I frequently write things on Facebook that horrify my wife. Sometimes it's on purpose. Sometimes it's not. But I typically try to be sensitive to her feelings whether she believes that or not.
(I was going to write a whole bit about how I never harass her for the things she says in public because she's an adult and she's allowed to say whatever retarded thing she wants to say and I, as her husband, am prepared to deal with the consequences, but this post isn't about me being more understanding than her. I'll save that for later.)
That made me wonder, apart from occasionally refraining from making indecent remarks on Facebook (and in all other public places for that matter,), how else have I changed because of my wife? So I made a list. Here it is:
Because of my wife I...
take a multi-vitamin,
have a mattress pad,
have an actual bed,
had oatmeal for breakfast instead of donuts and chocolate milk,
have Q-tips,
don't have a mustache,
don't have a beard down to my crotch,
own an appropriate amount of Star Wars apparel,
stick up for myself,
keep in touch with my family,
have been to the Grand Canyon,
have more than two friends,
watch my language,
don't live with my mother,
drive a vehicle that doesn't need to be hot-wired daily,
eat salad occasionally,
don't feel bad about being bald,
don't spend ALL of my money on comic books and video games,
have three above-average kids,
keep my clothes in a dresser instead of a cardboard box,
never have to substitute anything weird for toilet paper,
have a bath mat,
actually change lightbulbs when they go out instead of just Helen-Kellering my way around the room,
have learned to judge for myself when an item of clothing is still wearable and when it needs to be laundered,
understand that, just because you CAN cut a hole in the wall to make a super-cool tunnel, doesn't mean you SHOULD,
have learned the benefit of fixing a problem rather than living with it,
have learned that I canNOT, under any circumstances, multitask,
don't usually burn things unless I have a good excuse OR unless I'm outside,
have three drawers in my kitchen filled with things I cannot identify but which are vital possessions if I ever want my food to be edible (this is purely heresay),
have 11,000 photographs of everything I've done since I met her,
understand that there are acceptable as well as unacceptable smells produced by the human body and my body is incapable of producing the acceptable kinds.
As you can see, this list isn't a list of favors and chores that I do grudgingly on behalf of my weak, nagging, feeble wife, but improvements that have been made to my life in general because of her. Except for those weird kitchen utensils. Those just seem like extra baggage.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Showing posts with label Betsy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betsy. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Holiday Stress
House troubles notwithstanding, I've been mentally exhausted lately trying to write this year's Christmas newsletter. Here are a few of the abandoned openings...
**********************
Salaam and good evening! We hope this 2011 edition of the Beers Family Christmas newsletter finds you well. I thought I'd change things up this year and do the haiku first. Everyone okay with that? Tough.
This Christmas I asked
for two pairs of earrings and
a ukelele.
True story.
After thinking about this for way too long, I've decided to skip the first nine months of the year (I can't really remember them anyway) and start the newsletter with October, when Matt and Betsy moved into their new home. This is their third, and hopefully final, house. It's a large English Tudor-style home on a half-acre wooded lot complete with a creek and lots of angry squirrels. Being an older home, the Beers' were fully aware that they would have a lot of work on their hands bringing the old girl up to speed. They were prepared to spend several years making necessary repairs and making sure each job was done right. What they weren't prepared for was doing all of those necessary repairs in the first six weeks.
**********************
You know what? It IS the most wonderful time of the year. Merry Christmas, everyone!
2011 was a tremendously interesting year for the Beers family, but for the life of me I can't think of any events that don't relate to the unexpected adventures of home ownership, so let's talk about that.
In October Matt and Betsy purchased their third and, hopefully, final home. It's a 43 year-old English Tudor-style home with a large yard, lots of trees, and a creek. It's unbelievably comforting walking around the yard, collecting home-grown sticks for a fire to be built wherever the crap you want, listening to the rippling creek, and trying to ignore the angry chattering of squirrels. That feeling of comfort has a habit of fluttering away upon entering the actual house, unfortunately, because around every corner lurks the possibility of stumbling across a broken pipe or a faulty outlet or a family of Romanian gypsies, which, Matt tells me, are not all bad. You see, though the house has a rich and interesting history, none of it involves maintenance. Certainly, someone at some point in time said, "Honey, it's no big deal. I can fix it. See? I have tape." And that statement was never challenged, which is a real shame.
************************
Matt and Betsy have asked me to extend their deepest regrets as I inform you all that there will be no 2011 Christmas Newsletter. In light of the excitement (and unexpected frustrations) of moving into a new house (which they did in October), they felt it was in the best interest of everyone involved if they just took this time to enjoy the holidays together. By way of apology, I offer this detailed and uncharacteristically accurate description of the past few months.
It was decided in Spring of this year that the Beers family had outgrown their home in Huntertown. They, as a family, fit nicely inside with all of their nick-knacks and do-dads and whatnot, but in order to continue operating the daycare they would need more room. So, they began searching and soon stumbled upon a home that they felt was just right for them. It had a large, open basement, a cozy family room, a big backyard, and a library for all of the books Matt got rid of last summer. It seemed rather perfect. But, alas, in order to purchase a home the selling of another is often necessary. While sellers were aplenty, buyers were scarce.
The seemingly perfect house slowly became less and less appealing as the weeks trickled by and Matt and Betsy discovered another house. This house, while not as charming as the first, had a much nicer basement and a fenced in yard (it also had dark beige carpet with flecks of lime green and peach, oddly reminiscent of sherbet, but I'm not supposed to mention that). This second house, although nice enough with it's shade trees and rippling creek just behind the back fence, was lacking something that Matt and Betsy had been searching for: personality.
Before I continue, it should be noted that houses, like people, can have any number of personalities. Often you'll discover that a house is jovial and welcoming, like a fat man with cookies to share. Other times you'll get the sense that a house has been built with wisdom in its beams, strong enough to keep out the wind, but kind enough to embrace you. And sometimes you'll discover that a house is like a grumpy toddler, completely unpredictable and, more often than not, wet on the bottom.
Guess which kind of house Matt and Betsy bought.
*************************
A wise man once said, "The truth is rarely as interesting as how we perceive the truth." That man was me. I had to go back and read that line aloud to make it true. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I only perceived that I read it aloud. Nevertheless, I think it's time we moved on.
In the early months of 2011 some moderately interesting events took place which I cannot recall for the life of me. They have been utterly eclipsed by the fascinating events which took place in the later months of 2011. Among the events forgotten are, no doubt, ninja attacks, rocket trips to the moon, and, possibly, an encounter with a venomous, man-eating plant. Please, do your best to stifle the yawn tugging at your jaw. Those forgotten events, as I'm sure you will agree, are not the events that one would choose to include in a yearly update, not when presented with the colorful smorgasbord that purchasing a new home offers.
***********************
So (we're back to the blog part now), you see where the focus of this year's newsletter is. In the past my formula for newsletter gold has been this: Write one draft, purposefully unacceptable, to get out all of the cobwebs and get my brain into the appropriate rhythm. Then, the finished product just sort of falls from my finger tips. It's literally that simple.
Not this year. The house has me drained. And on top of that, Betsy is making ridiculous demands of me as the author of said newsletter and then undermining my confidence by offering to write it herself, as if she could.
So, I thought I'd whip out a quick blog post so that I can just have something to show for all of my hard work (by which I mean writing a few lines and then breaking for fifteen minutes to watch Juno and work on a jigsaw puzzle).
Anyway, thank you.
Matt Beers
**********************
Salaam and good evening! We hope this 2011 edition of the Beers Family Christmas newsletter finds you well. I thought I'd change things up this year and do the haiku first. Everyone okay with that? Tough.
This Christmas I asked
for two pairs of earrings and
a ukelele.
True story.
After thinking about this for way too long, I've decided to skip the first nine months of the year (I can't really remember them anyway) and start the newsletter with October, when Matt and Betsy moved into their new home. This is their third, and hopefully final, house. It's a large English Tudor-style home on a half-acre wooded lot complete with a creek and lots of angry squirrels. Being an older home, the Beers' were fully aware that they would have a lot of work on their hands bringing the old girl up to speed. They were prepared to spend several years making necessary repairs and making sure each job was done right. What they weren't prepared for was doing all of those necessary repairs in the first six weeks.
**********************
You know what? It IS the most wonderful time of the year. Merry Christmas, everyone!
2011 was a tremendously interesting year for the Beers family, but for the life of me I can't think of any events that don't relate to the unexpected adventures of home ownership, so let's talk about that.
