momumo

Are you kidding me?

2011-11-21T10:29:00.001-07:00

This doesn't seem like a big deal to most of you. I however have been boycotting the news for years, I only read specific news articles that I go seek based on what I hear from the rest of the world is going on. For example, if everyone in the neighborhood is talking about the bat infestation, I will go look up several articles from several sources on the bat infestation.

I startled myself this morning, just casually reading the news. It only took a moment to remember why I don't read the news anymore, however, I kept clicking on various headlines that captured my attention.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???
A parent is whining that their child was "grabbed" by the driver of his school bus and made to sit in the front row near the driver. A review of the video from the bus revealed that the student had been behaving uncontrollably and screaming in the back of the bus. At the next stop the driver called the student to the front of the bus and gently guided him to a seat near the driver.

You have not taught your child to respect authority, adults, their peers, rules, or just basic good behaviour in a moving vehicle, and you are going to be pissed when an adult that you have CHOSEN to have authority over your little brat handles it as they see fit.
If you don't like the way other people handle your stinking rude little brat, then you shouldn't put anyone else in charge of them... EVER. Of course for those of us who have dealt with the kiss and go lane at any school (or as Marie likes to call it, the stop, drop and roll lane), we know that if these parents drive their child to school, all those parents in the kiss and go lane will probably pay the price; it's clear the parents probably have no manners or courtesy or respect either. UGH

Also on the news page -- PETA has put up billboards of puppies trussed up like turkeys and asks "Kids: If you wouldn't eat your dog why eat a turkey?" -- well isn't that just a delightful expression of gratitude for the season, warms my heart that someone actually thinks my meat loving kids would eat crap that tastes bad because PETA is still a bunch of idiots.

We made it to fall break...

2011-10-18T12:23:00.003-06:00

All three kids were deposited at their various institutions of higher learning in August, trips to Walmart, Target, Bed Bath & Beyond, Costco and the grocery stores all completed with relative ease. Technically the oldest didn't come home this summer, so she was simply moved from an apartment to a townhouse in July.

Side Note: Bed Bath & Beyond has an awesome program for those who are going to a school far from home (ahem, and that is in a city large enough to have a BB&B) - you can shop at your local store, and then, just as if you were registering for a wedding, they will scan all your products, look up the store closest to your university/college, and send the list to them. You drive your darling, his/her clothes, books, etc. to the new town, empty the car into the dorm room, then rock on over to BB&B and pick up the rest of the stuff at the local store!

The precious darlings were all of course asserting their adulthood and independence, the part you know you should be proud and happy about but that cuts to the core because they don't think they need you anymore. Let me just reiterate they don't THINK they need you anymore.

It didn't take long for the oldest to have a reason to come home, a very short time later the youngest needed things shipped to her (we have shipped 4 boxes to her as of this writing!), and only a couple weeks into the school year the boy messed up his elbow again -- Ulner Nerve Subluxation if you are really interested in the nitty gritty details, go google it, and maybe include the term 'post Tommy John surgery'. The boy needed to come home for his previous elbow surgeon to fix his elbow, he was home about a week. The oldest got a pretty bad strep infection that also infected her partially erupted wisdom teeth and begged Mommy to come and care for her, then a visit to the ER, then she came home to have us care for her, then she came home again to get the teeth extracted. Somewhere in the mix of the two older kiddos having their medical crises, the youngest began to finally feel homesick, thankfully this past weekend her brother had a fall break and a teammate from Flagstaff took him down to visit his sister. Oh we also lost the cat for a few days, thankfully we found it. Actually hoping for them to be independent for the next few weeks so that things are uneventful until Thanksgiving!

So the question we keep hearing "How does it feel to have your next empty" -- we haven't noticed it too much yet.

Labor Day Weekend

2011-09-01T11:58:00.006-06:00

Yesterday was my dad's 79th birthday. The occasion of his birthday generally falls near/during Labor Day weekend, which has made for some great celebrations on given years. I can't believe it's been 9 years, for his 70th birthday - we went on a "quick little day hike". We were planning on doing a hike we both knew well, subtle easy hike, not much elevation change, gentle groomed trail through the trees of Rocky Mountain National Park - when a friend told us he would like to join us, and his friend had told him about a different hike, sounded easy enough - 20 minutes up, 20 minutes back (we knew we wouldn't be quite that fast, the two of them were both 70 years old that year, and I can hike all day, always have, but I'm not fast, and I'm outta shape... So we started out on this trail, heading south, we headed south for a good ten minutes before we even began to climb at the first switchback in the trail. The grade was pretty easy still, and we hiked another good ten minutes before the next switchback... we knew we were planning on climbing to the top of this small mountain, and we should have realized twenty minutes in that we had not gained much in elevation and that this was in no way going to be "twenty minutes up, twenty minutes back" -- and that the information we gave to our families "We'll be back shortly after lunch" was now a bunch of BS. We didn't really think about it, we sipped on our extraordinarily small bottles of water and just chatted and talked on our way up the trail through the trees on the side of the mountain. With each switchback the trail became a bit steeper, and the distance between switchbacks shortened -- that is pretty standard for trails that traverse the sides of mountains. After about an hour we ran into some people, "hey how much further to the top?"; their reply "oh, not too much further, you're probably more than halfway there" -- they couldn't have been more incorrect. We hiked on a while longer, my dad was wheezing a bit with his asthma, not unusual though and I wasn't concerned, he was also mentioning that his new shoes were really bothering his left foot. We stopped at a stream (probably should have risked giardia and refilled our water bottles), and rested a few minutes for his foot and his asthma. We saw another group of hikers, "are we near the firewatch tower?"; and the reply "oh, it's wonderful, so worth the climb, it gets steeper now, but it's only a couple more switchbacks up" -- again, misinformed -- apparently descending this mountain plays with people's minds and they become delusional. We trudged on, a good couple of hours, maybe three hours into our one hour hike now. We were thinking, hmmm, they probably missed us at lunch, but we'll be back before dark, no worries - and besides, we've come this far, and we are almost there. That was probably about the time we ran across our first sign of cats in the area, a nice steaming pile of cat scat - oh and by cats, I don't mean the sweet adorable little cuddly ones that the old lady down the street has a dozen of... I mean Mountain Lions. And by steaming, I don't mean actually steaming, but I do mean still quite fresh, left there in the middle of the trail for us by a fellow forest dweller that probably was watching us right now. We are now clearly quite a ways up this mountain, and can see down to the bottom that we must be near the top, and it's becoming rockier, and the switchbacks are quite close together now, and we hike on, not mentioning the cats to my dad (who is both allergic and afraid of them), well look there, on that rock... that's a mountain lion, watching us... but he's not interested and we must be just around the corner from the top now. Another 4 or five switchbacks and a long stretch of trail, this has got to be the final stretch, and look there a cat leaving the trail and heading into the brush. How about we stop for a little rest and let him have plenty of space. Wow, good thing we are almost to the top, we are out of water. We have broken out of the trees now as well, so we've got to be close. Well that's a long enough rest, lets trudge on and make lots of noise to scare the cat off. It's nearing evening now by the way, probably why these cats are so active. Eventually, I would say at around 4:00 or 4:30 (2-3 hours into our twenty minute hike) we achieved our goal -- the firewatch tower! What an amazing view, we could see for miles in any direction, and beautiful up there overlooking the lakes and the park and the meadows. Well can't dawdle, we are out of water, have no asthma meds amongst us, even if we make it down the trail much faster than we made it up, we are racing daylight now... and of course there are those pesky cats that might get the munchies as it gets darker. Remember Dad's boots are hurting him, and we are descending now, well, even though physically going downhill is less demanding on out of shape/older folks, it is much more painful on sore feet. Dad can barely go a few hundred yards without stopping to give his aching foot a break -- damn those new hiking boots, he'll never wear them again. Still we moved along as quickly as we could, being particularly noisy anywhere that felt a little vulnerable to the cats. Now before you go jumping ahead thinking we had a bad encounter with the cats, we did not, that is not where this story is going. In fact, we are done with actual cat encounters at this point, although we don't know that for certain yet and we are a bit nervous about it. It's getting darker fast, it's late in the summer, and the sun is plummeting below the western horizon at breakneck speed. We turn a switchback to see a nice long trail stretched out in front of us and we are feeling pretty good about having covered a lot of the descent already, but it is getting pretty darn dusky - at least we don't feel as concerned about the cats down here. What is that, a guy running UP the trail, in the evening, what a dumb ass, who would start up in the near dark on this fucking long ass trail... oh it's my husband, come to check on us, very concerned because well, it's now well past "lunch time" and edging toward "dinner time", and in fact past dinner time for a lot of folks. It's about 7pm now. "Do you have any water?" we ask him, we've been without for hours now. "No", his answer. "Do you have a flashlight?", again he answers us with a 'no'. He agrees to stay with Dad and go at his pace, his foot is really bothering him now. They trade shoes in fact. Our friend and I now nearly jog out of the forest in an effort to get out before darkness completely takes over. We walk the last hundred yards or so in pitch black, sort of reading the trail by braille with our shuffling feet. As we exit the trailhead we are met by more friends, armed with lights and gun (in case of mountain lions or bears... amusing now of course). They head in to take light and more help to my husband and father. By nine thirty both the old guys are back on oxygen, have had some asthma meds, and we've all had plenty of water. In addition, we've had some beer and food - a great story in retrospect.

By the way, the fellow who recommended the "twenty up and twenty back" hike in the first place... that would be STRAIGHT up through the fire cut, a whole different kind of hiking than any of us were prepared for, that's actually mountain climbing to be more accurate, and haha, I've seen the firecut now... you'd have to be in pretty killer shape and practice to make that in twenty minutes, either direction!

After Dad returns to Denver, he sees his doctor for his foot that is still bothering him a great deal. Turns out, it's broken. He made that whole hike on foot with two broken bones in it. Yeah, he's actually that badass - and at 70 years old no less. At 79 years old he still works every day, a somewhat physical job, and he camps most weekends in the summer. He's even been known to throw a raft on a river or play a round of golf (at altitude). With severe lung damage from having breathed some toxic acids about 20 years ago and a lifetime of asthma, I would still rank him as pretty badass!

Next year both those guys will be 80, I told them I'm taking them back up there. Of course it probably won't happen, they both require oxygen quite a bit of the time now when they are at altitude (this town is just over 8,000 feet above sea level and the firewatch tower is at 10,000 feet. According to the trail advisor where I just looked up that bit of information -- it's a moderate hike, 4.8 miles, 1.5 easy, 3.3 moderate to hard uphill. Estimated 2.5 hours up and 1.5 hours down. (that's 4 hours, we took 7 hours). Also, according the advisor that I just looked up, the tower was built in 1932, the same year both of those guys were born. Maybe we will figure out how to drag them back up there next summer... high country all terrain wheel chairs maybe.

Counting Down...

2011-08-18T10:44:00.003-06:00

My last baby is starting to have boxes of beloved things (and new, hopefully to be beloved things) and bags of things ready to take far away to Arizona. As these preparations progress she is getting more and more excited, and as happy as I am for her, and as delighted as her excitement makes me -- every time I am alone here in the front room of our home with these boxes of her books and laundry supplies and plastic cups, I feel a tremendous wave of melancholy pass over and through me. I remember when she was a baby, and I would hear her wake in her crib, and I would be disappointed that my quiet mom time had come to an end because she was awake and would require my constant attention and have me running all around taking care of her, but then I would walk into her room, and she'd be standing there (hopefully still in the crib, as she was quite the little escape artist) with her HUGE blue eyes and that dark black shock of hair giving me her best betty boop/spanky smile, lighting up the entire space with her joy and I would forget all of my silliness and just revel in the wonderful blessing that being with her was. I remember when I would pick her up from elementary school, and she (now with glowing blonde streaks in her long, thick hair would run toward me, anxious to share every happy, exciting moment of her day - those bright blue eyes sparkling with that glow that filled up all the space, even when out doors, she shined more brightly than even the Colorado sun. I remember when she finally took a trip away from home without her dad and I, and on her return, so much excitement about all that she had seen, so many stories to tell, that beautiful radiant glow filling the space again.

I feel like I can't bear the idea of not being in the presence of that radiance for such a long time. I don't know how I will get through my days with only her voice on the end of the phone or a grainy image on my computer screen if I can get her to skype with me for more than 5 minutes. I felt a tremendous sense of loss each time my other children moved away for college also, but there was always that comfort that my darling Spanky would be there at home, wrapping me up in her joy and excitement, sharing her stories, her woes and concerns, her gossip about friends, her unbelievable curiosity about the world and her absolute enchantment when she learned new things. Now they are all away, and I just imagine these empty bedrooms, and nowhere to go, nowhere to "have to be", no excitement because I decided to surprise them with a favorite meal for no reason, or bought something silly that reminds me of them and brought it home. No end of the day, best and worst stories. It's in some ways as if I am losing all three of them at once to have her going - I thought that an empty nest would be hard to bear. I knew that when people talked about it, they meant that it was really hard for a mom like me - I had no idea I would feel so utterly heartbroken and lonely. I love my husband, and there is a certain anticipation of lovely times of just the two of us - but honestly, I'm afraid that without my children I don't have much to offer to anyone... I don't know who I will be, my identity feels at risk, my happiness feels doomed, and I want my mommy to help hold me up.

I must make these moments of celebration, moments of gratitude for all that is wonderful and amazing about this huge milestone in all of lives. And I am so grateful that my children have these opportunities, that they are capable to taking advantage of them, and that I have completed that part of my job as a parent, to prepare them for this, and to let them have this. I may need a little reminding now and then that it is about celebration and gratitude -- so if your reading this, and you are experiencing anything similar -- here is your reminder to be filled with gratitude and celebrate with gusto, now please remind me!

Packing for College and Remembering Baseball through the years!

2011-08-01T15:15:00.003-06:00

I'm overly sentimental... not quite as bad as the people on Hoarders... but I do catch hell for saving stupid sentimental stuff all the time.

So my son has decided today is the day to go through his room and well... clean out his childhood. Part of the reason those things are even in there is because they knew I wouldn't let them throw away possible sentimental mementos when they were too young to understand the significance. Now he's going through old clothes, which shouldn't really be all that sentimental, and I'm sort of an idiot when it comes to things like your first baseball uniform or the first dress you wore in a school picture. Anyhow, a boys life is pretty much reflected in his t-shirts. For a good many years baseball uniforms are a t-shirt and baseball pants. Most years of any sport include a "camp t-shirt" or a "workout" t-shirt; just about every tournament includes a t-shirt; many championships include a t-shirt; then the team mom's often love the "we kicked ass this season, here are the tourneys we won, here are the names of the players"; add to that particular school events that include a t-shirt, like outdoor lab, or some school award; then as you travel and see cool places 'Cooperstown', 'San Diego Zoo', 'Capilano Bridge', or places you love and want the world to know you go there 'Grand Lake', 'Breckendridge', 'Steamboat Springs'. I knew it was going to be emotional just thinking about it, so I asked him just to make piles in his room - give to charity, throw out, and most recently because well frankly, the t-shirt is sentimental and in perfect condition, a small pile for a drawer of sleep shirts for his little cousins who sometimes stay over spontaneously.

A few minutes ago, in spite of the piles plan, he brought out a shirt, and now I know he's sentimental too. Oh sure he acted pretty casual and cavalier about the whole thing, but he wouldn't have said "I thought you might want to keep this since it was a weekend when Dad wasn't home and it was just you and I and it was my first world series and I hit a walk off homer." Then he walked away, turning just as he was going around the corner and asking "did that make you cry?"... of course I lied and said "no."

As I write this, he's also brought me his Cooperstown Jerseys and his best year in baseball Jersey.

I wish for everyone to have a 'Best year in baseball' AND a 'first walk-off homer' memory that lives with them forever!

Finally inspired...

2011-07-20T10:22:00.002-06:00

...during my shower no less. Probably more information than you needed to know. I will absolutely deny it with every fiber of my being, and it's not actually enough to make me want all my children scattered hither and yon, but it will be nice to share the bathroom with only the DH.

There are 8 ALMOST empty bottles/tubes/cans in my shower at the present. One of them is mine, the other seven are... the children's. They are not there because they haven't been replaced with a new bottle/tube/can. They are there because no one in this damn house ever gets the last two servings of anything out from the bottom, be it toothpaste, shaving cream, ketchup, cheese, shampoo, dog food, what have you. There are also several bottles/tubes of products in my shower that I'm certain NO ONE uses, that have been going in and out of the shower each time it gets cleaned properly, (and shoved aside the other eight out of ten times). Also, there are any number of products in there that I would never allow to touch my skin; can't stand the odor of; or have been there so long that they are beginning to change color - I swear that nasty doesn't rinse off body wash used to be pearly white and now it's sorta beige. Probably I should just bite the bullet and throw it all out, but the last time I did that, I supposedly threw away shit that people actually use. Nevermind the fact that before I did it, I took it all out of the shower in a tub (to clean properly) and left the tub out of the shower for a couple of weeks and then discarded everything that no one put back in.

As I stood there surveying the empty containers, strange smelling nasties, four razors, four sploofies, and the anti-bacterial hand soap (not sure who is washing their hands in the shower), I realized that DH has two things in there that are "his" - shaving cream (which I share with him) and a razor (which I do not share). He uses whatever shampoo is in there, obviously a smorgasborg of choices, because he has practically no hair - and will wash with whatever body wash I put in there as long as it doesn't smell like a girl - easy enough, I don't like girly smelling stuff either. He, like his children, does have a problem using the rock bottom last two servings, but I can deal with that as long as the empties get thrown away, my towel isn't rumpled on the floor and my wash cloth from the day before isn't in the tub soaking wet because someone knocked it in and didn't wring it out and hang it back up.

At least I'm clean for the day.

Hmmmm...

2011-07-19T09:54:00.003-06:00

Found this while reading "the news" this morning.

I don't know how to feel about this...

I completely agree with this statement: "There's absolutely nothing sexual about breast-feeding, "Berjuan Toys U.S. spokesman Dennis Lewis said. "It's good for mommies, it's good for babies, it's good for society."

But just because it's not sexual doesn't make it appropriate for little girls who don't even have breasts. I mean they don't actually give birth to their dolls either. On the other hand, I believe strongly that it is absolutely natural and as long as a mom exercises a bit of discretion, she should be allowed to breast feed her baby anywhere that she chooses (by discretion I mean some sort of little cover to ease the embarrassment of anyone who might happen to be nearby). I feel like a bit of a hypocrite thinking that it is wrong for a bunch of little girls to be breastfeeding their dollies, but not their having dollies in the first place.

And it's not like some of this doesn't just happen naturally anyhow -- I'm certain that little girls, particularly those who have mommies who are nursing a sibling, have probably "nursed" their dolls for ages. I happen to know from my own personal experience that sometimes little girls alter their dolls to be more anatomically correct -- my sister drew pubic hair onto her Barbies, which I inherited from her and had to explain to my friends! (ps. she used a blue pen - Barbie was pretty punk in the 60's & 70's - ahead of her time for sure!). And strangely, I don't really have an issue with "anatomically correct" dolls, nor do I think it makes your doll play experience less satisfying to have "traditional" dolls with no apparent gender. I suppose what bothers me most is the idea of foisting the idea of nursing upon little girls. While I am a huge advocate of nursing, believe it to be natural and wonderful and healthy, I do NOT believe it is right for every mom/baby. Well I'm just babbling here, would love to hear what others think.

Memories... and then some

2011-07-18T10:37:00.002-06:00

Browsing around a bit this morning on blogs that include the words "baseball mom" - the theme of the day seems to be "do I enjoy giving up my whole summer to baseball".

I can't speak for everyone, and there were a couple of years of dance/softball/baseball/swimming/football that I thought might kill me... I remember one particular year my husband and I had to travel in the spring and try to get someone to do just the driving for our three darlings -- that was the year of Killer Thursday - drop off boy at baseball practice in neighboring town at 4:45 (hope someone is there early to watch him while I leave to drop sister off at dance at 5:00, drop other sister off at softball at 5:15, back to dance to pick up youngest and take her to softball at 6:00 (changing from leotard to softball clothes in car on way); pick up oldest at softball a little before 6:30 (before practice over) for swimming at 6:30 (again changing in the car) race from pool to baseball field to pick up son at 7:00 and then home for dinner... sigh G-d forbid there was a game instead of practice to disrupt the flow.

... but I wouldn't give back a minute of it - missed camping trips, family vacations all centered on baseball tournaments, changing to theatre appropriate clothes from sweaty baseball mom clothes, baseball games in formal gowns, freezing in the rain, sizzling in the heat, hat head, sore feet, sunburns, bug bites, late (I mean really late) dinners, fuck tons (I do mean fuck tons) of fast food and sunflower seeds, smelly car*, dozens of unfinished and even un-started summer projects, etc.

There is a sign that hangs in our home it says "We Interrupt this Family for Baseball Season" (it could just as easily say 'softball season' - 'swim season' - 'dance' - 'Job's Daughters' - or 'cheerleading'.

Years ago I also said that I would write a cookbook for "baseball moms" that included some actual non-fast food, healthy, easy options for those crazy days of summer. In honor of those moms who are struggling with their own baseball season right now and are sick of fast food and hot dogs I will share a favorite.

Taco Salad
(feeds 5-ish)

1+ lbs ground beef
chile powder (1 Tbsp ish)
garlic powder
salt
pepper

brown the ground beef with the above seasonings, stir frequently to break into small pieces, drain fat

>tortilla chips (preferably not too salty - we like the white corn strips from Costco)
>1-1.5 heads lettuce (we use romaine because I'm a snot that doesn't like iceberg)
>2-3 tomatoes (diced for salad - we have two tomato lovers, and one tomato hater - I use 2-3 roma tomatoes)
>sliced black olives (optional, I love them, but we don't have them all the time)
>sliced scallions (again, if we have some I will slice them, but I don't make a special trip to the store for them)
>1.5-2 C shredded cheese (cheddar or cheddar/jack)
>sour cream
>guacamole (it's baseball season, just buy the packaged in the produce aisle - we like Wholly Guacamole - it tastes homemade!)
>Salsa (replaces salad dressing)

We all put our salads together differently - my oldest daughter loves the round chips and makes her salad a work of art worthy of a photo contest - I will tell you how I put mine together.

Crunched up chips in the bottom of the bowl, a little lettuce on top of that, then the rest of the veggies topped with a few more crunched up chips, meat and cheese -- then top the whole works with all the gooey yumminess ending with the salsa.

I can make all of this ahead (and in fact I sometimes make a HUGE batch of meat and freeze it in bags enough for one dinner [tacos or taco salad]) during the morning/afternoon and then when I come home I re-heat the meat for a minute or two and snip the corner off the bag of guac and we are good to eat!

*smelly car -- One day I was chaperoning a group of girls, and one girl who lacked a bit of a filter said to me "Mrs. Momumo, what is that smell?" -- Me: "Well, it could be sour milk/chocolate smell from the huge air pot of spilled hot chocolate a couple of years ago, I shampoo all the time, but the smell never goes away; or it could be some sweaty football/baseball/softball socks that are stuck under a seat somewhere; or it could be sweaty dance wear in the trunk; or it could be some old fast food in a bag under one of the seats; or it could be the beer that blew up in the hot sun and splattered all over the car; or it could be that I used to smoke; or it could be one of the girl's swim bags in the back; or it could be vomit; what does it smell like honey?" "oh, well it sorta smells like all of that, could you roll down the window?"

I have a new car now -- same girl "wow this car smells so much better" ME: "probably not for long, lol"

my car did not smell that badly, and I febreezed, shampooed, vacuumed, often to eliminate the odor... she had a very sensitive nose.

Yesterday

2011-07-15T13:36:00.002-06:00

Woke up to the Graham Norton show and this:
http://youtu.be/ICbS_96CQ9k

Following a crazy day of ups and downs, I won't lie, mostly downs, we all sat down to a delicious dinner together.

Our dinner table conversation, never boring, usually more along the lines of "offensive" at most people's dinner tables had gotten out of hand, and I found myself suggesting we all try teapot blowing. HILARIOUS! I strongly recommend you try it yourselves.

The boy had woken up at about the same time as me, so I rewound the Graham Norton show and forced him to watch the teapot blowing with me. Thus he was quite excited to be the first to show us all how it's supposed to be done. I can only hope that when you try it, you have someone just as confident.

Also, you might want to make a best effort to protect any small animals from being in the line of fire... our little corgi mix was quite drenched!!

I ended up going to the Harry Potter premiere (unplanned) and was rather impressed with how amazingly crazy the whole affair is. The crowds, the cheering and booing during the movie, etc. Also, I am NOT a fan of 3-D, but I was impressed with the 3-D technology of this movie (and besides, I can really rock the Harry Potter special 3-D glasses!)

There were some Jr. High aged kids in the crowd that shouted out 'Vagina' a few times, the girls I was with were so disgusted with their immaturity that they were prepared to shout out 'Masturbation' as a retort if it were to happen again. I think that would have been a wonderful expression of how mature people deal with things - lol.

Today the boy is off to a baseball "double header" (at two different fields); I'm working; and the husband is hitting 18 holes with his boss. I just dropped by my youngest's bedroom to discover that she is... applying for scholarships! (Better late than never)

Sexism and the Classics

2011-07-08T12:46:00.003-06:00

My children all attended two very conservative schools, filled mostly with very conservative students from very conservative families -- and by very conservative, I mean both politically and morally (religiously). I confess, I am a sexist -- in that I believe there are certain things that are better delegated to members of either gender - I can change a lightbulb, if there is a male in the building, I think it should be delegated to him - I can take out the trash, if there is a male in the building, I think it should be delegated to him - My husband can do laundry, he does his laundry, he never does the household laundry (towels, bedding, etc.) - My son can assist with first aid (bandaids, etc), but I usually ask one of his sisters. I do not teach my children that there are specific gender roles, or that they are incapable of anything because it should be done by the other sex, in fact I have many times encouraged my girls to learn about changing tires, oil, mowing the lawn, and I have encouraged my son to learn about baking, cooking, laundry, and have insisted that they do both.

My two youngest children are absurdly sexist - chauvinistic even - they stun people with the shit that comes out of their mouths. Youngest daughter to the History Channel a couple of days ago "Silly History Channel, women can't be spies, no intrigue ever happens in the kitchen" - my son to me yesterday "you don't understand because you have a vagina" (yes he really does talk to me that way, and yes I laugh hysterically-his dad not so much). I had blamed this on their right-wing, filled with fundamentalist bible-thumper schools. I was right, but not because they have teachers that praise George Bush and Jerry Falwell in the same sentence, and not because they have friends who might actually secretly have several mom's. Turns out that the somewhat rigorous reading requirements at their High School includes "a favorite" (not something you hear from a 19 y/o boy often), and my son chose to re-read this classic novel about a week ago, as he was reading it this morning, he started demanding from his sister that she get busy making him some food (which she gladly agreed to do) and then revealed the real culprit... Pearl S. Buck, 'The Good Earth'. Who knew?

Friday Bullets

2011-07-08T10:51:00.001-06:00

• I clicked “next blog” almost obsessively the last two days – I’m not sure how to say this diplomatically (because I’m not very diplomatic, even when I desire to be) – I remember when my children were young, I thought that I had no spare time at all for anything – however, I had a ridiculous internet gaming and chat habit, and had blogs existed I would have been so prolific. I also had time to go to EVERYTHING for my kids. I don’t actually have time for this now, I make time for it by getting up early and staying up late, and apparently other parents of teens don’t have time either, there are bazillions of blogs with sweet pictures of darling families filled with babies, toddlers, pre-schoolers, and elementary aged athletes/dancers/etc. Maybe I’ve found a niche – possibly one that will have no readers, because it is entirely possible those same parents who don’t have time to write a blog, also don’t have time or interest in reading one. (Second highest population [not a scientific study] seems be “Christian” blogs – again, not seeing a real need for everyone to spout the same opinion over and over)
• I have a group of friends that is most definitely the funniest women alive, I fucking love them – I find myself seeking out a good laugh from them whenever the day begins to drag
• My children are as funny as my friends (this is mentioned many times in previous posts), I hope to include some brief posts of “overheard in my house” “shit my kids say” – something of that nature, I am terrified of a return of the circumcision debacle though
• Baseball (no list from me would be complete without it)
• Oh yeah food, I love food blogs, but they intimidate me – I actually don’t have any desire to try Kale chips, no matter how many foodies assure me they are all the rage, kids love them, and they are so easy to make – ewwwwwwwwww kale (from a landlocked girl who grosses out at the smell of the ocean and did have a short stint as a vegetarian that served mostly to put me off most things green)
• Today’s college preparations – sending the youngest off for a weekend with older sister at her out of town college apartment… I am assured that because said older daughter partied last night with her boyfriend, she will be better equipped to keep her baby sister in check at the street festival and rodeo

I don't have time for this...

2011-07-07T13:15:00.002-06:00

... or anything else that seems important enough to be distraught about, and yet not important enough to lose sleep over, or to stop checking email, facebook, this blog (that I forgot about for so long), or to actually do work that I get paid for.

Way down in those older posts I am pretty sure there is something written about my inane inability to say 'no' to volunteer opportunities. I like to call them opportunities, because misery loves company and I have also been guilty a time or two of twisting an arm or two into joining me on these adventures.

One of these "opportunities" that presented itself, I would say a good 5 years ago, was to be the chairman of an ongoing HUGE fundraiser that goes all summer long for my daughters' youth organization. Today, is the first big day -- there were a few days of preparation for today, all went smoothly and easily, I had somehow fooled myself into thinking the whole season would be that way. HAHAHA MOMUMO, fooled you!!

I laid awake last night - as I do most nights - thinking of what projects absolutely had to be done today, and how much time each would take - basically budgeting my time for the day. I budgeted 1.5 hours for the at home prep/printing/bookkeeping portion of this project - and of course another 2.5 hours for the at the event portion. Ahem, I started on this at 9:30, took a couple of short breaks for various familial interruptions, and I just finished at 1pm. OOOps.

Why did this take me so long... because my new printer is as slow as a one legged dog chasing a squirrel, and of course a watched printer doesn't move any faster; because my DH (I do love him, I really do) has been moving all my crap around on my for the last several months and I can't find anything... like last years files; because I never budget my time well (although I thought I was very generous with this one - I really thought it was more like 45 minutes of work).

So, am I rushing to get those other projects done? Am I in the shower grooming for my rare public appearance at the event? Am I kicking back with a cocktail saying 'fuck it' to the whole day? No, I'm fooling everyone else in the house into thinking that I'm working while I write a blogpost, because yesterday I told myself I have some GREAT new fodder for blogposts with these college kids making me crazy, and I can even write some shit that if it doesn't at least improve someone else's similar experience will make them laugh. I should post every day, it will be good for me. Well here's today's post - not funny, not helpful, not interesting, and certainly not a good use of my time.

Cheers! I hope someone else is procrastinating for no good reason too.

Parenting Teenagers

2011-07-06T13:04:00.002-06:00

Pretty much freaking out this summer as my last baby prepares to go off to college. We bought a Brita pitcher (green of course) and some bookcases. Her older sister is handing down her dorm bed sheets (green again, yay!) and her brother gave her a pretty decent TV after he won a better one in a poker game. All that stuff is basically handled - although, this is our, hmmm how do I put this, well she's our hoarder. Pretty sure it might require a full size moving truck to take the stuff she wants to take. On the other hand, it's not just about what will fit in whatever vehicle/method we finally determine will best move her to college, but also what will fit in her dorm room - so at least we don't have to be the total bad guy in this. The University she is attending actually provides rather large dorm fridges, so she won't be needing that, even though we have one left over from the older sister. Three kids in college at the same time does tend to present the requirment for two of almost everything, pretty much the same as when they were babies and we needed two cribs, two car seats, two strollers, etc. Haha, we thought all that baby shit was expensive -- two things, people have a lot more baby shit they are willing to hand down. We had big family collections on both sides that we handed around. Most of my nieces and nephews who shared baby clothes, kid furniture, and even sports equipment have not had a single dorm thing to hand down... hmmmmmm, do you think they all lost their shit in poker games? These details are not freaking me out.
Also -- God Bless America -- yeah that's right, every single school wants us to do a verification of our FAFSA. If you don't have (or haven't had yet) a college student, then you probably aren't familiar with this "college lingo" that has evolved quite a bit since we packed up our toaster ovens and hot pots and trundled off to college on a wing and a prayer and hopefully some $$ from our grandparents. These days, regardless of how affluent you are, you have to fill out the FAFSA (it means Free Application for Federal Student Aid). The name would imply that if you have your college $$ all taken care of (great savings, scholarships, blackmailing your mafia uncle, etc) that you don't have to fill it out. I'm told EVERYONE has to fill it out, although, with three in college and basically nothing saved toward their educations, we didn't bat an eye at "Federal Student Aid". 1st year, one student in college, FAFSA returns an EFC (more new lingo - Estimated Family Contribution) about equal to what I was being paid at the time - and not something we could possibly have come up with. Many student loans and three years later, that child is still enrolled, her tuition is still being paid, and I only owe several thousand dollars to various entities -- she owes tens of thousands of dollars, sure hope she gets a good job! Second student added 1 year ago, and I lost my job in the meantime (love this economy) - FAFSA returned a slightly more swallowable EFC, still impossible, but several scholarships later, we only paid out of pocket a couple thousand dollars for his education last year. Third child not even enrolled yet, but registered -- FAFSA returned a very reasonable EFC (which we pay little of) and THREE PELL GRANTS - one for each kid - YAY (Federal $$, does not have to be repaid). However, there's this little thing that I think is at the discretion of each school, called 'verification'. Second year that oldest child was at her University - we had to do a verification. Third year that oldest child was at her University was the first year that the boy was at his college -- his college required a verification -- this year ALL THREE SCHOOLS want the verification. It's not that big of a deal, it's just sorta like filing your taxes all over again (or filling out your FAFSA a second time). This is also not freaking me out.
Our house will be empty - okay this is freaking me out a little. Part of me thinks, "wow, no more shit to wash/pick up/cook/shop for/etc." (usually when I'm washing, picking up, cooking and shopping) -- and part of me thinks things like "I will love just cooking for the hubby again, special little romantic meals, etc." (this is usually when I'm up to armpits in cooking for 28 people something that I don't actually like to eat) -- and part of me thinks, "geez how long has it been since we had sex in the middle of the living room in the middle of the day" (usually when he wants to and the kids are home with 12 friends on their way over) but mostly I think, "who the fuck am I going to talk to?"; "who is going to go to Costco with me?"; "what will I do with all that time?"; and of course I cry (not as much as I thought I would). This does have me a little freaked out - but...
My BABY is going to be further away than her brother and sister, the reality is, flying, driving, anything short of a science fiction transport of some sort, is going to have her a minimum of 15 hours away. I don't like this, I don't like it at all, and I'm totally freaked out about it. I don't know how people send their children half way around the world, I now have a much deeper understanding of how my mother felt when I went to Spain. I can't bear the idea of her having some sort of emergency or crisis and I can't get to her for 15 hours. My other daughter is two hours away, from my front door to hers. My son is right at 3 hours away. This fifteen hours thing is literally taking the breath out of me. I sometimes look at the clock (1:49pm) if she had an issue right now, I couldn't be with her until 4:30 tomorrow morning. ACK!!! Also, much more than my other two (maybe because we are closer?) she is pulling away from me. Spending less time with me, not being as affectionate with me, acting like any of our shared interests are boring and mundane -- this is freaking me out. Logical me can tell myself that this is probably a very natural part of the whole transition that was either less obvious with my other kids because they are by nature very sanguine and their methods of showing affection are not what other people would call affectionate, or because I still had other children at home to spend time with, to share activities with, etc. Logical me can tell myself that this is good for her, it will assist her in becoming independent, it will make the change less severe, etc. Logical me can also tell myself that this is temporary, and that after she is gone, and she misses me, she will express her affection, she will want to call up just to watch a television show together over the phone, she will get a cold and want her mommy, just as her brother and sister have done. Emotional me doesn't give a shit for anything logical me has to say, emotional me wants to kick logical me in the shins and pee on logical me's pillow. Emotional me just wants my baby to come running up to me and tell me how much she's going to miss me and could we just go get pedicures and hang out for the day, just us. Today emotional me is winning -- logical me is sleeping sitting up in a chair with one eye open.

