I LOVE the dollar theater. I love going to the movies in general anyway, but I have a special place in my heart for the dollar theater. When I am stuck in the house with children that are finding it difficult to get along, this is where we go.
The sticky seats, the dirty floors, this is my bliss. Sometimes my children act up in a movie, particularly the little one. I know, I know, it is hard for you to imagine that my children would act up, but every once in a long while it happens. At first you feel guilty that you are ruining the next persons movie going experience and then you remember, wait a minute! They only paid a dollar to see this movie. Where else in the world could I whip my head over to someone who is giving me a dirty look and say, “Get over it you paid a dollar!”
If only that response could be as appropriate for the dirty looks I may receive when I am in church with my children.
Even the snacks at the dollar theater are perfect. They have created a spill proof method of distributing concessions to children. Anyone who has taken a child to a movie knows that snack spilling is inevitable and devastating to everyone involved. The people at the dollar theater made a box like a happy meal and they put the drink in pour in the popcorn and close it up and stick the straw through the top of the box. There is a shoot on the side of the box for them to get their popcorn out of. PURE GENEUIS! This is how I am going to start serving all their meals to them.
Thank you dollar theater for offering your entertainment at ridiculously low prices ($0.75 on Tuesdays) and giving Mom’s a place to go when cabin fever has hit your home like the plague. Dollar theater we salute you.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
It's the Little Things
I am a passionate person.
I love passionately, I cry passionately, I dive head-first into just about everything that I do. I believe this is what makes me the emotional roller coaster that I am. For the past six months I have turned my passion to my writing.
I would really like to be a writer. I have been pursuing this venture with the usual passion that I pursue most things in my life. Although lately I have been a little discouraged. I would love a little success in my writing. Something to validate my efforts, to prove to me that this is something I am moderately good at.
Last night I was on the hour long drive home from my in-laws. I could not help thinking about my writing. Lately, the lack of success in this area is bringing me down a bit. I was thinking about how people say that the first step is the hardest. I think that saying is dumb. I think the first step, deciding to do something, is the easiest. The hard part is sticking with something when it gets challenging and is yet to be rewarding. I was sitting there and getting more and more depressed about the situation when I turned and looked at Ben.
He is such a good example to me. He worked for two years to achieve his goal of becoming a firefighter. He is an emotional rock, my complete opposite in that sense. He rarely became overwhelmed by the process and just kept pressing forward with his goal in mind. I was trying to use this as a comfort, it took him two years to achieve his success, I should not try and rush things so much. Yet, I was still feeling down.
That is when it happened. Someone in the car farted. Of course, I turned my angry glare to Ben. I was telling him through my facial expressions that I was just not up for this right now. Only when I turned to look at the usual culprit, he had an equal look of disgust on his face. That is when it happened.
From the back of the car the Elmo like voice stated, "Sammy toot!" Her lack of caring, but willingness to claim it sent me into uncontrolled laughter. I guess all it takes to turn my mood around is a good fart, they are almost always funny.
I love passionately, I cry passionately, I dive head-first into just about everything that I do. I believe this is what makes me the emotional roller coaster that I am. For the past six months I have turned my passion to my writing.
I would really like to be a writer. I have been pursuing this venture with the usual passion that I pursue most things in my life. Although lately I have been a little discouraged. I would love a little success in my writing. Something to validate my efforts, to prove to me that this is something I am moderately good at.
Last night I was on the hour long drive home from my in-laws. I could not help thinking about my writing. Lately, the lack of success in this area is bringing me down a bit. I was thinking about how people say that the first step is the hardest. I think that saying is dumb. I think the first step, deciding to do something, is the easiest. The hard part is sticking with something when it gets challenging and is yet to be rewarding. I was sitting there and getting more and more depressed about the situation when I turned and looked at Ben.
He is such a good example to me. He worked for two years to achieve his goal of becoming a firefighter. He is an emotional rock, my complete opposite in that sense. He rarely became overwhelmed by the process and just kept pressing forward with his goal in mind. I was trying to use this as a comfort, it took him two years to achieve his success, I should not try and rush things so much. Yet, I was still feeling down.
That is when it happened. Someone in the car farted. Of course, I turned my angry glare to Ben. I was telling him through my facial expressions that I was just not up for this right now. Only when I turned to look at the usual culprit, he had an equal look of disgust on his face. That is when it happened.
From the back of the car the Elmo like voice stated, "Sammy toot!" Her lack of caring, but willingness to claim it sent me into uncontrolled laughter. I guess all it takes to turn my mood around is a good fart, they are almost always funny.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Remind me again why I did this!?
Ben and I are going to a wedding today. Since the weather is going to be in the single digits I thought I would get a nice shirt to wear with pants. I knew it was a gamble right from the beginning to bring all three of the children with me to buy clothes, but I rolled the dice anyway.
We arrived at the store and before we entered I dished out my usual threats, took a deep breath and then entered. Immediately I began frantically searching through the racks knowing my time was short before Riley and George would start wrestling and knocking over racks. The tiny tyrant still managed to pull shirts off their hangers from the comfort of her stroller. The cold sweat was beginning.
EUREKA! I found it, now I had to hustle the children to the fitting room. I took a deep breath when I noticed that the dressing rooms had curtains and not doors. In the past these have never served me well. The little dictator has been known to dash out of these type of dressing rooms when I am half naked and totally unable to get her.
I said a quick prayer and entered the dressing room. I quickly yank off my top. "Mom, why do mom's get stretch marks?" Riley inquires. I am feeling better about myself already.
"Because Riley, sometimes tiny mom's have to carry gigantic babies in their bellies." I calmly explained. If the person in the next dressing room was able to ignore that question she would find it impossible to ignore the chorus my son had broken into: stretch marks, stretch marks! All to the tune of the row your boat in a high soprano and a volume loud enough to be heard throughout the store.
This shirt will be fine, I quickly decide and hurriedly pay for my purchase. As we walk outside the cool air feels nice and begins to make my hot flash subside.
Another successful shopping trip.
We arrived at the store and before we entered I dished out my usual threats, took a deep breath and then entered. Immediately I began frantically searching through the racks knowing my time was short before Riley and George would start wrestling and knocking over racks. The tiny tyrant still managed to pull shirts off their hangers from the comfort of her stroller. The cold sweat was beginning.
EUREKA! I found it, now I had to hustle the children to the fitting room. I took a deep breath when I noticed that the dressing rooms had curtains and not doors. In the past these have never served me well. The little dictator has been known to dash out of these type of dressing rooms when I am half naked and totally unable to get her.
I said a quick prayer and entered the dressing room. I quickly yank off my top. "Mom, why do mom's get stretch marks?" Riley inquires. I am feeling better about myself already.
"Because Riley, sometimes tiny mom's have to carry gigantic babies in their bellies." I calmly explained. If the person in the next dressing room was able to ignore that question she would find it impossible to ignore the chorus my son had broken into: stretch marks, stretch marks! All to the tune of the row your boat in a high soprano and a volume loud enough to be heard throughout the store.
This shirt will be fine, I quickly decide and hurriedly pay for my purchase. As we walk outside the cool air feels nice and begins to make my hot flash subside.
Another successful shopping trip.
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