In October Matt and Betsy purchased their third and, hopefully, final home. It's a 43 year-old English Tudor-style home with a large yard, lots of trees, and a creek. It's unbelievably comforting walking around the yard, collecting home-grown sticks for a fire to be built wherever the crap you want, listening to the rippling creek, and trying to ignore the angry chattering of squirrels. That feeling of comfort has a habit of fluttering away upon entering the actual house, unfortunately, because around every corner lurks the possibility of stumbling across a broken pipe or a faulty outlet or a family of Romanian gypsies, which, Matt tells me, are not all bad. You see, though the house has a rich and interesting history, none of it involves maintenance. Certainly, someone at some point in time said, "Honey, it's no big deal. I can fix it. See? I have tape." And that statement was never challenged, which is a real shame.
************************
Matt and Betsy have asked me to extend their deepest regrets as I inform you all that there will be no 2011 Christmas Newsletter. In light of the excitement (and unexpected frustrations) of moving into a new house (which they did in October), they felt it was in the best interest of everyone involved if they just took this time to enjoy the holidays together. By way of apology, I offer this detailed and uncharacteristically accurate description of the past few months.
It was decided in Spring of this year that the Beers family had outgrown their home in Huntertown. They, as a family, fit nicely inside with all of their nick-knacks and do-dads and whatnot, but in order to continue operating the daycare they would need more room. So, they began searching and soon stumbled upon a home that they felt was just right for them. It had a large, open basement, a cozy family room, a big backyard, and a library for all of the books Matt got rid of last summer. It seemed rather perfect. But, alas, in order to purchase a home the selling of another is often necessary. While sellers were aplenty, buyers were scarce.
The seemingly perfect house slowly became less and less appealing as the weeks trickled by and Matt and Betsy discovered another house. This house, while not as charming as the first, had a much nicer basement and a fenced in yard (it also had dark beige carpet with flecks of lime green and peach, oddly reminiscent of sherbet, but I'm not supposed to mention that). This second house, although nice enough with it's shade trees and rippling creek just behind the back fence, was lacking something that Matt and Betsy had been searching for: personality.
Before I continue, it should be noted that houses, like people, can have any number of personalities. Often you'll discover that a house is jovial and welcoming, like a fat man with cookies to share. Other times you'll get the sense that a house has been built with wisdom in its beams, strong enough to keep out the wind, but kind enough to embrace you. And sometimes you'll discover that a house is like a grumpy toddler, completely unpredictable and, more often than not, wet on the bottom.
Guess which kind of house Matt and Betsy bought.
*************************
A wise man once said, "The truth is rarely as interesting as how we perceive the truth." That man was me. I had to go back and read that line aloud to make it true. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe I only perceived that I read it aloud. Nevertheless, I think it's time we moved on.
In the early months of 2011 some moderately interesting events took place which I cannot recall for the life of me. They have been utterly eclipsed by the fascinating events which took place in the later months of 2011. Among the events forgotten are, no doubt, ninja attacks, rocket trips to the moon, and, possibly, an encounter with a venomous, man-eating plant. Please, do your best to stifle the yawn tugging at your jaw. Those forgotten events, as I'm sure you will agree, are not the events that one would choose to include in a yearly update, not when presented with the colorful smorgasbord that purchasing a new home offers.
***********************
So (we're back to the blog part now), you see where the focus of this year's newsletter is. In the past my formula for newsletter gold has been this: Write one draft, purposefully unacceptable, to get out all of the cobwebs and get my brain into the appropriate rhythm. Then, the finished product just sort of falls from my finger tips. It's literally that simple.
Not this year. The house has me drained. And on top of that, Betsy is making ridiculous demands of me as the author of said newsletter and then undermining my confidence by offering to write it herself, as if she could.
So, I thought I'd whip out a quick blog post so that I can just have something to show for all of my hard work (by which I mean writing a few lines and then breaking for fifteen minutes to watch Juno and work on a jigsaw puzzle).
Anyway, thank you.
Matt Beers
Sunday, November 6, 2011
DISASTER!
I'm not typically one of those guys who looks at a thing he's never done before and says, "Oh, yeah! I can do that! Bring it on!" I might say that, but when faced with actually doing it, I almost always back out, and it's served me well for thirty-three years. But at some point in the last two days I developed an over-inflated sense of self-confidence. I decided, having never done, seen, or read any detailed instructions on how to do so, to install a pedestal sink in our 1/2 bath.
This is the result...
That is the friendly Carl Clean-Up (not really). He comes around with industrial-sized blowers and dehumidifiers when some know-it-all jack-hole breaks a hose while trying to shut off the water, flooding his entire basement as a result. In this photo we can see Carl taping plastic over the doorway into what was once our very adequate downstairs bathroom. He has to cover the door because the bathroom no longer has a floor. Well, it has a floor, but if you step on it there's a very real possibility that you could find yourself taking an abrupt and unexpected trip to the basement where you'll more than likely land in something wet. While you're in the basement please note that a number of ceiling tiles are missing. Don't be alarmed. They were simply washed away in the flood that rained down from the bathroom.
The greatest and most upsetting casualty of this most recent home-improvement debacle was Betsy's craft room. The total extent of the damage has yet to be determined, but several hundred photos were saturated and quite a lot of very well organized crafting materials were dampened. Also, we discovered that something is living in one of the walls. It sounds like it wants out. Hooray.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
This is the result...
The greatest and most upsetting casualty of this most recent home-improvement debacle was Betsy's craft room. The total extent of the damage has yet to be determined, but several hundred photos were saturated and quite a lot of very well organized crafting materials were dampened. Also, we discovered that something is living in one of the walls. It sounds like it wants out. Hooray.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Welcome to Brew Hampshire! (that's what I call our new house)
Welp, here we are.
I'm sitting in our new house, in a large chair in our family room, laptop on top of my lap. Sunlight is cutting sharply through the autumn leaves (of which there are still many clinging stubbornly to the trees) and splashing all over the floor. Oh, wait. Cloud. AH! Cloud moved. Sun's back.
Betsy is gone for the weekend. Scrapbooking retreat. Macy is prancing around town with Grandma. Jack is lost in some drawings he's doing. Zoe is marching around the house with a bowl full of Cheerios making improbable demands from inanimate objects.
This is very nice.
Our new home is pretty awesome. It's very large and very full of personality. Like me. We have a separate area for the daycare so at the end of the day we don't feel like we're still at the office, we have an immense backyard full of trees that is perfect for exploring and playing (complete with our own creek), a full basement ("full" meaning "full of bigscreens and couches"), and a garage stacked high with cardboard boxes that we haven't bothered to empty yet (on the one hand, it's only been two weeks, but on the other hand, we've had two whole weeks... look at it however you choose).
The thing about houses with personality... they usually have quirks, too. Sometimes quirks can be fun, like the old carriage-style light hanging over the breakfast nook or the decades-old textured wallpaper in the basement stairwell or the laundry chute that provided Jack and Macy with hours of thrilling enjoyment when they first discovered it. But, quirks can also be not-so-fun, like the gutters that are trying to jump off of my roof or the fruit flies that have apparently made our house National Fruit Fly Headquarters. But we're prepared to deal with quirks. For example, we had an issue with our front door. Well, issue might not be... Betsy couldn't open it. One phone call and one signed check later and our front door opens smoothly and all of the door to our house are re-keyed and we have a half-dozen shiny new keys to put in a drawer somewhere and never, ever use.
The biggest hiccup by far has been the gutters. Having so many trees, our gutters fill up pretty quickly with leaves and then get clogged and then overflow. At one particular point, the overflow was flooding a small section of our landscaping, but water being what it is and finding ways to drain and whatnot, the overflow seeped into our basement, right into Betsy's craft room.
We called some people. We're getting quotes. It's all good.
Two weeks. I've got my books shelved, but my clothes are still in a pile in the bedroom. The TVs are all set up in the basement, but we still can't get the van in the garage. We're slowly but surely getting things in order. But my wife will be coming home in a few hours and my immediate concern is getting the house "Betsy-ready," so I must go.
Thank you.
Matt Beers
I'm sitting in our new house, in a large chair in our family room, laptop on top of my lap. Sunlight is cutting sharply through the autumn leaves (of which there are still many clinging stubbornly to the trees) and splashing all over the floor. Oh, wait. Cloud. AH! Cloud moved. Sun's back.
Betsy is gone for the weekend. Scrapbooking retreat. Macy is prancing around town with Grandma. Jack is lost in some drawings he's doing. Zoe is marching around the house with a bowl full of Cheerios making improbable demands from inanimate objects.