A Letter to all operators of motor vehicles on I-25 in Colorado

2010-01-28T10:58:00.009-07:00

Dear (insert term of endearment or expletive here);
I spent a good part of this previous weekend driving on the interstate. In fact, I've spent a good part of the last couple of years driving on the interstate. Actually, I'm fairly certain that among my peer group I have quite a bit more miles under my belt than most -- not all -- but most. I have never been intimidated by a road trip; usually I enjoy them quite a bit. Lately however, I have become painfully aware that the bulk of people who are using the interstate are not road trippers, nor local drivers, they are commuters who have their heads up their asses so far they can see out their mouths! I have some tips for those folks, and for the driver's license bureau and for law enforcement - and after composing this post in my head in betwixt speaking to my windshield last weekend about courtesy, logic, and basic driving skills - I decided to recreate here for you my readers, the masterpiece that kept me sane during my most recent interstate adventure.

Let me start by stating that it should be a damn sight more difficult to get a driver's license - please driver's license folks, make it more difficult, and test the drivers more rigorously, including highway driving, merging, and mountain driving.

Second, please law enforcement, I realize that you are trying to generate revenue and that speeding is both easier to prove and more lucrative, but would you please please please crack down on impeding traffic and tailgating -- which in my opinion probably cause far more accidents than the folks who are exceeding the speed limit but moving with traffic.

Lastly, to the legislators of Colorado -- would you make it illegal, and a HUGE fine so that law enforcement will want to ticket it, for semi-trucks to impede traffic by using the #1 lane to pass - in fact I would be delighted if they never ever got in the #1 lane again in my lifetime - even if they are shipping the last drops of bourbon to my local liquor store.

Now to my fellow drivers (I use the term driver loosely - as most of you are operating a motor vehicle but how you are going about it really should be deemed criminal and not have any sort of title that implies there is any skill involved) - a list of the things that all 'drivers' should know (but obviously don't):

1] It is not your fucking job to police the highway, stay the fuck out of the #1 lane if you are not moving with traffic -- if you are holding anyone up behind you (regardless of how reckless you think their preferred speed is) - you are impeding traffic and creating a dangerous situation for ALL of us. Move the fuck over -- ps. the person behind you flashing his brights/lights in your rear-view mirror (that's the one you may have been using to apply makeup or floss your teeth) wants you to move over, they are not greeting you, they are not warning the drivers in the opposite direction of some danger ahead of them - they want you to move the fuck over.

2] Passing on the right is more dangerous, please don't sit there and think "I'm doing the speed limit, if they want by me that badly, the maniac can pass on the right" -- seriously, you are endangering yourself dumbass - just move over and let the maniac by

3] You should be aware of EVERYONE else around you -- I know this sounds a lot like oh -- logic, and it might be too much for your pea-brains -- but use your WHOLE windshield to see everyone in front of you, on-coming traffic as well as all the lanes around you. Use your rear-view mirror to see everyone behind you, all lanes, yes really ALL lanes, and yes the people behind you do matter. Use your side-view mirror (I know this is a tough one, because apparently, no one knows they are there, or how to adjust them or something) all the time, not just while you are backing into your garage stuffed with shit or when you are changing lanes -- you should actually be looking in them when you are moving forward also, so that you are aware of EVERYONE around you - front, back, sides.

3A] Blind spots -- look it up, find out what they are, figure out where yours are, figure out where the most common ones are for other vehicles and then genius -- stay out of them for your own safetly and mine. I want to buy an old boat, like a Ford LTD station wagon and then I want to swerve toward every dumbfuck on the road that thinks sitting in my blindspot is the best place to drive

4] Merging - (this could be a post by itself). This is the action required to join traffic on a highway (and often times other busy thoroughfares). The idea is that you will 'merge' with traffic. Thus you have to use a little brain power in order to determine at what velocity the traffic you are trying to join is travelling and then attempt to achieve that same velocity while placing yourself adjacent to an opening between cars so that you can move over effortlessly and take that opening without causing anyone, including yourself, to use their brake pedal.

4A] You are the merger, to do this entirely correctly, you are at the mercy of the existing traffic driving well. Assuming they are, and that traffic engineering has designed a decent interchange with a lane that can be used to accelerate to the appropriate speed, you should NEVER:

a) stop at the end of the acceleration/merging lane - no really, you aren't supposed to stop and then wait an eternity for a large enough space to move into it doing oh say 5-10 mph, still causing everyone behind you to brake.
b) try to race to get the space that is just a bit further forward but causes you to impede the traffic already on the highway (seriously, your penis will not shrink if you aren't the furthest car forward)
c) just move over and hope all those idiots get out of your way - I know, it's hard sometimes not to think, "by God my ancestors settled this land, and I will use it anyway I want" - but those idiots are already on the highway and you aren't, thus they have 'right-of-way'

4B] You are in the far right lane (assuming you actually belong there - which you probably don't) and you are approaching an on-ramp area. NEVER:

a) Race the cars that are merging so that they by god do not get in front of you (again, your penis will NOT shrink if someone gets in front of you)
b) Slam on your brakes to allow someone in, thus causing the 756 cars behind you and next to you to brake (whether they need to or not) in a delayed domino pavlovian response to the red lights and also impeding all that traffic -- there's a good chance that the driver you are braking for was planning on getting in behind you, and now they have to slow down to do that -- screwing up everyone else behind them on the exit, and of course the space behind you is now too small because you slowed down more than the driver behind you.

4B] continued - you should ALWAYS:

c) move over to the left, out of the way, if you can do so without causing some other problem
0R d) MAINTAIN YOUR SPEED - so that the drivers who are merging have some sort of constant they can rely on in order to make it as painless as possible for everyone else

5] Passing - seems simple really, and yet, clearly no one actually gets it. Passing is done when you desire to go faster than the other drivers on the road. You might be a fucking maniac who wants to way out-drive the conditions, frankly if that's the case, I want you to pass and get way far from me, I don't want to drive near maniacs. Alas, I digress -- passing should be done with some regard for the other drivers on the road as well as considering your own safety. This requires a novel subject covered earlier -- visibility. While passing - you should not climb up the ass of, and give a rectal exam to, the vehicle in front of you -- you will actually have much much better visibility if you begin to pass them from a couple of car lengths back. Passing should only be done when you will actually be going faster than the vehicle you are passing when you are done. Passing is not a way to say "hey, you in the old lady car, I have a red sports car and if I don't pass you my penis will fall off". My old lady car has a V-8 engine and cruises down the highway at a remarkably comfortable speed and when I hit a little dip in the road I barely feel it and I don't have to overcorrect my steering because of it. Your little red sports car, while it may be cute, is not actually nearly as comfortable, and I'm sick you passing me and then slowing down because the bumps and rises are causing your car to handle poorly. Lastly, passing is passing -- not moving over into the #1 lane because you were going faster than that big green tractor 456 miles back and you just haven't moved over yet, even though that was actually in a different state. Move back over genius, really you can pass again, might help you stay awake.

A few more specific items:

On a single-lane highway (this means one lane each direction, not just one terrifying 500 mile long game of chicken) -- You can only pass when the dashed lines tell you it's okay -- most people seem to get this. What they don't seem to get is this -- if someone behind you is going to pass, it is preferable that you actually maintain your speed while they are passing you in the oncoming lane, or even move a bit to the right, if safe to do so, and maybe just let off the gas a bit, making their adventure in the oncoming lane a wee bit shorter. Accelerating and racing them, is well really fucking rude and dangerous. Stop it.

On a two-lane highway (again, two lanes that are going YOUR direction) -- you should stay right except to pass. This is actually UNIVERSAL, pretty sure if we ever colonize Mars there will be "stay right except to pass signs" on the highways there. If you are the faster driver this may mean going back and forth between the two lanes quite a bit, however, you may be the faster driver, but not the fastest driver, and if I have to slow my ass down to 2 miles over the speed limit because you think that you have the "right" to be in the #1 lane, I'm going to be very irritated, which is not optimal for everyone's safety, because I could get distracted composing a blog post about rude ass drivers.

On a three(plus)-lane highway (see above) -- you should only be in the far right lane if you are going slower than most traffic, approaching your exit, towing something, a wide load (and perhaps a couple of others). Most people who are moving with traffic belong in the middle lane(s). If you are in the far right lane, you will have to vary your speed more frequently for the slower drivers and those who are merging. However, you also do not belong in the far left lane unless you are passing. In an ideal world, I would not be in the far left lane for hundreds of miles at a time wishing the dumb ass in front of me would move over -- but in Colorado (not the city mind you, the highway north of Denver to Ft. Collins and the highway south of Denver to Pueblo and we won't even go to I-70 because that requires speaking about airport traffic or mountain traffic and my brain will explode), apparently everyone thinks that I-25 is just a little bit wider version of Wadsworth without the traffic lights. UGH.

I realize that all of you reading this don't think it applies to you, but let me offer this -- if more than 50% of the users of our highways suck at driving, then chances are you might suck and commit one of these faux pas'.

ps. Wyoming -- the moment I cross the state line everything improves, I remember when I learned to drive in Colorado, we drove that way too. Don't ever encourage folks to move there, you will regret the negative effect on your highways.

Glossary:
#1 Lane -- also referred to by many as the 'fast lane' -- which is in many cases an oxymoron, lanes are numbered starting on the inside - learn this, it may come in handy

Rear-view mirror -- the mirror that should be affixed to the top center of your windshield and should, if properly adjusted, allow you to see nearly everything that can be seen out of your rear-windshield.

Side-view mirror -- those are the TWO mirrors on the 'side' of your vehicle, one of them usually says something like "objects in mirror are closer than they appear" or some crap like that. These are not only for backing up folks, they are also for seeing beside your car.

Right-of-Way -- This concept seems to be lost on almost all drivers, but in particular women at traffic circles and in parking lots and men on the highway -- all women think if they cede right of way they won't get the last of the sale item they are seeking and all men think if they cede right of way their penises will fall off and be replaced by a big pink fluffy bow -- this simply isn't true. It's actually one of those awesome Karma opportunities, cede right of way, and you may find yourself winning a prize at the store and maybe you will get some when you get home.

Inspiration

2010-01-21T14:27:00.003-07:00

My friend posted this on her blog and I thought -- wow maybe this will be just the thing to get me blogging more diligently again, not that all three of you really care (I think I may be down to 1.5).

My own thirteen "diamonds"

1] The sound of my youngest daughter's voice when she greets me after an absence (no matter how long)

2] The smell of a baseball field in the early morning, and listening to the various sounds of teams warming up

3] The absolute abandon of my oldest daughter's laugh

4] My husband's smell

5] The look on the face of a little child who has just discovered something magnificent

6] The Closing Cross at a Job's Daughters meeting

7] A dog's wagging tail

8] The smell of freshly opened coffee

9] The first snowfall in the mountains

10] The smell of the Italian Deli near my house

11] My Aunt Jayne's hugs

12] The first sip of a Manhattan (even better when coupled with the smell of good cigars)

13] The first crocus of Spring

My son the housekeeper...

2010-01-14T14:40:00.002-07:00

A few nights ago we had stew for dinner, and in the spirit of spreading the wealth a wee bit with the kids, I asked my son to put the leftovers away, to which he replied "but youngest sister is so much better at it and I don't know how" -- really? at eighteen years old, about to go away to college in a few months, you can't pull a container out of the cupboard and ladle some stew into it? A short while later everyone was headed off to bed and I happened to walk past the kitchen and notice a HUGE puddle of stew on the stove. My ADULT child walked in at about that moment, and I admonished him that he needed to clean it up and should have cleaned it up when it happened. I then turned around and began reading something at the kitchen table, I was less than three feet from him, but so absorbed in my reading that I failed to notice how he was cleaning it up until he was all done and I turned around to see him setting our short little dog down and telling him what a good dog he was for cleaning up the stew!!!

You gotta love the teenaged mind...

"Special Equipment"

2010-01-05T15:52:00.002-07:00

My daughter slid off the road into a SMALL snowbank, small enough that she tried driving out herself, the plow truck that stopped had her try to drive out, and the State Patrolman that stopped had her try to drive out - then called a tow truck. The Towtruck driver charged her $369 dollars to pull her out. $75 for the callout, that I can swallow, I don't like it, but it was expected - and some travel time, I can swallow travel time, though $144 for less than twenty minutes of travel is pretty steep -- but what I can't take is the $150 for "special equipment" -- really, REALLY -- whats so fucking special about pulling a sedan out of a small pile of snow in fucking wyoming. We aren't talking about pulling a bus out of a glacier in Hawaii -- I'm guessing they pull sedans out of the snow probably oh, MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE -- "special equipment" indeed -- I can't wait to get the company on the phone and let them know just how fucking "special" I think they are!

Really?

2009-12-29T10:39:00.003-07:00

A good many of my friends, at times it even seems like it amounts to the majority of my friends are democrats. I like them, they are my friends, and nearly all of them believe me to be a democrat also - though I am a republican, granted, I am known in one circle of extremely active democrats as "the most liberal republican (insert name of passionate active democrat here) ever knew" - aka mlrmpek. This is mostly due to a strange phenomenon, I am unbelievably -- really unbelievably diplomatic about politics, [those who know me well, know that I am seldom diplomatic about ANYTHING] and also because I truly am not really either party on many issues - I am pro gun-control (limited); I am pro-choice; I am for limited government involvement and opposed to social programs (mostly); I am supportive of a strong military; and here's a kicker I don't share with friends much, I am pro-capital punishment. I find however that it's quite easy to share my opinions and even when it's about something where I support the opposite viewpoint of my friend, we can have a nice pleasant conversation, frequently without them ever suspecting that my voter registration reads the same as their "obnoxious right-wing bible thumping neighbor".

Alas, the point of this post is not actually to expose my politics so much as it is to wonder, how can I fit in so well among my legions of "liberal" friends and yet when it comes to the simplest thing, like my friends kid just had a super ugly baby -- I have trouble not betraying my true opinion? [in fact, I said something along the lines of "bet you are glad the wait is over"] But I also question, have I ever unwittingly, amongst a group of "conservatives" where I felt comfortable being more passionately open about oh say 'captial punishment' made my "liberal" counterpart feel as though they have managed to conceal their true political identity? -- well that's a digression... back to my point, my 'total' lack of diplomacy.

I was in fact amongst a group of liberals for drinks over the weekend, and as is the usual with folks our age, politics did become part of the discussion - my two friends among the group who know my true political identity shared knowing looks with me and one even patted my leg at one point when she thought I might be feeling a bit overwhelmed with the passion - a sweet gesture moosema - thanks! Strangely, later in the night I blurted out one of my famously non-diplomatic remarks, like 'well she's always been a bitch why would that change' or some other type remark, and they all said "I love how momumo is so blunt, you can always count on her for truth" -- and I am always truthful (unless absolutely prevented by decorum, if point blank asked if I think that the new baby is cute, I will probably be forced to lie - I mean you really can't say something like "wow are you sure that one's done cooking?").

How do I find it so easy to be a diplomat with politics and so unnecessary and near impossible in every other situation?

Parenting Teenagers

2009-12-21T22:29:00.003-07:00

hahahaha! If anyone ever presumes to tell you they have the answers to raising teenagers, run before they ask you to drink the koolaid! My darlings have all cost us just about $200 for some random bunch of crap

- Friday night the boy texts me, yes re-read that TEXTS ME "I split my chin open on the gym floor and the trainer thinks I should get stitches" -- ps. he wasn't participating in the sport, he was a fan at the basketball game -- and I was drinking at the casino with hubby - 1. he CHOSE to slide across the gym floor toward a dog pile of kids (with his new Tommy John elbow that is NOT fully recovered, ugh) 2. he texted me, not a call, a freaking text message 3. when I called him to find out the details he asked if he could wait until after the game to go get stitches in his THREE INCH laceration (is actually just over 1 inch, I really was picturing his lip flopping around as if he had gauged it when he said 3 inches) -- So, I informed him (not without a little bit of guilt) that he is 18, has his own insurance card and can drive himself to the ER for stitches (then I called his older sister to meet him there)

- Sunday night, after driving to Wyoming and back, daughter asks at 10:00pm if she can drive back to Wyoming to see boyfriend, we actually allowed this against our better judgment because when we were nineteen, we would have wanted to do it too and would probably have figured out how to get it done. Yeah, so today, she lets us know that she will be later than expected getting home because she got a speeding ticket - for quite a damn bit over the speed limit, needless to say, not happy

- This afternoon, youngest daughter goes to new eye doctor and gets and extended eye appointment because her old contacts (that she wore for TWO years) never did work right, but she didn't want to tell us that because we would make her wear her glasses

Going to post an ad on Gypsy-bay.com that they are all for sale, no returns, ugh

To make the day better, the younger two did not do at all what I asked them to do around the house today and then tried to sell that I underestimated the time required to complete those chores. Really 3.5 hours in the kitchen and it's still not clean -- um yeah, I could practically fuckin remodel the kitchen in 3.5 hours -- and 2 hours cleaning ONE shower and well apparently doing something in the living room, but all I could tell was the mail was on my desk and she moved a small pile of stuff off of a christmas box onto my desk chair -- oh and the job on the shower, the dog coulda licked it cleaner. SO PISSED.

Anyhow, tomorrow is supposed to be baking day, should be glorious I'm sure.

OOOps underestimated the nosiness of oldest daughter

2009-12-18T12:51:00.003-07:00

As many of you (all two of you) know, my family is unaware of this blog - so today, one aunt contacted oldest daughter via facebook asking for another aunts address -- the fastest way I could think of to retrieve it was to give her my thumb drive from my old laptop files and tell her to look for it among the documents on there. Well also stored on that thumb drive are some of my posts from this blog -- she is thoroughly enthralled with and enjoying my 'dirtiest stories ever' document, which contains all of those stories as posted here so long ago. Maybe I should have given it a more boring title, I can see how running across 'dirtiest stories ever' would make a 19 year old, or really any aged person, rather curious.

As for the rest of my life, it just feels like it's on hold. No news on mom, not a lot going on with anything else, probably going to try to start some holiday shopping today. Need a great 'small' gift idea for the dh -- he got a new high def flat screen blah blah whatever television earlier this year and has made it clear that it was his father's day/birthday/christmas gift all in one, but I am not gonna sit here and hand him a package of underwear on Christmas morning while the rest of us tear into fun and exciting gifts - besides, he also said he's good on undies this year and doesn't need those either, lol. I feel a little behind the gun on this one gift, would love to have a great idea pop into my head maybe having written it down will motivate the universe to manifest that for me.

Happy Friday -- I'm off to finish cleaning the toilet and shower, oh joy.

Happy Holidays

2009-12-11T09:22:00.002-07:00

Yes, Happy Holidays - not because it's politically correct, read a few of my posts, I could give a shit about pc-ness - because we celebrate more than one holiday in our home, we have friends who celebrate different holidays and for YEARS, yes YEARS, I have chosen to wish people Happy Holidays, or actually to be more exact, I usually tell people to "Have a Great Holiday".

I am never offended by being wished Happy Hannukah or Merry Christmas, the person making the wish means to give me a word of cheer. Wouldn't it be wonderful if people meant to give words of cheer more often? No one wishes you a cheerful day and means to insult you, sure you may not celebrate that day, but actually, for those who don't celebrate anything, are we insulting them by wishing them a happy anything? You never hear them complaining (about that... yet).

The intention is to be cheerful and kind, and so, those people who are having a fit about people taking the Christ out of Christmas, they need to think again - that may not be anyone's intention at all. And if they are such devoted Christians, then kindness to others should be much higher on their list and prevent them from being so insulting and rude and judgmental. I'm sure a good many of them haven't even thought of it this way, they are concerned about the twice a year Christians, or those who don't even worship watering down what is to them a religious observance first and a gift giving egg nog drinking party second (or they want to pretend that it is), and they have a right within their own family and home to make sure that the religious observance comes first - they do not have a right to make others feel dirty for trying to be kind to all, including Christians and non Christians who are also celebrating a holiday, and in the case of Hannukah, a religious observance that is thousands of years old and is much more about the celebration of faith than gifts and food (although Latkes are probably as much looked forward to or more than many favorite Christmas treats in our home).

What? MOMUMO has a blog? Serendipity

2009-12-10T09:55:00.005-07:00

Well, not that I think anyone is actually still reading this, but maybe I'm still on someone's feed and they'll discover I've actually posted something. I was reminded this morning that I do have a blog, a friend put a line in his own blog, something along the lines of "wanting to get away from limiting all my online communication to facebook" - yes evil facebook has taken me from this wonderful, fairly anonymous outlet. But... the timing for re-discovery couldn't be better, could really use this outlet right now, and the freedom that it gives me to express myself.

Since we last spoke... oh seriously, that would be too much like a freaking holiday letter, ugh! (which I should really think about writing, haven't written one for years and every year I hear how people miss it)

So, aside from catching up with old friends on Facebook, losing my job (because of the economy... and of course the completely inept woman who threw me and my co-worker under the bus to save her own position, which she ended up losing due to her incompetence), having my oldest daughter away at college, Tommy John surgery for my baseball pitcher son (yes this is his Sr. year, and no he won't be pitching this spring, baseball folks - it is like you imagine) getting two new puppies to replace my dear old friend that we lost this past spring, and of course all the mom stuff that goes with two teenagers in high school, I've pretty much evolved into this strange woman that I don't always know.

I still stay very busy with all my volunteer stuff, and I still try to run my house, but I've never been a super duper Donna Reed about that - in fact as I type this there is a sink full of dishes and a washing machine full of wet towels from yesterday not to mention dog hair EVERYWHERE, I actually found a dog hair in a coffee cup that I was pulling out of the dishwasher that had just finished running! [note to self: remember last week when you said you were going to vacuum more than once a week?].

So why such serendipity at re-discovering my blog, well I'll tell you, for the next while this blog may be more about dealing with the frailty of my parents then about me or my kid stuff... weird huh?

My parents suddenly became old on me a few years ago, I've sort of pulled an ostrich act about the whole thing, refusing to entirely accept that they can't just jump in a raft and float through some white water rapids with me any old time I please. My mom had a bypass surgery, 5 grafts, 4+ years ago, it pretty much sucked. She had a stroke (or maybe several) during surgery/recovery - the doctors always say it happened during the procedure, but we are pretty certain it happened during recovery. Anyhow, strokes really suck, if you haven't experienced someone close who has gone through it, I don't have a good analogy, so just read on and maybe it will become apparent. Strokes suck for many reasons, but the one that has probably sucked the most for ME (yes me, this is my blog, not my mom's) is that they affect personality. My mom is still in there, and she makes appearances fairly frequently, but there are days when the woman that lives inside of my mom's body is a stranger to me, and she's mean, and she's not very funny, and frankly, I don't like her very much because I like my mom, and she's an intruder. You know that mouthy Uncle that comes to family dinners, either uninvited, or invited because it's a fucking holiday and you're obligated? -- and he hogs the whole conversation with shit that is super boring and he bitches about everything and he goes on and on and on about himself (yes, I recognize the irony) - well apparently his doppleganger has somehow body-snatched my mom. Also, the woman who freely let her daughters (and possibly my brothers to some degree) know that there were things about dad that she didn't always like that much, but she loved him and couldn't imagine a life without him, seems to have left the building altogether when it comes to Dad. He's a freaking saint, I have not heard her say a tender loving word to him in over 4 years, and he still just does whatever she asks and cares for her as best as he can. They are that generation where she cared for him and he never much had to make those decisions, he's not as helpless as some of his peers, he can cook, he can keep house (his way), he can shop, etc. Laundry mystifies him a bit, and deciding on stuff like what to shop for or what doctor to go to, those are out of his league, but it's okay she still manages to do that. I never saw my father as a saint like that before, of course I loved him, and all that daddy/daughter stuff, and he was fun, took us camping and to parades and to the rodeo and concerts and the symphony and out to eat -- my dad is awesome about eating out, never bats an eye if my mother wants to eat out and loves taking any of us to lunch, breakfast, brunch whatever. We were really quite spoiled, which I never knew and totally took for granted - I doubt anyone else did as many things and with as great a variety as we did -- seriously everything from the Ballet to the Demolition Derby, and breakfast at a hole in the wall to gourmet dinners at the new trendy Haute Cuisine hot spot (on a side note, with a couple of exceptions, the Haute Cuisine hot spots seldom became favorites, the hole in the wall dumps almost always did!)

So Mom, my mom, who I love dearly and who has ALWAYS been in total denial about any health issue -- not just that whole, "I'm the mom I don't have time to be sick" but total and complete denial that she disguised as a combination between "I don't have time" and "I like to take a more holistic, homeopathic approach to things" - ps. I really do believe in homeopathy and you can not be homeopathic and not holistic also. Alas, my mother for some strange reason that has never been identified, is terrified of clergy, and apparently all western medicine doctors fall into that category as well. She doesn't trust them, will not follow their treatement protocols, and hates anything that has Rx on the label. So of course this is all oh so compatible with recovery from Bypass surgery, stroke and the deteriorating kidney function that accompanies high blood pressure and bypass surgery.

*** side note (and still no expert here) - deteriorating kidney function accompanies almost every other health problem and treating it is bad for everything else and treating everything else is bad for the kidneys ***

Alas, fast forward to last Monday, oh did I mention she also refuses to believe that smoking has anything to do with anything and hasn't quit. She didn't sleep all night Monday night because of "Angina" - which Tuesday morning she told me was her hiatal hernia and that she was on her way to the chiropractor to have an adjustment. She knew it was angina and was just doing the whole ostrich thing. It continued to bother her all the rest of the day Tuesday and somehow through some grace of the Universe my brother was able to talk her into seeing her doctor - they of course sent her to the hospital in an ambulance and then proceeded over the next 5 days to reveal that she had a heart attack, her bypassed vessels were mostly occluded, two completely closed, two partially closed and one that was fairly open, severe kidney disfunction, and an abdominal aortic aneurysm. They also determined that her meds that she was on (not that she was following instructions anyhow) were all messed up and should not have been being given in conjunction with each other,etc. Oh and, with all those occluded vessels around the heart, the blood isn't getting nearly enough oxygen and so she needs additional oxygen - which she refuses to use. So they sent her home to "heal" before they address the kidneys and the aneurysm - with oxygen and all these new pills. She claims one minute to be doing exactly what they say and the next she claims she doesn't need oxygen at all she's fine.

Wow... my husband said to me the other day that as I get older I add more and more detail to my stories and it isn't necessary -- hmmmmm....

So the point of my post, maybe, is this... One of the doctors pretty much told her she needs to make the decision to live or die, and if she makes the decision to live, it may result in a long, miserable, painful, slow, death - and if she decides to just wait for the aneurysm or another heart attack to kill her it would be quick and painless (remind me to send him a cheery note - fucker!). I AM NOT READY FOR THAT TO HAPPEN - does my logic brain say, wow, I could see her choosing the quick painless route, you betcha. I have three children and some nieces and nephews who really truly need her, I can't even begin to describe how much some of them NEED her,and I can't imagine telling them "she chose this". I am vascillating between pissed at the Universe, pissed at her, depressed, feeling amazingly selfish, and nevermind all that I'm gonna stay upbeat and flood this situation with prayer and positive energy and get the outcome that I desire.

I plan to vent here a lot, it could get rather boring, like that asshole uncle at thanksgiving dinner - or it could be filled with bizarre and interesting facts about how a huge family deals with a crazy matriarch who won't conform, time will tell.

holy baloney more than a month...

2008-12-12T11:26:00.003-07:00

I have been a lousy blogger of late, I apologize to anyone who cared (all three of you?). I found Facebook, at first when the kids were pestering me to get a facebook I said, 'nah, that's weird for a mom' then I started hearing of these other moms who have them -- so I relented. On Facebook, I have been able to be in touch with many of my friends from overseas -- so that is most exciting and wonderful, as I am a lousy correspondent with regular mail - add that to the list of things I don't do as well as I would like. Also, I have a new boss, I'm sure I mentioned that before -- and well honestly, she's requiring a much longer period of adjustment than I had expected (damn expectations, they are never based in reality) -- and that is taking up a lot of my time. Also, she works in the office damn near every day, which cuts into my usual - 'hey I think I'll take a break and go blog' time.

So my world is a new and confusing place in which I am trying to maintain a little normalcy -- which is pretty much just amounting to an occasional beer or manhattan in the evening and still watching my secret soap opera on Monday's while I work from home.

Be assured I am also still continuously amused with myself, more frequently than might be considered fully healthy, and yet no one has had me committed to a facility yet.

Today's amusement:

a little late...

2008-11-07T12:03:00.002-07:00

I've been tagged by Baseballmom for a new meme...answer the following questions using the first letter of your name-try to use a different answer if the person before you has the same initial. It's harder than it looks!
What's your first name? Amy
A four letter word- ass (assbag, asshole, asswipe, ass-for-brains, etc) – I realize that ass only has three letters, and the rest have more than four – so if you were looking for literally a four lettered word – well then ‘amen’
Boy name? Ass
Your occupation? Accounting
A color? Ass? – that’s probably not a color, um auburn
Something you wear? Ascot
A place? Albuquerque
Something found in a bathroom? Ass (duh)
A reason for being late? Ass (getting some)
Something you shout? Assbag!
A food? Almonds

I'm tagging moosema, neveradullmoment, and anyone else that is looking for a post.

Yes I am that kind of helicopter mom...

2008-10-14T10:25:00.002-06:00

I know I say plenty of derogatory things about helicopter parents... and, having worked with them as volunteer and in the classroom and as another parent, basically -- they need to let loose a little. However, and maybe I am just being too hard on myself and this isn't helicoptering -- if any of you watched Desperate Housewives (spoiler ahead) this week, you saw Lynette starting an account on a social networking site to get her son to talk to her. She was deceptive about it, and that is never a good idea. I am also a snoop, and I also have a social networking site account - for the mere purpose of snooping on my kids -- here is the difference, they know it's me. They know they a. have to provide me with their passwords to myspace, facebook, email, whatever I ask and b. they had better approve me as friend so that I can see what they are posting. I have asked more than once that one of them change something because I don't think it is appropriate to everyone who might be viewing their profile. Yesterday in fact, I went into my son's facebook and changed his "status" myself because I was unhappy that he had used an expletive in it. As you all know, I am potty mouth number one, and I don't really care if my kids use expletives, depending on venue, audience, and circumstance. The thing is, you cannot always control venue, audience and circumstance of the viewers of your facebook. (Along with that, I pay for their cell phones so they know that they have to hand them over randomly and on demand for me to peruse their text messages... could they just delete anything that comes in that I would find objectionable, you bet... I'm banking that if I am random and unpredictable enough they will be too comfortable and I will find that rare item...) even more, I'm banking that they know I may look, so they will watch what they are presenting to the world, which is in fact the goal. None of us parents can sit back and say we never thought things like so and so is a f-ing bitch, or fuck the team that I don't root for, or damn that was fun doing that really outrageous rude thing last night, we just didn't publish it. My mom always said "if you don't want it on the cover of the Rocky Mountain News, don't write it down!" -- I think that advice applies well to texts and IMs and social NW sites. I also think that you don't have to deceive your kids to engage them in conversation and responsible action. So I helicopter -- but I kind of swoop in and helicopter and then swoop out again.

So after having changed my son's status from "F the other team" to "in trouble with his mom" yesterday -- I was curious this morning, as to what he might have done with it last night. He put up some other insult to the other team again, this time in much more appropriate language and I left it... but what I found out was... he is friends with a girl who my daughters know outside of school, sports, etc. A girl he has maybe met and doesn't remember, and has no reason that I can think of for being friends. She is graduated from high school, though she attended the same school as his girlfriend, and she is not involved with his work or any of his activities. On Facebook, you can click on someone and see "friends in common" -- so I fully expected to see his sister or his girlfriend, because there is no other reason for him to know this girl exists -- she is not friends with either of them. I have a mystery to inquire about today, and I can't wait.

you ever open your big fat ass mouth and...

2008-10-09T14:53:00.003-06:00

(I will get back to the family saga... I just really needed a break before the next one)

... state that you are going to "post that on my blog"

GEEK SCHOOL

That one reader out there that knows where my kids attend school will probably confirm that it is in fact a geek school... for the rest of you, I could completely make shit up to convince you... but I don't have to!

The school won a math award, a rather prestigious math award... and so... the school motto for games and stuff is "Mean and Green" -- well since 'mean' is also a math term... and can be communicated in writing (as a formula) and green can be communicated in writing as a gamma wave... they have t-shirts that say in math/science speak "Mean and Green" -- tell me that's not geeky!! (ps - I own and wear mine proudly)

also... they were featured on a South Park, okay featured is an exaggeration, but they were on SP -- the SP kids came to Denver to play basketball against our school and the kids from our school were on the court with their TI-87(or whatever designation) calculators calculating their shots, lol. I actually haven't seen the episode, only heard about it -- I have tried looking for it and cannot find it, if anyone knows which episode I would love to know at least what season it was.

Many of the students also post this on their myspace... (it changes some each year, and I am not posting the complete list)

You know you go to (Insert name of Geek School here)

Your definition of having a social life is hanging out with your friends to have a study group

You don't have a social life in the summer either

You regularly stay up till 2 or 3 in the morning and then get up at 5:30 and call it a good night's sleep

If you have a B average you are in the lower quarter of your class and consider yourself to be the stupidest person alive

The "bad kids" are the ones who ditch activity period a couple times

The coolest kids have straight A's and are in mathletes

If you're not at least one year ahead in math you are a loser

The senior pranks always suck because the administration has no sense of humor

You drink 2 or 3 coffees a day and finish it off with a red bull

If the teacher doesn't teach you anything you actually get angry and demand to be transferred to a different teacher...and of course no one listens to you

Every single person in the school has either a TI-83 or a TI-84 calculator (well duh! there all in algebra by at least 8th grade, and then you're on the stupider end)

If you get a C you start to worry that the only college that will accept you is community college... and even then it's a stretch

The senior privilege that you look forward to the most is being able to cut in the lunch line (o baby! I've been waiting for that since I was a sevie!)

You're a slave to P-E-A.

You know just how many problems are on a problem set sheet.

You dreaded going to the library because of the half hour lecture explaining
How to use Gale and EBSCO. Every. Damn. Time.

The cast of the musical included several football players.

You won any sort of sportsmanship award.

You know what goes in and what goes out... (Say it!)...WATER WATER!!!!

You took Photo just to be able to screw around.

You know exactly why fysics is phun.

Any of your teachers joked about sending you across the street for
Detention.

You're certain your ACT scores will be the best in the state. Again.

Another semester means your term paper is 500 words longer.

You've rebelled by getting something from the vending machine between the
hours of 7:30 am and 2:30 pm.

You learned someone else's student ID to see their grades.

You sing along to twinkle, twinkle little star, voltage equals I times R.

You loathe any form of standardized testing.

