Sweeeet Bar Moves

Mark's birthday was on Friday. You know what that means. We (and by "we," I mean Mark because I was DD) drank until people could fly and everyone was beautiful. We went to the local VFW for our favorite 35 cent drafts and $1.35 bottles. Yes, we are big spenders. Friends and family all showed up to join in with the festivities.

I wish that I had taken more videos than I did. My brother in law broke out with this "noodle leg" dance which had me absolutely crying because I laughed so hard. Here's how to do it. Stand up (duh), put both feet together (If you only have one leg, sit back down- you can't do this). Now bend your knees and swing them (both together) side to side while continuously bending your knees. Hilarity. I promise. Also, it helps to make a painful face, which you cannot completely see because I was laughing too hard to take any decent picture.

I did some fancy-pants dancing moves of my own... all by myself. The singer was playing some Latin song that I must've fancied, because I strutted out there and danced my rear off, all the while making this "EYEYEYEYEYE!" sound, which sounded more like a battle cry, I'm sure. But I thought I sounded like a spring bird and moved like a pro. We'll just keep it at that, shall we?

In addition, Mark's sister showed me how to transform yourself into a midget at a bar. I'm sooo very thankful that I was sober because I probably would have peed my pants by that time.

Mud Buggies and Mary

I was thinking: Man, I really should post something about Mark here. It's starting to look like he's living in the basement or something.... However, as many know- Mark is very consistent. He goes to work before we wake up, comes home when dinner's ready, and goes hunting when he finds time on Saturdays.

He's my sanity. Calm. Quiet. Consistent. Great qualities to have when I can freak out over the bag of Rice Krispies which never opens the right way, and all the krispies are pouring into the bottom of the box.

Every once in a while he likes to stir things up.

Some of you who have known me since the last blog may remember that time when the diamond blade from a grinder came to rest one half of an inch away from one of Mark's main artery....

Anyway, Mark comes home on Friday, telling me that his boss sent him home. (Gulp.)

Sarah: what? like FIRED?
Mark: No, like carbon monoxide poisoning.

Mark was in a basement, pouring concrete. The guys use a mud buggy to make their work easier. The mud buggy is run by gas- therefore creating toxic fumes.

None of the other guys were affected by it. Mark was. As he attempted to exit the basement, he lost muscle coordination, and dropped to the ground. His younger brother came running over to see if he's alright, and eventually dragged him out by his ankles. (Sounds like a D-Day documentary).

MEDIC!

After Mark regains consciousness, he sat on a bucket outside when his brother, Josh, came over to check on him.

Josh has the same way of dealing with stress as me.

Mark (glassy-eyed looking at Josh): ... yeah, feeling much better
Josh: (slowly creeping down to get about an inch from Mark's face, whispering) Dob. Dob? Hey..... did you see Mary? (shit-eating grin from ear to ear)
Mark: (whispering) Yeah, she told me to go back and finish the floor.

Mark is completely back to normal again. He left for work at 5:50 this morning. All is right with the world.

Three O

Holy shit. Mark's 30 today.

Mark's a private kind of guy, so I will refrain from adding any more facts than already posted from last year's birthday.


Happy Birthday, Mierk.














(The cartoon was drawn by his buddy and co-worker, Timmy)

Don't Call it a Comeback!

First off, thank you all for sending your sympathy cards, casseroles, and scheming theories about the truth behind the camera. The True Hollywood Story should clear things up for all of you. Until then, you have only my side of the story.

Secondly, I would like to congratulate Mark for taking his debut photo for my blog. After seeing how I sat in the corner and sulked, he thought he would take a picture so I could at least get some relief through blogging. Sweet, eh?

With his motion dectector camera that he uses for hunting, he took this picture of my sweet, little PowerShot A95.

Now, what's a girl to do without her beloved A95? Well, I contacted Canon:

For $100, plus S&H, they could maybe fix it. Maybe.

OR, for $135, they could provide me a new camera (the next model up, they said) if I mail them the A95. The new camera? The (*sparkle, sparkle*) A610!.....only, it's refurbished (not so sparkly).

OR, wait until Christmas to get a new camera, using a disposable for Halloween, Jordan's 2nd, Mark's 30th, and other miscellaneous "things."

The last option was my favorite. Mark agreed, both of us agreeing on the importance of getting a great quality, reliable camera.

So, last night I studied and read up on all the new Canon (I'm loyal) cameras. I went through all of the new "A" series (I would've been happy with the same model if they still sold it), and all of the new "S" series PowerShots. Looking, looking, comparing, comparing...

Then, (dramatic pause) I found her. Oooooh! There she was, not quite an "EOS," and not a simple "Point and Shoot." She was a hybrid mix of lovely qualities with a nice tag.

The (*sparkle, sparkle*) Canon PowerShot S3-IS!!!! (more sparkle, sparkle, sparkle*)

Oh, she was beeauuuutiful. Oh, all the settings! The 12X optical zoom! The 6.0 Mega pixels! The Image Stabilizer! The rotating LCD that was on the A95! The 800 ISO!!!!!!!!!!!

And it's shiny and black, but I'm not all about looks.

I promptly placed it in my bookmarks for Christmas and went to bed with pixels dancing in my head.

This morning, Mark tells me to get it. Yes, it will qualify as my Christmas present, but at least I won't go through separation anxiety for more than required.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!

So, after dragging the kids all over the place for the best price on the camera, and finding all the accessories needed for it, here I sit: the S3 on one side, cup of coffee on the other, keyboard under my fingers, and a full, warm belly (mostly due to the celebratory kielbasa, yum!).