This is very nice.
Our new home is pretty awesome. It's very large and very full of personality. Like me. We have a separate area for the daycare so at the end of the day we don't feel like we're still at the office, we have an immense backyard full of trees that is perfect for exploring and playing (complete with our own creek), a full basement ("full" meaning "full of bigscreens and couches"), and a garage stacked high with cardboard boxes that we haven't bothered to empty yet (on the one hand, it's only been two weeks, but on the other hand, we've had two whole weeks... look at it however you choose).
The thing about houses with personality... they usually have quirks, too. Sometimes quirks can be fun, like the old carriage-style light hanging over the breakfast nook or the decades-old textured wallpaper in the basement stairwell or the laundry chute that provided Jack and Macy with hours of thrilling enjoyment when they first discovered it. But, quirks can also be not-so-fun, like the gutters that are trying to jump off of my roof or the fruit flies that have apparently made our house National Fruit Fly Headquarters. But we're prepared to deal with quirks. For example, we had an issue with our front door. Well, issue might not be... Betsy couldn't open it. One phone call and one signed check later and our front door opens smoothly and all of the door to our house are re-keyed and we have a half-dozen shiny new keys to put in a drawer somewhere and never, ever use.
The biggest hiccup by far has been the gutters. Having so many trees, our gutters fill up pretty quickly with leaves and then get clogged and then overflow. At one particular point, the overflow was flooding a small section of our landscaping, but water being what it is and finding ways to drain and whatnot, the overflow seeped into our basement, right into Betsy's craft room.
We called some people. We're getting quotes. It's all good.
Two weeks. I've got my books shelved, but my clothes are still in a pile in the bedroom. The TVs are all set up in the basement, but we still can't get the van in the garage. We're slowly but surely getting things in order. But my wife will be coming home in a few hours and my immediate concern is getting the house "Betsy-ready," so I must go.
Thank you.
Matt Beers
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Bidding for the movie rights is now open.
Something terrifying and awful happened today, but I had my support team of shoe-wielding sissies with me, so everything worked out. Let's turn back the clock to noonish today...
The kids were done with lunch and I had just put Zoe down for her nap. Betsy was packing some scrap-booking supplies to go spend the rest of the day with a friend. And then she left.
Maybe we turned back further than we needed to. Or farther. Or neither. Doesn't matter. No one knows and no one cares and I'm already pretty sure I've forgotten where I was going with this.
My friend, Eric, came over to hang out for a while since my wife was away and they totally can't stand each other. That's not true. It's a purely one-sided loathing. Well, after the kids had eaten dinner and played around for a while and then were strapped into their beds, Eric and I went out into my garage to watch the very excellent Shaun of the Dead. The evening being very temperate, we decided to leave the garage door open. Then it started raining and the whole thing would have been very romantic except for the very bloody and very funny zombie movie playing on the very large television away from which we were not sitting nearly far enough. Grammar!
At some point a large spider decided that the inside of my garage was more welcoming than the potentially fatal downpour happening outside. So intense was the on-screen action that neither Eric or I noticed Shelob as she dragged her corpulent abdomen across the concrete floor.
The movie ended and Eric and I went back inside. A few minutes later, Betsy returned home, opened the garage door and saw, on the screen door separating the garage from our kitchen, The Beast. She managed to summon the courage to open the door (so brave) and called out in a panicky tremble, "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi (that's her bedroom name for me)! You're my only hope!" Needless to say, I sprang immediately into action. I grabbed the hilt of the hunting knife I wear hidden on my person at all times and I threw myself onto The Beast, plunging my blade deep into her bile-filled heart. The hot, searing liquid splashed over my arm, blistering my skin instantly, but still I held fast. My quarry, sensing a foe whose strength and determination she had heretofore never encountered, released a shriek which could only have come from a hell filled with long fingernails and blackboards. I wrenched free my knife and savagely hacked off two legs with one, masterful stroke. The Beast stumbled and fell, causing me to tumble off of her back. Using the last of her prodigious strength, she raised herself and fell upon me, baring fangs glistening with an acidic poison which would have no doubt ended my life had I not been so staggeringly muscled and fabulous. I caught The Beast's head between my iron-like hands and rent her skull asunder.
Except that before any of that could happen, Eric grabbed a shoe and smashed the spider on the floor.
Yuck.
But to give you an idea of what we were up against...
That picture is pretty much to scale.
And while you're at it, give Shaun of the Dead a view.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
The kids were done with lunch and I had just put Zoe down for her nap. Betsy was packing some scrap-booking supplies to go spend the rest of the day with a friend. And then she left.
Maybe we turned back further than we needed to. Or farther. Or neither. Doesn't matter. No one knows and no one cares and I'm already pretty sure I've forgotten where I was going with this.
My friend, Eric, came over to hang out for a while since my wife was away and they totally can't stand each other. That's not true. It's a purely one-sided loathing. Well, after the kids had eaten dinner and played around for a while and then were strapped into their beds, Eric and I went out into my garage to watch the very excellent Shaun of the Dead. The evening being very temperate, we decided to leave the garage door open. Then it started raining and the whole thing would have been very romantic except for the very bloody and very funny zombie movie playing on the very large television away from which we were not sitting nearly far enough. Grammar!
At some point a large spider decided that the inside of my garage was more welcoming than the potentially fatal downpour happening outside. So intense was the on-screen action that neither Eric or I noticed Shelob as she dragged her corpulent abdomen across the concrete floor.
The movie ended and Eric and I went back inside. A few minutes later, Betsy returned home, opened the garage door and saw, on the screen door separating the garage from our kitchen, The Beast. She managed to summon the courage to open the door (so brave) and called out in a panicky tremble, "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi (that's her bedroom name for me)! You're my only hope!" Needless to say, I sprang immediately into action. I grabbed the hilt of the hunting knife I wear hidden on my person at all times and I threw myself onto The Beast, plunging my blade deep into her bile-filled heart. The hot, searing liquid splashed over my arm, blistering my skin instantly, but still I held fast. My quarry, sensing a foe whose strength and determination she had heretofore never encountered, released a shriek which could only have come from a hell filled with long fingernails and blackboards. I wrenched free my knife and savagely hacked off two legs with one, masterful stroke. The Beast stumbled and fell, causing me to tumble off of her back. Using the last of her prodigious strength, she raised herself and fell upon me, baring fangs glistening with an acidic poison which would have no doubt ended my life had I not been so staggeringly muscled and fabulous. I caught The Beast's head between my iron-like hands and rent her skull asunder.
Except that before any of that could happen, Eric grabbed a shoe and smashed the spider on the floor.
Yuck.
But to give you an idea of what we were up against...
And while you're at it, give Shaun of the Dead a view.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Friday, June 10, 2011
I'm digging my own grave, but as I plan on being a very lazy zombie, I'm digging it shallow.
Betsy and I just played two games of Phase 10 Dice, both of which I won. As our good-natured second place finisher rose from the table, a rumble arose from her bowels, bursting forth like stinky applause, to which she replied, "Oops."
Is this the kind of sportsmanship we are teaching our children, America? Are we really saying, "Rather than congratulate you with encouraging words, I think I'll break wind. Don't worry. You're worth it."
Which brings me to my next point: Can "'til death do you part" be an amicable parting?
I'm joking, of course, but if any of you hear that I've died under mysterious circumstances in the coming weeks, maybe ominously drop Betsy's name whenever talking to the police.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Is this the kind of sportsmanship we are teaching our children, America? Are we really saying, "Rather than congratulate you with encouraging words, I think I'll break wind. Don't worry. You're worth it."
Which brings me to my next point: Can "'til death do you part" be an amicable parting?
I'm joking, of course, but if any of you hear that I've died under mysterious circumstances in the coming weeks, maybe ominously drop Betsy's name whenever talking to the police.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The History of Scrapbooking (probably)
Before we begin, click this. WAIT! There's more! Once you've clicked, read, then come back here.
Everyone clicked? Everyone read? Everyone back? Good. Let's continue.
So, my wife is kinda into scrapbooking. That said, what is scrapbooking? Well, scrapbooking, or biblioscrapicus, as it was known in ancient Greece, is widespread, no matter what you call it. In fact, archaeologists have uncovered Egyptian hieroglyphs depicting scrapbooking which date back thousands of years to approximately 1962, right around the time Jesus invented the Bowie knife and killed all of those Philistines.