You actually went to after prom.

You had to get your planner signed to go to the freaking bathroom.

You ever came straight from football practice to marching band practice.

Instead of taking all art classes your senior year like "normal high school students" you continue to take every AP class possible, and throw in some classes given by UCD just to be sure you have plenty of college credit, before you actually go to college.

The only reason you dressed up for pirate day was so you could wear a bandana and ripped clothing.

I love geek school -- my daughter who is now in College took what I thought was going to be a brutal schedule for a freshman, she is bored to tears, is always done with exams and homework way before her friends, and has too much time on her hands... I'm proposing she double her credit hours next semester, save me some money on something by finishing early!

a quick meme...

2008-09-29T10:33:00.000-06:00

to break up the family saga

TYPE ONLY 1 WORD. IT’S HARDER THAN YOU THINK!!!
1. Where is your cell phone? desk
2. Your significant other? R
3. Your hair? cut
4. Your mother? amazing
5. Your father? amazing
6. Your favorite thing? peace
7. Your dream last night? weird
8. Your favorite drink? bourbon
9. Your dream/goal? happiness
10. The room you’re in? living
11. Your fear? heartache
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? here
13. Where were you last night? here
14. What you’re not? diplomatic
15. Muffins? lemom
16. One of your wish list items? tickets
17. Where you grew up? colorado
18. The last thing you did? puzzle
19. What are you wearing? pajamas
20. Your TV? big
21. Your pet? skinny
22. Your computer? old
23. Your life? pleasant
24. Your mood? mellow
25. Missing someone? yes
26. Your car? lincoln
27.) Something your not wearing: shoes
28. Favorite Store? Kohl’s
29. Your summer? short
30. Your favorite color? pink
31. When is the last time you laughed? today
32. Last time you cried? saturday
33. Who will/would re-post this? moosema
34. Four places I go over and over? Work, home, store, temple
35. Four of my favorite foods? Eggs, lasagne, roast, gravy
36. Four places I would rather be right now? Lodge, europe, alaska, moutains

amazing how many of my actual answers are more than one word

L

2008-09-25T10:46:00.000-06:00

L –

This one is going to be harder. I know that my sisters are both going to be harder to write about. There is a fondness for your brothers that you can never feel for your sisters, at least for us three girls. I know they feel it too, it’s just different, some sort of ‘they-could-blow-up-puppies’ and it would somehow be forgiveable, but with your sisters there is a bond that comes from sharing the deepest secrets, your innermost fears and anticipations, your embarrassments, you can brag about your accomplishments – big and small – no humility or dignity required at all. Sisters could probably blow up puppies too – but the difference would be that you would have known before they did it that they were contemplating it, and why – and for some unG-dly reason, you would have found a way to support that (or you would be the one person on the Earth who could convince them to do something different). My oldest sister is eleven years older than I am. That’s a lot when you are young, she was feeling teen angst while I was still peeing the bed – the bed we shared. Our great grand-father lived with us when I was a baby/toddler – he died when I was three. He had the master bedroom, my parents had another bedroom, then we girls had a room and the boys had a room. After he died, my parents moved into the master bedroom and we girls split the two upstairs rooms and the boys continued on with the one room downstairs. Anyhow, we shared a room for a few years, and she was a tween (not a term in the sixties) and I was tiny baby. She adored me – or so she reminds me, more frequently than I think is necessary. I had a heart on the end of my nose and she loves to tell me about it. She was a regular wanna be flower child, she loved all the hippy stuff, but she also loved good hygiene – my mom says she was the cleanest hippy on the hill. She has a magical way of attracting all of the most unique people, all of her friends for her entire life have been the most interesting people in the room. She is the most generous soul you could ever hope to meet. For her gift giving is an art, and it feeds her soul. She is not complete when she is unable to select what she feels (and is almost always right) is the perfect gift. She is also hands down the most loyal person in the family. I think I’ve made it clear that we are all very loyal to each other and would support anything – but she is more loyal than that somehow. I can’t put into words her loyalty, but you dare not utter a syllable that could even be interpreted as against one of us – she will exact a vengeance, and she will make it clear to all who are witness that you do not mess with her family. She is also the most vengeful – I don’t remember her being as vengeful when we were kids, but she spent 17 years in Boston, and she picked up some character traits there that are as ingrained in her as anything she learned at home. She too, like Markie, loves completely and utterly and with a deeper passion than many people ever know – but rarely, very rarely. She has had two true loves in her life – she married neither. She never had children, but she has always made it very clear that it is her goal to be favorite auntie – and she has spent many hours finding just the right way to express her special love and loyalty for her many nieces and nephews. She is very careful what she lets people see of her inner self, very guarded. I would say that only one person outside of family really knows her at all – and it’s not the man she did marry. She did love her husband, and they had a good life for awhile, but he had addiction problems (he was recovered when they met and married, but eventually replaced drugs with gambling and eating) and that can tear a marriage apart. It doesn’t help that she also has a drinking problem – she wasn’t what I would call an alcoholic then, though she probably is now. She has always suffered from Alcohol Induced Psychosis however. I don’t want to give a long description of this – just to say my grandmother and my sister both have it – and it’s so unfair that my mother has had to suffer through the behaviour again and again all of her life. Drunks are ugly, but they eventually pass out or something. Psychotic drunks are far uglier, and they never pass out – they can go and go for days and days like some sort of demented energizer bunny. I don’t want to focus on that though, but I want to give a complete picture – so there it is, one of the ugly skeletons in the family closet. My sister is so much more than her drinking. She is one of the most beautiful women you could ever meet – she turns heads from nine to ninety. At one time, while she was living on the East coast, she was doing makeup for a Marilyn Monroe review and she looked so much more like Marilyn than the stars it was uncanny. She did herself all up in her Marilyn look and flew home. My dad said that walking through the airport men were actually stumbling and falling as she walked by. Mom always says that yes, she’s as beautiful as Marilyn when she does Marilyn, but she’s so much more beautiful than Marilyn when she doesn’t do Marilyn. She’s not just physically beautiful though, her soul is tremendous. Generous, loving, loyal – she exudes an excitement for happy things that catches anyone and everyone in it’s wake – you can’t help but get excited too – it can be Mom’s cooking, decorating the house for a holiday, a kids kindergarten recital, a rose blooming in the garden, a vacation, a baby, any happy occasion and she will involve and excite all who come near. She always wants to make everything bigger and better – if the neighbors had a piñata – she will have two piñatas and they will be stuffed with better bigger candy. If the last wedding had a well known band, she will have a better known band, and they will play all night. She’s also the queen of getting what she wants – it doesn’t matter how absurd it seems, she will find someone who can get it for her – but, it’s usually not for her, it’s usually for her to give as a gift to someone she loves. Oh and artistic, she is amazing – hair, makeup, decorating, clothing, ideas – always new and eccentric and people just ooh and ah. She also has an uncanny knack for impressions – she does so many so well – we laugh and laugh. I have so many funny stories, I can’t seem to choose one to share. So her artistic side, and her ‘hey-I’m-so-excited-side’ took over on a fishing trip one time. She packed a “fishing outfit”. It won’t sound quite so strange in 2008 as it did in 1985ish – keep in mind… she has always been ahead of her time. It was part glamour, part hippy – like pretty much everything she wears – it was like a collage of blue cotton rags, all hanging here and there on this shirt and Capri pants – she really looked like shredded blue burlap from a distance – and a turban of the same material…so this turban had shreds of fabric hanging here and there too. Her makeup was flawless – her hair just jutting out of this turban thing here and there, and she headed for the dock to drop a line in the water. She was clearly out to entertain my mother’s friends – as she had been bloody-worm-gut-your-own-fish fishing many times when we were growing up – but it had been awhile since she had fished. She headed down to the dock with her Boston accent and said to my mother – or perhaps no one in particular – “I’m here to fish darling, how do you like my outfit?” – my mother laughed at her and said, all those rags will come in handy for wiping up worm guts. She proceeded to cast her line out into the water, catch a fish right off and as she was reeling it in to the dock another of the seasoned fisher-women on the dock (also a very glamorous woman actually, but could dress down and be her raised in South Dakota regular gal when in the right company and venue) said to give it a tug to set the hook – so my sister yanks her rod and reel hard and the fish flies outta the water up over her head across the roof of the boathouse and down the otherside where I am sitting quietly fishing and reading a book – amidst quite a cacophony of squeals and drama from my excited sister – “I caught one, I caught one, I just put my line in and I caught one” – laughing and squealing. We never heard the end of the “lucky fishing outfit”.

Bart

2008-09-23T11:36:00.001-06:00

Markie –

My brothers and sisters brought home lots of strays over the years – hell so did mom and dad for that matter – mostly dogs, occasionally we would sneak in a cat or snake for a day or two – dad is allergic to cats and deathly afraid of snakes – we had a monkey, goats, rabbits, gerbils, turtles, birds, lizards, frogs, salamanders, crabs, hamsters, fish, dogs and cats – my sister brought a dog home one time and she thought the dog was so beautiful that the only name that would fit would be her own – so she named the dog after herself! She also brought home Mark. She was 14, he was 14 – just a few months difference in their ages. Mark had been going to Jr. High with her, and he was cute and fun and everyone loved hanging out with him – besides he was the new kid in school and that offered all sorts of possibilities since his parents didn’t know who was who or what was what. It was 1969 – summer of love and all that. Mark had recently moved in with an uncle in a foster care situation – his single mom of 5 boys and 1 girl – all hellions couldn’t handle the older three boys anymore and shipped them all out to foster care. Mark and his twin brothers – Uncle was not the best foster parent on the planet – well in fact, he really wasn’t equipped to have any kids around – some people have to learn in baby steps and having a few teenagers plunked on your doorstep isn’t much of a baby step. Mark’s first twin (btw, they are the least connected twins I have ever been around, it’s impossible for people to believe they are twins) was last out of uncle’s house, but ended up with some great foster parents that kept him for the rest of his growing up years. The other brother bounced from here to there and eventually just ended up on his own, which he always did very well anyhow. He had been born overseas, in Germany, a military brat. I don’t really know the story on his biological father, they lived with their mom and grandmother – the grandmother was quite the hard ass – the boys rebelled big time – and it being the late sixties, there were plenty of creative opportunities for rebellion. Mark came to us – it didn’t take my parents long at all to decide that they could do a lot more good for this boy than the uncle was doing. Mark had already been in quite a bit of trouble with the law and had a few habits that continued getting him into trouble – and it was 1969 – a lot of kids were getting into trouble. Eventually Mark ran away (I think it was more “running to” for those kids in those days – at least the ones in my family, cousins, inlaws, sister, brothers – they were always running to some cool event that they weren’t going to be allowed to attend – maybe even a long-term, open-ended return on a sneaking out – they weren’t running away from anything, they were running toward an opportunity to be a sixties kid) one too many times for the foster care people to put him back in our house – they sent him to a boy’s home – but he never lost touch or quit participating in the family. He eventually fell in love with a great girl and had two beautiful babies with her. My first niece and nephew – both parents themselves now. The relationship didn’t last – Mark drinks too much and the passion fell away from their young love and they parted ways – but Mark never lost touch with his kids, and neither did we – we saw them all of the time, at times they spent huge chunks of their summers or other vacations with us. Mark shared so much of his life with us, it was like a puzzle piece we didn’t know we were missing until he filled the spot. Mark eventually married again and had another daughter – she lives with her mom in another state – that marriage ended also. Mark loves very passionately, he falls very hard for the women he falls for, and then he usually gets his heart broken very deeply. It’s been hard to watch him fall and hurt and heal over and over, but it has never dampened his spirit – he continues to love passionately, all of his family, to share anything he has with anyone he loves, to be there to help or support regardless of what you’ve done or how inconvenient it is for him to get there for you. I know that any of my brothers or sisters would do ANYTHING for me – you know “help me bury the body” type of help – but Mark would be there first, and he would stay to the end making sure I was okay – even if it meant missing work or traveling a long distance – it’s just part of his passionate way for things. And he is always up for some sort of party – he loves people, women, talking, drinking, dancing, music – he may not always be the first to arrive at the party, but he is generally the last to leave. I have so many fond memories of hanging out on the beach at the lake, drinking beers and listening to George Thurogood – going to the racetrack to watch he and my other brother, or just to watch the races even if they weren’t driving and then drinking in the pits till the early morning, always laughing, always singing. His children hold a very special place in my heart, watching them grow, seeing them become beautiful wonderful passionate people like their parents, and watching them grow more beautiful children with that same amazing passion for life and love.

Spud

2008-09-18T15:47:00.005-06:00

He was Lee. He was seventeen years-old, dating Mom’s housekeeper, and working as a wrangler at a local stable. He was super handsome – James Dean handsome – gorgeous thick slicked back hair and a perfect duck butt in the back. He was built like a brick shithouse and could turn heads from nine to ninety. He’d seen more in his short seventeen years than most screenwriters can dream up in a lifetime of imagining awful drama that happens to other people’s kids. I’m going to write a little about his childhood, but I may edit it out later. He had been born to a woman who had a knack for choosing lousy men – of course she came from a long line of lousy men – and lousy women. They were from the poorest Irish neighborhood in Denver – and folks who knew of their family said there was lots of violence, beatings and incest -- no one from that part of town had much respect for the family. I don’t even know if she was married to his father. All I know about his father is that when my brother was old enough to still have memory of it as an adult, and little enough for no one to think anything of it – he watched his father shoot a man in the parking lot of a bar. He was supposed to be sleeping in the car when he woke up and saw his father shoot another man. His father went to prison for murder and he never saw him again. His mother married a man far worse. He had three sisters, I think they are all half-sisters, children of the second marriage, but I am not certain about that. The man drove a truck. They lived in the mountains – rural, away from folks. That man was abusive like something out of a book – I know there are stories that I have never heard because they are worse than those that I know. He tore into the mom on a regular basis, beating the hell out of her and the kids. I’m sure from things I’ve heard, and having met the man, that he wouldn’t have blinked twice at doing the unimaginable to those kids. While my brother was still too small to attend school, he would play with his toys outside – often under the big truck/trailer that the old man drove. Like most kids, when he was called inside for supper or chores, he would forget his toys and leave them where they were. The old man was furious, and sent the little boy under that truck to retrieve those toys – then he intentionally ran over his hands, mutilating his young growing bones. He locked him in a tin shack on the property and beat the hell out of his sisters for sneaking food and water to him – I don’t know what prompted him to feel that punishment was warranted. There was a neighbor down the road who was somehow aware the boy was locked in the shed – he would let him out and feed him whenever he could without the old man finding out – he saved my brothers life, I have no doubt. He hated that man, and was gone as soon as he could earn a living on his own, at about 13 years old – strangely though, he could never completely break that tie with his sisters and his mother – he hated her too, for allowing the abuse – but he never lost touch with them. And so he met my parents – and they treated him kindly, trusted him, loved him, and respected him – he blossomed into another kind of man than what he probably would have become. He joined the Navy shortly after my parents were married – he served aboard a ship during Viet Nam. I don’t know many details of his service, I just know that he doesn’t like to talk about that either. I remember him always always being so excited for family time – so into the holidays, the gifts, the meals, the sharing and the love. He would find that one gift that no one else could find and make the biggest deal out of not just the gift, but the whole experience of giving and receiving a whole separate memory worth holding in your heart forever. He made reindeer hoof prints in the snow, and sooty santa boot prints on the hearth when I was little. He hid easter eggs in the most exciting places – you would have to talk him into a shoulder ride to find them all. It wasn’t just for me though – one year he was certain he wouldn’t be home for Thanksgiving – mom was very upset, she’d never had a Thanksgiving without all of her kids gathered around her. It was awful weather in Montana, and he didn’t think he could beat the highway closures. We were all sitting down to eat when we heard the jake brake coming down the hill – my mom ran to the door and ripped it open – tears streaming down her face. He jumped outta the truck clear down the hill and across the street and shouted – “hey ma, I brought some pie”. She ran out to meet him and he took her up the hill and behind that huge trailer and whipped open the doors to reveal two pies sitting right there in the back of the empty trailer! I had pet rabbits when I was growing up – rabbits were my thing. I had this wonderful rabbit, Jacques for years – my Jacques stories could fill an entire entry on their own! – Jacques was probably 3-4 years old the morning that my father found him dead in the yard – having been attacked by neighborhood dogs. I was heartbroken, I thought no pain could compare to my grief for my beloved pet. JL (he was JL by then, having changed his name to ours – the J for my dad’s name and the L for the Lee that his mother had given him) had come home a few nights later after a long trip of driving. I didn’t know my mom had even told him about my awful loss – I was pouring my heart out to him as he sat at the kitchen counter eating something. All of a sudden he was certain he had left his sunglasses in his car and could I run out and get them. I didn’t want to go, I wanted to keep talking to him, but he was really insistent, he needed those sunglasses right now. So I ran out to his car… and there on the seat of the car was a little tiny white baby bunny – hopping around and pooping – just like bunnies do. I couldn’t get up the hill and into the house fast enough. It was the perfect medicine for my broken heart – and he thought it was so funny sending me for sunglasses in the dark of night. He did equally passionate, loving or funny prankster things nearly every time he came home. He married a lot – too much. He had a hard time finding women who could be good enough for him and still put up with his baggage – no matter how much healing you find, there’s still some baggage from a life like his. His longest relationships were those that he had with women he didn’t marry – they became important parts of the family also. He has one son – named after my dad and another of my brothers – spitting image of JL. We danced, we were dance partners. We had so much fun, dancing Country swing and two-step and triple and whatever was required to compete in the competitions at the local country bars. We were good – very very good. We had so much fun hanging out in the bars together – oldest brother and baby sister – so many years difference in age and still such close friends – and when people would ask how old he was or I was – since I wasn’t 21 and he was older than he wanted people to know – I would just say “he’s twice as old as me” – that left them wondering. The string of tough relationships with pain in the ass women and a couple of nasty accidents that left him unable to drive a truck anymore made life in a tiny town in the Texas panhandle look pretty appealing. We knew where he was, but the rest of the world would only wonder. He worked that farm in Texas for a long time, driving a tractor – when he would come home to visit he would charm my kids with stories about the farm and his big tractor and how he would take a potato in the morning and stuff it full of onions and butter and whatever he had around and wrap it up in foil and put it on the engine of that big old tractor – then he would work all morning and when he stopped for lunch he’d have a nice stuffed, baked potato. Somehow my kids took to calling him Spud – the name stuck, darn near everyone calls him Spud now and all those other names are forgotten. His biological mother and her husband are dead, and he sees his sisters only for brief visits every now and again. So his new life as Spud, rotten childhood behind him, crappy marriages all but forgotten, and just Uncle Spud to the kids has him as contented as is imaginable.

where to go from here

2008-09-18T15:47:00.003-06:00

I wrote a piece about my oldest brother -- you know way back in part 1 when I said I would go from oldest to youngest -- I used real names (which I will change) and right now it feels like I'm somehow violating his privacy -- and then I thought -- well I could post it for a short time and take it down again -- only my regular readers that have been reading thus far would probably be interested anyhow...

I'm not sure what I'm going to do now... I guess I will go write about my next brother and see where that takes my heart

so my question to you dear readers (all three of you, lol) is are you feeling voyeuristic enough to want to read about my siblings now that you know how crazy our attachments are - or would you rather I went on to something new?

part VII

2008-09-17T16:35:00.001-06:00

My parents live on a strange piece of land, which if you were there, all the description of what and how might be interesting – but to be as brief as I can, the location of their land, and the shape of their land, and the road that runs through the land make it the ideal neighborhood shortcut for kids needing to get to the houses higher up the mountain. A couple of those kids spotted the puppies one day. They were reaching over the fence petting these adorable little black-lab-hey-come-have-fun-and-play-with-me-kid-magnets several afternoons. Mom let them have their time for a few days and then stepped out her back door to ask the boys if they wanted to walk the pups. It scared the hell outta the boys who were sure they would be in trouble for having used the shortcut, and worse yet gotten caught so close to the house. But, clearly Mom’s not very scary, and the boys took the dogs on many walks on many days. The one boy began to tell Mom a little about his life – well be damned if he wasn’t having a shitty childhood with misguided parents who weren’t capable of treating him like he should be treated, or his little brother either. There’s a big deal in the County where I grew up in 6th Grade. It’s called “outdoor lab” – you go away with your classmates for a week and live in a sort of a summer camp environment and you study animal scat and meteorology and hiking and survival and eco-systems, etc. Everyone looks forward to it for their entire time in school. Well one day the kid confessed that he couldn’t go to outdoor lab cuz his mom, who was a drunk and unemployed, didn’t have the money to get him the needed equipment. Mom said, hey, we probably have most of what’s on your list around here, you can borrow it. So he got out the list and sure enough Mom and Dad hooked him up – sleeping bag, flashlight, duffle bag, rain gear, wool socks, etc. They even found him a pair of boots. He was SO excited – he went home to tell his mom all about the nice “old couple” down the hill who were loaning him what he needed. Well his drunken abusive mom freaked out and made him take her to see these weird people. Mom and Dad charmed her, just like everyone else, and she left convinced they weren’t some weird pedophiles or religious fanatics that were gonna do something strange to her kid. But… she still wouldn’t allow him to go to Outdoor Lab. That kid, the only kid I ever knew who missed, had to sit at home that week with his drunken mom and know all his friends were at Outdoor Lab. He continued coming around to walk the dogs, or even just to avoid going home though, and started occasionally bringing his little brother too. After some months passed he showed up really needing some advice. His mom was being evicted and had told the boys (then 11 and 13) that she was going to go live in a box and they needed to find somewhere to live. Well they all discussed it and mom had two other boys already, and only really had room for one more – and the brothers notoriously did not get along well, and mom really didn’t want to referee all the time. Well the older brother decided he had a friend who lived nearby that he could ask and the younger boy moved in with Mom and Dad. Eventually the friend’s parents asked him to see if he could make some other arrangements; they hadn’t realized it would be so difficult and expensive to have two boys in the house. So he ended up at Mom and Dad’s too. My two little brothers hadn’t been loved or trusted or respected in a long time – and a little trust and love gave them a great foundation. Lots of other complicated crap happened to them… but eventually, they both managed to become fine young men. One is a Sergeant in the Marine Corps and the other has a college degree and a great career. The older one had so little respect for his biological father that when he was about to get his High School diploma he went to my parents, and asked if he could take their name. He didn’t want to ever use that other name again. It was so touching and we all sobbed through the entire graduation events every time they would proudly say his new name.

You should know, he wasn’t the first “foster” brother to choose to change his name. My oldest brother – since he couldn’t get that adoption he wanted – when he was in his twenties and about to get married – he didn’t want his bride to have his birth name, and he too changed his name to ours.

Now we were nine, with three extra exchange students.

part VI

2008-09-16T16:01:00.001-06:00

When I was in High School, I had the house pretty much to myself. My healthy brothers were married, my sisters were both in Boston, and my other brother had chosen a completely anti-social existence that excluded everyone, including his mom, our mom and dad, and all of us. It was very empty, and then when I graduated, I became an exchange student – well that lit a fire for Mom. She wasn’t about to have that house empty, so she got an exchange student. I was living at home for college, so it was me and the French exchange student for a year. Then they contacted mom the next year needing a temporary place for a Brazilian kid whose host family didn’t want him (can you imagine!) She agreed, and of course he stayed for the whole year. Then they called to ask if she could take a Dutch girl a couple of years later – well yeah. So, then we were sort of 10 – really after you spend a year with someone, particularly at our house, they do feel like family. I cry when they have babies and get married; the French girl even had my parents at her wedding and treated them completely equal to her own French parents. They have all been back, the girls for visits, and the Brazilian came back and lived another year here while he attended college. It was during that year that my #2 brother’s ex-wife contacted my mom and said… “Hey I’m having trouble with this kid, and I think that your neighborhood would be much better for him to try to get through school than here in the city”… so my nephew moved in. My mom had the nephew in High school, the Brazilian kid in college, and two new puppies.

part V

2008-09-15T16:35:00.000-06:00

Time passed, and everyone got old enough to bring home stray cats, dogs, and my oldest sister even brought home a stray kid or two. One of them was in foster care in the neighborhood – and the foster care wasn’t working out so peachy keen – he was in the foster care of a relative, and that wasn’t much accomplishing anything to help with his self-image, etc. My parents spoke with his foster parent and biological mom and they all determined maybe a new environment might really help him to thrive. He became our foster brother – so wow – we were three girls and four boys in a relatively moderate house – this meant four boys in one bedroom at some times, it worked out okay though, as our oldest brother was already an adult and was driving a semi over the road – he was gone for weeks at a time and home for only a few days here an there. No reason to have his own place when he wasn’t around much, and not much of an inconvenience when he was home as he was an adult, and I personally as the baby thought he was quite fun! Also, middle brother and sister were there like half-time – and in fact he was choosing to be around less and less as he became a teen and was unfortunately afflicted with schizophrenia, which at the time wasn’t diagnosed, but none the less made him anti-social. It was really very awesome – the seven of us, being loved and taught how to be great adults who contribute to society by our parents who had more than enough love to go around for us and any other strays that needed some comfort at various times.

Monday Monday

2008-09-15T13:30:00.002-06:00

SIGH... I know I said I was gonna quit using this as my bitching outlet, but I just gotta

I have two meetings tonight, my son has a double header for baseball, and I have a meeting at work tomorrow that I should be spending today preparing for but instead I am cleaning my house as one of the meetings that I have tonight -- I am supposed to hostess -- UGH

also -- WTF is up with all my drafts posting on the day that I typed them instead of the day I click "post"?

part IV

2008-09-09T17:06:00.004-06:00

Mom’s job, the one she had to get to feed her kids, was working as a bartender at a popular bar/restaurant that happened to be attached to a bowling alley. Dad was having his “boy’s night out” with some industry colleagues every week by bowling on a league – hmmmmm, I wonder where Dad was bowling? Well I know where he was drinking! It was an instant chemistry – but they were both a little gun shy – particularly Mom. In the end, Dad won her over and they started dating.

Ironically, they started dating around the time that Dodie decided to up and run off from her job and her boyfriend – she apparently was too fond of a few of Mom’s valuables to leave them behind though. The boyfriend showed up to pick her up for a date at about the same time Mom was panicking who would take care of the kids so that she could go to work. He offered his time until she could find a new housekeeper – and then he kept hanging around after that – he was fond of the kids and mom – and his own family life was more hideous than any Hollywood movie ever depicted child abuse being.

The magic eventually resulted in a marriage – and the blending of their four… well actually five kids. The Wrangler, who was seventeen, asked if they would adopt him – his own family clearly didn’t care about him, and he had never felt like he was loved or belonged anywhere before. They discussed it, and determined that adopting a seventeen year-old was a bit more than they could bite off with a new marriage – but he was welcome to be a part of the family in every way. It worked out that Mom was willing to give the baby making thing one more shot, and she and Dad didn’t have much trouble creating a little one once they set their sights on it. Five soon became six after I made my first appearance. I was absolutely adored and spoiled, or so all five of them would have me believe – my cousins and occasionally my mom will actually rat them out for various levels of neutrality or even annoyance with my existence. Dad adopted Mom’s two kids – their biological father was no peach and they needed the stability of having a good dad and the same name as their mom and siblings. Dad’s two contributions to the family continued to live with their mom, and spend weekends, holidays, and a good part of the summer with us. Though they lived with their mom (the address and phone number are still right at my fingertips in my memory!) we saw them often and were very close.

part III

2008-09-09T17:05:00.001-06:00

They were a match made in heaven – Mom and Dad that is – but they had some more learning to do, and part of that was to have other marriages first. Thus came four of my siblings.

Mom and her first husband had a daughter and son – but he was abusive and in order to survive and protect her kids Mom made the brave (and very unpopular choice in the early sixties) decision to get a divorce. This left her in the unique position of being a single mom that had to work to support her kids. There was no such thing as daycare, so she hired a housekeeper – you know like Alice or Hazel or Mr. Belvedere – Mom’s housekeeper stories alone are enough to fill a blog for a few months – wow! Anyhow, after hiring, firing, and chasing a few away with the pet monkey – mom had a cute little young housekeeper named Dodie that was dating the cute wrangler at the stables – this was handy, as Dodie could take the kids out horseback riding for an activity with some frequency, and the kids became as fond of the wrangler as they were of Dodie.

Meantime, Dad was trying to have children with his first wife and things were not working out in the ordinary way – so they took themselves over to the local Catholic orphanage and spotted and adorable baby boy – they took him home and named him after Dad – well at least his middle name. A little time passed and they thought, heck, let’s go get another one. Though thinking they would bring home a baby, Dad’s first wife spotted a toddler girl in a green dress and a miserable expression – she determined this poor child who no one else had wanted had spent enough time in the orphanage and needed the love that she and Dad could give her. She was right; she fit in very well and thrived in their care. But, some lessons are harder to spot, and as it turns out – Dad’s youth had caused an awful lot of damage to his self-esteem, and he really had just settled on the first girl who would have him, and there wasn’t a passionate love to keep them together – and they had different ideas about the future as well, which was a frustration to them both.

part II

2008-09-09T17:04:00.002-06:00

Dad had a rough time growing up – his dad had married a woman who had died in childbirth having my oldest aunt. My grandfather joined the army and left the baby with his parents to raise. During WWI he was gassed and had some sort of bayonet injury – while he was recovering in the hospital, he met my grandmother. They were married, but the first daughter was nearly grown and didn’t stay there long, she got married herself. My grandparents had two more children, my dad’s other older sister and of course my dad. There are about as many stories as to what actually happened as there are days in a year, but for one reason or another, my grandmother chose to leave her husband, and he got the kids – I think in order for him to get a divorce she had a pretend nervous breakdown of sorts. According to my oldest Aunt, and it may well be true, before she went to the hospital, or wherever, she interviewed “house keepers” and selected one that she thought my grandfather would be attracted to so that he wouldn’t be too long without a wife and these two kids. It worked. He married the housekeeper and they had two more children, both girls. By that time, my other aunt had also married, but my dad was still a young teen. Since his step-mother was wicked, really awful and wicked, by nature, she had him sent away. It wasn’t very hard to do as my grandfather was downright abusive of the kids and particularly my dad himself. He lived with his uncle on a farm so that he wouldn’t be near the babies. Then he pulled a few normal teenaged boy stunts and the uncle sent him to a sort of a catholic boy’s reform school. The priests knew that he was just a normal kid and not a troubled kid and didn’t want him in there with the other more worldly kids – so they helped him run away. He ran away and came west. He was in Colorado and Nebraska in those early years and met his first wife. Interestingly enough, the two younger sisters were never told they had a brother or other sisters until they were grown women and their maternal grandmother was dying – on her death bed she told the family secret – that their father had other children.

Mom had an equally rough childhood. Her parents were married out of necessity when she made herself known to them. They were deeply in love, and maintained until they died that they both loved each other and never their later spouses. Grandpa would say he only loved two women, my grandmother and some red-head in Florida. My grandmother would only say that the only time she was truly in love was when she first met Grandpa. They were also divorced, but getting married at 18 is not a great choice now and wasn’t a great choice then. Grandpa wanted to fly and ride motorcycles and horse around and didn’t really want to sell furniture and come home to the little family every night. My grandmother was equally as wild and hated children. She was a musician, she wanted to play in nightclubs, fly, ride motorcycles and horse around and didn’t really want to stay home and do housework and take care of babies all day. Also, due to her own baggage, babies and children really truly disgusted her – she didn’t just hate babies, she was completely averse to them. She was extremely abusive to my mom and uncle – and Grandpa would defend them on the rare occasion he was aware of it, but he was so into just doing his own thing he didn’t always realize what was going on. My great-grandparents were very disappointed in their son-in-law, and though they knew that my grandmother was not a great parent, they made certain he didn’t have any contact with them after the divorce. My grandmother eventually took her music to New York City and left my mom and her brother with my great-grandparents, those years were a reprieve from the nasty abuse – but then she eventually returned when they were teens. She promptly shipped my uncle off to military school – she felt he was too “milk toast” and needed toughening up. She re-married and set up house with her daughter and new husband. It was during these years that she really screwed with my mom’s mind – she didn’t completely hate her anymore, because she wasn’t a child – and she would introduce her as her sister most of the time – but she would also manipulate her in the worst ways, and was very unpredictable and often violent, particularly when she was drinking – which being a musician in a nightclub, meant most nights. Mom couldn’t wait to get away, but when she fell in love in High School, her mom sent her away to boarding school to keep her from that happiness. Mom escaped from boarding school, came home and married a different guy.

I got a little carried away -- love inspires me? -- part one

2008-09-09T17:02:00.001-06:00

I thought for a writing exercise (and no, I don’t actually passionately aspire to be a great writer someday – but I think we’ve all thought it would be cool at one time or another) and to broaden my blog away from bitching about kids/work/other humans, and to stop trying to force the funny, since I’ve had some feedback that is the reason my few readers drop in – I would start writing stories about my siblings – I have loads, so if I write one story per week that gets me through an entire quarter!

I’ve put very little thought into this actually, but since I generally work from oldest to youngest (I think it is a natural order not just because of first in-first out, but also because you are supposed to list yourself last, and being the “youngest”, that made it appropriate – so I guess I will start with oldest. Well now see this doesn’t work if you don’t understand the whole family flow-chart – which to my knowledge no one has ever attempted to put in writing before. I’m tempted to actually make a chart, you know so that it would look a little like the ‘Days of Our Lives’ character/family tree. Teehee, I’m going to try, I may come back and say – wow I suck at flow charts – we’ll see.

Well it’s not that complicated – but… I don’t have clever names for all of them yet – gonna have to work on that.

Anyhow, the chart will follow when I get the clever pseudonyms figured, for now; I think we have to go from describing my siblings to describing our complicated situation. BTW – if I knew how to put a song up, I would put up Garth Brooks – Love is thicker than Blood – you’ll see what I mean. DO NOT MISUNDERSTAND THIS EXPLANATION – THESE ARE ALL MY SIBLINGS – EQUALLY! A lot of people, including a lot of my in-laws and my brothers and sisters in-laws an spouses have made the mistake of thinking that somehow our biological disconnects makes us less siblings than other families – I think it makes us more siblings – more important to each other, because we know what fractured homes can become and have seen them first hand. When the two youngest came along, none of us were at home anymore, and still Mom and Dad asked us what we thought about them taking in the two boys – not one of us even had to think about it – Mom and Dad cried and carried on about how good we are at sharing what we have – an it’s really not like that at all, it doesn’t feel like sharing, it just feels right.

