run, I opened the gate this morning and allowed the Foultastic Four to roam the great unexplored recesses of our backyard. It did not take long for the herd of hens to venture forth into the great unknown and discover the Big Fuzzy Rock.
The Big Fuzzy Rock lives in our backyard. Occasionally, he makes an appearance at our door for food and water, but generally we only confirm respiration by noticing that the Big Fuzzy Rock has moved from one section of the yard to another. Prior to this morning,
Don’t worry. Our chickens don’t have sharp teeth. They don’t latch onto small children with jaws of steel and tear them to shreds. Besides, Gypsy never did that. What Gypsy did do was explore. She was, at heart, a nomad, a characteristic that I wrote about last October. She was also the most active (and destructive) dog that I’ve ever seen before she blew out her knees and resigned herself to using her body to prevent our couch cushions from floating off into the atmosphere. I noticed the similarities between Gypsy and Trouble when the latter ran pell-mell across the lid to our chicken cage when I was trying to take her picture. A short-lived bid for freedom resulted in an unplanned tour of the garage highlighted by Captain Chaos screaming when confronted with an un-caged bird. Other people have calm birds that leisurely stroll through their yards, or perch nicely on their shoulders. We have four hummingbirds on acid.
Gypsy was great at playing fetch, too, an activity that just today I discovered my chickens have no interest in.
I was able to coax
It’s just amazing what you can learn each day.
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I’d like to invite you to head over to Junosmom’s blog at
http://lifetimelearning.blogspot.com/ and check out a new blogger I’ve recently met. Not now! Wait until you’ve finished reading. I’m using this opportunity of introducing you to Junosmom (if you haven’t already met her) to both apologize to her for my being a complete idiot as well as to publicly acknowledge that I am a doofus.
Many of you have been following the progress of our family adventures in chicken farming. Since the little fowl ones hatched, you’ve seen pictures of Trouble, Clumsy, Yoshi, and “Newbie,” and the construction of the chicken house of The Best Little Chicken House in Kansas where OhPumpkinshellz observed that you could see a “peep” show. “Newbie” officially has her own name thanks to the Boss’ co-worker Sharon, who sent us the following picture:
Our fourth chicken is now officially Phyllis Diller. After posting the tale of the painting of our chicken house I received a comment from Junosmom. It was an innocent comment. She wrote, “Any plans for that coop? We're about to build another.” I read that and thought to myself, “Ah...yeah! Of course we have plans for the chicken coop. We plan on putting our chickens in it!” There was an underlying thought of, “Duh!” What were we supposed to do, send the coop to her? And then I shrugged and moved on. Apparently, so did Junosmom. She hasn’t been back since.
I was reading through some blog comments a couple of days ago and I stumbled upon Junosmom’s comment. That’s when it hit me. That’s when I realized I was a boob. She didn’t want to know what we had planned for our chicken coop. What she meant was that she was going to build another chicken coop, and did we have plans, i.e. designs (blueprints), for our chicken coop? It is moments like this that I think I should demand a full tuition refund from my alma mater.
Junosmom, the belated answer to your question is, “No, we do not have plans for our chicken coop.” What we had was a pile of lumber from an eight foot long picnic table that I dismantled last year and stacked in my garage. We used the long pieces to cut the frame of the coop and attached them together using left-over lag bolts from the loft project. They were cut so that each side is 48” wide, the width of a piece of plywood. Some of the pieces of the frame are longer than the others to accommodate this design. If you’d really like a plan I can measure the coop and send you dimensions. We cut into the walls a large door for cleaning, a small door for the birds to get in and out, and a door to access eggs. Everything was sort of jury-rigged. We looked at the coop and decided, “We need a shelf here.” Then we cut one to fit. If the pictures make our coop look like something you’d want for your chickens, I can assure you that it is only by pure dumb luck. I am, after all, a city boy. I never saw a chicken up close until one hatched on my kitchen counter a few weeks ago.