But how did scrapbooking make its way "across the pond," as they say (I have no idea who "they" are), to the United States? Historians have successfully traced American scrapbooking back to one woman: Miss Eustice Hambert. Miss Hambert, history tells us, was an avid sticker book fanatic and won several awards in both the puffy sticker and googly-eyes catagories. She also received an "honorable mention" for her scratch-and-sniff collection.
In addition to her beloved sticker books, Miss Hambert collected glass cats and was known to dress and arrange them, staging elaborate recreations of Civil War battles, such as the Battle of Fort Patches and the Battle of Princess Pootie Pants.
Miss Hambert, sadly, grew rather unstable in her elder years. She began eating a steady diet of raw squirrel and cotton batting, and as a result was known to purchase a new living room set every six months.
Her deteriorating mental health, however, took a tragic turn when she left a local shopping center with what she thought was a Cabbage Patch Doll but which was, in fact, an actual baby. Thankfully, her error was discovered before she had eaten anything vital.
It was while incarcerated in a mental institution that Miss Hambert discovered the soothing balm which would eventually restore her sanity: scrapbooking. A box of old photographs left behind by a previous tenant, a few spools of ribbon, a box of mismatched buttons (which she originally thought was candy), and some wallpaper swatches were the first scraps to make their way into Miss Hambert's book. The staff took notice and, seeing a dramatic change in not only the mental health of Miss Hambert, but of the entire ward, encouraged their charges and donated extra material.
Tragically, the institute ran out of adhesive one day and Miss Hambert and a dozen other inmates started a riot which claimed the lives of nine orderlies and sixteen inmates, among them, Miss Hambert. She was 107 years old.
And thus, from the womb of madness, scrapbooking was born.
Let this be a lesson to husbands the world over: Don't mock your wife's hobbies. They may be the only barrier between you and violent, unprovoked castration.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Everyone clicked? Everyone read? Everyone back? Good. Let's continue.
So, my wife is kinda into scrapbooking. That said, what is scrapbooking? Well, scrapbooking, or biblioscrapicus, as it was known in ancient Greece, is widespread, no matter what you call it. In fact, archaeologists have uncovered Egyptian hieroglyphs depicting scrapbooking which date back thousands of years to approximately 1962, right around the time Jesus invented the Bowie knife and killed all of those Philistines.
But how did scrapbooking make its way "across the pond," as they say (I have no idea who "they" are), to the United States? Historians have successfully traced American scrapbooking back to one woman: Miss Eustice Hambert. Miss Hambert, history tells us, was an avid sticker book fanatic and won several awards in both the puffy sticker and googly-eyes catagories. She also received an "honorable mention" for her scratch-and-sniff collection.
In addition to her beloved sticker books, Miss Hambert collected glass cats and was known to dress and arrange them, staging elaborate recreations of Civil War battles, such as the Battle of Fort Patches and the Battle of Princess Pootie Pants.
Miss Hambert, sadly, grew rather unstable in her elder years. She began eating a steady diet of raw squirrel and cotton batting, and as a result was known to purchase a new living room set every six months.
Her deteriorating mental health, however, took a tragic turn when she left a local shopping center with what she thought was a Cabbage Patch Doll but which was, in fact, an actual baby. Thankfully, her error was discovered before she had eaten anything vital.
It was while incarcerated in a mental institution that Miss Hambert discovered the soothing balm which would eventually restore her sanity: scrapbooking. A box of old photographs left behind by a previous tenant, a few spools of ribbon, a box of mismatched buttons (which she originally thought was candy), and some wallpaper swatches were the first scraps to make their way into Miss Hambert's book. The staff took notice and, seeing a dramatic change in not only the mental health of Miss Hambert, but of the entire ward, encouraged their charges and donated extra material.
Tragically, the institute ran out of adhesive one day and Miss Hambert and a dozen other inmates started a riot which claimed the lives of nine orderlies and sixteen inmates, among them, Miss Hambert. She was 107 years old.
And thus, from the womb of madness, scrapbooking was born.
Let this be a lesson to husbands the world over: Don't mock your wife's hobbies. They may be the only barrier between you and violent, unprovoked castration.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Unscheduled Video Blog (but still awesome)
I am utterly and completely full of crap and I made this video just so I could hear myself talk on the way home from the gas station. Sorry, Betsy.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The new technology...
Not really sure how well this will work. I'm writing this on my new iPod Touch, which is awesome, but the little keyboard isn't the easiest thing in the world for my chubby fingers to navigate. On top of that injustice, Betsy has serious issues with me being so mobile all of a sudden. Although, she can rest assured that she can always find me on the couch, right where she left me.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Newsletters of Christmas Present
Well-o and hello, everybodies! The following is the original final draft of the 2010 Beers Family Christmas Newsletter! It may contain some humorous tidbits you didn't get in the hard-copy, so, even if you think you've read it before, read it again now. I'm not messing around. Read it.
********
Let's cut the intro crap and hit the 2010 recap, shall we? We shall. I'm steering this boat so just do what I say and pour on more canvas. Nautical talk!
2010 was the year of traveling, it seems. With trips to Arizona, Serbia (Wha-wha-WHAT?), and Oklahoma, the Beers family was hard-pressed to find time to enjoy their house, but as Matt and Betsy both work from home and pretty much spend twenty-four hours a day there, it weren't no thang.
And now, a quick breakdown of where they went and why and what happened while they were there:
Buckeye, Arizona (just south-ish of Phoenix)- Betsy's dad lives there among the sand and rocks. The Grand Canyon lives in the vicinity, as well. Matt got a lot of dirty looks while visiting the legendary hole by threatening, loudly, to throw his son over the railing if the boy didn't behave.
Serbia (just southwest of Romania which is just southwest of Ukraine which is just southwest of Russia which is keeping out of our business and, therefore, has nothing to fear from the United States... for now)- Matt went to help run an English camp in Opovo, Serbia, for sixteen days, which is a pretty hilarious thought if you've ever heard him speak English. It was an incredible, life-changing event for Matt. It isn't uncommon in Serbia to have cake for breakfast. Like, the best cake you've ever had. Life-changing cake.
Tulsa, Oklahoma (simultaneously north and south of itself)- Betsy has family there. Well, she has family here, too, but... whatever. She and her mom went for a visit. That's all you need to know. Whether or not Betsy entered an all-ladies arm-wrestling competition is entirely her business. But it might explain the look of perpetual fear in Matt's eyes.
Back home, life progressed normally. Matt and Betsy are still running their daycare. When it first started, Matt expected it to be a lot like Peter Pan and is a little discouraged to find that it's quite a bit more like Lord of the Flies. Betsy, ignoring Matt's concerns that the kids have started calling him "Piggy," has organized the daycare in the tradition of a preschool. This involves a stricter routine, a more intentional curriculum, and, hearkening back to the days of olde, beatings. The kids love it. Or else.
Jack is now in the first grade and loves reading and math and Star Wars, which he insists is an actual subject and, if the boy is telling the truth, Matt couldn't be happier with the staff at Huntertown Elementary. Jack is a very imaginative boy who loves Harry Potter, superheroes across the board, and Legos. He loves to draw and build and play-act. He has recently been banned from the couch for various war-crimes and other abuses.
Macy, now three, loves music and books. She sucks at art, though. She also enjoys play-acting, frequently insisting that she be addressed as "Hermione" (one of Harry Potter's friends) or "Dan Zanes" (her favorite musician) or "Kim Jong-il" (that girl loves her some nukes). She enjoys playing outside and can frequently be found with her butt in a swing or crying because someone else got there first. She is becoming quite proficient with a lightsaber.
Zoe has recently started walking and she repeats most of what she hears, which is sometimes cute and sometimes hilarious. Or mortifying. Depends on who you ask. She, like her siblings, loves books and music and is rather fond of Nerf darts. They are relatively high in fiber and very chewy, so she gets to burn of a few extra calories. Every little bit helps.
2010 has seen its fair share of goodbyes, but it has also been filled with new friendships. There's a list. It's right below this. Keep reading.
Goodbyes: Conan the dog (He claims that Gary the cat has returned to power. Conan is in hiding, hunting down horcruxes so that one day Gary might be defeated. Good luck, buddy.), Lost (Jack and Kate and Sawyer and Hurley and all the rest of them kept us guessing right up until the end. Then we all got angry. I guess the lesson we learned is if you can't please everyone, please no one.), satellite television (Without Lost, what's the point of TV?), toxic cleaning products (If you really wanna know about this, and I mean REALLY wanna know, ask Betsy. Clear your calendar beforehand.), local Sonics (This had a bigger impact than you could possibly imagine. Fo' reals.), and Michael Jackson.