I drink alone

2008-09-03T12:03:00.004-06:00

I spend a little time wasting time, oops improving my mind at other blogs. I was feeling particularly like procrastinating, oops enlightening myself one day a couple of weeks ago so I looked at the reading lists on the other blogs I read. I ran across a particularly well written, and at least for my sick twisted mind, funny blog – plus it had a great title (I really like great titles, in spite of mine meaning nothing at all to anyone but me) Mommy Wants Vodka. I can relate to that title – there are days… yeah yeah yeah, I know alcohol is a depressant, alcohol does nothing to enhance your mood, if you turn to alcohol for stress you could develop bad habits, blah blah blah… like I was saying, there are days, work goes poorly, some stupid dr’s office you can’t even remember calls up and wants to know why you haven’t paid the $12 you owe them… for which kid, that kid never had xrays, oh in August of 2006, well I never saw a bill, you have to pay them on the spot or apparently they can repossess your house or something, the dog is shedding and the cat is eating it, your kids didn’t do chores because they a) didn’t have time (ROFL, this always cracks me up – they DON’T have time, yeah okay) b) the other kid didn’t do their chore and they couldn’t do theirs until the other kid was done (um if little sister doesn’t clean the bathroom how does that affect doing the dishes?) c) someone was taking a shower… okay my kids are spoiled, and they get away with some pretty long showers on occasion, but seriously, showers do not take ALL day (and, you can actually do dishes while someone is in the shower!) d) they didn’t know – really, so when you fed yourself (WHAT?! YOU HAVEN’T EATEN ALL DAY?!?!)… really, so when you dragged your lazy, oops I mean really busy, ass into the kitchen for beverages and there were NO CLEAN glasses and you couldn’t get to the sink for all the dirty ones stacked in it, you didn’t notice the kitchen was a freakin pigsty? This is when they pull the super card (cuz I’m always bitching at them to be more friendly to each other)… well I didn’t get myself anything to drink, I had a headache and my siblings waited on me hand and foot all day (sure, yeah, okay…) e) speaking of headaches, I had a headache/cramps/backache/my elbow hurts/I’m resting my injured earlobe because I have sport/dance/speech/work later and I couldn’t possibly get up off the couch from my Scrubs/CSI/Gilmore Girls marathon to drop some glasses into the dishwasher and leave the counters all crappy and the trash overflowing so you would think I got something done today. Then of course the followup… “Did you pay the 8gazillion dollars to the place for my thing yet?” – please read that in snotty 14 year old girl voice, cuz it just doesn’t have the same bang if you say it nicely. Those are the days when a little vodka (or in my case God sent from heaven Bourbon) sounds just delightful. My kids know that when I walk through the door and begin to get my cocktail shaker down before I go pee or change clothes they had better walk on eggshells… too bad they can’t read any more discreet (and more frequent, a hell of a lot more frequent) signs of distress from their father and me. I hate to have to drink just to manipulate them into being nice to me – but I wouldn’t want to put those Bourbon distillers out of work either, so I have obligations all over the place.

So yesterday… some stupid xray place called, they wanted their $12.83 for a cat scan in August of 2006. I do not remember this exact date, but I do remember that kid having a cat scan (hey $12 is cheap for a cat scan, so I was very willing to just pay it and not bother looking for the EOB or other documentation). The assistant principal called… the NEW assistant principal, that I haven’t met yet, that is in charge of discipline, called. Well since we are a whopping three weeks into school, and my darling son has already been to see this man (usually he’s a very good kid, but…) for a trumped up charge of bullying from some Sevie on the bus – seriously, I talked to several other kids on the bus, I wouldn’t say I don’t trust my kid, but, he has been known to put a spin on things on occasion and to get to the bottom of the story BEFORE the school calls I like to have the facts, without the spin. He didn’t spin this, his friends, his sister, and his sister’s friends and even some kids that just know my kids all confirmed this particular little Sevie is on a crusade to torture all older jocks and accuse them of bullying, and sexism, and racism. She sounds like a little darling! So, one of my kids was already in the new hatchet man’s office FIRST week of school. When the phone rang and he said “Mrs. Momumo, this is Mr. Administrator from your child’s school.” I wasn’t actually immediately surprised. I thought maybe there had been a development in the bully crusade, or that he needed to speak to me about something totally unrelated to my kids that related to my position with the School Foundation. I was wrong. He didn’t have my son in his office. He didn’t have news on the great Colorado Bully Inquisition. He probably doesn’t even know I have a position with the Foundation. No, he had just sent my darling daughter back to class after having given her a detention. A what? A detention. For what? For chronic tardies, three unexcused already this term. For what? Three unexcused tardies this term.

LONG PAUSE while I gather my thoughts.

Which class? Math. What period? Fourth.

– Aha (really seriously, if someone had been sitting here they would have witnessed one of those cartoon lightbulbs above my head!), 4th period determines lunch – yeah yeah, the boy had a problem with this a few years ago, could not manage to get to the class that followed lunch cuz he was dicking around with his friends during lunch.

So she has lunch immediately preceding math? Let me check. No. She has lunch AFTER math. Well what class precedes Math? (I mean duh, it’s not like she’s running out to do a little shopping – with my money, cuz she has none of her own – from the closed campus) French. Wait, she is late to class going from upstairs to downstairs in the same wing – that takes like 2 minutes tops, on crutches, in bad weather, and a crowd. Yes, she said the problem is that she is going to her locker between classes. She is what? Going to her locker between classes. She is going to her locker BEFORE 4th hour even though lunch is right after 4th hour? That’s what she said. Well she will have to stop doing that. I will talk with her. She will have detention on Thursday from 2:40-3:40, please sign the slip she is bringing home. Okay, thanks bye.

Well then I talked to her dad about the impending explosive afternoon schedule of everyone going 14 places with only four bodies and three cars to do the going. Could he help out, I didn’t know when my staff meeting would end, they’ve been awfully long lately. Oh yeah, did he this or that? Oh and, your daughter has detention. What? Detention. For what? For three unexcused absences in math. Is she ditching? No she’s just late. You said absences. Oh, I meant tardies, sorry. Okay so she’s been late three times to the same class already? Yeah – she’s going to her locker. Well where is her locker. In the other wing. Well what class does she have before math. French. Well that’s stupid. Yeah. Okay, anything else. Yeah, what are we doing for dinner? I dunno, I’ll call you after my meeting. Okay.

Then… staff meeting wasn’t long! So I left early to go home, pull all my stuff together for the fundraiser for HER organization that I chair (cuz I have this “I can’t say No” neon sign that protrudes out of my ass on a stick and lights up above my head [behind the lightbulb]) – I went home, grabbed my crap, remembered I needed to print more flyers. Husband’s printer is superior to mine, so I trotted my ass downstairs to use his printer. My car is in the driveway, the front door is hanging open, and my son immediately comes downstairs to greet me “Hey, we’re home.” Then, my cell phone rings, it’s her – calling me from upstairs. Well, I didn’t answer. So when I go upstairs a few minutes later she is on the phone with her dad asking where I was. This child walked past my car, into the unlocked house, past my purse and called her dad to find out where I was! Then I hear her end of the conversation about the detention. Which, it was clear he was simply asking her about and not being nasty about. She immediately got defensive and snotty and announced “At least I didn’t kill anyone!” – you know, cuz that’s an excuse?!?! Needless to say, that conversation went downhill fast. Then she got off the phone and asked in her snotty voice if I had registered her for dance. I have told her at least 6 times, that I will not register her, she has to do it herself. So I told her that again and left. As I’m walking to my car, she has the balls to ask me if she can borrow my shoes. Seriously – after talking awful to her dad, making unnecessary excuses (Oh yeah, after she got off the phone with her dad, I told her “ you knew you were late, you should have made an effort not to be late a third time” – to which she replied “I did try” – oh yeah, by GOING to the other side of the school?) she wants to borrow my shoes that I haven’t worn. And her feet are larger than mine, and she is really really hard on shoes. Um – NO.

color me falling out of my chair patting myself on the back

2008-09-02T13:41:00.002-06:00

I wrote this almost one year ago...

listerine let me count the ways

I read this today...

Listerine Fixes More Than Your Breath

hmmmm... I wonder if the Denver Channel will run a piece on circumcision next July???

seen at DNC protests

2008-08-27T11:36:00.003-06:00

Many, I mean Many Many Many groups have apparently acquired permits to 12-15 square feet of what will eventually be known as the grass that WAS in civic center park here in Denver. They are protesting for and against and not even really on the sides of so many issues you can't really take it all in. Husband and I circled the park a couple of times yesterday checking things out -- we do live here, it would be a shame to say we completely locked ourselves up in our home in the burbs and avoided the entire thing. I saw several groups that I could agree with their basic premise if not their methods. I saw groups that I thought both issue and method were right on. And I saw groups that I absolutely vehemently oppose their issue, their method, and hell at that point, they even had bad hair and stupid shoes (hard to be objective sometimes, smirk). I also saw a couple of groups/signs that bewildered me. One group (on the NW corner of the park, directly across Bannock from the courthouse and right on Colfax was a group dressed in all the same color shirts (which I couldn't read) and doing some hugging/praying/imploring gesture -- arms outstretched and raised just slightly -- I haven't the foggiest what their issue was. Then there was the man walking up colfax carrying a rather tiny sign (in comparison to most, it was really like about a 8.5" x 11.0" piece of laminated paper on a stick) that said "Restore the Constitution". To this sign my husband replied -- well both sides want that, to which I said, then it should read 'Restore MY interpretation of the Constitution'. And the first group that bewildered me, "HUMANITY NEEDS COMMUNISM" - not because I'm not aware people feel that way, but because after over a half century of experiments, I am amazed people can't see the failure of the philosophy. Let me begin by saying that when I was in my first Government class in High School, I came home, and at the dinner table my father asked about school. I said -- We learned about Communism today, and it sounds wonderful on paper. My dad (being a child of the 50's) totally freaked! He never let me finish, he wouldn't hear me again, he was convinced those damn pinkos had brainwashed me and all of my classmates. I believe it took my mom a couple of weeks to get through to him that I had said "ON PAPER". And I maintain to this day that Communism sounds great ON PAPER. However, when you take it off the paper and combine it with um... humanity -- well then it fails. No capitalism, no competition - no competition, no motivation - no motivation, no production - no production, no commerce - no commerce, um no commerce.

Also seen at the protests, lots of police ready to jump in their riot gear and take care of business -- and the most disgusting t-shirt I have ever ever ever seen (which I will never repeat what it says) -- there is a limit to free speech, and people are welcome to disagree with religion, but to pick a specific religious figure and then label that person who a huge percentage of the world reveres as a c-word in huge 6" letters on your shirt - is in my mind criminal and dispicable. In fact, just having the c-word where young people can read it makes me nauseous.

Democratic National Convention -- and Anarchy

2008-08-26T10:42:00.003-06:00

We have the DNC here... most locals can be lumped into one of three groups -- those who wish it weren't here (bi-partisan), those who love the idea and can't wait to go participate (mostly dems, but also bi-partisan), and those who can't wait to go protest (generally party doesn't matter, they are more interested in making asses of themselves while exercising their right to free speech). I am a HUGE supporter of free speech, although those who know me well, realize that this includes my perogative to drive by protesters in my car and use a flurry of profanity under my breath to describe how ignorant I think most people who bother with protesting are. I have seldom met an intelligent person from either major party who actually stands on street corners with signs that betray how ill-informed and ignorant they are. I won't engage protestors, because that is what they want. I don't protest myself, because frankly making the nightly news or being honked at does very little to further any cause that I feel passionate about -- there are a lot of other ways to exercise my right to free speech that have a much better chance of affecting policy.

So, it is with my same view that I look at all the asses who have come to Denver to use the DNC as their stage for their cause. Certainly a national (international really) media event such as this, and a huge political stage does seem the proper venue to declare your opinion -- but seriously, again... they are mostly radical extremists that don't even understand what they are declaring to support. Among these are 'anarchists'. Now I understand that there are varying views on what anarchy means, however the basic definition is

n., pl. -chies.
Absence of any form of political authority.
Political disorder and confusion.
Absence of any cohesive principle, such as a common standard or purpose.
[New Latin anarchia, from Greek anarkhiā, from anarkhos, without a ruler : an-, without; see a–1 + arkhos, ruler; see –arch.] from http://www.answers.com/topic/anarchy

so... my question is, if you don't have any sort of cohesive principle, a common standard or purpose, and no leadership -- how the hell do you organize a protest?

two days...

2008-08-20T11:09:00.002-06:00

till my baby MOVES OUT -- I have mentioned before that I don't generally miss my kids that much when they are gone on trips, etc. -- A. -- I've always been a "they'll be back, look at the benefits of this one less person" regardless of who is gone, mom, dad, husband, boss, child, etc. -- B. -- I can always be very happy for them that they are getting to experience something new and wonderful -- C. -- my life is so freaking crazed that I don't actual notice it much except in the mornings/late evenings as we don't generally see each other every day anyhow. Another trait of mine is that I don't get excited/nervous/other anticipatory emotional until the absolute deadline -- if we are taking a trip, I am not excited, truly not excited until we are actually driving to the airport; if I have a meeting or other public speaking event I don't get nervous until I actually walk into the room (and luckily, the nerves usually dissipate the moment I start speaking); I don't worry about anything generally (part of my faith -- I believe that G-d will provide whatever I need and that my life will be good, so I don't really worry much) -- now don't be silly, I have boobs and I have children so of course I don't like watching my son get tackled by some godzilla sized lineman from another football team and I don't like when my daughter is out driving home from across town in the rain alone at 11pm, and I do fret bits here and there about all the normal things "will they grow up happy"; "will they be successful" -- ordinary mom things -- but I am not by nature a worrier, I just know that good preparation and faith will carry you through damn near anything and therefore worry is just wasted time and effort and could manifest the negative -- so dwell on the positive so that may manifest instead. However, this morning I find myself worrying, and fretting, and already missing my angel -- now she absolutely detests if I think of her as anything at all like "angel" -- but she really is an angel for me -- we have a really close tie, different from my close ties to my other kids, and she is sort of a rock for me, maybe because she's not as emotional as the other two, she's very predictable, very stoic, very logical, and I'm going to miss her so much I can just barely get through the day today without crying. I am worrying about her too, what if this time away drives a wedge in our little special closeness -- what if she gets hurt and I'm not there -- what if she parties too much and something bad happens -- what if she falls madly in love and I'm not her rock anymore -- what if she grows up in some new way and I don't get to see it -- and I miss her so much already I can barely bear it (for the moment, it will pass, I'm not that much of a drama queen). She is ONLY TWO AND A HALF Hours away -- seriously I can get to her in less time than it takes to wait in the ER for someone to take care of an urgent need -- and she can come home frequently, and I can visit frequently -- and she has a phone for crying out loud, and we are getting her webcams, and she has a computer, so it's not like she moved to Timbuktu or something -- and she won't be arguing with her sister, bitching abou the cat, contradicting her dad, irritating her brother, eating the last of some food I love, drinking up all the coffee before I wake up, leaving her shit all over the house, and gone all the time at work or out with friends (seriously, it's not like I see her that much anyhow) -- heck I may even talk to her more because she will have so much new stuff to tell me and I will have stuff to tell her that normally we wouldn't talk about cuz she would be there also. Also, she seems to get along with her roommate (based on a couple of phone calls) and she has hooked herself up with the Job's Daughters there, so she will have not only some built in friends her age, but also a bit of an adult support network also. My little brother actually only lives a little over an hour from her (when he gets back from Iraq) so he can get up there really lickety split if needed. I have to focus on how cool this is for her... I didn't move out when I went to college (I did go live in Spain for a few months first) I lived at home for all of my freshman year, and then lived a whopping five minutes from home after that, so it's hard to imagine what she is feeling. My sister tells me it isn't that bad at first, but her oldest went AWAY to school in Boston -- and I remember how miserable she was, so I don't believe her! I remember that my husband's brother/wife were up at their son's college every couple of weeks for awhile, they missed him so much... and they both cried all the way home from dropping him off -- he was only about an hour away -- actually he's still in that town and so that makes him a little over an hour from my daughter also. It's gonna be just fine... I just have to get through these next two days without freaking her out...

This morning at our house...

2008-08-19T09:03:00.004-06:00

...was just great! my daughter dropped an entire quart (the ziploc twist and seal containers just shatter when you drop them btw) of au-jus leftover from last night. First, my oldest put dinner together because I had a board meeting ... she made enough au just for the entire 1st airborne to come over and have french dips with us -- second, my son put away all the food, except for the huge pan of leftover au jus -- so of course at like midnight I was pouring au jus into this ziploc container, there was actually more in the pan, but I honestly thought that saving a quart was going to be sufficient for any use we might think of in the next millenia.

Cleaning up cold au jus is just about absolutely equal to cleaning up baby shit. I'm thinking of some sort of baby shower game where you clean it off of a dolls butt or something -- oooh oooh, maybe out of a carseat - with only two partially used taco bell napkins and an old grocery receipt! It's got enough fat in it to not be completely liquid and to make you chase it all around -- it still acts like liquid though and so you can't just wipe it like a nice spill of something with some sort of solidity. Also, and this is true of any liquid spill... a quart of contained liquid somehow multiplies by like 12.5 when it spills, so you find yourself actually cleaning up gallons and gallons of spilled whatever. Further... it's full of salt and fat, so you can't have the dog come help with the cleanup... and I just know that even though we were very thorough, I'm going home to an infestation of ants or some other nastiness. Lastly, while I dearly love my new refrigerator... it is actually too close to the ground to clean under, seriously I could fit one flat papertowel under there, but I'm sure you can guess what that did... yeah pushed the slime further under the fridge...
Yeah, so... 1st Airborne or not, we are not having any left over French-dips at our house for lunch or dinner anytime soon. Well unless you want to figure out how to suck it out from under the fridge with a straw.... bleah

***** U P D A T E *****
so my daughter says to us last night, "hey why didn't anyone save the leftover au jus?"

tagging y'all...

2008-08-19T08:41:00.002-06:00

my friend Mike has this post... and it motivated me to tag all of you... I want to know (to the best of your recollections, cuz I'm hoping that I am not alone in the fact that I might actually have been to the ER so many times as a mom that I have forgotten one or two) how many times have you gone to the ER for a kid emergency, please feel free to elaborate with editorials on weirdest, most unnecessary, stupidest ER staff, best most awesome, etc. -- seriously they have half grown kids and they just went for the FIRST TIME after 11 years -- I simply don't think that's actually possible, they must have been flashed in the eyes with one of those Men In Black penlight things that makes you forget what you've seen after all the other ER visits... you can't have 3 children and not actually have a bench at the ER named for you...

Okay, and this is freaky and scarey all at the same time... one of the first times I took my daughter to the ER at the good old "family hospital" where we all spent our ER visits as kids, my mom met me there, and the Triage nurse ACTUALLY RECOGNIZED MY MOM from all the visits we kids had over the years. Yes the triage nurse was actually 157 years old and hadn't retired yet, I think her secret (from the sounds of her voice) was that she smoked a half dozen packs a day and quite possibly had been injected with formadehyde or something.

I'm going with 12 in 18 years off the top of my head... I'll bet I forgot some... also in addition to that we had at least four -- two that actually have stories attached during office hours visits to the doctor -- one for stitches in the head and the other for beans shoved up the nose. If that had happened not during office hours we would be at 16 in 18 years, plus a couple forgotten, works out to about 1 emergent care visit annually. Stupidest/Biggest waste of $$ -- son convinced me his foot was broken, and then proceeded to jump up and down and skip around on it for the doctor after we waited in the nasty ER to be seen for like 1.5 hrs. Worst care -- Children's Hospital - sad but true, only one visit ever, will not ever go back to their ER -- maybe long term care rocks there, but I will not ever willingly step foot in their ER again. Best Care -- there really isn't one, honestly every visit has had some stupid facet to it that just makes it impossible to give any of them "best" -- grossest -- either the night that the prisoner who was handcuffed to his gurney pissed on the police officer in front of my 5 year-old, complete with some really colorful words that she probably would have eventually learned at home, but hadn't heard yet, getting bitten by a mosquito in the ER waiting room (ewwwwww can you say blood born disease -- EEEEEEEEEEEK) or the night when I took my youngest for her broken nose received at softball practice so she was in softball stuff, and this 112 year old man came in, also dressed for softball with his hand all wrapped in what looked like a t-shirt... I was comforting my daughter telling her she wasn't stupid for getting hurt at softball, look at him, he's probably been playing forever and he's hurt -- he proceeded, while I was away from her for 12 seconds to show her how he had accidentally nearly completely amputated his index finger when a ball came over the back of the glove (he sticks his index finger out the little hole) -- btw, he was actually 77 years old and still playing COMPETITIVE co-ed softball, his granddaughter brought him in, and plays on the same team as him!

Overheard during Olympic viewing at our house...

2008-08-18T13:42:00.004-06:00

Mom, I want a Tony Azevedo jersey

Of course we are obsessed with viewing the olympics in our house, our DVR is fully packed every day -- in fact we have lost some excellent recordings (the one show that I use to fall asleep) in order to make room for all the olympic episodes piling up. One particularly popular sport in our house (remember we have two swimmers, one of them a lifeguard, and another athlete who has a best friend that is a swimmer and is also planning to be a lifeguard) is water polo. I know, it looks a little slow and dull, but seriously could you tread water for an hour? And bat a volleyball around while you do it? and try to score with that ball into a floating soccer goal? and attempt to defend your team by trying to dunk/drown/disable the opposition while they attempt to dunk/drown/disable you? -- really, when you think about it, it really is pretty bad ass -- and the most bad ass of all TONY AZEVEDO.

ps. the quote was from my smart ass wanna be comic son, if you don't get the humor tell the story to folks who understand water sports until you get an explanation.

chores

2008-08-14T10:39:00.002-06:00

looking at my post from yesterday, it occurred to me that I am always saying to my kids that "we had to do chores EVERY day, and we couldn't do anything else till they were done" as some sort of retarded parent comment that is supposed to motivate them to run around and clean up my house before they go to an activity -- what it actually elicits is an empty "yes ma'am" from the boy, rolled eyes from the youngest and a weak effort to carry some imaginary piece of lint to the trash can to escape, and an argument from the oldest about how she already did 84 hours of chores (translate, dropped a load of towels in the warsher, and didn't even dry them yet) and she has a job and the others don't and it's too hot to pick up dog crap, plus she just showered and she has to be whereever in like 4 minutes and the other sister just finally got out of the bathroom and now she's gonna be late and we said that as long as she was doing the laundry the other two had to do the rest (ps. my laundry pile is larger than it has EVER been, I would estimate that it would take 3-4 days of constant laundry to catch up at this point -- which I will be starting on when I get home tonight... I will also just be doing all of the housework all night long, while they sit in front of a paused t.v. NOT watching the Olympics because they will have to wait for me to finish their chores).

Alas, this is not about my plans to guilt the little darlings (read brats) into helping out -- this is about my cataloging the various chores we did growing up -- keeping in mind there were a gazillion of us -- though at one point in time, due to some sort of confusion on my parents part, there were a couple of YEARS when only my one sister and I were at home full time, followed by a brief year or so that I was the only kid at home!

We (girls) did all of the interior housework -- dusting, glass, vacuuming, dishes, sorting mail (we actually had mailboxes because there were so many of us), bathrooms, kitchen, dining room, cleaning light fixtures, stripping, mopping, waxing floors, trash, laundry (mostly folding, mom did most of the washing) -- they (boys) did most of the outside work -- mowing, wood chopping, cleaning up dog crap (which was WAY easy cuz mom would let us just turn the hose on blast and blast it across the lawn into the drainage ditch!), painting, nailing, fence repair, watering (mom did most of that), cleaning the deck, and taking out the trash -- they also had to do any heavy lifting or crap like that -- now, my parents were not completely chauvinistic -- the boys had to take turns vacuuming the dining room every night, they had to help with dinner dishes and clearing the table, they had to help with heavy housework like windows, cleaning the store room, etc. -- and the girls had to help outside, like gardening, and we were allowed to mow the back (flat) lawn, but not the front (giant hill), no matter how much we begged (I know, sick, but we did beg to mow the front) and chopping wood, particularly if you were hungover, you would be asked to go outside and "split some wood for the fire" -- it wouldn't matter at all if all the boys had been hungover the previous morning and there were already two cords of split wood -- you had to go "split enough to last all week" -- I never did know what that meant, I don't think anyone did, what it actually meant was go do it until someone came to call you in for a meal or someone came out and said "okay that's enough go help your _____(insert other parent)". Also, I had pet rabbits, and I had to muck out the rabbit pen every few weeks, it was a huge pen for only a couple of rabbits, so it could go like a month without being bothered with (rabbit poo doesn't stink, but their urine does) -- and then I had to "compost" the straw/poo/etc. from the rabbit pen -- which meant I had to get in the compost and turn that -- ugh... mucking out a rabbit pen is work, but sort of feel good work, turning compost just sucks. In between that mom would occasionally send someone to turn the compost instead of splitting wood -- you know when there was no more unsplit logs -- or we had enough split wood to start sharing with the neighbors. And really -- all of this only took maybe 30 minutes a day and once in awhile a weekend where you spent several hours one weekend day -- but if we were all working our asses off on a weekend, we could count on some awesome dinner and dessert and probably some beers with dad at the end of the day. And most of us liked to be home, it was a great place to be, we laughed all the time, we did silly shit to each other, and our friends were always welcome, and we never batted an eye at "yeah come on over, but I'm cleaning the rabbit pen" -- most friends would just watch, some would grab a pitchfork and help -- my best friend in high school would actually do a better job on the kitchen than me, and then I would be busted for not having done it myself. I remember that at the point where it was just my sister and I at home, every wednesday we would "clean house" -- we would put on an 8-track of Donna Summer or some equally upbeat awesome disco dancing around music and just go mach 3 dusting, glass cleaning, vacuuming, putting crap away, bathrooms, etc. for about an hour, and then we would start dinner -- The rest of the week we just did little stuff that mom asked "run this down to the store room", fold this load of whites, etc. -- Then on Saturday a.m., Dad would wake us up at the buttcrack of dawn (well to a teenager and a pre-teen it seemed the buttcrack anyhow, it was probably like 730am -- and we would have to pull weeds, mow the back, etc. -- and usually one or more brothers would wander in around mid-day (probably looking for food) to pick up their mail and would maybe mow the front, or turn the compost or some other crappy chore, and then convince us they had really done us a favor and we should do something for them -- usually cleaning their nasty ass bathroom, sometimes their cars, sometimes hooking them up with some girl (well my sister, my friends were all in 6th grade, and that's nasty). Then when I was home alone, I had it easier actually -- sort of -- fewer saturday mornings pulling weeds (mom hired a guy!), and just the usual dishes, vacuum, fold laundry, clean the girls bathroom (which took like 6 minutes, no one used the tub, girls don't splash pee everywhere, so it was really simple) -- then came the "little brothers" (foster brothers that moved in after we were all grown and gone) -- they didn't do shit -- I think they took out the trash occasionally and maybe mowed the yard once a summer -- well that's how it looked from my side of the fence, I'm sure they were doing stuff, it just wasn't noticeable.

Lastly, every Sunday, forever, was family day. We would run around during the day possibly, and only some of us would go to church with dad -- but the evening was family time, and everyone's friends had an open invitation -- I don't think a single Sunday went by that we didn't have someone there, usually a few someones -- even sometimes Mom's or Dad's friends, usually ours though. Mom made spaghetti every Sunday -- EVERY Sunday (except Easter and Mother's Day) and people would show up and eat. It was the only time we didn't eat in the dining room actually, some did, but usually people just sort of ate whereever, if my sister had her boyfriend over, they might eat at the kitchen counter -- if my brother had his friends over, they might eat downstairs in the "rec room" -- we didnt' have a family room, we had a mostly unfinished room, with some little panelling sections here and there on one side of the room around a pool table, and bare concrete on the other walls, it did have built in bookshelves on one wall for all of mom's books, an a t.v. and an old ratty couch -- which was eventually replaced by an equally old ratty couch -- and a piece of leftover carpet just laying on the concrete floor on the t.v. side of the room. There was a "bar" - which was more like a workbench with a hunk of formica on it and some barstools under the bar were a bunch of MARKED bottles of booze. And if there was a football game on, everyone would gather in the rec room and eat while watching the Broncos. If it was a home game, mom and dad were at the game and the only difference was one of us girls had made the sauce and there were two more seats in the rec room to sit in. Occasionally if several of someone's friends showed up, that group would eat in the dining room or out on the deck -- and you never knew who would be there. I had a few friends that were really very regular, one that even came nearly every week (I think his mom was a bad cook and he liked the idea of good food once a week), and I can remember different friends of my siblings being pretty regular -- and then there would be the surprises -- years after my brothers had moved out, one of their friends would show up at the back door and ask if we were having spaghetti, mom would be in her very best mood because one of her "kids" was back and she would have made them stay til she whipped up a batch if there weren't one, but there always was. Every one in the neighborhood called my parents Ma and Pa, and everyone knew they could stop in for spaghetti. Years later mom told all of us that she hates red sauce, lol. Now when we have her over on our spaghetti nights, we all make some sort of optional sauce.

Bon Ami - my Dad, not the stuff in the can

2008-08-13T13:24:00.002-06:00

I grew up in a upper middle class neighborhood, and actually in one of the richer neighborhoods within the neighborhood... in Junior High I learned that the kids who didn't live on the hill called it "snob hill" -- really it wasn't any snobbier than the rest of the area -- but anyhow... and we weren't rich. A lot of our neighbors were rich, some quite rich, but we weren't rich, my parents were in the market at the right time, had property to sell before they bought that house, and an inheritance to help out with the land. Plus, there were NINE of us, for crying out loud, even if my parents had an inkling of rich, that flew out the window as soon as mom went to the grocery store to feed all of us little brats. So the point of all the economics is that my mom would buy, for my dad, FREQUENTLY, the most giant can of store brand scouring powder available. It smelled a little like comet and dishwasher detergent combined together, and it scoured the hell out of everything, including the finishes off of everything. All of my rich friends mom's bought Bon Ami or Comet or usually both - because Bon Ami didn't scratch (or forcibly remove the finish/surface/color/etc.) This scouring powder, I do believe was actually rocks mixed with straight lye. My father would use it religiously, on everything. Burnt crap on the grill, get the scouring powder. Burnt crap in a pan, get the scouring powder. Greasy crap on the floor, get the scouring powder. Shower floor, get the scouring powder... in fact I didn't know that shower basins were smooth and nice until I got old enough to spend the night at someone else's house (who's mom no doubt used scrubbing bubbles, and maybe just once in a while hit the worst of it with a dash of Bon Ami). Our shower basin floors were almost like concrete! In addition to that (and I must thank this post for reminding me that my dad even used scouring powder as part of his own personal hygiene), while the rest of us were gagging on the fumes and dying from the nasty gritty crap under our fingernails and eating away the skin on our hands while we scrubbed the marks from the hallway floor that came from someone's boots... dad was merrily digging out from under the boy's bathroom sink ONE of his trusty 12 pound cans of scouring powder and a can of GOOP to wash off car grease or printer's ink from his hands. My dad worked on all of our cars, and he had a printing press in the basement, so he could be home while he did his night job... and of course we could help (which he managed to "Tom Sawyer" us into thinking was fun), he had nasty hands frequently... but during the day, when he wore his suit to work, no one would ever have guessed he had ever been anywhere near the hood of a car, let alone re-packing bearings the night before -- in case you don't know, re-packing bearings is a super nasty job, imagine 80 gazillion large BBs and a wad of axle grease that could fill a large coffee mug... then put them together, BY HAND. His hands were spotless, all of the time... it had to be the handful of GOOP and the generous sprinkling of scouring powder which he would rub and rub all over his hands and up his wrists and then (ever the water conservationist) call whoever was nearest the boys bathroom in to crank up the water so that he could rinse off. I remember spending many times sitting on the boys toilet waiting to turn on the water for him, after helping him with a printing or car repair job and having to use the same ritual to clean my own hands (cuz it was SO cool, not because I wanted to have lovely hands later in life).

Later, when I worked on a pit crew (not because I'm a car genius, because the driver of the car was cute,and I impressed him with my knowledge of cars, and he wanted in my pants), I discovered that other mechanic type people use Fast Orange... and that's what I have in my house now. But seriously, I don't think it does nearly as good of a job as GOOP and scouring powder -- it sure does smell better though.

I also don't work on my car... those days sailed when I was able to buy a car that had fuel injection and electrical crap, so that bottle of fast orange under the kitchen sink has probably been there for ten years - besides, the one time that I did change the oil in the car, in the driveway, in full view of the neighbors, it embarrassed the hell out of my husband and he sort of unspokenly forbade me from making him look like a slacker ever again.

Oh yeah, and for those of you who are wondering... when you have 6 brothers, and your mom is the smartest woman on the planet (I'm not being sarcastic, my mom is a frigging genius)... the boys have their own bathroom - which they are responsible for keeping clean, and the girls have their own bathroom, which they are responsible for keeping clean. Also, the other question I thought might arise is this... yes my dad comes from the sit on your ass and make your woman do all the housework generation, but he is a workaholic, believes that "chores build character", grew up (well a little bit) on a farm, and understood that the woman he adored had already spent all day chasing kids around, cooking, cleaning and disciplining... he had no issue at all with keeping his own shower clean, vacuuming, doing windows, dishes, whatever needed doing (except laundry, he doesn't do laundry) - and he way didn't have an issue with making us do it, and he would show us by example just how a little elbow grease and scouring powder could do everything but chop wood - which we would also be doing later.

a poke in the eye

2008-08-07T10:39:00.001-06:00

I’m sure I have mentioned before that strange things just pop into my head… and I try to make an effort to remember them to post here for some amusement, usually I don’t remember though. Today is an exception, I remember -you know how they tell you that you have to hear something 84 times (or some such number, I made that one up) in order to recall it at will… well it must be because I said it over and over to my friend, because it makes her laugh.

I was late this morning (look back, I’m sure it’s not news that I’m outing myself as a not-prompt person) – and of course fantasizing, what would I tell the group of women who were all prompt and waiting on me when I arrived – nothing is usually what I tell people, but I do pass the time in traffic fantasizing great things. Today was pretty darn good – I had received an email late last night from my friend, it said simply “I need some momumo time, seeing the world through different eyes, do you have time?” (she doesn’t actually call me momumo, but ya know, I’m not gonna out my real name).

I didn’t get it until pretty late, right before I was going to sit down to a nice glass of milk and some graham crackers with my wonderful husband, who as of yesterday, I have been together with for 20 years (yesterday was the anniversary of our first “date”) – so I didn’t reply, she sent her email around 4 in the afternoon and I had to assume that by 1030pm she was either already in bed, or already found some other soul to unburden her venting to.

So I phoned her on my way across town to the meeting that I was already running late to, assuming that she of all the people I needed to touch base with today, would answer her phone at 715am and not want to beat me senseless with the handset. She did answer, she was awake, and she didn’t want to beat me, so I made a good assumption there (always dangerous to make assumptions) – I said, hey I got your email late last night sorry… I have about 30 minutes right now while I drive across town to a meeting I’m late for. You know, I don’t know if I hogged the conversation, I don’t think I did, because thinking back we spent a significant amount of time talking about a crop “circle” out near the Denver International Airport, that seen from the air looks like a Republican symbol, you know to greet all the visitors to the Democratic National Convention (I would think it just as hilarious if they did the opposite at the RNC) – anyhow, she brought up this topic asking if I had seen any news stories on it, etc. so I think she just needed to talk to a grownup that wasn’t her family or ex-husband maybe, not particularly about anything, and maybe just not about anything. Alas, I digress from my story (big shock there, I never do that)… so we were talking about how I was running late to my meeting and I had gotten something in my eye while getting ready and maybe I could sell that as my excuse “sorry I’m late, I got something in my eye” – and I said you know though, my eye isn’t really red anymore, maybe I should just poke myself in the eye before I walk in (and we laughed our asses off)… oh crap, you know I think this another of my stories that just doesn’t translate well to the written word. I must say however, that we continued to beat that dead horse as we visited other topics during the conversation. I told her about my nephew being born, and I got all teary eyed during the teary eyed part, and I was like “hey, if I don’t wipe off these tears, the whole poked in the eye thing might fly better at the meeting!”… then I called her back after the meeting, because clearly 30 minutes was not enough, and well I had another 30 minutes of driving to get to my office… and I mentioned that I had been in the ER having my bleeding eye looked at – she laughed, she knows damn well I’m way too big of a wimp to actually poke myself in the arm let alone the eye. I did manage to retain this story for y’all, and I’m telling you driving across the highway this morning it was very hilarious, imagining myself sitting in the parking lot at the school jabbing myself in the eye with my finger until it reached the appropriate redness and tearfulness to convince a whole group of prompt women that I had an issue big enough to delay my arrival at this important meeting. Like I said strange things pop into my head.