So, I give you the baby's first three images in the photoshow at the top.

Now, some unfinished business. What to do with poor little A95? I cannot bring myself to throw it away. I don't know why, I just can't. The CF memory cards were willed to my sister who owns an identical A95. The batteries were just (as I was writting) willed to Dylan's LeapPad toy. I may give what's left of her empty to the boys so they can play pretend. We do that with our old cell phones too.

I mourned for her.
I stripped her down.
I bought a replacement.
I have let her go.
Helloooooooo S3!

A Hundred Million

Mark and I love to camp, and we camped a few times when Dylan was a baby. We stuffed his travel crib into one of the side "rooms" of our fairly large tent, and were able to enjoy a bit of a vacation. As one may guess, since Jordan's arrival, we haven't been able to go camping at all. Mark was afraid that if he didn't start taking him while he is still young, Dylan might grow to not like camping. So, the two of them went on a trial run in our back yard this weekend. (Just in case)

Storms threatened to ruin their plans on Friday night, but stayed far enough away to continue with their excursion. (The thunder scares Dylan since our lightning strike) Dylan threw some odd combination of pajamas on. They packed up the red wagon with pillows, woobies, books, bug spray, and two way radios, and headed for the hill. As the sun set, I was able to see their silhouettes on the top of the hill. The lantern cast a faint glow, while Dylan's sparklers bounced around until finally burning out.

While I had strict orders to stay away from the boy's camp, I was given the second half of the two way radios. This came in handy for their emergency:

"Uh, Mama? Um, well... we really need some snacks up here."

Luckily for them, I had popcorn and blueberry muffins. I was able to snap a couple pictures before being completely banished to the house.

Mark told me that Dylan read each of his books, and then said that it was time to sleep.

Apparently it was a success. The next morning, Dylan proudly announced that they would be camping again that night, and "a hundred million more times."

I'll Fly Away

Dylan and Mark went on the hill to fly his kite. As riviting as it is, Dylan still managed to fall asleep. Mark did what any other normal father would do- he tied the kite to his shoe and let him nap while he got some things done in the basement.

Cheers!

Mark’s birthday is today. In his honor, I will do my best to thoroughly embarrass him.

Mark was the first born to his parents, and was dutifully raised as a hard-working farm boy. He is 6’3” tall, a full foot taller than me, and wears a size 13 shoe. He has never been in a fight…ever. At first, I was shocked upon hearing this, but then really, who in their right mind would even attempt to go up against him?

As the oldest child, he quickly took on the role of the “responsible one.” Although his mom and dad divorced, both were remarried, and he was given a sister and then a brother. Both still look up to him. This is amazing, considering he tortured his little brother, Josh, with stories of the “stick man” in the woods behind their house, and kicked a not-quite-frozen piece of cow poo at his sister’s head.

Mark took a masonry class in his high school and fell in love with the trade. He received a few awards for his skills and was offered a job before he even graduated, by a well-known area mason. He still loves his work today. In the past four years, he has taken one sick day, apart from his accident this year. The phrase “hard working” doesn’t do him justice.

Mark and I have been together for eight years, married for five. I’m happy to say that (most days) it doesn’t feel like that long. He’s the sane, level-headed, rational one. You all probably know that by now. He hated it when I was active as a firefighter, but supported me the entire time. He was uncomfortable with me rock climbing, but learned to accept that I loved it. Mark doesn’t try to change me, and I love him for that.

He is the most devoted father to our boys. He went to each and every prenatal visit with both of the kids. Mark would get up with the kids at night, even when he had work at 5 the next morning.

Some facts about Mark:
- My sister and I think he looks like a white Ice Cube (that is Ice Cube on the right, not Mark)
- His nickname is Dobber.
- He doesn’t have a middle name.
- Mark rarely remembers when my birthday is, but his brother, Josh, reminds him every year.
- Sometimes I call him Mierk. I don’t know why.
- Sometimes Dylan calls him Dobby.
- He has Carpal Tunnel in both wrists.
- He loves Christmas music-anytime of the year. It can transform his mood faster than a 6 pack
- Animals and children flock to him as they hide from me.
- He hates Sarah Jessica Parker without any logical reasons why.
- He grills vegetables better than anyone else I know.
- I almost lost him this year, and he has no idea how scared I still am.

Happy Birthday, Mierk.

A Conversation:

Scene: Sarah is dancing around the living room, watching "VH1's Hip Hop Honors Show" while Mark is on the computer looking at some hunting website.



Sarah: I think I was black in a past lifetime. Ya think?

Mark: Probably.

Sarah: What do you think you were?

Mark: I dunno...probably a figure skater.

Rambo's Back, baby!

Congratulations, Mark! And RIP, Bambi. Today is the first day of archery, and Mark got his deer. While I am not thrilled with hunting, I am happy for him, and know that this poor, little, unsuspecting deer will feed my husband and eldest child for a long time. Hunting is controversial, even in my house at times. This year, however, it isn't. You see, during hunting season, I don't get any time away from the kids because Mark is in a tree with a weapon. That is, until he gets a deer. So, you see, something had to die so that I may get some work done at the office. The sooner, the better. Sorry, four-legged friends... you understand, right?

Doing Man work

Mark returned to work, and as you can tell, he was working extremely close to home. Dylan was thrilled to be able to see them excavate the yard, pour the concrete, and build the foundation for our neighbors' addition. He got to write his name in the concrete, lay a block, and visit with his dad and Uncle Josh. What more could he have asked for?