Hellos: Nerf guns (It started innocently enough, with one little Nerf gun so Jack could burn off some typical boy aggression. $200 later, Matt has an old Army footlocker in the garage packed with vicious, dart-delivering goodness.), non-toxic cleaning products (Apparently, everything in the world can kill you, except for vinegar.), "The 200lb Man" (Matt's completely and utterly breath-taking blog can be found at www.matthewdbeers.blogspot.com. Tell your friends.), and Ricker's ("Home of the famous Ricker Pop.").
Matt and Betsy would like to thank you all for meaning enough to them to warrant a stamp, unless you're reading this online, in which case this just became a little bit awkward. Merry Christmas, everybody!
Love,
Matt, Betsy, Jack, Macy, and Zoe
And the haiku you've been waiting for all year:
You waited all year
for this? I know. It's a bit
disappointing, eh?
********
I was actually told tonight by our pastor's wife that this year's newsletter wasn't as good as some of my previous newsletters, so I punched her in the throat. She had it coming.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Matt Beers
********
Let's cut the intro crap and hit the 2010 recap, shall we? We shall. I'm steering this boat so just do what I say and pour on more canvas. Nautical talk!
2010 was the year of traveling, it seems. With trips to Arizona, Serbia (Wha-wha-WHAT?), and Oklahoma, the Beers family was hard-pressed to find time to enjoy their house, but as Matt and Betsy both work from home and pretty much spend twenty-four hours a day there, it weren't no thang.
And now, a quick breakdown of where they went and why and what happened while they were there:
Buckeye, Arizona (just south-ish of Phoenix)- Betsy's dad lives there among the sand and rocks. The Grand Canyon lives in the vicinity, as well. Matt got a lot of dirty looks while visiting the legendary hole by threatening, loudly, to throw his son over the railing if the boy didn't behave.
Serbia (just southwest of Romania which is just southwest of Ukraine which is just southwest of Russia which is keeping out of our business and, therefore, has nothing to fear from the United States... for now)- Matt went to help run an English camp in Opovo, Serbia, for sixteen days, which is a pretty hilarious thought if you've ever heard him speak English. It was an incredible, life-changing event for Matt. It isn't uncommon in Serbia to have cake for breakfast. Like, the best cake you've ever had. Life-changing cake.
Tulsa, Oklahoma (simultaneously north and south of itself)- Betsy has family there. Well, she has family here, too, but... whatever. She and her mom went for a visit. That's all you need to know. Whether or not Betsy entered an all-ladies arm-wrestling competition is entirely her business. But it might explain the look of perpetual fear in Matt's eyes.
Back home, life progressed normally. Matt and Betsy are still running their daycare. When it first started, Matt expected it to be a lot like Peter Pan and is a little discouraged to find that it's quite a bit more like Lord of the Flies. Betsy, ignoring Matt's concerns that the kids have started calling him "Piggy," has organized the daycare in the tradition of a preschool. This involves a stricter routine, a more intentional curriculum, and, hearkening back to the days of olde, beatings. The kids love it. Or else.
Jack is now in the first grade and loves reading and math and Star Wars, which he insists is an actual subject and, if the boy is telling the truth, Matt couldn't be happier with the staff at Huntertown Elementary. Jack is a very imaginative boy who loves Harry Potter, superheroes across the board, and Legos. He loves to draw and build and play-act. He has recently been banned from the couch for various war-crimes and other abuses.
Macy, now three, loves music and books. She sucks at art, though. She also enjoys play-acting, frequently insisting that she be addressed as "Hermione" (one of Harry Potter's friends) or "Dan Zanes" (her favorite musician) or "Kim Jong-il" (that girl loves her some nukes). She enjoys playing outside and can frequently be found with her butt in a swing or crying because someone else got there first. She is becoming quite proficient with a lightsaber.
Zoe has recently started walking and she repeats most of what she hears, which is sometimes cute and sometimes hilarious. Or mortifying. Depends on who you ask. She, like her siblings, loves books and music and is rather fond of Nerf darts. They are relatively high in fiber and very chewy, so she gets to burn of a few extra calories. Every little bit helps.
2010 has seen its fair share of goodbyes, but it has also been filled with new friendships. There's a list. It's right below this. Keep reading.
Goodbyes: Conan the dog (He claims that Gary the cat has returned to power. Conan is in hiding, hunting down horcruxes so that one day Gary might be defeated. Good luck, buddy.), Lost (Jack and Kate and Sawyer and Hurley and all the rest of them kept us guessing right up until the end. Then we all got angry. I guess the lesson we learned is if you can't please everyone, please no one.), satellite television (Without Lost, what's the point of TV?), toxic cleaning products (If you really wanna know about this, and I mean REALLY wanna know, ask Betsy. Clear your calendar beforehand.), local Sonics (This had a bigger impact than you could possibly imagine. Fo' reals.), and Michael Jackson.
Hellos: Nerf guns (It started innocently enough, with one little Nerf gun so Jack could burn off some typical boy aggression. $200 later, Matt has an old Army footlocker in the garage packed with vicious, dart-delivering goodness.), non-toxic cleaning products (Apparently, everything in the world can kill you, except for vinegar.), "The 200lb Man" (Matt's completely and utterly breath-taking blog can be found at www.matthewdbeers.blogspot.com. Tell your friends.), and Ricker's ("Home of the famous Ricker Pop.").
Matt and Betsy would like to thank you all for meaning enough to them to warrant a stamp, unless you're reading this online, in which case this just became a little bit awkward. Merry Christmas, everybody!
Love,
Matt, Betsy, Jack, Macy, and Zoe
And the haiku you've been waiting for all year:
You waited all year
for this? I know. It's a bit
disappointing, eh?
********
I was actually told tonight by our pastor's wife that this year's newsletter wasn't as good as some of my previous newsletters, so I punched her in the throat. She had it coming.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Matt Beers
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Newsletters of Christmas Past (part 2)
The following is last year's Christmas newsletter.
********
Greetings and welcome to the bajillionth annual Beers Christmas newsletter. 2009 was a great year busting at the seams with all sorts of hogwash and shenanigans, so let’s get started.
Last December, right after the newsletter was sent out, Matt and Betsy found out they were expecting another miniature human. The incubation process went well and after a very long and sweaty summer, Zoe Campbell Beers was surgically inserted into the world. “So far,” she says, “it’s not what I expected. I thought there’d be more car-chases and explosions. And more ninjas.” Me too, Zoe. Me too.
Macy, the Beers’ old daughter (they’ve decided to keep her, in spite of the newer model) very much enjoys having her baby sister around… so far. She likes talking to her and tickling her and shoving the pacifier into Zoe’s mouth and putting blankets over Zoe’s face. Macy also enjoys everything else in the entire world. She loves books, music, movies, dolls, cars, dress-up clothes, baths, lip-balm, forts, flashlights, lunch, swings, coloring, t-ball, dancing, laughing, the alphabet, princesses, spinning, monsters, Monsters, Inc., Monsters vs. Aliens, and monster trucks. She’ll be hard-pressed as a teenager to get bored.
Macy learned to walk this year, and she grew some hair. She also got a new bedroom complete with a large, plush trampoline which her parents insist on calling a “big-girl bed.” She’s super smart and shows early signs of being manipulative.
Jack is back from the Middle East where he sat everyone down and explained the situation. Now everything’s cool and the entire United States Senate has a standing Thursday afternoon appointment to go to the Beers house and play Hot Wheels in Jack’s room. When not busy being a diplomat, Jack enjoys Star Wars, Harry Potter, Bakugan, and video games. He began kindergarten this year and has already begun plotting to overthrow the principal. Apparently his diplomatic good-nature applies only to foreign policy. This is something Matt and Betsy have been working on, but Jack, like any good guerilla leader, has resisted their propaganda.
Building on the rubble of the 2008 Soccer Debacle (which is really fun to say out loud), Jack gave t-ball a chance and loved it. He currently plays basketball on the Gold Team at Huntertown Elementary.
Betsy has started her own cash for gold business. She’s calling it, “Give me your stuff and I’ll get back to you.” She’s having some trouble getting incorporated, but first quarter projections for 2010 look very favorable. In the meantime, she is pursuing her interest in photography, refusing, repeatedly, Matt’s offer to pose nude.
Betsy has made it rather clear that no mention is to be made of her more recent, post-birth activities, which involve counting points and complaining about her pants. I’ve said too much already.