So, yes my nephew was born, and circumcised for those following that craziness. He is fine, he hasn’t rebelled against his mom and begged for his foreskin back at this point, so we’ll see how it goes after he loses interest in milk and sucking on his fist and begins to use words. It was WONDERFUL – I know, all births are wonderful, and I have had the fortune of being at now 6 other births in addition to the three that I pushed out myself – and this would be the third birth that I have coached – what a great thing to be able to do for another woman. Anyhow, the best most awesome wonderful part of the story – you know that part I alluded to that makes me cry every time I tell it (still a week later) – I believe I mentioned that the baby’s daddy is stationed in Iraq, he left the first week in July. He is able to call home to his wife with good regularity, generally twice a day – they did get skype, so the calls are not costing a fortune – and I don’t know that he will continue twice a day after the whole ‘is the baby here yet?’, ‘the new baby is great’ stuff passes – but for now he calls when he gets off of his shift and before he goes to bed and he calls again when he wakes up and before he starts his shift – this would have been around 5am our time – so after hearing from him during early labor, we didn’t expect to hear from him again until 5am. So as the baby was crowning, and we all got a look at his little head, the phone rang… and it was his daddy calling (during his sleeping hours, he had awakened and had the urge to call), and he managed to maintain his connection during the entire birth and hear the whole thing – it wasn’t anything at all like being there – but he was able to have a connection somehow – I’m crying (or maybe I just poked myself in the eye with something?) just typing it – and the baby is great, mom is great, everything went wonderfully – she was able to follow her birthplan to the tee, it was just wonderful. I have to say, this was my first midwife attended birth, and that is a great way to go!! It was a hospital birth, midwife attended, and as they live out a ways into the country from the hospital, I don’t know how comfortable I would have been with a home birth – just because I have seen complications at a birth that needed aggressive attention (which I still believe, but it can’t be proven – were actually brought on by, or at the very least exacerbated by intervention – there, my natural is the way to go speech will end there, I could start a whole blog on how I think birth should be natural – and that would get way too deep for what this blog is about?). If I were to have another one (immaculate conception?), I would have a midwife attended hospital birth – wow the advances in letting you move around and labor in multiple positions are wonderful too. She wasn’t tied to the monitor at all except for the first 15-20 minutes after arriving at the hospital – they just bring the monitor to you and hold it on for a couple of contractions and then go away again for an extended amount of time.

I got this text message awhile ago...

2008-07-25T20:07:00.002-06:00

my work phone, which I almost never get texts on, made this strange noise awhile ago -- well in fact I have papers spread from here to kingdom come on my desk, so actually this pile of papers to my right made the strange noise... and though I'm almost completely braintarded, it did occur to me that it was a phone noise. So I grabbed... my personal phone -- well shit nothing there, no reason for it to make a noise, then I noticed my work phone was still charging from earlier in the day when it made that other strange noise ... the I'm going to cut you off in the middle of this conversation with your boss and you will have to confess that you didn't charge your phone -- AGAIN. So I thought, oh wow, it's full, it makes noise when it's full. Well it wasn't full (see it really did need charging), but it did have a little envelope picture... ooh a text, what a welcome distraction.

the text read:

"Give me a call when you're ready for the drink ... I'm texting so you will have my number"

Well... it was a local number, but seriously, WTF??

oh yeah, I told moosema I need a drink before the baby leaves for college, it has to be her... sure enough, I got a second text:

"BTW this is moosema"

well of course, in spite of the fact that I was still at work during the drinking hour -- I called her!

but we aren't drinking -- a. we may like our blogs, and y'all -- and we may be closet geeks -- but seriously, we are drinkers first and no way are we going drinking where we can jump on some free wifi and blog while drunk -- I like my bourbon ice freakin cold and straight up -- and the only way to keep it ice freakin cold when it's straight up is to not lollygag on the drinking action

so... hopefully now that I have the moosema phone number (again, I lost it at least once already) we can go drink some bourbon and laugh at ourselves... we will try to let you know so you can drink simultaneously (any excuse when you have screaming kids and laundry piled up from winter still in July)

Survival of the "fittest"

2008-07-25T12:54:00.001-06:00

Maybe it’s just where I go to read – or maybe most mom’s of teenagers don’t have time to blog (or they can’t get the teenagers off of their facebook/myspace to have at the computer and internet connection that they are doubtless paying for). Most of the blogs I read are written by mom’s who are dealing with things I already “dealt” with – and by “dealt” with, I do mean one of the following:
• Stuck my head in the sand and pretended not to know
• Yelled till my eyes were popping out of my head and my head did that whole 360 degree spin that Linda Blair did in the exorcist
• Tattled on them to their dad and let him “take over” (and by “take over” I mean, “handle” it with my chiming in from the background)
• Called my mom to humiliate them by telling her what asses her grandbabies are – she nearly always took their side, it’s so strange, after her children bred… she became this woman in her mind who tolerates everything and “never yelled”
• Sent them to their room to “think about this and come up with what you think I should do”
• Tried to use guilt by telling them “Please don’t make me be a parent right now, let’s find another way”
• Made them write me an essay outlining what they did and how they will change and what the consequences are – this was not actually meant as a learning tool as much as a diversion so that I could… stick my head in the sand and pretend not to know

The joy of reading those blogs, is that it reminds me that I survived…

• the day my daughter was ready to go out the door to kindergarten, except for brushing her hair – at which time I discovered she had both gum and tree sap in her hair
• the time my son brought home fish guts and eyeballs for ‘show and tell’ and left them in a tackle box at the top of the stairs in the summer heat for two days
• the floods
• the fires
• the famine
(tee hee, I couldn’t resist listing them like that)
• The floods… the time my two older ones flooded grandpas bathroom by stuffing his sink with toilet paper and leaving it running; the time the neighbors pool collapsed and nearly filled our yard and nearly collapsed our pool (first summer kids were ‘home alone’); the time the toilet overflowed on the kids, and they didn’t know how to turn the water off, so it kept going and going and going; and several smaller, less tragic floods
• The fires… the time my son wondered if he light a wet paper towel on fire… next to the waste basket, which is where he flung the burning wet paper towel; the attempts (I helped) to blow up army men; the time my daughter singed off half her face learning to light the gas grill (dad’s supervision – not mine); and dear G-d, trying to teach two different girl scout troops how to light a campfire
• The famine… I really don’t have to actually explain that with three teenagers and two refrigerators and an enormous freezer and pantries both upstairs and down – everyday is famine “Mom, there’s nothing to eat”
• Science experiments – pop cans imploding; frozen baseball drop; growing grass w/o light; which freezes faster hot/cold water; what closes a wound better, bandaids, butterflies or stitches; volcanoes; tornadoes; will the dog eat “that”; will my brother eat “that”; what do I have to do to force my sister to eat “that”; etc.
• Broken bones; bloody noses; headaches; cramps; seizures; more bloody noses; vomit; pin worms; stitches; more bloody noses; more vomit; growing pains; blisters; fingernails coming off; chafing (I do have a baseball player… ps. those going to Cooperstown, now or ever… BAG BALM); more bloody noses; sprains; deep tissue bruises; black eyes; more bloody noses; and more vomit; bug bites; bee stings; cat scratches; things in your body that shouldn’t be there; things not in your body that should be there; and more bloody noses. (I have two chronic bleeders and one chronic vomiter)
• My husband acting like an 8 year old at the most inopportune moments
• 3 dogs; 2 cats; 4 guinea pigs; 6 birds; numerous fish; several pet spiders; and the ducks that visit our pool every spring
• The time the older two talked the younger one into shoving beans up her nose
• The time the older two caked the younger one with mud
• The time the older two told the younger one that the Broncos had a girl playing for them – and she announced it proudly at school
• The many times the oldest has attempted to cheer for the Yankees during a Red Sox game
• The reaction of the boy to anyone giving the Yankees any praise
• Carpools
• Field Trips
• Girl Scout Camp
• Girl Scout Camp with food in the tent with me – and critters
• Girl Scout Camp with the scout who wouldn’t drink water because she was “afraid” of the latrine
• Girl Scout Camp with the biggest most retarded brainless bimbo nitwit Girl Scout Leaders ever to buy a badge book and send home permission slips
• My kids taking trips w/o me
• Elegant Dinners as a family in Elegant Restaurants
• Crappy fast food in the car with one napkin for the whole crew
• A mini-van (I swear I will deny it if you bring it up to me in person)
• A two-door car with three car seats (hence the other vehicle I mentioned)
• At least five different threats to “run away” – and one day that the boy actually did leave the house – we found him a block away
• Numerous phone calls at work that ended with “go ahead and kill each other, just don’t bleed on the carpet and dammit don’t call me at work again unless someone is bleeding”
• Countless trips to the emergency room
• The “broken” foot that the boy was absolutely certain he could NOT WALK ON – the one he skipped around the ER on for the Dr. when he asked…
• The not broken collar bone that turned out to be broken
• Bicycle crashes
• A swimming pool – and the squirrel that drowned in it (bleah)
• Haircuts – self inflicted
• Haircuts – professionally inflicted
• Haircuts – exactly what they asked for and now HATE
• Buzzcuts – mom inflicted
• Broken hearts; mean classmates; school changes; religious intolerance
• Pet deaths
• Granparent deaths
• Friend deaths
• Baseball games; tournaments; practices; pitching instruction; batting instruction; Softball games; tournaments; practices; pitching instruction; batting instruction; Swim meets; practices; Football games; practices; Sports in cold weather; hot weather; indoors (loud); outdoors (loud); cowbells from the team in Texas; kids with beards and possibly children of their own playing as 14 y/o in the World Series; Boys at swim meets ogling the well endowed swimmers; Girls at baseball games ogling the boys in tight pants; Grandma’s at football games yelling things like “kill em”, “go get that guy and put him on the ground”, “don’t take that crap, show him who’s boss”;
• Camping trips… nuff said
• Family trips… nuff said
• Bad hotel reservations; bad restaurants; (food poisoning); staying with relatives
• The time the boy farted so stinky I had tears running down my face and had to hang my head out the window – I was driving
• Lots of boy sleepovers (relatively easy actually)
• Lots of girl sleepovers (oh G-d, kill me now)
• The drive-in
• Car seats
• Diapers
• Potty Training
• All those other baby milestones…
I assure you, if I can teach them to walk, talk, eat, and shit in the toilet, there is hope for damn near anyone

And so much more…

are you more parent or more friend?

2008-07-23T10:21:00.002-06:00

and can you be both?

Recently, a young man that I know got himself into some legal trouble -- and his parents who live apart, were asked to come in and talk to some sort of counselor at the juvenile detention facility to help in determining if which parent he is placed with would have any effect on his behaviour when he is released.

The dad was asked "are you more of a parent or a friend?" -- he answered 50/50.
The mom was asked "are you more of a parent or a friend?" -- she answered 50/50.
The son was asked "which of your parents is more of a friend and which more of a parent?" -- he answered 50/50.

So I was discussing this with my mom (you remember, we are the only people with brains large enough to solve all the world's problems, or so we think during our morning conversations)... and, my first response was "what do they mean by friend?"... I believe I am a friend to my kids, we talk about silly stuff, we laugh together, we cry together, we help one another, we are friends. WE ARE NOT PEERS -- I do not go buy the same clothes as my daughters, I do not go to their parties, I do not act like a peer. I had some adult friends growing up, the neighbors who had no kids, I hung out with them, they were friendly to me, I was friendly to them -- they were still adults, and I was still a kid. My parents were and are my friends, they still, even though I am an adult now, are not my peers. I can count my good friends quickly -- in my world, a good friend is someone you can call when you are several hours away and you are in some sort of trouble -- your car is broken down, you need someone to cry with, you are sick... and they will drop what they are doing and come to your aid. In my world, you can call your good friend at 3am and say, I really need you, and they will be there for you. I have lots of other friends too, people I don't feel badly calling from 9am-9pm and saying, hey, next Thursday I have this project that I don't know how to do, but I know you do know how, will you come help me teach my girl scouts how to knit baby booties? Or, hey, do you have a blah blah that I can borrow for two days?... I have a lot of those friends. Then I have acquaintances, people I know from school, sports, etc. People who if I were sitting at a ball game with them, we might share sunscreen or sunflower seeds, but who I wouldn't dream of dropping in on at their homes. People that I would never call to ask if they would help me teach girl scouts how to knit, even if they knit at the games all the time. I might however call them if I were doing a special project for the activity that both of our kids are involved in. I want to be more than someone who shares sunscreen when it's convenient with my kids, and different than someone I would call up and say "hey, I'm invited to this bachelorette party, and I don't want to go alone, will you come be stupid with me for a few hours?"

What are you? -- am I wrong, can you not be a friend to your kid? And was the interviewer wrong, should he have been asking are you more a parent or a peer? Is there a difference? My mom and I thought that it would be interesting to poll other parents, so I did ask two moms... at baseball... they both immediately and without hesitation gave their answers -- so it was interesting. Now that we have this post below, that brought so many responses (it was pretty exciting for this little quiet blog to have a little party going on for awhile) -- and someone suggested you should make your decision by putting yourself in the position of your adult child's peer... I thought of this topic.

oh yeah ps. I hope my adult child's peer has no interest in whether or not he has an 'intact' foreskin -- ewwwwwwwww... "whatcha lookin at my pud for?"

By the way -- to all the baseball mom's out there -- I used baseball as an example, probably should have used swimming, because over the years, some of the baseball families have grown into other categories, and I would easily call them at 3am and say "hey, I need you" and they would be there for me. Also, many of them are near the top of the "will you go be stupid with me for a few hours list -- because they are so much fun to be stupid with!".

circumcision -- the man perspective?

2008-07-18T12:37:00.002-06:00

tee hee, I couldn't resist. (and of course I can't just pop off a quick post either, I have to give lots of unnecessary background -- maybe someday I will conquer that compulsion).

so -- I mentioned my younger brother/wife are pregnant. We "know" (via ultrasound) that it is a boy -- and so inevitably the discussion of circumcision came up. I shared my personal story of making this decision with them -- and then last week she pretty much confirmed that she had decided to have the baby circumcised. I was mentioning this to my mom (in a "we have a success" way...) and she and I, as we generally always do, had to rehash the entire topic as if it were new somehow and we were the only people on the planet with brains large enough to solve this great world problem... alas, both of my older very grown brothers, who have grown sons of their own, were at mom's this morning sitting on the porch with her while I was on the phone with her. So, as a quick survey (which is by the way, how I eventually was swayed to having my son circ'd) she asked my older brother "what do you think of circumcising a new baby boy" and my brother said "thats the time to do it" -- smirk. Like she was asking about the timing, not the if it should be done. We both laughed hysterically -- okay now that I'm typing this, not as funny -- maybe you need to hear him "say" it. Anyhow, I have this much post typed, so I'm not erasing it just cuz it lost it's pow in translation to the "page".

And for anyone who is trying to make this decision -- and it is a VERY IMPORTANT decision. I am a survey person, when I have a big decision I will ask everyone I think might have any little tid bit of value -- and w/o exception those grown men (or the women who are intimate with them) that were surveyed by me -- and we are talking probably in the multiple dozens (and multiple generations) -- that were NOT circumcised wish they had been -- and most had to be circumcised as a young man or adult -- which was not at all pleasant. Also, my son, when he had this procedure done -- did not cry, he made a little gaspy sound as though he felt something, but he did not cry and scream as circumcision opponents would have you believe. Lastly, the Doula that my sister-in-law and I met with last week, let us know that her two grown sons are both un-cut, and the one who is active in the Army wishes he had been, "in the field" it is difficult to maintain the level of hygiene needed. Her other son (who is not in the military), does not have an opinion and is neither grateful she didn't nor does he wish that she had. Like I said, this is an important decision, and yours should be respected whichever way you go -- I am happy that I got all of the information I possibly could and spoke to people who I trusted about it -- and in trying to change my husband's mind to have the boy un-cut, I ended up being convinced that doing it was the right decision for us. I am only sharing my research as a helpful tip -- I think you should not do it for appearance (as my brother says -- if the other guys are looking at it his son can say "what the hell you lookin at my pud for?") and I don't think you should do it "cuz it's always been done" -- you should find out the health reasons for that decision and use that as your guide.

And if you are doing it -- I do agree with my brother -- when they are a baby "that's the time to do it!"

ugh

2008-07-17T13:37:00.000-06:00

So it’s been a little crazy in my life (again? – still?) – My boss resigned; My little brother shipped out to Iraq (he is a Marine); My little brother’s wife is due to have their first baby at the end of the month, and I am her birth coach, so busy with last month of pregnancy preparations, classes, meeting with doula, etc.; My youngest had her end-of-term retreat to celebrate the end of her term as Honored Queen in Job’s Daughters; My son/husband built a pitching mound in the backyard; My oldest daughter is working like crazy and getting ready to go on a “vacation” to Wisconsin for Job’s Daughters; My youngest had a week-long camping trip with her Girl Scouts in South Dakota; I’ve been crocheting (yes I really can do a few ridiculously domestic things) a baby afghan for the baby on the way; My niece was diagnosed with Bell’s Palsy about 10 days ago, that is very distressing; My nephew (different family) broke his hand in several places and had some major reconstructive hand surgery about 2 weeks ago; My oldest daughter is getting baptized this Sunday (better late than never? – a little less than three weeks before she turns 18; My oldest is turning 18 !! ; We had fiscal year end at the Foundation where I work; We had fiscal year end at the Foundation that I am President of; We had fiscal year end at the organization that I was an officer of (some things are good, that term expired!); Husband allowed himself to be persuaded to take on too large of a volunteer task (fundraising chair for baseball)– like I should talk, did you just read the above??; My car needed a MAJOR repair, which did not get done properly, so they still have the car, correcting the problem AGAIN…

So I haven’t had time to post the many hilarious and fascinating things that when they have occurred have made me make a mental note to “post that tomorrow” – well several tomorrow’s have come and gone… and speaking of gone, apparently my mental notes have all expired and flown out the window with my money and sanity.

Watched the All-Star festivities, well as much as I could – I had an annual meeting the night of the game, but I saw the Home Run Derby and the Softball game, and part of the All-Star game. It was great seeing all the celebration of Yankee Stadium – I really enjoyed all of it except for the evil one coming out to hand out the balls for the first pitch. I Really REALLY loved the opening of the A.S. Game and all the old hall-of-famers on the field at each position, that was AWESOME. The Home Run Derby was as entertaining as they come, well at least the first round with Josh Hamilton just hitting the hell outta the ball – WOW!

Got a chance to get out of town and went to Grand Lake. WOW it’s just beautiful up there, I love it so much – the girls had a wonderful time – I am done chaperoning other people’s children for a while though, ugh. Is it just me? Am I too old-fashioned? Too much of a hard-ass? What is with these kids speaking so disrespectfully to their parents? Several of the girls up there are often sassy and their parents seem completely oblivious to it, so there is no correction ever made. However, one of them was so bad, that all of us other chaperones (including one that allows her girls to speak sassy to her) spoke to the girl about it. She is downright AWFUL to her mom, and her mom seems completely clueless to it. Also, what is with the excuses… my kids aren’t allowed that luxury. Not that they don’t try sometimes, and I suppose occasionally it slips by one of us… but basically, excuses and assholes smell just the same – and my kids know when I make a face like I just smelled a fart (my husband thinks Renee Zelwegger goes around all the time with that face, giggle)– they’ve pushed it on the excuse page. One little one up there gave excuses even when they weren’t necessary… ADULT: “Alice, here is your cookie”; ALICE: “I couldn’t find my napkin, so I didn’t get it yet”. No one asked why she didn’t get it yet, in fact it never crossed anyone’s mind, they were just serving things up. ALL WEEKEND-this child must have made 6,458 excuses in less than two days! Also… you know when you chaperone that Friday night is gonna be a late night and a struggle to get them to settle into bed – but you always comfort yourself that Saturday will be so much easier because they will be so tired. Well… this same little excuse gal – NEVER GOT TIRED – it was freakin amazing; swam in the lake; paddled a boat around; walked all over town; participated in the “Olympics” (sort of a field day); etc. – at 2am one of the chaperones went down cuz they were being kept awake by this ‘thump, thump, thump’ and it was “alice” kicking off of a beam support and spinning in a chair. It was amazing.

Oh hell, and kitten… acted this morning as if he would like to go hump the neighbors cat. I have no idea if it’s a female, and I didn’t think he was old enough yet, since the vet said he wouldn’t neuter him yet. But, none the less he was meowing out the window like he really wanted to be near that cat… and he has not done that before that I have ever observed. Do cat’s “go into heat?” – I really don’t know much about cats. If so, it’s my guess that it was a she, and she was out there flippin her stuff in the air making sure he got a good whiff, so that he would want it bad, and do all he could to escape his palace and go slumming with this little outdoor nearly feral hussy running around the neighborhood. SLUT – bet she has her belly button pierced.

Oh speaking of belly button piercings… again, I know, stop beating the dead horse, but… so we were in birthing class the other night and all the mommies were having a side discussion about the awful scarring from their former piercings now that the belly is all stretched. Two of the mom’s that had given birth (teacher and guest speaker) both said that the scar does not improve much after you give birth and they both have scars that are several inches and to them very ugly! Maybe… I can use this to stall little miss “but it’s cute”. – ugh, why can’t she just dye her hair purple or something?

quick question - belly button piercing - is it slutty?

2008-07-03T10:02:00.003-06:00

My 17 y/o (soon to be 18 y/o) wants to pierce her belly button. She has had it in her head that she could just wait til she was 18 and blow off the fact that we don't like it... her dad told her that just cuz she's 18 doesn't give her control -- we are paying for college - therefore she still has to honor our wishes.

I want to know from readers -- is belly button piercing slutty?

Sexy Twinkie?

2008-07-02T13:40:00.002-06:00

So -- occasionally when I notice that I am actually getting more than 3 hits per day (2 from me checking my hits and comments and going to my links for the blogs I like to read, and one from one of my 3 regular readers) I will go out to statcounter and have a look at who's been lurking around...

um... some guy with an isp that says it's from the Middle East googled "Sexy Twinkie" -- okay, that it got to me is amusing all by itself... but that someone has any thought of a twinkie being sexy has me completely perplexed.

In addition to the sexy twinkie googlage (hmmm new word?)-- there were also several readers who lurked over from my friend Mike's blog... and a few people who were looking for baseball mom information. I have sort of slipped away from the baseball mom stuff (High School ball is just different)... but, I will give you a little taste of the Boys of Summer and how they are doing in our corner of the world.

Last night we played a double-header (most of our summer games are double-headers) against a 5A school (we are 4A) and the boy pitched during the first game. When he threw well he threw really well... but he also has a few stretches where the balls were a little too prevalent for my comfort, and... the defense behind him was atrocious -- defense has been atrocious all season in my opinion. I would like to see the boys who are making multiple errs pulled, but a lot of the parents don't agree - this team is for "development" and that can't develop on the bench (bullshit, the other players can't develop when the third baseman five-holes THREE easy grounders in a row!) Oh yeah and the third baseman's family was seated behind me, so one of these errs (this was actually letting one go by him to his right (between him and the bag)) -- a run scored! let me repeat that for those of you who didn't see the boy in maroon cross the plate... a run scored! -- and his dad says "Shake it off Bernard(fake name), no harm done" -- WTF?!?!?!? NO HARM DONE??? -- Just so we are clear here, a run scoring qualifies as "harm done" in my book -- I had to get up and go spend money at the concession stand just cuz I wanted to slap the parent... so yeah they lost that game. NOT looking forward to another crappy assed game like that, but in a bonus, the parent that had me all tweetered left so I at least didn't have to listen to his retarded remarks for the second game. So first inning of second game we are down 7-0 -- ugh... there's a long line drive to the outfield, and the kid from second heads home... the centerfielder throws home, one bounce on the hardassed infield (we can talk about lousy field conditions another time) and the catcher has the ball but the runner JUMPS over the catcher (which for those of you who don't know... is against High School rules, "can't leave their feet" was the phrase being used by the two dad's who played college ball) -- the catcher, btw, a great catcher, will probably play ball in college (unfortunate that he has to play with these other kids who don't give a shit about summer ball) jumps up and starts saying to the ump "he jumped, he jumped"... well about that time, the kid who hit the ball, on second now, starts heading for third, and all the boys are like "Ralph (fake name again, duh), Ralph... T H I R D" so he throws down to third (have I mentioned the third baseman is a twinkie and can't catch the ball if it hits him in the glove? - okay I exaggerate for effect), and I can't really say if I would charge the err on the catcher (hurried throw)or the 3rd baseman (probably third, cuz I like "Ralph" and I don't like "Bernard") -- and the ball gets passed the third baseman (yawning yet?) and the kid comes home... somehow 'Bernard' managed to field the ball and throw it to 'Ralph' at the plate, 'Ralph' took a position that would allow him to catch the ball and tag the runner... well the runner did a Pete Rose on 'Ralph' -- but 'Ralph' is a big kid, plays football, built like a 'shit brickhouse' -- oh wait that's 'brick shithouse' (thank you colorful Grand-mother for that beauty of a phrase), and he doesn't budge, the kid however falls flat on his little face in the dirt. So, he's a little bit messy, but he's fine, well the visiting parents start screaming about how brutal our catcher is and how he should be ejected... and of course we defended him, because he did NOTHING WRONG, he is allowed to take a position that will allow him to field the ball, and he didn't move toward their player, their player tried to mow him down, but he simply wasn't man enough to do that. Well this fired the boys up something fierce, and they won that game coming back from 9-0 to win 19-15 -- it was a very exciting game... oh yeah, and we were out of pitching, we pitched two kids who NEVER pitch and had our 2nd baseman playing catcher for the last inning! BTW no one was ejected, not even any loud fans, and the ump allowed both runs.

Double Negative Math - Fun with Numbers

2008-07-01T11:52:00.002-06:00

We are geeks in our house – I have revealed this before, we don’t dress like geeks, and all my kids play sports and look like normal kids – my husband was an athlete, and I was one of those girls that dated athletes… so I guess we are closet geeks – never the less, I know out of the closet geeks that aren’t actually geeky enough to record jeopardy and then sit around with a jeopardy “score sheet” and play against each other!

So… we are a bit behind on our jeopardy watching and the episodes were stacking up in the DVR and taking up valuable space that could be used by equally geeking things like obscure movies from IFC or documentaries from The History Channel – it was a couple of mornings ago, and my oldest daughter decided we should whip through one quickly (it only takes about 16 minutes if you skip the commercials and the player interviews) – so she and I started, and in walked the boy… he only stays if one of the catergories interests him, he’s very competitive and unless he thinks he has a bit of an edge can’t stand to be beaten – so the final jeopardy category “Fun with Numbers” appealed to Math Boy [“Mom – you don’t have to like math to be good at it, I don’t like math, I’m just good at it” – Math Boy, after a state math competition and a discussion about considering engineering as a possible career path]

It really doesn’t matter what the question was – however, just to be clear for history’s sake – Math Boy and Mom (a math minor in college) both got it wrong – oldest daughter answered correctly.

The amusing part of the whole thing was that the first two contestants also answered incorrectly… so the third contestant had over $21,000 before the question… not knowing her answer or what her wager was, but seeing the smile on her face, Alex Trebek remarked that it would appear she felt confident she had won. Then they revealed her answer, and it was correct… she needed to have wagered a large amount to have beaten the defending champion… and math boy said… no she could have wagered a negative amount and then intentionally answered incorrectly and she would have been assured of a win because 21,000 minus negative 21,000 would be 42,000! Then he stated that he would do that someday, be on Jeopardy and wager a negative amount – and he felt that it would be particularly hilarious if the category were “fun with numbers”!

Apples don't fall far

2008-06-27T12:24:00.003-06:00

One Bad-Ass (you had to know I would find the baseball tie) "Ya Gotta Believe"

and his son... also a Bad-Ass -- apparently this male fan was assaulting a female in the audience in some way and Tim thought it should be stopped... be sure to note when the guy gets in Tim's face toward the end of the confrontation, B-A Tim is ready to take care of that too! (I do like me some nice strong arms!)

8 track tapes, gas station pizza and butterflies

2008-06-27T11:59:00.002-06:00

I know – I promised to post more frequently – and I really am thinking of posts, so that’s a start! Several swimming around in my muddled menopausal brain at the moment include, gas station pizza, chaperoning ten year-olds, music that I clean house to (thanks to this post by a HS friend), and my most recent music purchase (because of Mike’s post, but also because it is very ironic and hilarious inside my brain), also—went to one of those free summer concerts in the park last night, not because it was free, not because it was in the park, and not because we were free and could, but because it was the FACE vocal band.

So… I can’t decide whether to go backwards, forwards, or randomly through the list, hmmmm

FACE – wow, always a great show, always amazing me at the clean harmonies, great GREAT arrangements, and of course the beat boxer (he prefers vocal percussionist). Free in the park in the neighboring city of Westminster, very nice park to have a free concert in, and I get the whole it’s free, it’s in the park, it’s NOT theatre etiquette – but, dude, take your crying kid away from the people who are trying to hear the music… he is off key and quite frankly, that’s not even a real cry, he’s just making noise cuz he can – UGH. My kids loved it, and we took little plastic bottles of wine into the park (hey, it’s not some sort of spectacular fermented grape experience, screw top and plastic single servings, but still wine in the park was nice on some level), we were going to take fried chicken and fruit, but the chicken had gone bad (in three days – it was vacuum packed, so I thought it would keep three days in the fridge, my bad) so we ate burritos at home and took the fruit and fermented fruit and set up our ballgame chairs and the kids played tag like little kids and spit sunflower seeds and grapes at each other. Husband and I held hands and smiled at our childish teens and kissed in the rain.

Gas Station Pizza – so we had this finance committee meeting here at the office a couple weeks ago, and because I am the finance person for the foundation, it was MY meeting (well as much as any meeting can be mine, I do have an Executive Director that always says these are not her meetings and then takes them over to some extent, and the Treasurer of course. So, I had to provide lunch, well my boss walks in my office at oh about 15 minutes before the meeting and says “did you order some pizza”… and I “oh crap, I forgot”… so I jump up and look on the bulletin board for the well known national pizza chains phone number, without luck, who knows who took it to their office and didn’t return it, but here’s a coupon from a nearby pizza place, right up the street, and maybe it’s an awesome mom & pop pizza place (you old GM people, I was hoping for Pizza Cassa) – so I call them up, order some pizza and start to prepare a check for them, the woman calls back and says, please don’t make the check payable to Pizza Place, the name on the flyer, but to Amoco instead. Yeah the gas station… suddenly flooding to mind was the day I stopped there for gas and saw the sign, we now have pizza. So I didn’t say a word to anyone, and the pizza arrived, it was alright, not bad, not good, just pizza. Everyone left, and my co-worker says to me (cuz the boxes were all about patriotism and freedom and nothing about the name of the pizzeria) “where did you get this pizza”… and I said “from the gas station” – she about died. I have not heard the end of ordering Gas Station Pizza for the meeting.

Chaperoning Ten-Year Olds… as many of you know, my girls are Job’s Daughters – an organization for 10-20 year old girls with a relationship to a Master Mason. They recently dropped the minimum age from 11 years old to ten years old. I joined (1977) shortly after they changed the minimum age from 12 years old to 11 years old, and I acknowledge that all that I am about to say about 10 year olds could have probably applied to me at 11 years old. My girls are 15 and 17 – I am accustomed to having lots of kids around – but they are generally in this age range. I also chaperone the Job’s Daughters quite a bit, and always thought that all the griping about the ten year olds was unwarranted. Well… this year things changed. I do not want to be misunderstood – the girls I was chaperoning are exceptional, they are smart, funny, respectful, well behaved, wonderful girls. They did NOTHING wrong, they were just simply way more busy than older girls. I felt like I needed a butterfly net to try to keep them corralled. It was like herding ants, as soon as your attention was turned to this small group and you thought you had it all under control the other group would disappear, and you would find them over making friends with the girls from Greeley or Cortez – like I said nothing wrong, actually it was right, they should make friends with girls from around the state – but I could never keep track of all of them. I felt like I was teaching Kindergarten – counting girls all the time. And of course there were those times when I didn’t count someone cuz I thought they were an adult (ya know 19 and 20 years old, does seem like an adult) or I forgot what number I was hoping to come up with. Also, ten-year olds seem to have bladders that shrink in size relative to the boredom being wrought by long dry meetings full of too many speeches and too few moments of movement and entertainment. One meeting when I was on the floor (meaning as an adult I had to participate, not sit on the sidelines (audience)), I heard from the older girls that they counted and the young ones went to the bathroom 8 times -the meeting was two hours long, so they basically went every 15 minutes… giggle.

My recent CD purchase – This could well replace, at least temporarily my play list “house cleaning” – my daughter and I were shopping at Costco the other day, and for whatever reason I had the impulse to stop at that little “kiosk” where you can push the button to hear a little snippet of the songs available on one of the 18 CD’s they are selling there. They are generally “spa music”, “big band classics”, “music for a rainy afternoon” – you know the ones I am talking about. Well this particular one actually had among the Ronco style mix CD sets, some that were specific artists “Sinatra”, and also some more upbeat stuff “Latin Rythms”, as well as stuff that would only interest music weirdos “Opera through the Ages” – I checked, no Mario Lanza, or I would have purchased it probably. Also, the one button I was NOT interested in pushing (beside the spa one, ugh spa music, I mean I’m glad they play it when I’m getting a massage, but I would NEVER want it in my home) was “Cardio Blast” – which looked like a 3 CD set soundtrack for a Denise Austin workout which evoked shudders and pain. My daughter pushed the button, out belted Madonna – then she picked up the box, it is AWESOME… We are Family, I Will Survive, You Should Be Dancing, Best of My Love, Bad Girls, Car Wash, Flashdance… What a Feeling, Holiday, MMM Bop, Lady Marmalade, Express Yourself, Love Shack, Bette Davis Eyes, Take My Breath Away, We Belong, Freeway of Love, Ain’t No Mountain High Enough, Signed Sealed Delivered, Upside-Down, Loco-Motion, Hot Stuff, I’m Every Woman – yeah I know, a little disco, and way pop, not fabulous music, but disco is so much better now than it was in the 70’s and I can clean house like crazy to something like Freeway of Love or Loco-Motion. Not so sure about Take My Breath Away – may skip that one a lot, after all it evokes memories of that assbag who broke up with me ON VALENTINE’S DAY.

Coming Soon (when I am near my iTunes) my housecleaning playlist – or highlights at least.

Big Things Poppin'

2008-06-04T11:41:00.002-06:00

So… I got this nasty gastro crud that’s been making the rounds. My friend who transcribes medical charts for a hospital says that she’s seen a lot of it coming through the ER charts. I’ve known half a dozen people who have had it. It really knocks you off your feet… I don’t want to be too graphic (not much embarrasses me, but body functions are just gross), lets just say I needed two receptacles for the stuff my body was purging for several hours. Of course it hit hours before my daughters graduation party, about 6pm the night before the party to be exact. Thank heavens, we were mostly done making preparations (which NEVER happens at our house), and my husband and kids were able to put the final touches on things. Of course I was up all night and completely exhausted, not to mention still quite a bit weak stomached for the event the next morning. Mother Nature in her wisdom, saw fit to give us the coldest day of the spring for our outdoor party as well! (maybe she was keeping folks away so they wouldn’t get the crud???)