I apologize for my misreading of your comment, as well as my failure to respond in a timely manner. I’d love to have a witty comment to explain away my blunder, but the only thing that comes to mind is,
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It’s time for something new at Arby’s Archives. It’s time for something different. It’s time for Monday Music Mania!
I was sitting in front of the computer late one Friday night, bored, not ready for bed, when I stumbled across some Youtube.com clips and Projectplayer.com songs that transported me back to my child hood. I rediscovered the music that influenced me in my youth. Music has always been a big part of my life. I was grateful to have the time alone to locate and enjoy songs that I haven’t seen and heard in decades, and I did it without any interruptions. Captain Chaos was in bed and the rest of the army was, as the Major is fond of saying, in Wiscongsin.
I come from a musical family. Dad played trombone in high school and in a
Dredging through songs of yesteryear gave me a wonderful idea. I thought that I would start a new tradition at Arby’s Archives. Each Monday I would host Musical Monday. Instead of the usual drivel that I share with the world, I thought I’d share some of the music that influenced me in my youth. Tonight, as I prepared to write my first entry, I realized that Musical Monday just didn’t do justice to the brief glimpse into my mind that I am about to share with you. Monday Music Mania fits the bill. Through Monday Music Mania I will share with you a video clip or a song from my childhood that helped make me the Arby I am today. Plus, it has the added benefit of getting me out of writing an original entry one day each week. As a public service, you always know where you can come when you need a laugh.
Without further explanation...
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So, the Boss has decided that my recent success in winning contests (two in one year) means that I should enter more of them. I went to Lavender Fields and entered their bedroom make-over contest. It’s a small contest, really, not one that you’d be interested in. I mean, you really don’t want to win a $3000.00 bedroom make-over, complete with a Pine Cone Hill bed set, decorative pillows, lighting, a Dash and Albert rug, wall art and accessories, or the paint selection assistance and general room layout assistance from Lavender Fields designers. First, you’d have to be willing to post two pictures of your bedroom on-line (here) and admit publicly that your bedroom is actually in the condition that it appears in the pictures. Secondly, you’d have to fess up to your real name and the location of your home. Most of us use pseudonyms here, so that’s another discouragement. Then you’d have to go through the tedious prospect of culling through family and friends for votes. Who wants that hassle? Besides, the designers who help you design your new room will not help you actually remodel your room. If you win, you’ll have to do all that work yourself!
Rather than bothering with all of that, the easiest thing for you to do is to click this LINK , scroll down to the picture of my bedroom (Richard B., Lansing, Kansas), read a mildly entertaining paragraph about why you should vote for me NOW !, and click on “Vote for Richard B.” Cast your votes for me NOW ! Remembering that since it is always better to give than to receive, you should give me your vote NOW !, since I gave you the information about how to give me your vote NOW ! Your kindness will be repaid with eternal gratitude and warm thoughts when I lay my head down on new pillows and peacefully drift off to sleep.
Next to the Boss.
Who will undoubtedly poke me in the ribs and tell me to roll over because I’m snoring.
Thanks for help!
P.S. Please consider voting for me, NOW !
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So, "I was looking for bedroom furniture and found great selection of Mission style oak and wood beds for my home at Barn Furniture Mart.” Well, not really. That’s what I am supposed to say in order to participate in a contest over at the Barn Furniture Mart.
Let me repeat that.
Barn Furniture Mart!
You can find them over at www.barnfurnituremart.com.
It’s not just any furniture that you can find at
Barn Furniture Mart.
You can find Amish Furniture at
Barn Furniture Mart,
as well as Dining Furniture at
Barn Furniture Mart.
Now that I have introduced you to the
Barn Furniture Mart,
you should head on over to www.barnfurnituremart.com, give a cursory look at their product lines, and then blog to enter the contest that brought about this inspired post. Please remember that if you win the contest instead of me after learning about the contest from me you should really consider sharing the prize with me. So, if you win the oak hope chest you might wish to give me the lid, or if you win the book shelves, I could use one shelf in my living room.
Just a thought.
Thanks, Twisted Sister, for sharing this contest on your blog!
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