Matt, his dreams of becoming a nude photography model having been unsympathetically dashed by his wife, has turned his frustrations into something constructive, namely, interpretive dance. He loves the feeling of expression and freedom that comes with jumping around in tights. And sometimes without the tights. Mostly without the tights. Anyway… awkward… Matt has spent most of 2009 cleaning the garage. Literally.
Thank you for taking the time to read up on our lives, however many lies may have been contained in this summary. May your holidays be happy and full in their political correctness.
The Beers Family (see below for annual Haiku)
This January,
don’t forget, the eleventh
is Matthew’s birthday.
********
Thank you,
Matt Beers
********
Greetings and welcome to the bajillionth annual Beers Christmas newsletter. 2009 was a great year busting at the seams with all sorts of hogwash and shenanigans, so let’s get started.
Last December, right after the newsletter was sent out, Matt and Betsy found out they were expecting another miniature human. The incubation process went well and after a very long and sweaty summer, Zoe Campbell Beers was surgically inserted into the world. “So far,” she says, “it’s not what I expected. I thought there’d be more car-chases and explosions. And more ninjas.” Me too, Zoe. Me too.
Macy, the Beers’ old daughter (they’ve decided to keep her, in spite of the newer model) very much enjoys having her baby sister around… so far. She likes talking to her and tickling her and shoving the pacifier into Zoe’s mouth and putting blankets over Zoe’s face. Macy also enjoys everything else in the entire world. She loves books, music, movies, dolls, cars, dress-up clothes, baths, lip-balm, forts, flashlights, lunch, swings, coloring, t-ball, dancing, laughing, the alphabet, princesses, spinning, monsters, Monsters, Inc., Monsters vs. Aliens, and monster trucks. She’ll be hard-pressed as a teenager to get bored.
Macy learned to walk this year, and she grew some hair. She also got a new bedroom complete with a large, plush trampoline which her parents insist on calling a “big-girl bed.” She’s super smart and shows early signs of being manipulative.
Jack is back from the Middle East where he sat everyone down and explained the situation. Now everything’s cool and the entire United States Senate has a standing Thursday afternoon appointment to go to the Beers house and play Hot Wheels in Jack’s room. When not busy being a diplomat, Jack enjoys Star Wars, Harry Potter, Bakugan, and video games. He began kindergarten this year and has already begun plotting to overthrow the principal. Apparently his diplomatic good-nature applies only to foreign policy. This is something Matt and Betsy have been working on, but Jack, like any good guerilla leader, has resisted their propaganda.
Building on the rubble of the 2008 Soccer Debacle (which is really fun to say out loud), Jack gave t-ball a chance and loved it. He currently plays basketball on the Gold Team at Huntertown Elementary.
Betsy has started her own cash for gold business. She’s calling it, “Give me your stuff and I’ll get back to you.” She’s having some trouble getting incorporated, but first quarter projections for 2010 look very favorable. In the meantime, she is pursuing her interest in photography, refusing, repeatedly, Matt’s offer to pose nude.
Betsy has made it rather clear that no mention is to be made of her more recent, post-birth activities, which involve counting points and complaining about her pants. I’ve said too much already.
Matt, his dreams of becoming a nude photography model having been unsympathetically dashed by his wife, has turned his frustrations into something constructive, namely, interpretive dance. He loves the feeling of expression and freedom that comes with jumping around in tights. And sometimes without the tights. Mostly without the tights. Anyway… awkward… Matt has spent most of 2009 cleaning the garage. Literally.
Thank you for taking the time to read up on our lives, however many lies may have been contained in this summary. May your holidays be happy and full in their political correctness.
The Beers Family (see below for annual Haiku)
This January,
don’t forget, the eleventh
is Matthew’s birthday.
********
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Newletters of Christmas Past (part 1)
Each year my wife makes some kind of awesome Christmas card to send to our friends and family and each year I write a little review of the events of that year. The following is the 2008 Christmas newsletter. Please enjoy.
********
Hello, friends and family. Thank you all for joining us yet again for a recap of the adventures of the Beers family throughout 2008 (excepting the six weeks following the writing of this piece, but if anything important happens I’ll fill you in next year, or you can just check Betsy’s blog (www.onemillionreasons.blogspot.com) which is where I go to find out anything that Betsy might be keeping from me, like car accidents and pregnancies).
I will begin with Macy, the youngest member of the family, who has decided that, as long as people are willing to bring her things, there is absolutely no need to walk. Ever. Macy has developed a knack for repeating much of what she hears and her father has put this trait to good use by teaching her the names of various Star Wars characters. Betsy knows nothing of this. Macy’s best friends are her bear, Pink Joey, and the Tupperware cabinet.
Jackson, who will turn five in March (Jackson Five, cool, huh?), has started preschool and is doing very well. His teachers say that Jackson is very helpful and quite a good listener, which leads Jackson’s father to believe that his son’s teachers are filthy liars. Jackson, being four, is very energetic and opinionated and LOUD. He’s also very cute when he sleeps.
Betsy is continuing with her plan to take over the world. Matt found a receipt in the trash for a death ray, so it looks like things are going well for Mrs. Beers.
The king of the castle, or rather, the acting mascot of the house, Matt, recently decided to let his glorious hair once again cascade down his bronzed shoulders only to realize, rather painfully, that there will be no more cascading hair, nor any bronzed shoulders for that matter, unless he pays for a wax job, and that doesn’t look like happening any time soon.
The following is a list of actual things that happened to the Beers familia in 2008:
Jack played his first, and probably last, season of soccer. There was a tense moment when we thought he was going to kick the ball, but instead he screamed at it and ran away.
Macy found that the most comfortable place one can place one’s finger is in one’s nose. Or in the nose of a loved one.
Betsy turned thirty, which justifies Matt’s wearing so much black.
For a couple of months in the summer Matt began a regular exercise program and reaffirmed that running is stupid. He lost approximately zero (0) pounds and is now the proud owner of bad knees.
Jack has started reading and he also understands simple math concepts like addition and fraud.
Macy has stopped crying when she is dropped off at the church nursery, however, she cries whenever she sees her grandmother, which is kind of funny.
Matt and Betsy became members of Pathway Community Church. If you happen to run into them there, please refer to them as Santos and Maria Ramirez. There was a problem with the background check.
Conan has made it very clear that he does not miss the cat in the least.
Jack has decided that he will be either a race car driver or a “fire truck worker” when he grows up, despite his father’s hopes that he will become a ninja or a pirate.
Macy has only two teeth, which she uses with surgical precision to carve cheese sculptures.
Betsy has continued scrapbooking, making the leap to digi-scrapping, which is a thing I’m pretty sure she made up just so she could buy a laptop.
Matt has pretty much stopped writing altogether since he got a Nintendo Wii for Christmas last year. For a few weeks in February he also stopped bathing, but Betsy made it very clear that… Well, he now bathes habitually.
Matt and Betsy would like to thank each and every one of you for whatever it is you do for them throughout the year. If you feel such thanks are unwarranted, they have a list of things that you could do for them. Just let them know.
Have a merry Christmas and a safe New Year and we hope that 2009 is as wonderful as you deserve.
With much love,
Matt, Betsy, Jack, and Macy Beers
p.s. You didn’t think I forgot the haiku, did you? Well, I kinda did, but then I remembered so shut up.
This year I’m going
to do my very best to
out drink my grandma.
********
Soon I'll post the 2009 Christmas newsletter and shortly after that, the 2010 Christmas newsletter. I'll bet you can't wait.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
********
Hello, friends and family. Thank you all for joining us yet again for a recap of the adventures of the Beers family throughout 2008 (excepting the six weeks following the writing of this piece, but if anything important happens I’ll fill you in next year, or you can just check Betsy’s blog (www.onemillionreasons.blogspot.com) which is where I go to find out anything that Betsy might be keeping from me, like car accidents and pregnancies).
I will begin with Macy, the youngest member of the family, who has decided that, as long as people are willing to bring her things, there is absolutely no need to walk. Ever. Macy has developed a knack for repeating much of what she hears and her father has put this trait to good use by teaching her the names of various Star Wars characters. Betsy knows nothing of this. Macy’s best friends are her bear, Pink Joey, and the Tupperware cabinet.
Jackson, who will turn five in March (Jackson Five, cool, huh?), has started preschool and is doing very well. His teachers say that Jackson is very helpful and quite a good listener, which leads Jackson’s father to believe that his son’s teachers are filthy liars. Jackson, being four, is very energetic and opinionated and LOUD. He’s also very cute when he sleeps.
Betsy is continuing with her plan to take over the world. Matt found a receipt in the trash for a death ray, so it looks like things are going well for Mrs. Beers.