Anyhow, probably because I pushed myself at that party… my crud sort of lingered, I wasn’t really sick, but I wasn’t really well for most of last week. My son, being the chip off the old block that he is (you can guess which block)… began playing music every time I would head into the bathroom. Sort of my own little soundtrack – he included songs like:

• Big Things Poppin’
• I like to Move It, Move It
• Sail Away
• Wipe Out
• Thick as a Brick
• This Could be the Last Time

I really can’t remember the others, but I have to tell you, there is nothing quite like being on the toilet in complete hysterics to make you feel much better about your plight!

Real Mom Award

2008-05-20T11:04:00.003-06:00

Here... http://moosema.blogspot.com/2008/05/overheard-at-moose-house.html

For those that don't read this blog -- the mooseling is a male child!

I am so doing this!

2008-05-20T10:50:00.002-06:00

I just read this post and I am in love with this idea -- only in my own twisted way!!!

I want a business card with a frazzled ass pic of me -- you know the early Christmas Morning oh crap breakfast is burning and we forgot the batteries for the gifts from Santa and I only got 1.5 hrs of sleep and I'm hungover from the eggnog last night -- that way when I hand out the cards, it won't matter how bad I look, it will be better than the card! I also want some smart ass content... rather than "LISA D---, Noah, Violet, Ruby, and Henry's Mom, with a picture of each of her kids in the corners, a fancy border, and her phone number and email address" -- I want MOMUMO, still yelling at S, D, & K about the same stuff in their teens that I was yelling about when they were 8 -- and then instead of pics of them, I think maybe pictures of their rooms. I also (as you will see if you read my comment to Baseballmom) want to put bullets on the back...

*"mother of a college student that still eats with her mouth open"
*"mother of the class smartass"
*"I do have two other children, that's why you don't always see me at dance/baseball/swimming/dr's appts"
*"no, I haven't seen that important memo, I'm sure it's in one of the backpacks and I will try to remember to ask tonight"
*"No I didn't get your telephone message, do you have my cell phone number?"

Please feel free to make other suggestions you think would be both amusing and accurate... I am so in love with this idea I can barely contain myself to get back to my "day job"!

Well I've been tagged...

2008-05-19T07:14:00.004-06:00

Which does make for a built in entry -- at least in this case.

Here are the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to the person who tagged you once you’ve posted your three sentences.

My issue is that technically the nearest books are all reference materials, dictionary, french-english dictionary, thesaurus, MLA, Secretary's Handbook (never been a secretary, but this little gem is a rock ass reference when you need it!); and the user guide to a cell phone I don't even use anymore... there are however 4 other books on top of the hutch to my desk -- none of which I have actually read -- one I have attempted, but not finished, so I will choose it.

I hit a bookstore many years ago (I remember I still had multiple children in strollers!) that was going out of business -- and they were selling hardcover books of all sorts for like 50 cents!!! -- I bought boxes and boxes of books - brand new hardcover books, I bought childrens books, multiples of ones that would make great gifts -- I bought favorite authors, though to be fair, by the time I discovered this gem of a book sale, most of the modern fiction had been thoroughly picked through, and I bought interesting sounding books by authors I had never ever heard of... I also bought oodles of hardbound classics, some I had read many times, others that I had never read... and the last of the oddities that I bought were composer biographies -- which I donated, along with many other books, to the kid's school library. There are about 100 books in that library donated by me, is that not cool!... okay so here for your reading pleasure... Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy

Boldwood had drawn up on her left, within the room. Her singing was soft and rather tremulous at first, but it soon swelled to a steady clearness. Subsequent events caused one of the verses to be remembered for many months, and even years, by more than one of those who were gathered there:
'For his bride a soldier sought her,
And as winning tongue had he:
On the banks of Allan Water
None was gay as she!'

My children are required to read this book in High School, well I should say it WAS on the reading list at their school... I believe 9th grade(?) and my daughter had to read it, then someone wisely chose to replace it with something that is actually readable and my other two will never know the suffering they escaped. I must say, I did offer my daughter spark notes, as I just reminded myself (by blowing off an inch of dust and opening the tome), I have actually filled the inside of the book cover with small stickies covered with vocabulary notes because this book is so freaking difficult to muddle through -- Thank you Thomas Hardy for being considered fabulous only because no one can actually read your books peacefully... I do like Tess of the D'Urbervilles, and silly me, assumed I would enjoy anything by an author that could so deeply move me - argh!

For those who can't stand it... the other three books (and really they are up there purely for their nice looking covers this is not a good place for books) -- please let me know if you have read them, or the authors, as I would be curious to know if I should get excited about cracking them open soon...

Pretty Boy Floyd by Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana
The Kindness of Women by J.G. Ballard
Herbs and Apples by Helen Hooven Santmyer

(actually The Kindness of Women has always seemed like a title I should recognize and know, but I don't)

Okay so I must tag FIVE people -- (I don't actually think I have 5 readers anymore, because I took such a long break, but...) Baseballmom, Never a Dull Moment, Jenny HaHa, Doncast (because I'm sure whatever he has near his computer is bound to be unique and fascinating), and Tales from My Tiny Kingdom... y'all have been tagged!

Off to thank Moosema for tagging me!

I always hated stumbling over blocks in the dark!

2008-05-14T13:01:00.001-06:00

I had said I would write (emphasis on actually writing) more blogs. As soon as that happened, material didn’t actually fail to materialize, but my ability to recognize it as material seemed to fail me. I am often appreciated because my blog is “funny” – so of course with the pressure on to produce funny and the blinders on keeping me from seeing what is actually funny in my world right now I feel “blocked” – isn’t that awful! I’ve been sitting here off an on all morning fantasizing about suddenly remembering whatever it is that has happened this week that had me in stitches – I know I’ve been there, my kids are hilarious, my husband is very clever and witty – and frankly, I can pop off a few funnies myself… so what the hell, did we have grumpy week at our house or what? We have a new kitten; we certainly laugh at him a lot. We frequently say “oh that could win on America’s Funniest Home Videos”. I think we all have school is almost out burnout… Do people like Erma Bombeck and Theresa Bloomingdale just run to their computer in the middle of funny moments… okay well typewriter considering they both wrote actual books about being funny long before pc’s were commonplace. My older two kids have taken three AP tests between them in the last week, all three have had term papers and major English assignments due, the French teacher continues to drive us all batty with her racist remarks, her inappropriate sense of humor and her unusual idea of what represents helpful class work, I’ve had a bitch of an upper respiratory thing, hoarse voice, sore throat, silly ass cough that mostly manages to irritate my throat and make me occasionally pee myself – I’ve been delighted to go through 3 or 4 pairs of underwear per day – speaking of all that dirty laundry – the boy put a plastic tablecloth in the NEW (fancy schmancy wow I feel so spoiled) dryer and melted it all over the back of the dryer where it gets, ya know, HOT… so he’s been busy each day running an empty dryer (hey we are being green in other ways) and trying to peel off all the ooey plastic so that we can get back to drying clothes in there… I’m about to hang a load of panties on the clothesline where the entire neighborhood can see clear evidence of how enormous my ass has become since I quit smoking and working downtown where I at least walked a few blocks every day. The main problem with hanging a load of wash (aside from the whole neighbors thinking my panties are tents… is that the back yard hasn’t been “spring cleaned” yet and the lines are dirty, the path to the clothes line is overgrown with new spring stuff and littered under that (where you surely can’t see it) with the crap that blew in, fell off the trees, got dragged around by the dogs, etc. over the winter – and you know I will step on that crap barefooted if I venture out to the clothes line. There is also the issue of my son using the clothesline to attach his pitching target and that damn thing is taking up one whole line and has been out there all winter getting dusty and nasty – I certainly don’t want my frillies blowing anywhere near that! Oh yeah and the tablecloth – one of my favorite cheery spring ones that makes the kitchen look all pleasant and happy and keeps my kitchen table from being abused by those same children that can’t seem to (in high school, um yeah he’s the one that took the AP Chemistry test???) realize that plastic will melt in an appliance that heats up… I’m really starting to doubt how well he did on that test that I paid 80 bucks for him to take. The youngest is still on that moving like a little old lady pace for everything… this morning she wrote a lunch check for herself – it really took like 5 minutes – to write a $15 check, she didn’t even have to sign it… I was expecting fabulous calligraphy when she brought it to me for signature… nope just regular handwriting, very legible, but none the less, not really special. The oldest is more snuggly than usual, but also feels that I’m not taking enough interest in her life… what the hell, how does she get that, I talk to people every day about how freaked out I am to have a kid graduating from High School, I tell her that we can’t go get a graduation dress that particular day, and I address two or three more announcements that we hadn’t yet sent… I really haven’t been that interested in her school day or her work stuff. The work stuff just seems extraneous with all this other going on right now, and every time I ask her about school she reminds me that she only has 6 days left (or some smaller awful number) and that’s about all she has to say. Maybe I should make a giant sign that has the days on it for her this afternoon. She can peel them off each morning just to make me all teary-eyed and melancholy. Well now my boss has just called and reminded me of a deadline (today) that she gave me yesterday that I totally spaced when I got here this morning… this means my lunchtime blogging is done for today… maybe I will be inspired later by some amazing moment!

copycatting moosema's list

2008-05-12T08:19:00.000-06:00

1. I like chocolate chip cookie dough better than the actual cookie.
2. It freaks most of my friends out to find out I am a Republican
3. I remember when Bob Barker had black hair.
4. I have had nearly every pet imaginable, I am a dog person
5. Our house does not have air conditioning.
6. I prefer Coors Original to all other beer – I do not typically like beer snob beer
7. I am a 6th generation native
8. I have 6 brothers and 2 sisters
9. I consider myself a very spiritual person, but not a religious one.
10. I have a very hard time making small talk.
11. I let my children watch movies that others would consider inappropriate.
12. I have the straightest freakin hair on the planet, I can’t keep it curly longer than about ten minutes (this includes with a perm!)
13. I look great in hats
14. I had a job one summer test-driving cars!
15. I got my braces off the day before my Senior Prom
16. I take the hottest showers imaginable
17. My favorite shampoo is baby shampoo
18. I don't like wearing sunscreen.
19. I know all the words to "American Pie"
20. I refuse to shop at Walmart.
21. I love asparagus.
22. I think Mel Gibson is gay and in denial.
23. I had four bridesmaids in my wedding, with 4 groomsmen, 2 candlelighters, 2 flower girls, 2 ring bearers, and 4 ushers
24. My grandmother taught me things about sex and life that most people never get to learn!
25. I almost never use the mouse – I am a keystroke person (I could never be happy on a Mac for this reason)
26. I hate my new cellphone and will probably stick my simcard back in the old one as soon as I find it
27. My mothers photo developer told her to never allow me to touch a camera again
28. I miss Wild Wild West with Robert Conrad in those fabulously sexy blue pants
29. I drink a lot of coffee.
30. I've never used a vibrator.
31. I prefer RC
32. I had a minivan
33. – I pretended it was a “magic bus” and refused to admit that I drove a minivan
34. I detest the font "Times New Roman"
35. And "Courier"
36. I believe in ghosts.
37. I sometimes wear men’s underwear
38. I frequently let the F-bomb fly in front of my children (and my parents)
39. I would consider becoming a lesbian if Halle Berry asked me to.
40. I was in music in high school.
41. I play the flute and piccolo well, I have also played the oboe and drums (not well)
42. I don’t downhill ski – I do cross country ski
43. I collect old fashioned glass juicers and dictionaries
44. I left my Christmas Tree up until March this year
45. My husband has excused himself after I belch since we were dating!
46. I adore Maker’s Mark Bourbon
47. I broke my back when I was 17
48. Sometimes I prefer cheap wine (particularly chianti)
49. Two of my brothers have had children with the same woman
50. I get an almost uncontrollable urge to spend money when I am deadass broke
51. I'm not a picky eater.
52. My oldest daughter is going to be a freshman at the Univ. of Wyoming next year.
53. My son can do complicated math in his head but cannot figure out simple directions like “bring me that pink piece of paper on the desk”
54. I almost bit my husband during childbirth
55. I cried when my youngest daughter weaned herself
56. I miscarried the day after my husband’s vasectomy
57. I sell fruit all summer
58. Baby, I've got back! In other words, I have a big butt and I cannot lie.
59. My brother wants “Locomotive Breath” played at his funeral
60. I cried when Pope John Paul II died – even though I am not Catholic
61. I love Rocky Mountain Oysters
62. I've been to the real South Park
63. I've been to Disneyland but I don’t remember it
64. I’m not a big chocolate person
65. I have a lot of strange superstitions
66. I can scan through the radio and sing all or most of the lyrics to whatever song it lands on – regardless of genre
67. I used to use Big Chief tablets for my journals until they stopped making them
68. I can sing La Marseillaise (French National Anthem)
69. I have a Vose & Sons upright piano that was built in ???
70. My children are 15 months apart
71. I've read all seven Harry Potter books
72. I saw Pavarotti in concert, it was disappointing
73. My first concert was Barry Manilow – who I didn’t like until after I saw him live – the concert was awesome
74. I have such bad motion sickness that I can't even swing without having to take a dramamine.
75. I can’t sit still long enough for most of the podcasts that I have tried
76. I have watched Days of Our Lives since approximately 1977
77. I make such good meatloaf that I actually make it for special meals
78. I can’t cut straight with scissors
79. I record Jeopardy every day so that I can watch back to back episodes and compete against my family
80. I talk in my sleep – A LOT
81. I can’t actually communicate in Spanish anymore as I never use it, but I still occasionally dream in Spanish and when I wake up I can watch Spanish television and pick up almost all of it
82. I had dreams about Mike Meyers (Wayne’s World) while I was pregnant with my oldest daughter
83. I can perform lots of car repairs (on older models w/o all the electrical blah blah)
84. I gut fish with scissors
85. I own a rifle
86. I won riflery competitions when I was younger
87. I would never hunt, I just like shooting at targets
88. I wore cowboy boots with my wedding dress (but only during the reception)
89. I love steak but won’t order it at restaurants, and I hate most steakhouses
90. I own more books than I have room to put on shelves, I have at least one hundred books in boxes in the basement
91. I have crocus planted in my lawn – I get very excited when they are the first thing blooming in my yard
92. I prefer line-dried laundry
93. I used cloth diapers with all three kids, the entire time (except for overnight with the boy – he apparently could pee 14 gallons at night)
94. My husband washed and folded every diaper for all those years
95. My parents have both raced cars
96. I survived an Atlantic Ocean Storm with 12-15 foot swells in a 8’ open hull fishing boat
97. I didn’t realize how dangerous it was and actually thought it was sort of fun
98. I once went camping with no shoes
99. My first flute was stolen in Spain, I cried for days and days
100. The sun setting over the Rockies is my favorite moment/sight in all the world

Lots of Ideas for Posts…

2008-05-07T10:09:00.007-06:00

Trouble making time! My friend Moosema has a great post about 100 random things about her – she and I have more in common than I would have thought—or maybe I should say that some of the things we have in common surprised me. Never a Dull Moment has a post about 5 silly things to do to waste time (or something like that) – they are all those funky fun quizzes that all the kids are putting on their myspace / facebook sites – I didn’t post it here but apparently (no shock to the people who know IRL), I’m a potty mouth. The average blog is something like 9% profane and I’m like 47% or some huge ass number. Then this morning on my way into work – I saw the funniest thing, well funny to me – but couldn’t exactly stop in the rain on the highway with kitten in lap to take a picture for ya’ll – so I will try to paint it with words. I’m driving down the highway, which because I live so close to my office, I am only on for a matter of a few miles – usually less than two minutes? Anyhow, it’s raining this morning, not all that common in Denver actually – we are a high desert, but rain is not so uncommon that we are all thrown into a tither and can’t drive. And it’s not like it was raining super hard, I had my wipers on the low speed. But with the rain, that means the dogs didn’t really want to hang outside all day, and my poor old dog that just won’t gain weight regardless of what fattening ridiculous food we give him doesn’t seem to even have the ability to stay warm (he probably does, but you know how we people are, we can’t imagine that they aren’t soft fluffy comfy all the time). So I agreed to take the new kitten to work with me so the husband could have the dogs in the house with him. Kitten is still new and the dogs and the kitten aren’t quite ready to have unlimited, unsupervised access to each other. Kitten is pretty good in car, but only if I’m holding him on my lap (yes I always bitch when I see someone driving down the road with their little lap dog in their lap and I think ‘oh yeah that’s safe’). Anyhow, its raining, kitten is in my lap, but requires my hand holding him there to restrain him there – So I’m driving down the highway, kitten in lap, and some jackass is going really slowly in a big truck in front of me, but the left lane is moving really fast and I don’t have much time to pass so I just wandered down the highway behind the jackass – and as I’m driving along I notice a bunch of debris on the shoulder. As I look closely it’s pieces of broom – or maybe even several brooms – pieces of the broom bristles and pieces of broomstick all over the shoulder… small pieces, but large enough to identify – and a hat. That’s it just pieces of broom and a hat. Well I giggled my butt off cuz I imagined this witch flying along in the early morning fog/rain and having some hideous accident that caused her broom to explode and she disintegrated in the wetness (you know, think back to the Wizard of Oz – “who’d have thought a little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness” – I really love that line) leaving behind only her hat and pieces of her broom. I just had a long telephone conversation with my dad – very weird that. I get along great with my dad, but he just doesn’t strike me as a telephone person. Let alone that I found out he was driving out to Henderson – which means I-76 and Highway 85, both lousy traffic in best weather – so we had this long cell phone conversation – it was nice. I had some other stuff, but I feel like I had better get at my work now.

I HAVE GOT TO GET ME SOME OF THOSE SHOES -- WHEN I WAS LOOKING FOR MELTED WITCH IMAGES I RAN ACROSS THOSE AND I LOVE THEM

my baby is becoming an adult :(

2008-04-22T08:45:00.002-06:00

This graduating Senior stuff is SO hard. I truly am happy that she made it, that she got into the school that she wanted, that she's doing so great and loving her new place in the world... but I really hate it too. I just want to scoop her up on my lap and read her a book and have her drink "aboo" out of her sippy cup. I want to watch her funny little waddle as she jumps down and totters over to the books and chooses a new one. I want to put her hair up in pigtails (while she screams and battles me) and put her little socks and shoes on for her. I DO NOT want to buy her any more stuff for her dorm, I do not want to have any more talks about sex and drugs and alcohol and stupid freshman decisions, I do not want to talk about $$ anymore either -- the school she chose is actually pretty affordable comparitively, but still... this whole college $$ thing, UGH! She wants a new bikini for her graduation party (we are having it at a beach... at a lake, we aren't having a destination graduation party, lol)... and I want it to be like those silly little ones that you buy them when they are still all baby fatty and the "bra" part is a silly little strip of bright green with pink flowers and you can actually tell what the fabric is because it's way bigger than the bikinis that are worn after the boobs arrive. Oh oh and the ruffles on the butt, yeah I want it to have ruffles on the butt!!! I have to take her dress to the cleaners today for prom, I don't want her to go to prom, I want her to go to a disney movie with me. I'm faking it well, being very happy for all these milestones and happy days... I'm going to make her "montage" (it's a collage-you know on poster-board, I don't know why the parent coordinators keep calling it a montage... I think a vocabulary lesson is in order) tonight, because it has to be turned in tomorrow... I'm sure that will put me in a very blue mood. She's working though, so I should be able to disguise it. I'm putting in lots of baby fat pictures with modest baby clothes and cute shoes that I had control over choosing!!! And her blonde hair and blue eyes, she had the biggest blue eyes... now her hair is brown and her eyes are hazel.

holy crap... i still remember my password!

2008-04-19T18:44:00.002-06:00

Well... I see that it's been ridiculously long since I have posted. To any of you who actually still have me on your RSS or some such thing, I am still alive, but I don't promise a great post here... I didn't come in with anything in mind to post, and I only have a short time here. I am bar-b-cueing chicken, well turning the chicken for the husband while he runs to pick up the daughter at girl scouts... and it's not working out all that well, I went out and turned it -- he mentioned that he wanted it to cook slowly, and it was... then I went back to turn it, and well not much change... oh joy, the burners were off, we were gassing our chicken -- I sure hope it's okay to eat after it actually cooks now that I re-lit the damn grill. Also making potatoes au gratin, so I'm being all domestic, which btw, hasn't been happening all that much around here lately... more of that later. I promise to all 2 of my faithful readers... I will post more regularly, it is sort of a "spring cleaning" oath for me. oh crap, chicken timer again... I'll be back soon!

just babbling

2007-12-04T10:51:00.000-07:00

well I guess I should just babble a bit since it's been OVER A MONTH since my last post. This having a senior in High School thing is quite demanding - even if she does the bulk of the driving -- work has been pretty demanding, well demanding is a bit strong, but busy, definitely busy - we just hop from event to event without much break in between to recover from the last. My office is a complete explosion - today is clean the office day and tie up lots of loose ends. Trying to some degree to get ready for the holiday - not really in the spirit (I never am till the last minute though). I have had the Cold from hell for TWO freakin weeks -- I never get this sick, or stay this sick, or even for that matter stay sick this long -- and every day it's a different aspect that is center stage, stayed up coughing in the middle of the night, so today is the sore throat (scratchy from coughing, not swollen glands, though that was the first day or two). Football season turned out wonderfully - they went to the playoffs, we had a road trip over to the other side of the continental divide for playoff football, that was fun! Got to know some of the football parents in a new way, travelling together always reveals some things you didn't know before (like which mom's have been sneaking booze into the games - hey I'm not one of them, and which mom's are flirts, and which dad's are p.w., and which parents baby their boys, etc.) -- my dancer hasn't danced in weeks, poor thing has a stress fracture - she can swim though. Both daughters are swimming, have had two meets, it's been pretty good - though oldest daughter lost her class ring at the meet this weekend. The boy isn't pitching, he has the equivalent of osgood schlatter (sp?) in his elbow, taking off til after the first of the year to rest it. He is working out for baseball on other stuff, and lifting in the weight room. Husband is busy with work, that is a good thing - even though people who don't know what he sells are bitching about any winter weather at all (which we honestly have barely had a taste of). Talked to my "sister" in France -- found out she hurt herself this summer far worse than I thought from her email (her English is not great) -- apparently she fell and hit her head on a rock and was in a coma for a few days -- in the hospital for over a month, then home for over a month, still couldn't do anything for the tremendous dizziness, so she went back to the hospital to have all those little tiny bones inside of her ear "re-built" -- she is finally back to work in November from an accident in July!!! I can't imagine having those little bones "re-built" -- and the thick French accent on "zose tiney leeetle bones" was a bit amusing in it's way also. I'm regretting my big idea of volunteering for a huge thing at school to make up for blowing off and only taking baked goods for a couple of years -- WAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY TOOOOOOOOO MANY POLITICS! These women who had me convinced they were all reasonable logical normal people have slowly shown themselves to be a whole new version of "graham cracker moms". Well that's about all I've got that's light hearted, maybe now that I've got the light hearted stuff out of the way I can post some 'meaty' stuff in the days to come.

The View...

2007-10-25T12:39:00.000-06:00

and no, not the silly show with those women who make every effort to be more and more obnoxious than another host each day (ps. I used to really like the show, however... well this is a meme and so that's for another day)

no "the view" from my blogging "window" -- I've been tagged by Jen over at 'Never a Dull Moment' -- to post what is 'outside my blogging window' -- whoever started this meme clearly assumes everyone has a blogging window -- I think this is a broad assumption, though, I've always had a window since I've had this blog - this being Colorado, where we shrivel up and die without sunshine, this isn't that big of a surprise. In fact, windows are a very big deal here -- people who want to appear to be 'green' (a new term, here in Colorado as far back as the 70's (those are my earliest memories) actually referred to it as being a 'tree hugger' - and with some pride even if you were from Denver and drove a huge gas hog of a car all around the city buying gasoline for your hideously inefficient outdoor playtime toys - have always justified all that glass by referring to it as "passive solar" -- which usually means that your house gets cold at night and on cloudy days and you have to heat it with less efficiency - and it gets so freakin hot in the summer that you absolutely must use air conditioning or you will actually bake your pets and your plants.

I used to have a view from the 16th floor of a downtown denver window - it looked out on 17th Street and I could see Long's Peak. From home - where I seldom ever blog, I look out my living room window across the street at my neighbors house - not exactly a spectacular view -- but nothing bad either, just a typical suburban view -- well unless you count when the little brats from the local juvenile delinquency facility (read junior high) are walking down the street smoking, sometimes even pot, and making out with their butts hanging outta their pants and their potty mouths shouting stuff to another kid - ugh! Now of course I have this amazing job working for a non-profit organization that I LOVE, because every day is interesting and everything I do, even the mundane like filing, is helping someone somewhere! -- anyhow, along with less that spectacular pay, comes less than spectacular accomodations -- we pride ourselves that we spend less than 10% of our total budget on administration -- this means that if you give us $100 - $90 goes to patients or research!!! -- and administration includes things like salary (remember the less than spectacular pay), office space (donated), office supplies (often donated), equipment expenses (servicing the copier), telephone, electricity, internet, postage, etc. -- in fact anything that can't be charged to an event or a program. Well the view from our donated office space is so wonderful that there is one office without a window -- and the boss took that office and gave me the window office -- don't be impressed!...

picture coming soon -- having trouble with the cell phone picture thingy, ugh

Yes... that is a dumpster, isn't it great!?! Strangely, I have NEVER seen it being emptied by the trash company, but it does indeed get emptied. And yes, those are weeds -- better yet when it rains/snows, the parking lot doesn't drain, so I get a view of dumpster in standing water -- so nice when you are thinking about west nile virus.

Don't get me wrong, because the benefits of working here far outweigh the view -- and my window has blinds, so generally I just ignore the outside world and work -- I've usually had my back to any windows I've had anyhow, so as long as the sunshine is there, I won't shrivel up and I can enjoy my day in other ways.

Now, if you've been over to Jen's pictures from her Kitchen (of Long's Peak) -- be assured that I can see Long's Peak every day as I leave my house and as I return home -- I live on a hill and I look out over the front range everytime I look west (I just don't blog looking west) -- I can also usually see Mt. Evans, and often Pike's Peak -- and there is nothing that rivals the beauty of the Front Range spread out before you -- I've lived here all my life and it still takes my breath away, probably as frequently as once per week. In fact the very day that Jen took her picture of Long's Peak, the view of it took my breath away, the snow was glowing in the morning sun and the Flat Irons were jutting up in front of it above Boulder and my daughter and I came up over the hill and just gasped at the beauty!

Thursday Thirteen - 7th Dirty Story

2007-09-13T12:28:00.000-06:00

7. This feels like the right story at the right time – (remember I said I had 13 of these, well I do, but I only wrote the first 6 and then just named the other seven, so they are being written “real time”.

My darling daughters share a room – it hasn’t always been that way, before they all had big girl and big boy beds (you know we still had cribs and/or toddler beds) – we varied the combinations around. But once the youngest had a “big girl” bed, we figured it was time to think about gender and we put both girls in one room together. Well the bedrooms in our house are not what you would call ‘huge’ in fact they are on the small side (not compared with what we had growing up, but still, small for two beds, two dressers, etc.). So we had these two twin beds in this room and dressers, etc. And it was really just too darn crowded once they began to accumulate stuff of their own. So we determined it was time for bunk beds – and they easily agreed on who should be on top and who on bottom – so this made life easy – but… youngest wanted bottom, but she didn’t like being completely under her sister – it made her feel “claustrophobic”, so we put the beds in an L shape of sorts, because these beds were designed so that you could do that. The top bed went North-South and the bottom bed went East-West. Well this created this wonderful little cubby area that was under older sisters feet, but not really “out in the room” – this was really great for youngest, it was like her very OWN space and she loved it – I seem to remember we had a desk in there, but I don’t know exactly how or what.

Anyhow, everyone is sound asleep, husband and I are going off to bed, and of course he has always been able to fall asleep in about 12 seconds, whereas I lay there a little while and then fall asleep – well… as usual, I was half-asleep and he was snoring (loudly – and no that’s not why I don’t fall asleep – I will write a post someday on my secret hatred for the sleep apnea machine – IT’S TOO QUIET), and I hear this faint little “mommy” – no maybe I didn’t hear anything… wait there it is again, maybe louder – and then… “M.O.M.M.Y.!!!! D.A.D.D.Y.!!!”, very loud, unmistakable – youngest is freaking. We jump out of bed and run in there… and oldest is leaned over her bunk bed wretching, and youngest is sitting up just barely out of the line of fire screaming her head off… older sister didn’t want to puke in her own bed, so she leaned over and puked all over her sister. Well of course I’m thinking about clean-up immediately, and thus far the mess is completely contained on youngest’s comforter – so I begin telling her not to move… I am so mean, here she is trapped under a lake of vomit and I won’t allow her to move, lest she disrupt the nice levees her legs under the covers have created. Husband has gone for a ‘puke bowl’ and youngest is now yelling at her sister “puke in your own bed” – and I’m saying ‘no, no, this one is already dirty’ – but she is a voluminous vomiter and has already gotten to dry heaves, so really it is academic at this point. Now son is awake, standing in doorway laughing at all of us – of course – he isn’t puking, puked on, or about to clean up puke – so it’s all good in his world (he will get his though, oh yes he will get his). Once the bowl was safely under the oldest, I scooped up the comforter, headed for the laundry room and let husband comfort the youngest who was completely traumatized by the whole thing. I still have not lived it down – I frequently get the “but mommy, you have a carpet cleaning machine, you could have just shampooed the carpet and let me out”.

Not an especially dirty story, after all, but timely none the less… my girls still share a room, still have bunk beds (in the usual configuration now – youngest wasn’t about to expose her legs to her sister after that), and actually they still vomit occasionally – however I can tell you now that they don’t wait for mom and dad – the sick one will wake the other and they are remarkably fast at getting to the kitchen for the bowl for the other sister. In fact, they don’t even wake us anymore – youngest was barfing last week, and we only knew because we saw the bowl in her bed – “hey what’s with the barf bowl in your bed” – “oh I threw up last night, my sister cleaned it up for me” – so those of you who think you can’t possibly follow your children around forever cleaning up after them – keep in mind that they do eventually begin to take care of themselves and it is sad and exhilarating all at once.

my weekend

2007-09-10T10:19:00.000-06:00

Well this was Harvest Festival weekend - which is sort of a big deal in a "farming" town - not that we are much of a farming town anymore - really more of a suburb of Denver, and most folks in town haven't ever mucked out a stall or chopped wood or gotten up early to feed critters but none the less we hang on to a few of our 'farming' roots - including the harvest festival. Well our Harvest festival is very much about the booths and the food and the carnival - there is also a parade on Saturday morning, and all the girl/boy scouts and marching bands and politicians and 4-H kids and classic car clubs turn out to show their stuff. After the parade there is usually a duck race down the creek (pronounced crik) where gold was first discovered in our town. You buy a duck from the Rotary for $5 (I think you can get 5 for $20?) and the money supports their scholarship fund. After hundreds, I mean hundreds of rubber ducks have been sold they dump them all in the bucket of a bulldozer - for those who know - the bucket on a regular sized bulldozer is darn big, so there are really a lot of ducks, they nearly fill the bucket. They dump the ducks into the creek and we all run down the banks of the creek watching the little ducks go - they get caught up in eddies and branches and behind rocks and they run over each other and around each other and it is so fun to watch them go down the creek - and of course the numbers are on the bottom so you have no idea at all which one is yours. They go down the creek for about 1/2 mile and then the Rotary has this wonderful thing some clever person built that catches ALL (okay one or two slip by, but nearly all) the ducks and it catches the first eight or ten in single file (it's shaped kinda like a Y as wide as the creek and then the leg of the Y holds ducks single file) - and of course that is how the winner is determined. We have never won - we don't care - duck race is absolutely the most fun of the day. So - The oldest had to work - well she was supposed to work at night, but a girl actually asked her to trade shifts for the morning shift which she gladly took (for reasons I will explain later), and the boy had a football game, so he and husband went to football - because I was not about to miss the duck race for a football game my boy was NOT playing in. So youngest and I packed up a cooler with some drinks, grabbed the Jelly, some hats, some cash and took off for the Duck Race. No Freakin Duck Race - I drove around the creek three times looking to see if they moved it up or down stream - no race - I'm so disappointed and well pissed off - I'm going to the next Rotary meeting to raise a stink actually! So then we went "downtown" - you know 3 blocks from the creek - and found a parking space and headed for the "catholic" school gymnasium. Why no one actually calls it by it's name is sort of beyond me, even the good little catholic girls that my daughter played softball with that attend school there don't call it by it's name - anyhow, it's the perfect location based on the rest of the events for them to hold the "food fair". Yes a real true old-fashioned food fair (hence the aforementioned 'jelly'). You can enter Garden vegetables that are abnormally large or weird looking - or on the other side of the gym (small town, small school, small gym, it's not so far to the other side) there is the canned fruit, canned veggies, pickles, salsa, jelly, jam, cake, pie, cookies, yeast bread, quick bread contests. My daughter entered her elderberry jelly. Well actually youngest and I took it in, because oldest was at work - but she had gladly changed shifts because prizes are awarded at 2:30 - and she would get off at 2:30 instead of starting her shift at 2:30 so she could possibly be there in time to get her prize. There were 7 jars of jelly in the jelly category - and she won 3rd place!! Now for anyone who actually knows what elderberries are - you are probably thinking ewwwwwwwww elderberry jelly? For anyone who actually knows what elderberry jelly is, you are probably thinking "holy crap that's way too much work". It is wonderful jelly, really delicious and wonderful. But the nature of elderberries makes it two to three times as much work as other varieties of jelly - for a bunch of crazy reasons. So that she won third place tells me that the judges actually knew that it is a bitch to get it to set and not turn to rubber, it's really really difficult - way more than other jellies. I'm a jam person myself, I have no patience for that dripping bag and that skimming the foam crap - let me cook up a big old pot of fruit and sugar and ladle it into jars any day - much much easier. Well then, after all that - we went on home had some supper - got back together as a family and went back for the carnival (much more fun at night you know) and it's all about being seen and seeing others anyhow. Amazingly - first year in ages - all three of our kids stayed with us. In part because we had the $$ (but they know we would have handed them some and let them run off if they asked), and in part because in spite of inviting lots of friends (most of their friends do NOT live in our town because they don't go to school in our town) none of them had a friend come with them. So, my eldest, she really doesn't like carnivals, and she was missing her boyfriend, and she had worked early so she was tired - she really only went for the funnel cake - and she almost has no friends from our town anymore, and certainly none that would go to the festival - though she isn't - they are all emo/punk and way too cool for something like that. Son has played almost all of his sports in the next town over or for school, so except for one year that he played sports in our town and a few friends left from elementary school (which also isn't in our town, but had a few more kids from our town than the high school) he doesn't have a lot of town friends either. Now youngest, played softball in our town (eldest did too, but quit so long ago it's hard to remember), dances in our town, for some reason has a lot more elementary school friends from our town and actually has some high school friends from our town... so she was sure she would just run into friends -- no go. But the boy ran into about 20 friends - and never once wanted to take off with them - he stayed with us. And he was delightful to his sisters - and they were delightful to him. It was so much fun - none of us rode any rides, but we shot at targets (I did pretty well but didn't win), and the boy and the youngest tried to break beer bottles with baseballs - the boy won that and all the little kids standing around were saying "wow, he should be a pitcher" -- tee hee, he is a pitcher. And then we had our funnel cake, listened to a little of the rock band in the park and went home - it was sort of a quiet night at the fair? Damn that funnel cake was good though!