The king of the castle, or rather, the acting mascot of the house, Matt, recently decided to let his glorious hair once again cascade down his bronzed shoulders only to realize, rather painfully, that there will be no more cascading hair, nor any bronzed shoulders for that matter, unless he pays for a wax job, and that doesn’t look like happening any time soon.
The following is a list of actual things that happened to the Beers familia in 2008:
Jack played his first, and probably last, season of soccer. There was a tense moment when we thought he was going to kick the ball, but instead he screamed at it and ran away.
Macy found that the most comfortable place one can place one’s finger is in one’s nose. Or in the nose of a loved one.
Betsy turned thirty, which justifies Matt’s wearing so much black.
For a couple of months in the summer Matt began a regular exercise program and reaffirmed that running is stupid. He lost approximately zero (0) pounds and is now the proud owner of bad knees.
Jack has started reading and he also understands simple math concepts like addition and fraud.
Macy has stopped crying when she is dropped off at the church nursery, however, she cries whenever she sees her grandmother, which is kind of funny.
Matt and Betsy became members of Pathway Community Church. If you happen to run into them there, please refer to them as Santos and Maria Ramirez. There was a problem with the background check.
Conan has made it very clear that he does not miss the cat in the least.
Jack has decided that he will be either a race car driver or a “fire truck worker” when he grows up, despite his father’s hopes that he will become a ninja or a pirate.
Macy has only two teeth, which she uses with surgical precision to carve cheese sculptures.
Betsy has continued scrapbooking, making the leap to digi-scrapping, which is a thing I’m pretty sure she made up just so she could buy a laptop.
Matt has pretty much stopped writing altogether since he got a Nintendo Wii for Christmas last year. For a few weeks in February he also stopped bathing, but Betsy made it very clear that… Well, he now bathes habitually.
Matt and Betsy would like to thank each and every one of you for whatever it is you do for them throughout the year. If you feel such thanks are unwarranted, they have a list of things that you could do for them. Just let them know.
Have a merry Christmas and a safe New Year and we hope that 2009 is as wonderful as you deserve.
With much love,
Matt, Betsy, Jack, and Macy Beers
p.s. You didn’t think I forgot the haiku, did you? Well, I kinda did, but then I remembered so shut up.
This year I’m going
to do my very best to
out drink my grandma.
********
Soon I'll post the 2009 Christmas newsletter and shortly after that, the 2010 Christmas newsletter. I'll bet you can't wait.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Friday, December 17, 2010
Your car is stupid.
My wife has this way of asking me what I want for Christmas and then talking me out of it. I don't know how she does it, but it happens every year.
Betsy: "What do you want for Christmas, Matt?"
Matt: "A Kindle, Betsy."
B: "Do you really think you'll use it?"
M: "I do think that. That is a thing that I think."
B: "What will you do with all of your old books? Don't you think you'll end up spending more on e-books than you would normally spend on regular books? Won't you miss the feel and smell and the intimacy of a regular book?"
M: "You're right. I guess I just want underwear."
B: "Do you really think you'll use it?"
It's one of our Christmas traditions.
Another tradition we like to observe is not knowing how to spell Hanukkah, Chanukah, or Chanuka. It's like throwing a hand-grenade into a room full of babies. There's no right way to go about it. Not my greatest analogy, but that's okay. At least I'm trying. But not very hard.
I do so love Christmas. I love the snow and the obscene lighting displays and being incredulous when people buy extravagant electronic gifts for their preschool children. I love the baking and the music and the terrific sweaters. I love the magic in the eyes of my children. I love the thought of families everywhere getting up early, stumbling downstairs, marveling over the plate of cookie crumbs and the empty milk glass, and then ripping into lovingly wrapped packages.
But I effing hate people who put antlers on their cars.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Betsy: "What do you want for Christmas, Matt?"
Matt: "A Kindle, Betsy."
B: "Do you really think you'll use it?"
M: "I do think that. That is a thing that I think."
B: "What will you do with all of your old books? Don't you think you'll end up spending more on e-books than you would normally spend on regular books? Won't you miss the feel and smell and the intimacy of a regular book?"
M: "You're right. I guess I just want underwear."
B: "Do you really think you'll use it?"
It's one of our Christmas traditions.
Another tradition we like to observe is not knowing how to spell Hanukkah, Chanukah, or Chanuka. It's like throwing a hand-grenade into a room full of babies. There's no right way to go about it. Not my greatest analogy, but that's okay. At least I'm trying. But not very hard.
I do so love Christmas. I love the snow and the obscene lighting displays and being incredulous when people buy extravagant electronic gifts for their preschool children. I love the baking and the music and the terrific sweaters. I love the magic in the eyes of my children. I love the thought of families everywhere getting up early, stumbling downstairs, marveling over the plate of cookie crumbs and the empty milk glass, and then ripping into lovingly wrapped packages.
But I effing hate people who put antlers on their cars.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Harry Potter and the Ginormous Shopping Cart
In less than three hours my wife and I will abandon our children and go to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1. I don't know what the record is for the most pairs of pants ruined in a single day due to uncontrollable bowels, but I'll bet I'm pretty close to breaking it.
On a less gross note, I've come to understand something my wife has been aware of for years: I am not to be trusted at Sam's Club. I used to work there right around the time Betsy and I got married. I was a fork-lift driver, pulling down pallets of giant bags of rice and dog food and couches and whatnot. It wasn't my favorite job ever and I didn't stay for very long. But we were rather fond of the money-saving that went on there, so we have remained members ever since. I remember that we laughed and laughed at the picture on my Member Card because it was all squashy and it made me look way fatter than I actually was. Now, more than eight years later, it looks about right.
The other day I was running some errands, one of which took me to Sam's Club. Betsy had given me a very short shopping list and, apart from a bottle of Irish Cream and a pair of very fluffy pajama pants, I was doing a great job sticking to that list. Until I passed a pallet of Oatmeal Cream Pies. Industrial-sized Oatmeal Cream Pies. Three bucks for twelve enormous wheels of heavenliness? Don't mind if I do.
I was so overwhelmed with visions of me gorging myself with Oatmeal Cream Pies, throwing them in the air and letting them rain down upon me, rubbing them over my naked chest, and generally doing any number of inappropriate things with them that I didn't even linger in the candy aisle (which I have been known to do with disastrous results).
They should station people at the door to assist will-powerless husbands with their shopping. They could be called Shopping Chaperons or List Liaisons or the Pallet Patrol or Bulk Buddies. But then they would be kissing millions of dollars in annual revenue goodbye. It's amazing how much impulse buying you can do in a place where they sell drums of cooking oil and crates of staples.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
On a less gross note, I've come to understand something my wife has been aware of for years: I am not to be trusted at Sam's Club. I used to work there right around the time Betsy and I got married. I was a fork-lift driver, pulling down pallets of giant bags of rice and dog food and couches and whatnot. It wasn't my favorite job ever and I didn't stay for very long. But we were rather fond of the money-saving that went on there, so we have remained members ever since. I remember that we laughed and laughed at the picture on my Member Card because it was all squashy and it made me look way fatter than I actually was. Now, more than eight years later, it looks about right.
The other day I was running some errands, one of which took me to Sam's Club. Betsy had given me a very short shopping list and, apart from a bottle of Irish Cream and a pair of very fluffy pajama pants, I was doing a great job sticking to that list. Until I passed a pallet of Oatmeal Cream Pies. Industrial-sized Oatmeal Cream Pies. Three bucks for twelve enormous wheels of heavenliness? Don't mind if I do.
I was so overwhelmed with visions of me gorging myself with Oatmeal Cream Pies, throwing them in the air and letting them rain down upon me, rubbing them over my naked chest, and generally doing any number of inappropriate things with them that I didn't even linger in the candy aisle (which I have been known to do with disastrous results).
They should station people at the door to assist will-powerless husbands with their shopping. They could be called Shopping Chaperons or List Liaisons or the Pallet Patrol or Bulk Buddies. But then they would be kissing millions of dollars in annual revenue goodbye. It's amazing how much impulse buying you can do in a place where they sell drums of cooking oil and crates of staples.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Medieval torture devices of Northern Indiana
Betsy's dad is a big antique guy. I don't mean that he's large and old, I mean that, at an auction, he knows what stuff is valuable and what stuff is firewood. Anyway, he moved to Arizona a few years ago and there were a few items that he didn't want to take with him, but didn't want to sell because they had been in the family for hundreds of thousands of years (the fact-checker never got back to me on that one). One of those items was a pie-safe. Pie-safes were used back in the day to cool pies and other baked goods. They had these little panels made of tin that had fancy patterns punched into them with a nail. This made one side of the tin dimpled and one side very rasp-like. The theory was that to maintain proper airflow, the smooth side had to be facing inward, thus, any poor sucker who happened along and accidentally brushed up against it would be severely wounded (hence the phrase, "Bleedin' like a drunk on a pie-safe," which I just made up). For this reason, many antique pie-safes have had their tin panels flipped.