Sunday is boring so nevermind - this isn't "my weekend" it's my saturday.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

2007-09-07T14:01:00.000-06:00

I just sent an email to a teacher without "signing" it -- and in fact... it's more complicated than that. You see my daughter (the senior) specifically requested that we say something "smartassed" in her yearbook - can you believe the little stinker - all the other mommies and daddies are writing things like "You have always been a blessing and seeing the lovely young woman you have become makes us shiver all over with appreciation to the Lord for the blessings he gave us when he brought you into our lives, Praise Jesus for you - you will be the best college student ever because you are amazing and beautiful and and and... " But no, we get a request for "smartassed" - which actually now that I re-read the above example - at least in our family - would clearly qualify as smartassed, but she would also disown us - even though we will be paying for college. So this email was to the yearbook teacher, and it was:

Ms. Yearbook teacher; thank you for your help with this, attached is the picture we discussed of daughter and the sentiment we would like is:

blah blah mushy blah blah reference to favorite hippy song blah blah reference to baby song blah blah

ps. We couldn't decide between a car and a computer for graduation - but then we thought about a vacation... we will call you when we get to Bermuda, please feed the dogs!

now... I'm afraid that Ms. Yearbook teacher (who is foreign by the way, and actually does not have great English) might think the ps. is for her!!! and not include it in the yearbook - and it is actually the specifically requested smartassed part of it - which is of course altogether or more important than the mushy blah blah -- so do I write back - or do I resend the sent message but finish it this time? Adding some paragraph to make clear where the sentiment ends? I'm all a twitter at the possibility that I just fucked up the damn thing and husband and I fought about it for three days - because you see...

He sang to her in-utero (he sang to all the kids in-utero) and so did I. But we sang different songs - now... I know my memory has gone to hell in a handbasket, but... (btw, wouldn't a handbasket just ignite and burn up the minute it reached hell?) I. KNOW. FOR. A. FACT. that he sang "Somewhere Out There" from American Tale to her until she was about 2 years old and requested that he change her song to "Goodnight Sweetheart" - he swears it was never "Somewhere Out There" and always "Goodnight Sweetheart" (maybe I should remind him that he was certain she was a boy til she popped out). And then when she was about 8, she wanted another change, but he wouldn't comply, he told her that "Feelin Groovy" was his song to himself and she couldn't have it. I never changed songs by the way, always "Wouldn't It Be Loverly" - anyhow, the two songs that we referenced are BOTH HIS - and mine just would not fit in - also, we debated and debated as to just how much of "Feelin Groovy" was going to make the cut - because we feel differently about a specific line - he thinks "morning" represents youth, and I think "morning" sounds dumb and should be "moment" and I didn't want to "limit" the sentiment by using "morning". Now I get that "morning" can represent "youth" - but he didn't say that until after we had argued about it for 30 minutes - UGH men! - and then once he said it I was so frustrated that it took a few hours for it to sink in and then I was okay with it.

Anyhow isn't this all so stupid, - but looking at baby pictures of the kids last night to choose the one to go with - OMG we made BEAUTIFUL babies - WOW! and We laughed our asses off at how silly they all were. I found about a bazillion to stick on her "senior collage" - do all schools do all this silly sappy shit or is ours just over the top on this the way it is with other things - we have... senior quote in yearbook (supposed to be selected by senior, but you can tell by reading them that some of the heli-moms are "helping"); sentiment from family with baby picture (or multiple if you want to pay more $$ ($35/each); senior bricks; senior collages; speeches from mom and dad at senior picnic or baccalaureate or something; baccalaureate (which is apparently very religious - as in gentile religious, so I'll be seeing if the ____berg's are going to participate before we make a decision - our senior has already said she has no desire to participate); graduation; and then regularly scheduled senior/parent meetings about "senior issues" - this first one was about college admissions - and that makes sense - and I know that one of them is baccalaureate planning - and I know that some of them are for announcements - which when I was in school was all about the kids and the parents were surprised when they saw what we chose... I'm so confused, lol. When I was in school our senior activities consisted of Keggers (no parents), class picture (aerial on the football field), more keggers (no parents), stop by the table and vote on announcements one day, check the spelling of your name another day, more keggers, ditch day (which included a kegger), graduation rehearsal (again, more beer), and graduation - woohoo the hard stuff, champagne popping out from under gowns and being passed up and down the rows, oh yeah, and more beer, and sometimes parents joined in this beer fun - did I forget any senior activities Moosema? (we were seniors together - but I don't think she drank as much as me, so she might remember something I don't)

flufferwhat?

2007-09-07T09:43:00.000-06:00

I was reading a post by Karly over at Wiping up Snot – or maybe it was her guest post – anyhow, she said something about a fluffernutter sandwich – now I have heard this before – but really never knew what it was – so I confessed my ignorance to her and she wrote me back – actually making a derogatory comment about one of my favorite sandwiches – I think she said she thought she might hurl – I like Peanut Butter and Mayo (with lettuce when available). Apparently, for anyone else as ignorant as me (I think it might be geographic, but that is still somewhat unclear) – fluffernutter is peanut butter and marshmallow “fluff”. And in New England there is a brand of fluff called “fluff” that is the very best – if fluff is the same as the Kraft Marshmallow Cream that we use here for fudge – and by “we”, I mean those of us who refuse to stand over a pot of boiling sugar and butter with a thermometer rising up to the atmosphere of Hell and instead of timing the nasty goo religiously with a clock with a second hand – btw… I find it ironic that nearly everything that is a “holiday treat” requires you actually have a clock with a second hand – my children cannot read clocks with hands (well not easily or well) but they can time the hell outta pizzelles or fudge with the second hand, lol. I know that ‘candy’ making fudge people look down their noses at us marshmallow cream fudgers – but, my fudge is always the first one gone on a buffet so pfffffft!

Okay well anyhow, if “fluff” is the same as that nasty crap that I put in the fudge, I could just hurl – so I guess Karly and I are even in that regard. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to combine the joys of fresh bread and peanut butter with nasty nuclear waste sugar – and I suspect she thinks of mayo as greasy nastiness or something equally as unappetizing.

But this brings me to another thought – and then I signed into my blog and remembered that I wrote about puke yesterday – so this is like a segue between puke and um… puke.

I love to tell stories on my children, and occasionally strangers – geez I wish I had voice recognition typing in my car – I wrote the best post last week in the car about inconsiderate bitches and bastards that leave shopping carts all about the parking lot among other transgressions – of course I was driving so I was just “writing” out loud to myself, and it will never come out the same on “paper” as that original artwork! Anyhow, time for a story on me – I suppose it would work as a ‘dirtiest’ story – but what the hell, we’ll just stick it in as a Friday – don’t celebrate the weekend this way!

We were at the lodge – the one mentioned previously in fish gut stew post and again after that in the “I splashed the sheriff but I didn’t get the deputy” post. The kids were very small, in fact, even in my slightly drunken stupor – I remember being concerned about their safety while roasting marshmallows – and asked my much more sober husband to keep a very close eye on them – and to definitely not let them fling the flaming balls of sugary goo into the faces of all the drunks sitting around “supervising”. The other questionable decision I made was to actually consume the beautiful wonderful snacks that my darling babies had made “just for me” even though they contained one of the most hideous “food” products hidden away in the pantries of most Americans (I doubt that people in any other part of the world would even consider putting that crap in their mouth! – note to self google marshmallows in the rest of the world). And I didn’t just consume one or two ‘smores’ – NO, my babies loved me a lot that night, and they just kept making me samples of their sugary love – and the little turds wouldn’t even turn back to lighting sugar on a stick on fire one more time til I took a bite – so though I managed to ditch a few of them in the garbage, I pretty much was forced to consume them.

Well here is an interesting scientific fact – marshmallows and copious amounts of beer do not actually complement each other when combined gastronomically – and in fact, as we all know ‘fresh’ marshmallows (do they ever really get stale???) float when thrown in a lake (or cup of hot chocolate)… well that floating quality does not cease with partial digestion, and in fact flufferbeer puke floats well in the lake also. It does not however clean up very well off of carpet – and like the lake, it floats in the toilet, which by the way, will cause you to hurl again – because it’s oh so lovely to see your puke floating inches from your bloodshot eyeballs. This particular weekend, the hostess saw fit to give us the rooms on the third floor, so by the time we climbed up to the lodge from the beach and then up all those flights of stairs to the lovely little tiny 1930’s bathroom – I frankly thought I may die at the lodge – if not from the flufferbeer rock and roll party in my stomach, then surely from the embarrassment of vomiting all that loving gooiness right into the lake in front of my sweet babies.

So… while I have never really liked marshmallows anyhow, not even as a kid – I really only like them in fruit salad – the idea of a ‘fluffernutter’ sandwich could just be my next diet tool. I think I will find pictures of them and post it on my refrigerator. Maybe pictures of big fat nasty rude people who leave their shopping carts in the middle of the fucking aisle two spaces from the corral after they’ve bought a huge jar of ‘fluff’ and are headed home to binge themselves on the nasty goo.

it's Thursday - another dirty story (#6)

2007-09-06T08:49:00.000-06:00

Ah… more inspiration – puke. Oh do we have puke stories.

Puke after field trip… You know when you chaperone the field trip, and the teacher, out of some serious malevolent sadistic moment of revenge (maybe you forgot to make non-chocolate cupcakes for the last birthday, or you questioned her about your kids handwriting on a particularly stressful day) gives you the group with THE KID. Oh yeah, my kids went to a ‘choice’ school, which in part means that you “choose” to chaperone lots of field trips because they need drivers as buses are not in the budget for schools that get 70% ppor (if you need to know about ppor, just ask).

You know that kid… in my oldest daughters class it was a kid named C – he was adorable, and I liked him actually. Funny, didn’t have to be perfect in front of him, could slip and blaspheme or maybe even mutter an expletive when I slammed the trunk on my hand trying to stow 42 more lunches, could even listen to regular rock music and he never bitched that my car smelled like cigarettes. In my youngest daughters class it was C’s younger brother… M. M was even cuter than C with these huge mischievious blue eyes and a little dimply grin that would charm Mother Theresa into letting him TP the Vatican. M also had the same endearing qualities that his brother had – with regard to the music and the vocabularly choices and even the stinky-assed car. They were both monsters however, and most mom’s would NOT chaperone them more than once, so while I accuse the teacher’s of malevolence, I think it was also convenient that I would actually allow the little hellions into my car. I’m not even sure which one, I think M, actually tried to escape from the car on the freeway once. They both would wander off ALL of the time, but I was rather adept at staying BEHIND my group and observing their path to the wrong part of the museum and a quick retrieval before anyone was the wiser. My sons class, which falls in the middle, didn’t have a boy from this particular family. Instead his class had three or four of the little buttwipes from other families – and they made M the escape artist animal abuser and his brother C the vodka drinking porn providing little pervert look like saints. One of these little hooligans, the one whose parents were oblivious to his social idiocies, was placed in my group for a field trip. He was a pale skinned, red headed, way way freckled (those huge freckles that red heads get), chubby, spoiled little pain in everyone’s ass. (Actually his mother was totally to blame, and a bigger pain in the ass than the kid – you know how that goes – he coulda been a cool kid if she hadn’t mollycoddled him and let the world know how freakin perfect she thought he was at every opportunity). Fortunately his more than perfect mother generally chaperoned field trips, so ordinarily no one had to deal with the little beast. (Picture Dudley from the Harry Potter books combined with that little red headed hellion from the Bad News Bears – or was it that hockey movie about ducks???) But alas, the day came when perfect mommy had to go be perfect for her other son, or her husband, or was starting a support group for mom’s who can’t do enough volunteering and ass kissing – and that teacher, she actually even said it out loud to me (how politically incorrect) saddled me with him because she was sure that I was the only parent on the trip that could handle him. Through most of the field trip he was actually rather quiet and compliant – he didn’t bully the other kids too much, far less than usual… he didn’t run off, sass me, insist on getting his own way, etc. He ate his lunch rather than throwing it at people – which was a huge improvement over his usual field trip lunch time antics. Finally, the trip ended – my son of course wanted ‘shotgun’ so the other little darlings – son’s best friend – what a great kid- and another sweet kid that never quite fit in but son and his friend were always kind and included him, and he requested me because he absolutely adored me (still hugged me in SIXTH grade – EVERY time he saw me!) – he knew no one would bully him in my car probably and of course the beast all climbed in the backseat.

You know that look a kid gets on their face about 10 minutes before they puke. That sorta pale green can’t smile or move their facial features in any way, staring blankly and actually starting to look smaller than they are? The beast got that look on his face… about 5 minutes from the school… so I said “hey T, you don’t look good, are you gonna hurl?”. He replied that no, he would not hurl, he was fine he just had a headache. He got greener as I exited the highway and headed up the road to the school. “You sure you’re okay T” “Yes, I just have a headache”… then… that true green, you know the look, and the strange shape the mouth takes… the ‘its about to blow green and puckered look’… we were 100 feet from the door of the school… no sense stopping til we got to the door. As I pulled to the front door, the boys all bailed, they could see it coming too, and the janitor was walking out of the building right at that moment… my son bless his heart ripped open the back door and T leaned out and let fly with the most amazing amount of chunky looking slime… then he got up took three steps and erupted again, the two puddles on the sidewalk nearly touching… a few more steps and another huge puddle, fewer chunks, more volume, running down the sidewalk toward the others. The sidewalk was about 30 feet long to the door… the janitor picked up a quick pace to the kid and pulled a bag from his pants pocket (janitors are like boyscouts, prepared for anything) and handed it to him and guided him into the clinic. The Bell rang – the front doors burst open and 120 first and second graders began pouring out of the school like bees erupting from a broken hive… willy nilly everywhere, and then they stopped… it was a domino effect pileup of small children, trying to stop in time – the kids who could see the huge mess – probably 12-15 feet long and about 4 feet wide, a river of puke – trying to navigate around it with the pressure from behind pushing them forward. I felt compelled to try to direct the traffic, I enlisted the other boys… we were pushing first and second graders to the sides of the river of goo, the teachers couldn’t see the mess but quickly realized that we were redirecting their darlings onto the grass toward the kindergarteners and they were about to lose them all in the confusion before their mom’s could get them. Somehow someone stopped the flow of children out the front door and directed them all back down the halls and through the classrooms that had doors on the front side of the school. Parents who were used to hovering around and picking up their children began to gag and run away, no help at all… they just wanted to determine their child had not made this hideous mess and wasn’t dying somewhere of some fatal gastrointestinal dilemma. Soon the janitor reappeared with the hose, but then disappeared again and went and got the ‘sawdust’ stuff… you know the pink sawdust… wow that stuff is absorbent. I ventured into the clinic to check on T – his butt was sticking up out of the door of the tiny little bathroom that the clinic had attached to it and he was still groaning and moaning and by now heaving more dry than wet. He was also crying, poor kid, so embarrassed and hoping that he hadn’t gotten any in my car. I assured him that vomit can be cleaned and I would go find the teachers or his mom. I arrived back at the 5th grade classrooms where all of the 5th graders had been kept because we “hadn’t returned” yet and they couldn’t be dismissed til they were all accounted for. His mom (bitch) was loudly complaining to the teacher that not only had she sent him with that weird Mrs. Me, but that she knew for a fact that I had probably stopped somewhere on the way back and that I had no consideration for the rules or other people. I, in fact, have never stopped on the way home from a field trip – and I do respect the rules and the teachers, just not usually the other parents. I stepped into the room, and in my best impression of Donna Reed, looked her square in the eye and told her that her son had indeed needed to stop on the way back, but that I had managed to return him all the way to the front walk of the school before he threw up what was apparently 42 gallons of vomit and that he was currently with the Clinic Aide having the most hideous dry heaves I had seen since college. Then the teacher dismissed the class and followed me out to the front where we found the Janitor shoveling pink sawdust into a trash can and cursing that TR Brat! Apparently… T always vomits in such volume, and had done it on several occasions in his years at this school. Further, the kid didn’t know what I meant by ‘hurl’ so he really did think that he was not going to ‘hurl’. I only had to just barely clean up a few wee bits of vomit that barely caught the threshold of the car, and not the rest, so I’m not sure this would have qualified for the contest – but it was nasty just the same.

Listerine... let me count the ways

2007-09-05T07:13:00.000-06:00

I just found this and it was never posted... I wrote it last week, looks finished, wonder what I was thinking?

I recently read a blog over at My Tiny Kingdom regarding stinky feet - and I posted there that Listerine actually helps the stinky feet - other things that help - and these of course depend on many factors...

Drop stinky assed sandals (waterproof) and watershoes in the pool overnight - upside down so that the stinky part is in contact with the germ killing chlorine... this is even better if you just 'shocked' your pool... might discolor certain fabrics (you know "chlorine bleach" -- yeah)

Rinse with cold water after bathing/showers, this helps with body odor from ANY part of the body - it's not a cure all, but some feet are stinky enough to use a multi-faceted attack

Two pairs of socks - I know more laundry, but honestly you can buy more shoes or you can try the two pairs of socks -- I have SIX brothers - who all wear TWO pair of socks, and none of them started that until their feet became unbearably smelly - even to themselves. My husband also used to wear two pair when he was working in landscaping and wearing work boots, again no stinky (although he is not a stinky person by nature, but work boots usually are)

And baking soda in shoes does help - although again... once they get the funk, it's too late, this really needs to be done as a preventive to any shoes that you care about... I read over at My Tiny Kingdom about putting it in some socks and then putting the socks in every night... now this just might work for a boy who will not sprinkle every night (hell we are lucky they brush teeth at least every 48 hours and change underwear often enough to have to launder it occasionally)

oh yeah the post title is "Listerine"... so it is supposed to be this hilarious story about Listerine

Okay so I come from this stinky family - my mother's side, though she doesn't have much issue with body odor -- and I was always taught that the aluminum in deodorant is terrible for your health (grew up homeopathic) so we avoided it til of course no one could stand us - so you can table the 'you used deodorant too soon' lecture. My uncle is without question the worst smelling American on the planet - I'm not racist, it's just that I have travelled some, and between lack of plumbing, different hygiene habits, different diets, etc... for we Americans, some people in other parts of the world are pretty smelly (they themselves probably think we stink). Anyhow, dear old Uncle reeks most of the time, but my Aunt always said that was in part due to the fact that he smokes like a chimney and drinks 92 pots of coffee each day... while those are both near truths... and well I used to smoke, and I have always been a fairly heavy coffee drinker - I didn't start stinking as bad until I stopped smoking and cut back on the coffee... hmmmmmmmmmmm. Alas, I have to change brands of deodorant (yes with aluminum blah blah) every couple of sticks as Degree will only work for a few months and then is useless so I change to Secret - again only for a few months - probably two sticks and then back to the other... I really don't know as the stink comes mid-stick usually and I just go get the other one. Then, there are fabrics that make it much worse - and I love tank tops, and I think the lack of sleeve just 'massages' the stink glands in the armpits - so if you catch me mid-stick in a sleeveless shirt with any rayon or spandex in the fabric on a hot or stressful day I'm liable to be stinky while my hair is still wet from my shower - seriously... I have noticed myself smelly while I am still IN MY TOWEL from my shower - and if you can smell yourself - you are really disgusting to other people. Add to this that my husband has never touched a stick of deodorant to his armpits his entire life and smells nice all of the time (well unless he rolls in shit or something, but he only does that on rare occasions). So I am very aware, really I am aware - and embarrassed that I stink like good-old-stinky-assed-chain-smoking-coffee-drinking-slightly-creepy Uncle.

It was a day like that, I arrived at work, had to work on one computer right next to my boss - could smell myself - wishing I had worn a wet suit to work so the stink couldn't get out - and I had to go to a meeting. I got to my car to drive to the meeting - and went for my emergency stick of Secret - UGH WRONG CAR! I had taken to driving the kids' car because it gets better gas mileage and my emergency stick of Secret was safely stored in the glove box of my car at home in the driveway. I frantically started searching my purse for some Purell (my mom has recommended this as a way to kill germs and contain odor) dammit it was empty - no doubt my youngest who has some sort of fascination with opening containers but is completely unable to close them again had found it some time previously and then it had probably run all over everything in my purse, but being mostly alcohol probably just made ink run on some important piece of paper and then dried up rather quickly. There I was at the light of a VERY BUSY Denver intersection, when I saw it... the travel listerine I had just purchased for an upcoming trip. And... there were napkins in the glove box. I grabbed a napkin, soaked it in listerine and right there at the red light next to a bazillion delivery guys and across the intersection from a few dozen more, I unbuttoned my blouse (it wouldn't untuck because of the outfit I had on and the seatbelt) and began to warsh my armpits with listerine soaked napkins. It did help with the body odor - and I had that nice medicinal smell too!

I'm sure there are 8 million uses for listerine - so feel free to share them

This weeks menu

2007-09-05T06:56:00.000-06:00

As stated earlier, I am going to try to post our menu so that if I share those times when we actually have ideas about what to eat, other folks will offer up some suggestions that will allow me to come up with some variations and we don't eat the same three things in constant rotation (exaggerating for clarity). I have to give credit where credit is due - I still haven't figured out exactly what she wanted so damn bad - but my oldest daughter (the one that cooks) really wanted to go to the store yesterday after I picked them up - she said something about lunch, but all she bought that had anything to do with lunch was sourdough bread. Anyhow, credit goes to her, she said that if we were going [I can't type dammit, I have backspaced over like 15 typos already] we should make a menu and a list. Well bless her heart she even got her sister interested, and thus... we have a menu (for a change) just like the old days when I was an organized mom. It is for a short week, but still.

Tuesday - Porkchops with wine sauce (this is S's specialty, and she was cooking), she also made rice and sauteed zucchini to accompany this

Wednesday - Chicken Cordon Bleu (another specialty of daughter), I believe she is planning on asparagus and rice pilaf with this (she really really likes rice)

Thursday - Sloppy Joes (we have a really busy day this day, so this will rock to come home to something already planned and EASY), we will have steak fries and sliced peaches fresh from the Western Slope with this

Friday - BBQ Ribs (my husband is a magician on the grill), I'll make some pasta salad and corn on the cob to go with this

Saturday - Chicken in the Red Pan - another family recipe, you should have seen the delight on my children's faces when I suggested it - not a summer recipe as a rule because it goes in the oven, and we all know you don't bake when it's hot! [I just checked though and that is our small town festival weekend - may have to make a change, we'll see] none the less it's the plan. This is served with Rice (stop laughing, we don't usually have rice three times a week) and there is broccoli and mushrooms in the recipe - that's veggie enough, haha

Sunday - Spaghetti - Daughters boyfriend is going to be here, and she wants him to enjoy a family meal with us - apparently this means something Italian (or Polish-though she didn't suggest any Polish food). Looks like I really only have to cook once all week (WOO HOO) and that might get postponed for harvest festival! You know she will want to cook for her b/f and I won't be allowed near the sauce.

So - the grocery list also follows (keeping in mind that I probably had some of what was needed on hand.

Pork Chops
Chicken Breasts
Matzo Meal
2 Cans Crushed Tomatoes
Sloppy Joe Mix (ps. I never follow the directions!)
Buns
Ribs
Corn on the Cob (buying later at farmers market)
Rice
Zucchini
Asparagus (wth is wrong with Safeway these days, they have this nice asparagus, but they let it sit in nasty water or NO water and it's icky icky)
Rice Pilaf
Broccoli
Prosciutto
Swiss Cheese
Mozzarella
Mushrooms
Tomato Paste
Ground Beef
Red Wine

my schedule this week...

2007-08-31T11:22:00.000-06:00

I've not been home once all week... Monday night we had Job's Daughters, Tuesday night was Back to School Night (remind me again about the value of this for involved parents who have already had every teacher in the school?), Wednesday was 'Senior College Night' - holy criminy, it amazes me that some parents were smart enough to actually keep their child alive long enough for them to be a Senior!, Last night was opening game for Varsity Football and tonight is my father's 75th birthday and I'm buying him a beer!

Anyhow, I told another blogger (can't even remember who now - Tales from My Tiny Kingdom?) that I would post our menu so that others could have ideas for dinner - I am so ashamed to say that our menu has been:

Monday - Girls & Mom - Burgers (grilled by husband at 9pm when we got home)
Boy & Dad - Burgers

Tuesday - Kids - DOYO (aka Dinner On Your Own) - so they had soup or frozen convenience food or ramen or something like that
- Mom & Dad - Arby's

Wednesday - Youngest - DOYO (she had a salad)
Boy - Team Dinner, I have no idea, I didn't ask, I think it was burgers
Oldest & Mom & Dad - Taco Bell

Thursday - Girls - Arby's
- Boy and Mom & Dad - Chipotle

Tonight - the plan is to have breakfast for dinner because I have some breakfast links that need cooking in the fridge

So if you want ideas for dinner - please see the below the very involved, lousy to stand around and prepare in hot weather, strange sounding, but delicious old family recipe

As for what I've gotten out of all these nights away from home... Monday night, it was the first meeting of the term so there wasn't much to be gotten - that's okay, you have to have one every term right?... Tuesday night, BTSN - well the big huge everyone speech by the principal was too long and drawn out, there was NO NEW INFORMATION, and I didn't have a seat, had to sit on the Gym Floor! Then we went to the classes, you go to each "period" for ten minutes and this works well for most families who have 1 or 2 children with 1 or 2 parents, but we are outnumbered and have to pick and choose which classes to miss... I don't really care what the teachers have to say about the syllabus or the rules - they don't really change much from year to year or teacher to teacher - no plagierism, no cheating, come in during activity period for help, this is a survey course, we will have 4-5 homework assignments per week, there will be a term paper after christmas break and here are all the dates that you will never retain and you will never find that slip of paper you are writing on again so I don't know why I am telling you this, etc. Now, in the case of a teacher we have not had previously - you get a feel for the teacher -

Sr. daughter's History teacher is indeed creepy like she said, and he has NOTHING hanging on his walls, however he is really passionate about history and excited to teach them the stuff on the syllabus - so I think it will be fun and fine (Boy has him also)

Sr. daughter's English teacher might be a pompous ass, he has an ego wall in his classroom, has the look of an eccentric college professor - weird beard and all - and wants to make certain that the parents know that he gradutaed summa cum laude from one University and magna cum laude from another (this tells me he has no social skills, but whatever) - he is also passionate about his subject and looks like he takes particular interest in making it intersting to the kids - his one goal may be to make more literature geeks like himself - perhaps he loves himself that much?

Freshman daughter's math teacher (boy had him last year, but he got left out of the schedule for some reason) seems pretty cool, I actually almost never have to have contact with the boy's teachers because he is scary smart and very organized and doesn't particularly need my support at school... so I actually never met the teacher in a whole year! I think he will be good for her because he isn't a super math geek dried up old prune and can actually speak to people and kids

French teacher is just as kooky as every other year, and AP French should be very demanding on the Sr. daughter (the other two have her also, but there isn't much reason to go into that - she's kooky that's all)

AP Chem teacher (British) is a kick, I think she's delightful, most everyone else thinks she has a stick up her butt, but I can tell she doesn't - my concern though is that she has the boy, and he can be rather... gregarious during class, which doesn't always go over well with 'stick up the butt' teachers - it will be very demanding but like I said, he's scary smart and never has issues with that

Son's math teacher does not look like Mrs. Umbridge without glasses - I don't know what youngest was smoking when she made this assessment (she doesn't smoke - it's an expression)... she is not flaky and crazy, and she isn't mean and harsh - actually she seemed alright, sort of neutral - and son thinks she's okay too - regardless of her reputation

Husband saw - same history teacher, an English teacher we had before, the gym teacher - the female one with the nice rack that the boy is delighted to have for weight lifting, another English teacher we had before, a biology teacher we had before, and the photography teacher that we had before - he told me she has lovely daughters - her name is Mrs. Brown - I don't think he met or saw her daughters, he's just a smart ass that way.

We blew it and did not see a math teacher that we needed to see, oops - should have sent husband there instead of the weight room - oh well. We've had the teacher before but it is an AP course, so probably should have gone there.

Wednesday night... Senior College night - oh dear lord! -- I got two things out of it, speakers can be amusing even if they teach you nothing and Counselors send the whole tomato to colleges now - the app, the transcript, the letters, the essay - and you must have it to them two weeks before the deadline so they can process it. -- the question and answer sessions were a waste of time, and other seniors parents for the most part are fine, but a few are totally inept and should be locked up at home before they cause more damage!

Thursday night... well really what do you get out of a football game that your kid doesn't play in? They won, by a large margin, and it was fun. Our kids attend a strange school where most of the parents go to games, even if they don't have a football player living in their home. It is quite bizarre actually that about half or more of the crowd at a game is adults - teachers and parents - even the geeky teachers come - so it is a bit of a social event, although my husband and I both really enjoy football so we try to sit near the more serious football fan parents and limit our socializing to halftime and the occasional comment after a play about an exceptional block or a great catch. We sat near a family where the mom is quite social but dad and grandpa and grandma are very into the game, then some other very football serious moms sat to my right - we practically didn't even talk during halftime - it was great - no pressure to make smalltalk with people I am tired of after all this school meeting socializing crap. I made a point to wander to the social section during halftime to inquire about another woman's sick mom - she has West Nile Virus, and I found out last night Viral Meningitis - she is very sick, I felt very bad for my 'friend' - I remember when my mom was sick how much it meant when people asked about me and wanted to be kind and helpful - I'm deciding about what I want to do for her (she also has a new baby) I think I will fix a couple of meals and maybe get her some light reading - maybe even magazines? Thoughts from any of you about what would have been meaningful while you sat around the hospital for the third week would be appreciated. I don't know her well, so books might be a flop if she doesn't read much or has already read them... unless someone has a great suggested title that wouldn't likely fall into those categories. I also don't know if she has any particular hobbies - but I like her very much, her kids are very nice, her husband is a great guy - and our sons play both football and baseball together so we see each other pretty regularly.

Today - I need to go into my office and do some more work - instead of blogging and googling finch care all day. I got a new pair of finches last night - thinking of naming them either Atticus and Scout - you know from the novel - or Atticus and SingSing or Florence - face it the male is Atticus. But when I told my mom that, she thought I said Attica - thus the Prison name for the female (my daughter is grossed out that they might breed and in the book Scout and Atticus are daughter/father - I see her point actually) My husband is partial to Florence, as that is the maximum security prison here in Colorado, and we could call her Flo for short - which cracks him up - because "she flo all over da house when she got away" - or "she flo from perch to perch when she get happy" - he's SUCH A DORK, giggle.

My "favorite" meal

2007-08-31T10:00:00.000-06:00

Of course I don't have a 'favorite' - I hate absolutes, and I'm moody, and I think the word 'favorite' is restrictive! However, the day that I answered a shitload of questions, I put Round Steak Rollups as my favorite food (and someone asked how to make them).

Now... keep in mind that this is a family recipe that I have seldom shared at all, and my children will probably be angry if they ever find out (you know that I am a surreptitious blogger and to my knowledge NONE of my family are aware of or read my blog)

Also this recipe is NOT written down anywhere so... trust my memory, and hope I get the quantities somewhere near correct -- also to the best of my knowledge it was passed to my mom by my father's Polish aunt and we always thought it was Polish, not sure though

We all (cousins, sisters, mom) make this in a pressure cooker - I suppose it could be baked for a bazillion hours, or maybe even crockpotted, but I doubt it would taste the same. Also, my cousins use bacon in theirs -- I'm told -- I don't remember ever eating this at my Aunt's house, and I have never had my cousin's version - but bacon doesn't sound bad - so add it if you would like.

Round Steak (we are pigs, and my son can eat about 20 roll ups if I would let him, and it's a lot of work, so I buy as much as my pressure cooker (large) will accomodate - usually two-three steaks - you know the large thin ones, I have no idea on pounds because I use my eyes, lol. So they ones that are on a tray that is about 12" x 9" - actually they seem more square than that - but anyhow, larger than a piece of typing paper and they are about 1/2 inch thick.

Mustard (yellow), pickles (dill), rice (white), campbells golden mushroom soup (about 1 can per round steak, but I think I would never make it with fewer than two cans), onion (usually I use yellow, but white would be okay too), beer, flour and toothpicks, shortening or vegetable oil (yeah yeah canola is fine, but not olive)

slice the pickles (sorry quantity totally boggles me, I think you will need at least 10 pickles to start with - I use a bazillion because we make as much as will fit in the cooker), lengthwise, as thin as you can get them, most people can't do paper thin, but if you are that freaking good with a knife, that is probably too thin, then I usually cut the length in half because pickles are usually longer than the two inches width of the meat. put the mustard in a bowl with a knife for spreading, I use my 'frosting' blade that I use on cakes, slice the onion (may only need 1/2 onion-depending on strength and size of batch, my rule is if an onion really makes me cry, I only use 1/2) (this can be done later while you are browning the meat, it's a preference thing)

Pound the shit outta the roundsteak with flour and a meat hammer - you want to at least double it's size. Cut it into strips, like about two inches wide and maybe six-7 inches long? You have to adjust for the meat you're working with. Slather the strips (one side) with mustard, a thin coating, but not too thin, you should be able to see yellow on the entire surface of ONE side of the meat, but you should be able to tell there is meat under there. A piece that is 2"x7" probably uses 2 tsps of mustard??? (totally guessing here). place a pickle slice perpendicular to the meat strip and start rolling the meat around the pickle, keep placing pickle slices as you roll - I usually put 4-6 slices per roll in a "regular" sized roll. toothpick the rolls - it is always sort of a 'challenge' around here to try not to have any double toothpicks - if this is your first time I wouldn't challenge yourself to that - you want them to hold together, but do try to remember for your family about how many they should expect in each roll so they don't bite into one!

[I have tried the 'minute steaks' you know that the butcher put through his dealio - the meat is too fragile and will not work]

Brown the rolls in heated shortening/oil - frankly the shortening tastes better, but of course it is lousy for your heart/cholesterol/blood pressure health - I use an iron skillet, as do my sisters and mom - I don't know if this affects the taste, but probably. Make sure you use a RACK in your pressure cooker - we are talking flour and gravy here, it will stick like a somebitch if you don't have the rack in there, and the bottom ones will taste burnt (I know this because I have spaced out the rack on the second batch for a big family dinner). [oh yeah if you have leftover pickles you can fry them for a minute or two and throw them in the cooker with the rolls]

Place the rolls in your pressure cooker (if you have one but seldom use it - remember that there is a fill line! My mom blew one up when we were kids, I don't wish that on anyone - you can push the fill line a little, but always leave some space or it will blow) don't forget the rack first, throw in the sliced onion with the rolls, dump the soup in, throw in the beer - less one or two swallows to check for freshness? - sometimes this recipe requires a beer and a half, geez don't waste that half!, and then fill with water to the 'fill line' or maybe just a cheat more if you are brave (this will be the gravy and most people really love the gravy so the more the better, but you don't want to clean it off of your ceiling or worse yet risk a burn on a family member)

(I AM NOT ADVOCATING TAKING RISKS OR ENDANGERING YOUR FAMILY, I AM ADMITTING I AM A BIG CHEAT THAT DOES THAT, BUT I DON'T RECOMMEND IT TO ANYONE)

cook the shit outta them - in a pressure cooker this means 45 minutes 'rocking' - you don't start timing til the rocker is rocking -

update - I just went looking for an exploded pressure cooker picture (no luck) but ran across lots of caveats about not opening too soon - um yeah, if you don't use one often, remember to open EXACTLY as directed by the manufacturer - this one I don't cheat on

cook up some rice to serve them with - also recommended pierogies (also not particularly heart smart)

you can do salad - might help with the guilt for the fat and salt and carbs in this dish.