This may or may not be common knowledge, but "big antique guys," like Betsy's dad, tend to keep things in their original state whenever possible. This is why our pie-safe, the one Betsy's dad gave to us just before he moved to Arizona, has NOT had its tins flipped and is currently registered as a deadly weapon. The frickin' thing is like an inside-out iron maiden. It's literally safer to be inside it than to attempt a simple circumnavigation.
As a result of this seemingly innocent cupboard (covered in tiny, jagged spikes), I am currently sporting a Star Wars Band-aid on one knuckle of my right hand.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
This may or may not be common knowledge, but "big antique guys," like Betsy's dad, tend to keep things in their original state whenever possible. This is why our pie-safe, the one Betsy's dad gave to us just before he moved to Arizona, has NOT had its tins flipped and is currently registered as a deadly weapon. The frickin' thing is like an inside-out iron maiden. It's literally safer to be inside it than to attempt a simple circumnavigation.
As a result of this seemingly innocent cupboard (covered in tiny, jagged spikes), I am currently sporting a Star Wars Band-aid on one knuckle of my right hand.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Saturday, November 6, 2010
It isn't Saturday if you didn't "sat" on "ur"... "day?"
Today is Saturday, as I'm sure you all know, and what a Saturday it was. My totally awesome and beautiful and thoughtful wife, Betsy, let me sleep in today. Not only that, but my kids did a pretty good job of letting me sleep in. They don't usually have much sympathy for Saturday Morning Sleepy Daddy. After sleeping in I took a nice, long shower, during which I gave up on the whole "No Shave November," thing. My head, I have discovered, has embraced its life as a nudist.
After my shower I strolled casually downstairs where I did pretty much nothing. I then ate a turkey and cheddar sandwich with mayo on cheddar jalapeno bread. Toasted. Then I did nothing some more. Then the kids ate lunch and took naps and Betsy went to Target (for exactly 3.5 hours) and I played video games. Then the kids woke up and we all did nothing together until Betsy got home at which time we cleaned up all of the nothing we were doing and ate an early dinner.
After dinner the kids got out their sleeping bags and pillows and watched Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs and had some popcorn and Betsy and I puttered around doing nothing. Now the kids are in bed, Betsy is turning in early, and I have nothing to do for the remainder of the evening. Invigorating beverage in hand, I shall adjourn to the garage and teach those dirty commies not to mess with Mr. Bond.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
After my shower I strolled casually downstairs where I did pretty much nothing. I then ate a turkey and cheddar sandwich with mayo on cheddar jalapeno bread. Toasted. Then I did nothing some more. Then the kids ate lunch and took naps and Betsy went to Target (for exactly 3.5 hours) and I played video games. Then the kids woke up and we all did nothing together until Betsy got home at which time we cleaned up all of the nothing we were doing and ate an early dinner.
After dinner the kids got out their sleeping bags and pillows and watched Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs and had some popcorn and Betsy and I puttered around doing nothing. Now the kids are in bed, Betsy is turning in early, and I have nothing to do for the remainder of the evening. Invigorating beverage in hand, I shall adjourn to the garage and teach those dirty commies not to mess with Mr. Bond.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Nobody's complaining.
This evening, my wife and I were sitting together at the kitchen table. She, watching adoption videos on the intertube, I, gluing orange tissue paper to an old jar. She was teary-eyed and pensive and I was cursing at the glue.
This made me remember a very good rule when one is single and looking for a mate: "Marry up," meaning, simply, that you should marry someone better than you.
Of course, this is utterly impossible, as anyone worth marrying has better sense than to be suckered in by someone like you, right? Well, dear loser, I once thought like you, until I met Betsy. She was beautiful, funny, energetic, friendly, she loved God, and, best of all, she seemed to like me. Long story short, I hoodwinked her long enough to get a ring on her finger. Eight years later, I'm cursing at glue.
Thank you, Betsy, for making life so much fun... and for making sure things get cleaned 'cause I never think to do that and I shudder (I'm shuddering right now, in fact) to think what the house would look like without you. Lots of Star Wars posters, I'm guessing, and a wall in the living room made entirely of empty Cherry Coke cans.
Thank you, 200lb reader, for reading.
Matt Beers
This made me remember a very good rule when one is single and looking for a mate: "Marry up," meaning, simply, that you should marry someone better than you.
Of course, this is utterly impossible, as anyone worth marrying has better sense than to be suckered in by someone like you, right? Well, dear loser, I once thought like you, until I met Betsy. She was beautiful, funny, energetic, friendly, she loved God, and, best of all, she seemed to like me. Long story short, I hoodwinked her long enough to get a ring on her finger. Eight years later, I'm cursing at glue.
Thank you, Betsy, for making life so much fun... and for making sure things get cleaned 'cause I never think to do that and I shudder (I'm shuddering right now, in fact) to think what the house would look like without you. Lots of Star Wars posters, I'm guessing, and a wall in the living room made entirely of empty Cherry Coke cans.
Thank you, 200lb reader, for reading.
Matt Beers
Monday, September 6, 2010
My wife has been waiting for this day...
The following post is the compilation of three posts sent via phone.
"I ran into a concrete pole tonight and left white paint all over the side of our black van. I used hand soap and a Brillo pad to get the paint off.
"Now there's a big clean spot on the side of our very dirty van. I couldn't find a car wash that's open at 9:00 at night, so I'm at Taco Bell instead."
Several minutes later...
"Upon closer inspection I've come to the conclusion that perhaps the Brillo pad wasn't my best idea ever."
Thank you,
Matt Beers
"I ran into a concrete pole tonight and left white paint all over the side of our black van. I used hand soap and a Brillo pad to get the paint off.
"Now there's a big clean spot on the side of our very dirty van. I couldn't find a car wash that's open at 9:00 at night, so I'm at Taco Bell instead."
Several minutes later...
"Upon closer inspection I've come to the conclusion that perhaps the Brillo pad wasn't my best idea ever."
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Thursday, June 24, 2010
No more late night sci-fi for Betsy.
So, I was sitting on the couch just now watching Wipeout on ABC.com when Betsy called me upstairs. She said that there was a weird noise coming from our bathroom. She described it as a sizzling, cooking sound. It was coming from the shower, but she was too afraid to pull back the curtain and look. It never occurred to her that I might be too afraid as well, but I wasn't about to admit that until the absolute last minute.
I entered the bathroom and, sure enough, there was a sizzling, cooking sound coming from the shower. My first thought was that a small bat was clawing at the smooth surface of the tub trying to find purchase, but as I boldly stepped forward, ignoring the little man inside my head who was crying and wetting himself, I realized instantly what it was.
Before I could pull back the curtain, however, Betsy said that it sounded like there were big, scary spiders in the tub. It wasn't spiders, but the little man inside my head fainted dramatically.
It was a can of shaving foam. Due to the oxidization of the metal around the can's seam, a tiny hole had formed and the contents of the can, under extreme pressure, had begun to force it's way out, making a sizzling, cooking sound as it did so. Imagine spraying a can of shaving foam in super slow motion. That's the sound it was making. But big, scary spiders?
What she meant to say, she tells me, was that it sounded like "radioactive spiders," which makes way more sense.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
I entered the bathroom and, sure enough, there was a sizzling, cooking sound coming from the shower. My first thought was that a small bat was clawing at the smooth surface of the tub trying to find purchase, but as I boldly stepped forward, ignoring the little man inside my head who was crying and wetting himself, I realized instantly what it was.
Before I could pull back the curtain, however, Betsy said that it sounded like there were big, scary spiders in the tub. It wasn't spiders, but the little man inside my head fainted dramatically.
It was a can of shaving foam. Due to the oxidization of the metal around the can's seam, a tiny hole had formed and the contents of the can, under extreme pressure, had begun to force it's way out, making a sizzling, cooking sound as it did so. Imagine spraying a can of shaving foam in super slow motion. That's the sound it was making. But big, scary spiders?
What she meant to say, she tells me, was that it sounded like "radioactive spiders," which makes way more sense.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
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