Thursday Thirteen - Dirtiest Story #5

2007-08-30T11:39:00.001-06:00

Ah yes, inspiration at last, now I have a number 5… Father’s Day – must have been 1993 as my youngest was in diapers and small enough to charm everyone at the party that actually liked babies. My brother-in-law (at the time) and my sister were hosting the party, so his family was there also. Very nice people, but VERY VERY stodgy (what a great word) and stiff. His father (who makes THE ABSOLUTE BEST DILL PICKLES EVER) was completely smitten with my darling and was carrying her around the yard cooing and babbling at her as if she was the only thing on the planet – ignoring even his own granddaughters to some degree to lavish attention on this darling little baby that quite frankly at that age looked a lot like a little American Indian Betty Boop with the hugest blue eyes you ever saw. So, the older children were ‘playing’ basketball – none of them were really tall enough to make a basket in the regulation hoop, the men were complaining because my anti-tv, anti-sports, very eccentric sister was fed up with them watching the Masters and disconnected the cable! – it was father’s day, but don’t let that stop her from ruining the fun of the fathers in the group. The women were spread out under her huge shade trees in various lawn chairs and hammocks gossiping and drinking some wonderful concoction of juice that my sister was serving. That’s when we heard the noise, a strange muffled machine gun noise, very loud, but yet… muffled, and wet sounding too. We saw it before Joe felt it, all over his beautiful ivory colored silk shirt – brown goo, lots and lots of wet brown goo, running down his shirt. The smiley baby didn’t betray a thing, it was if she didn’t know she had a dirty diaper – and Joe must have thought that he was sweating or something because he seemed absolutely oblivious to the quart or so of goo running down his torso. It was so embarrassing, this man dressed so dapper, and such a sweet man – and his stuffy wife who I suspect never even liked her own child** – so disgusted at the thought that her husband was sullied and she might have to be near him in a different shirt or worse yet – no shirt. The baby was actually pretty easy to clean up – we were at the auntie’s house – I just stripped her down right there in the yard – this was apparently gauche to these folks and they were disgusted with me – and then I took her in the house and bathed her real quick in Aunties bathtub (okay I was gonna use the kitchen sink – she was a tiny baby – but these people were in such shock at having seen her naked bum that I couldn’t bear putting it in the kitchen sink and getting ‘caught’). However, Joe would not go in the house dirty, lest he stink up the house. He also would not take off his shirt in front of people (for an old guy I’m sure he was in fine shape, and it was all family – sort of), in addition he was absolutely refusing to wear one of his son’s shirts, even if just for a short time while his was cleaned. So Joe wiped up his shirt as best he could and continued to wear it for the rest of the party! It was like a giant red beacon of embarrassment – can’t you keep your kids from overflowing their diapers?, what the hell do you feed them anyhow?, haven’t you ever heard of a schedule?, I don’t know, any other absurd questions you could ask that would make this MY FAULT. The woman never spoke to me again, I can’t even remember her name now! Joe quit giving me pickles – I had to steal them from my brother-in-law (with my sister’s assistance) when he was out of town… and my daughter – now 14… can still fart louder than a Gatling gun, but thank G-d they aren’t wet anymore!!

**[update, remember I wrote these stories awhile back... the ice queen's name is Mary, and I was right, she didn't like her own child that much, apparently she recently told him that she would rescind the adoption if she could! Is that one of the most hideous things you can imagine your parent saying to you or saying to your child!!!???!!!]

in case you were wondering??

2007-08-29T12:12:00.001-06:00

Here’s more about me:

Accent–I don’t have one – I’m a native of Colorado – however I do have a condition that my children refer to as ‘contagious accent’ – whenever I speak to someone with an accent I begin to pick it up immediately

I don’t drink–anything fru-fru and candy-assed – if you are old enough to have a drink, it should not taste like liquefied cotton candy!

Pets–at the moment – two dogs, one is my daughter’s – have had hundreds of pets in my life (mom was great about letting us bring damn near anything home) including rabbits, turtles, crabs, fish, hamsters, guinea pigs, gerbils, mice, birds, cats, dogs, pigs, goats… never had a snake – Dad has a phobia

Essential Electronics–what a strange thought – I don’t actually think I have any – clearly I love my computer, but when the power goes out I don’t freak out, I just grab a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the silence… oh wait, there is that menopause shit starting, so yeah fans and air-conditioners and the ilk

Perfume–J’ai Osè

Gold or Silver- neither I have an aversion to jewelry (my wedding band is gold)

Insomnia–um yeah that menopause shit is starting – nuff said

Job Title–data/finance specialist – this means that any kind of paper that comes into our office ends up with my fingerprints on it

Most Admired Trait–I’m not sure I have one – sense of humor?

Least Admired Trait-probably my lack of diplomacy (although people are always saying “oh no, it’s great, I like a straight shooter” and you can tell they are offended as hell)

Kids–Girl, Boy, Girl – 15 months between each – all teenagers at the moment – and all still alive – at the moment

Phobia–heights

Religion–Religious Science (no not Christian Science or Scientology)

Siblings–6 brothers, 4 older, two younger, three of which are foster brothers and one adopted us… two older sisters – we girls are all 5.5 years apart, making the oldest 11 years older than I, and yet people always think she is my younger sister which really pisses me off.

Time I Wake Up–lately I wake up about 1:30am, 4:00am, and 5:15 am, I generally get up about 5:45-6:00 am, but it varies widely based on where I am sleeping, what I am wearing, and who else is already up.

Unusual Talent or Skill–I can wiggle my ears and my nose, I can do that thing where you raise one eyebrow, and I can fold my lips up really weirdly – I can even do all of this simultaneously!

Vegetable I Refuse to Eat–Okra -- what the hell, ewwwww

Worst Habit–potty mouth?

X-rays–again strange—well dental, and I broke my back when I was 17 – I can’t think of any others, but I certainly can recall the feel of those lead apron deals

My Favorite Meal–probably ‘round steak roll-ups’, but dang gina, it could be different every day – I’m not much on ‘favorites’ I just can’t commit

Leaving this as an open tag. Whoever wants to play is invited. Have a good weekend!

Favorite Parenting Quote "of the week"*

2007-08-28T12:18:00.000-06:00

this from 'Because I Said So'...

...everyone knows a ringing phone releases a hormone in children that makes them flock to you like seagulls to a bag of discarded Mc Donald's left-overs in the parking lot...

There is so much truth on this blog that it frightens me, and makes me laugh right the hell out loud -- keep in mind I grew up in a family of seven - so this woman's life is my mom's -- and um... wow my mom should be cannonized (even though we aren't catholic, yeah really we aren't catholic and there were actually nine of us, [they added after we all left!] -- we aren't mormon either, it had nothing to do with religion and everything to do with my parents having the best spirits in town (not the kind you drink... although...)

*remember week is a relatively broadly defined term = when I get around to reading something that prompts me to post it

my husband's children have a dirty little secret

2007-08-28T09:38:00.000-06:00

The ~~little fuck monkeys~~ blessed angels have done it again, they made me so pissy that I had to tell everyone that I’ve had a conversation with about it.

My sister – who can grow popsicle sticks – seriously, anything she sticks in the ground will grow, and bloom, and multiply, and grow larger, greener, bloomier, and with more babies than anyone elses… had to move a few years back – and I inherited her beautiful rose bushes (which I managed to keep alive, but they aren’t anything like when she had them and she would play Mozart for them and kiss them and tenderly dead-head them, and talk to them, and whatever it is she does – they are lucky that I have a drip system that waters them, and occasionally I run out and dead-head them (like twice a summer, instead of daily like her).

So one of these gorgeous wonderful fantastic bushes, is still blooming in spite of my neglect – ‘French Perfume’ variety – which means that it has the most outstanding fragrance – almost too strong – and these beautiful blooms on long stems that cut for bouquets just wonderfully (which I hesitate to do, lest my black thumb actually come in contact with the plant and it instantly whithers and dies). However, this morning I walked out my front door, coffee in hand, ready to drive to work and I looked over and the French Perfume was covered in beautiful blooms and I couldn’t resist – I had to have a bouquet for my desk at work.

So I walked into my kitchen to my junk drawer (I actually know a woman who does NOT HAVE a junk drawer in any room in her house – freakish that – I have one in EVERY room) – and I lifted the hot pads to put my hands on my rose clippers (very expensive lovely gift from my husband that actually thought having the right tool might make a difference for me – bless him) and THEY WEREN’T THERE. Now you know some teenager has been using them to trim toenails, cut baggie ties to build some sort of weapon, get into one of those fucking molded plastic packages that require a blow torch and safety gloves and glasses to get into, or even possibly as a substitute for a hammer, pliers, screwdriver, wedge, etc. – and that they did not put them back - there is also a good possibility that this mutilation of MY rose clippers took place outdoors (to prevent my snooping eyes from seeing) and they are probably somewhere rusting and covered with something nasty. So I grabbed kitchen shears – I wasn’t about to upset my lovely morning of cutting a bouquet to be sullied by actually finding out who/what/where my clippers were being abused.

Then I went to get a vase out of the buffet. I have probably 15 ‘utility’ vases – my father really likes to give flowers, I have a dancer who receives lots of flowers, and of course you need several colors, shapes, sizes to accommodate all this cut flower displaying. Don’t mistake this to mean we have cut flowers around all the time – we seldom do, and when we do, they generally stay in the vase until they are nearly unrecognizable dried up black and brown ghosts of their former selves, tucked in some corner where their height wasn’t disturbing someone’s conversation, homework, meal, etc. I also have a few expensive vases in the china hutch – these don’t actually get used – we used to have a cat, and after he broke a few vases, I learned that it isn’t practical to use the expensive ones with a cat in the house – the cat’s been dead now for about 5 years, but I haven’t changed that habit – also – whoever designs expensive vases doesn’t actually think about putting flowers in them – they are beautiful empty – but they are always the wrong shape to display a bouquet and look silly filled.

So… I went to get a utility vase out of the bottom of the buffet – you know in with all my “clean” dishes, that particular section of the buffet has the soup bowls, some platters, several dessert dishes, tea pots and some other sundry serving bowls, etc. -- AHA – that little glass one is just perfect for three blooms, that will leave several on the bush and look great on my desk – ewwwwwwwwww it’s got nasty brown old flower water ring around it. Set it on top of the buffet to take it to the kitchen for “re-cleaning” – AHA that milk glass one will be nice with 3 maybe 4 blooms, still leaving some on the bush, and will travel well in the car – ewwwwwwww nasty brown dried up water stain in the bottom, this was never washed, maybe someone couldn’t see it was dirty since it is milk glass – okay how about this tall glass one, that bush has long stems, ewwwwwwww nasty old flower stuff in the bottom – FIVE filthy nasty vases in my buffet with my clean dishes (well I didn’t actually confirm the dishes were clean) – and two more on the kitchen table --- I had only ONE vase that was even remotely the correct size and shape for this project – not to mention I was pissed as all get out about the dirty vases. But it was so wide that I had to cut every blossom off the bush to fill it enough not to look silly. Now what were those little lazy asses thinking, that I would never use another vase again? That they could fake me out by offering to put any flowers that came into the house into water? That they would remember later to take them all back out and clean them? Or did they even think – I’ll bet this was one of those “this kitchen had better be perfect when I get home or heads will roll” days – and it had to have been shortly after a ballet recital for there to be that many dirty vases – unless they have been doing this as a regular MO for months without even caring if there is ever a clean vase in the house.

So, I cut my roses with scissors, put them in a too large vase, brought them to work – wow does my car smell fragrant now – and told my boss, my mom, my husband – and now of course all of you – about the little dirty secret that my husband’s children have been hiding from me.

My husband does not have children with some other woman - I gave birth to all three of them - please don't be confused by my sarcastic implication that this is all his genetic influence

oops... I missed Thursday

2007-08-24T11:51:00.000-06:00

We have an event at work this weekend, I have an event at the kids' school this weekend, and my husband/father belong to the same lodge that also has an event this weekend - and it's our wedding anniversary (happy we still like each other to us!) And I had a 'fruit delivery' yesterday - which basically means I do 80 bazillion hours of work so a bunch of girls have money to spend on their activities and such... it's not all bad - anyhow - I missed Thursday - well I just read my document "dirtiest stories" - because if you are following along I am cheating and I wrote thirteen stories, but I'm posting them one at a time because it's still thursday, and it's still thirteen - but you could never read my long winded rants all at once... and then I don't have to think of stuff for my TT. Anyhow, I was going to just put one up late, but then I realized, you are probably sick of reading about poop and mud (and the next one is puke -- woohoo) so I think I will just skip this week.

aha - the mailman is here, and it's a man, not the girl we usually have, and he's cute (I've always had a thing for men in uniform, even mailmen) -- my mom used to tease me about rating the ones in the neighborhood where we lived - and low and behold eventually #1 became her mailman, and even a friend of hers of sorts - she invited him to the lodge one summer (after I was married and pregnant) -- anyhow, this guy would probably rate about a #3 - not too shabby - well he's gone now - no more eye candy out the window for me.

I had so many thoughts this weekend of things I would love to post about that my "readers" would enjoy, and now that my fingers are on the keyboard will a single one of them come back to me - ugh NO.

We went to the lodge this weekend, what a glorious place that is - you know you have those certain places in your life where everything just goes away and is replaced by relaxation and peace - the lodge is one of those. I can drink all day and all night and never be drunk - which is crazy because it's higher altitude than where I live - I never think about money or bills or work or anything remotely stressful - we play cribbage, go out on the boat, play on the wave runner, this year we canoed a little and the kids took the kayaks out for a bit. We eat great food - usually simple, but great - the woman who is the hostess there is a great cook - and a really good meal planner. We arrived Friday afternoon/evening, unpacked the car - K (youngest) went down to the lake, S (oldest) was thrilled because she had cell phone coverage and could 'text' her boyfriend all weekend, she camped out at the game table with her phone and a deck of cards to play solitaire, and I hit the porch, sat around having some nice conversation, a beer, and just let the drive (which was not bad at all) fade out of me. My mom and I greeted our friends and just relaxed. The ladies who had already been there eventually went to make some burritoes for dinner and I had another beer and a short little cruise around the lake on the boat. We hung out after dinner chatting and catching up on all the improvements they had made to the building, then we watched something on t.v. - I found that I was suddenly as tired as I had been in ages and went up to bed. My girls were already up there in their room and I climbed in bed with K and we lay on her bed teasing with S about her boyfriend and helping her come up with silly questions to ask him -- we giggled and laughed for about an hour - then K and I went into my room and went to bed - she decided to leave her sister alone for the night.

Saturday morning I slept in - got up about 9:30 - shocked the heck outta me when I looked at the clock. Had some great coffee, some fresh bagels, and then one of the ladies makes the ultimate bloody mary's - so I had one of those. Helped K rig her fishing line and she took off to do a little fishing from the dock, S put on some shorts and headed for the beach to maybe play on the wave runner, I wandered down and sat on the deck of the boathouse for a bit drinking my bloody mary and then wandered back up to the lodge and helped fix some potato salad, in the middle of slicing potatoes my mother came through the back door with that "something is bad" voice calling my name - I dropped my knife and ran to meet her only to find out that K had taken the wave runner out and was being chased back to the lodge by the sheriff - not a good thing. I boogied my butt down to the beach, but the other adults down there were already getting her off the wave runner and there she stood in the lagoon talking to the sheriff, who never even asked which of us was her parent, just read her the riot act about cutting off boats, making a wake in a no-wake area - and ahem... splashing him! Yes, she was close enough to the sheriff when she cut off his boat, in the no-wake zone, and took off full throttle, leaving a wake and splashing the sheriff - oh yeah and... she never heard them trying to stop her or their sirens as they chased her across the lake. Needless to say, she was done driving the wave runner for the weekend. (Particularly because they have apparently changed the laws and 14 year olds cannot legally operate them alone anymore). In her defense and mine - you should know that last time we were up, she was told that at 14 y/o she could drive, and she assumed this meant that she could - with or without my pre-approval. She rode it with another adult guest for awhile, who went over the basics with her, don't cut off other boats, don't go too close to shore, don't this and that and then K gave the other adult the impression she had permission to ride alone -- well she didn't... but it was all just non-communication. Anyhow, she was done for the weekend, and I was on my third bloody mary shortly thereafter... S could however ride it, and did, a lot. Then the husband and boy (D) arrived - I knew I had to be the first to tell him about the sheriff chasing our little darling down, and also that D needed a review of boating law before he took off on the wave runner. This was about the time that we came up with a new song for K - "I splashed the sheriff, but I didn't get the deputy" - giggle (she didn't think it was as funny as we did).

The rest of the afternoon unfolded with more water fun for everyone, some more good food, a few more cribbage games after the rain hit, the pre-season bronco game, and a great dinner.

Sunday was more of the same - we did tow the kids on tubes with the boat, that was good for a few hearty ha has - especially after husband pushed the boy in the lake - the boy says -- "now I'm going to get cold, cuz I'm all wet" - ya know like he planned to ride the tube and stay dry - rofl. Husband and I took a walk over to the other lake, and then into town, had an ice cream walked around town and saw some old favorite places, including his mom's old cabin (she sold it darnit) We drove back home Sunday evening and it was just so nice to be so completely unwound.

And - no fishguts in my dining room! In fact they only caught two fish all weekend, and we never ate them, they were getting them ready for hors d'oeuvres when we left.

thursday - and other fishy stuff...

2007-08-16T11:05:00.000-06:00

I wrote the post below (twinkie dink) a long time ago and saved it as a draft... yesterday I was lookin through the drafts and thought, dang why didn't I publish this -- well now I know... for crying out loud, that is one long post, it should really be three or four - I'm a crazy woman!

Okay dirty story #4 (This is one of my favorites -- and we are off to vacation at the same lodge this weekend, so didn't this timing work out nicely!

Okay so let’s skip forward a few years… well many years. Now he’s old enough to go fishing, I think he was in 4th grade. We went to the mountains, actually to the lodge of some friends of my family. What a wonderful lodge too, right on the lake. So the kids were fishing all weekend, and my mom, one of the best anglers around and damn snappy with a filet knife too, is encouraging them with lots of tips and tackle and camera action, but they aren’t having a lot of luck. Finally on the last day they caught a handful of fish, maybe 6 between the two boys and two girls (my nephew was along on this trip also). So husband and I are packing up, and washing our sheets (you wash before you leave then it’s clean for the next batch of guests), and loading the car – you know the drill. Mom has offered to filet and cook up the fish for the kids for a light lunch before we hit the road. She is in the kitchen teaching her amazing filleting skill to the boys… I think the girls were off with our hostess cleaning the boathouse or something. And they ask about eating the eyeballs, so she says sure (mom is no squeamish girly grandma), and shows them how easily they pop out. The boys eat them with much delight and then run down to tell the girls ‘hey try these’… (the girls weren’t sure they were eyeballs, and gladly tried them at the hostesses urging… they also liked them) [if you haven’t tried them, they really are pretty tasty and fun to eat]. So mom is now done filleting the fish and the boys are back to the kitchen. The trash has already been taken down so she bags up the fish skeletons and whats inside of them, along with the eyeless heads into some ziplocs and directs the boys to take them to the dumpster.

Fast forward three days. I have come home for the second day in a row to the stinkinest house ever. I cannot find it, I have run oranges down the disposal, I have taken the trash out and washed the trash can. I have looked everywhere for some dirty dish or food that we left sitting unattended before we went to the mountains. The smell is getting worse and worse. It is at the top of the stairs, but not down stairs. It is between the kitchen and the dining room, but not in either room. It is overpowering, I am starting to gag everytime I go to the stairway. Husband is dying also, he is going after me and cleaning up the sink, trash can, bread box, potatoe bin, etc. This stink is overwhelming, the dog doesn’t like it. Day four… husband is putting away a few things that didn’t quite make it to their spots when we got home. They are sitting in the dining room, near the top of the stairs. Among them are the fishing tackle and rods. He picks up the tackle box, and it feels unusually heavy... He opens it up, but there isn’t anything there but normal tackle, some power bait, hooks, weights, leaders, etc. He closes it and heads out to the camper with it, (keep camping gear in camper, one plan that was good in my organizational plan that doesn’t ever work well) and still thinks hmmmm this tackle box doesn’t feel right. He sets it right on my Duncan Phyfe cherrywood hundred year old dining room table and opens it up again… he takes the tray out this time… only to discover some strange brown-grey soup-stew in ziploc bags in the bottom of the tackle box. Oh by the way, the smell has now become so overwhelming that writing this is making my eyes water. Apparently my son, my wonderful genius brilliant son, wanted to take the fish skeletons and eyeless fish skulls to ‘show and tell’ – but then he forgot. The house smelled for weeks, my stomach still turns and my eyes still water when I think of it.

Twinkie Dink

2007-08-14T11:27:00.001-06:00

It’s come to my attention that I may well be the ‘oldest’ mom of bloggers that I know – that being a reflection of the age of my children, not of course of my age, as I am young and vibrant and sexy and hip (well at least in my mind when there are no mirrors around close by)… so as such, I am going to add a lovely game for you mom’s to teach to your darlings in the car – because car games rock – or are painful, which is of course funny – til mom yells. Twinkie Dink!

There is of course ‘slug bug’ – if you see a Volkswagen bug (many people play ‘old’ ones only) – then you get to slug someone/everyone – or if you are in my car, you shout it out, and everyone slugs themselves – because I slug like a baby, and the boy can actually give you a Charlie horse that will last an hour.

After the change to slugging yourself – it was changed to ‘hug bug’ – natural progression – they started whining that no one (meaning usually me) was slugging themselves hard enough – ha – we will make it a “loving” game and see how the little terrors like that!

But of course there had to be a development that recognized the ‘new’ bugs – so… what color are airbags – if you said ‘white’ give yourself ten points – if you said anything else, you should probably not be surfing blogs, and should get yourself acquainted with the real world again. What color is the filling inside of a Twinkie (yes those G-d awful ‘cakes’ that are made from nuclear waste disguising itself as yummy goodness) – if you said ‘white’ be ashamed that you have allowed that into your body, if you said you didn’t know – good for you (but really, you should get out of Boulder and enjoy some garbage food for just a day so that you can relate to the rest of us). What color is the outside of a Twinkie – let’s just call it yellow – because that’s where we are going with this. So if a newer yellow bug (older ones don’t have airbags) hits something and the airbags deploy – what would it look like… ****Ding Ding Ding**** That’s right Bob, A Twinkie!

Thus… if you see a newer yellow bug you yell twinkie-dink and you thunk the shit outta the person nearest you (I won’t allow anymore trying to make it all around the car, the writhing and screaming is just too much to take when you are trying to drive, and writhe and scream)

We also have the punch a person ten times if you see a helicopter.

Punch yourself for every letter of the alphabet up to the starting letter of the name of a state of a license plate that someone has called out. ie – I see (and call out) ‘Delaware’ everyone else must punch themselves four times – A1, B2, C3, D4. If I call out Delaware at the same time as my darling daughter, then we must both punch ourselves up to D and everyone else is off the hook. If I am not in the car, say walking through a parking lot and I call it out – I must punch myself for breaking the rules. A nice new twist is – if it is a border state, you still call it out, in the hope they will all pummel themselves – but… they don’t actually have to punch themselves, and they can either call out border state – thus saving everyone pain – or, they can keep that fact to themselves until everyone else is done and they whine ‘S didn’t punch herself’ – then she can reveal that Wyoming is a border state – boy does that chap their butts! Also of course, if you go to Wyoming then at the border, you get a whole new set of border states – woohoo, confusion. Last very advanced twist – if you are on your way home, you can start at ‘z’ and go backward – thus Wyoming isn’t so painful – but Arizona will leave a mark (of course they are both border states, teee heeee).

And for the best giggles of all… you make up sentences/phrases that use the letters on the license plate – 420-MTD
“Mothers Tell Doozies”
“Melting Tiny Dots”
etc.

we play that you can’t repeat a word – which if you are on an ‘X’ can get tricky. Our rules – which are complicated, because we are never happy with the simple rules (see Twinkie Dink – and State Game) are a bit complex…

Everyone shouts out their phrase, never repeating someone else’s word or ‘you’re out’ – and if someone gets skipped – so I pick the plate, driver’s seat, duh… and I say my phrase, then the passenger should be up next, but if the backseat chimes in before she can think of one, then she’s out. If anyone says two phrases before anyone else can think of one, they win that license plate. Winner chooses the next license plate – or uses the next available one if the traffic is that slim. My kids are older, so we do allow some dirty words, and let me tell you ‘Kangaroo Penises Droop’ and the like are pretty darn funny – we laugh and laugh!

Then of course you can incorporate the radio into car games – the scan button game(s).

Name the artist of the song that is playing before the scan button automatically moves to the next station. Sometimes you get lucky and it comes back around to the same song and you have finally figured it out.

Or the theme game – turn on the radio, whatever station, whatever song – that is the beginning. So the song is ‘If you think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart. Allow the whole song to play, because the theme might be in the title, the lyrics, the music, the artist, etc. – so they must be given a chance to hear the lyrics – choose your theme wisely – I’m going to choose ‘guys who have worn spandex’ as my theme. Then you must scan til you come up with another song that fits the theme – then listen til the end – again scan til you come up with another, etc. – until someone guesses the theme. The songs you skip can be as big a clue as the ones you stay on. My oldest hates this game at times, because sometimes she has to listen to music that ‘sucks’ – like in this case, I would have had to stop on any Rolling Stones, because Mick has been known to be seen in spandex – and she hates the Stones (poor dear, I must have dropped her on her head) – although, she would also have the opportunity for me to stop on The Who (Pete I’m sure has been in spandex, and probably Roger also) and she loves The Who. I would of course skip any women, Garth Brooks, or I would say just about any country, most rappers, and definitely Green Day, etc. This game is good for VERY long drives, and half music saavy kids – not for kindergartners – much better for them after you have drilled them with lots of rock history and demanded that they learn all the lyrics to every Beatles song and that they can at least fake some simple syncopated clapping/snapping etc.

over 1000

2007-08-14T10:50:00.000-06:00

well, Barry Bonds is in the news for his new numbers, and so is Alex Rodgriguez, so I think that I will let you all know that I have broken a big number too. I have had over 1000 hits on my page. Well it probably happened awhile back because I didn't put a counter up for the first couple of years, but I also didn't put up many posts then either. Still, I only get a few comments, perhaps I am not controversial enough - though when I do write something passionate and controversial, it usually doesn't get any comments (I think my blog-"friends" probably all disagree with me and don't want to hurt my feelings, which is really sweet of them and I appreciate that). So maybe I'm too whiney - although I generally try to present the funny side of whiney? -- well anyhow, I actually think it's that I keep getting found by people who don't actually speak English and also, I'm pretty certain that a pretty high percentage of that 1000 is me... my address at work changes daily so I can't have it not counted.

Anyhow, I just read a great post over at Wiping up Snot - well actually it was written by Karly and posted here, those of you who homeschool (or have an interest in the choices people make about their kids' education) should check it out - and the comments, because they are very thought provoking. Also over at Never a Dull Moment comes this gem, not sure if I can somehow justify that being 'favorite parenting comment of the week' though, I am tempted.

And just a few things I am excited about, we managed to find a free weekend to get away, and we are going to do just that - the whole family, imagine! The boy is playing Quarterback (he'll be so much easier to spot and watch now!). My girls helped me at an event for work yesterday and they made me SO PROUD they were amazing and mature and worked their asses off - it made me really happy. Oh, and oldest has a date tomorrow with what appears to be a very nice boy - (I told my mom, I have very little information to make this judgement so if it turns out he's an asshole don't hold me to this early review). Youngest will test for pointe this week (again) and she is certain that she will make it this time, so we will be off to Boulder (yes we really live that close to someplace famous) to buy pointe shoes - and oldest lost her glasses at the water park the other day (she never loses anything so I'm not really angry at all) and now we will have to add those twelve appointments to the agenda - like I'm not busy enough.

The 'third' story of my thursday-thirteen big huge cheat dirtiest story

2007-08-09T13:11:00.000-06:00

The third story that popped into my head isn’t uncommon at all, it isn’t even unique – but it is one of my son’s favorite stories. My darling was still wearing diapers to bed, so he must have been under 30 months old. I honestly can’t remember when he was fully potty trained, but I actually think it was about 26 mos. old – my children potty trained very easily and so all were trained very close to two years old! in fact… we moved into our house now when he was 21 months old, so he was younger than that. Let’s call it 18 months old for a nice round number. My son NEVER cried when he woke up, didn’t need me for anything first thing – not food, not diaper, not love. He would just wake up and play, and he always woke up at 6:30 am without fail from the first time he slept through the night to as recently as a year ago – 6:30 like a clock. (Now he’s in high school and we don’t see him that soon anymore, I suspect he still wakes up at 6:30 but then goes back to sleep in an effort to be more normal). So as long as he was happy, I wouldn’t risk waking up my daughters – they shared a room, with two cribs for the babies and a bed for my oldest – just to get him up. So I could hear him on the baby monitor kind of babbling to himself, but basically very very quietly playing. I was getting breakfast ready so I could just haul them all down and feed them. I heard the oldest wake up and begin shrieking with laughter. So I hauled my one cup of coffee self up to see what was so hilarious that we had to scream about it. My boy, my darling sweet couldn’t stand to have food on his hands while he ate and you had to wipe his mouth and hands between every bite boy, had taken up art. You know the kind the I-had-a-poopy-diaper-and-I-took-it-off-all-by-myself-mom-and-look-what-I-drew-for-you art… all over the wall, and the crib, and the other wall, it was wonderful really – poop everywhere and in the poop… lot’s of ‘Ds’… yes my son was learning to write the first letter of his name with poop, what a joy, he was brilliant, a genius, and he was covered in stinky shit to boot.

Happy Anniversary (19 years = Road Kill?)

2007-08-07T13:05:00.000-06:00

Some days it’s not really easy to appreciate the man you marry. After you are together for awhile, there is no more mystery, and well the mystery is part of that early fascination and romance and passion. Can you have passion and romance without mystery – absolutely, but you can’t expect it to be ‘the same’ as it was when you were first dating. Those people who talk about marriage changing people – it’s not the marriage silly, it’s the time. After 19 years together, my husband and I have few or no secrets from one another, no mystery, no I wonder if he’ll put out tonight, no I wonder if he likes it when I (insert something interesting and intimate)… really we’ve tried just about everything we are gonna try, we have settled into what’s comfortable and what works (I’m not just talking sex here, I’m talking snuggly time during movies, watching sports together, when to hold hands, when to leave the other person alone). Do I think we are typical of couples married for 19 years – not at all, I think we are exceptional – because… we do still have passion and romance, and quite a lot of sex compared to what we hear from friends and associates. Apparently lots of folks don’t do it very often and when they do it’s not all that passionate – so we are exceptional in that. Is it the same as when we were first married… oh hell no.

Side story – the timing is just to good not to put it right here and now… hubby just called, he’s driving in his car – I tell you, that man knows how to just make my day with the romantic stuff that spews from his mouth. He called to tell me that he saw something you don’t often see… not one dead raccoon, not two dead raccoons, but three dead coons on the side of the highway, all together, like the family was crossing the interstate together and got nailed. Now probably because I was busy getting ready to tell you how much I love this man after 19 years – I told him, “wow honey, every woman should be so lucky to have her man call her up and describe road kill… I love you more and more every day”.

So back to my original train of thought… when I was first with my husband I was absolutely fascinated by the things that he did, the way he did them, and I couldn’t kiss him enough, really I couldn’t kiss him enough, I was good with loads of chapped lips, and I couldn’t get enough snuggling (clearly that was pre-hot flashes). Now, we don’t actually kiss all that much, when we kiss it’s still great, but it’s kinda like, hmmm lets save that for really special or something, there’s really no plan, it’s just how it is. Also the snuggling, we are both fatter, we are tired, and sore, and honestly snuggling is just sorta nice for a few minutes, then it’s just too hot and sweaty and uncomfortable for old hot tired bodies… and sex, hey a lot of times we whip it off in quick fashion (you only get so much privacy with three teenagers, and energy is depleted too – and really we are both pretty happy with quick sex… there is still seduction and what not, it’s not wham bam, but it’s not an all night affair either, well not usually. We also used to dance naked, or near naked, even in the morning while we were getting ready for work – a lot, we danced naked a lot. (Please don’t get a visual, it will just make me blush). Of course he had a six pack and a great tan and he still has OMG such strong sexy arms… and I was almost too thin, the most amazing flat stomach and firm ass and perky boobs… I don’t even like him to see me naked now, and the lights are off a lot more these days.

Anyhow, before I got all way too much intimate information for the readers here… I wanted to tell you that not many days do you think “wow I’m really glad I married this man, and this is why” because we just sort of go through our lives taking those things for granted. But yesterday was exceptional… [A] it was the anniversary of our first ‘date’ – well actually the day that I chased him shamelessly at a wedding reception of mutual friends/family until he took me home from the reception and asked for my phone number. [B] I talked to a long-lost friend about the end of her marriage. She married a guy that I dated before she dated him, and they have been married for 16 years, and now they are divorcing. Wow, did I ever get lucky – because this guy that I dated, that I really really liked, that I thought about wanting to marry, is really an asshole – or at least she made him sound like one. Granted, they are in the middle of a divorce, so she is not exactly gonna tell me everything that was wonderful about him or their marriage – and I certainly have those areas where I would love to see changes in my man/marriage, but they don’t begin to compare to hers. So here’s what I would tell anyone who is unsure what to do for an anniversary – talk to someone else that has it awful – you will want to kiss like you are first dating again, and you will suffer your arm falling asleep just to be close and snuggly with the one that really does get you, and will forgive you if you fart in the car or belch at the dinner table, and will kiss you even if you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. I really do love that man… and even when he calls me up to describe dead animals.

Harry Potter - no spoilers

2007-08-02T13:31:00.001-06:00

Well I finally got my turn at the book (one copy - five avid fans) and finished it last night. I don't think this is a spoiler, my husband hasn't had his turn yet, he took last willingly because he likes to read at his pace and not feel hurried. He also doesn't read but one or two books a year and so he doesn't actually read as quickly as the rest of us - anyhow, as I said, don't think this is a spoiler, hubby took me out to lunch - and having just finished the book, I really didn't have much else going on in my life that I felt like talking about. So after we covered the obligatory "my mom said this", "I have a meeting", "my meeting went well"... and we were still waiting for our food... I said - geez I wish you would hurry up and read the book, I can't think of anything else to talk about. He said, "oh did you enjoy it" -- I said, "not as much as others, it didn't grab me as much", and he said (because I skipped a favorite television program [so you think you can dance] last night to finish) "well the ending did". Which was funny, because it did, but so did the thought of just finishing the damn book. What grabbed me about it was that it wasn't just the ending to the book, but the ending to the entire series - and like any Harry Potter book, there was an action element going on. Then as we sat there sort of staring out into the restaurant watching people (who were by the way rather boring today)... I realized the issue with this book. There isn't really any character development, nor is there much of a need for character development. We've all already read 6 books full of characters that are still in this book -- and while there were new characters, it certainly wasn't at all like the first few books where there were several new characters each year to learn about and get to know - so, I think that 7 books really just might be anyone's limit on a series, unless there is some reason to continue introducing enough new characters to carry the reader into the fantasy. I found this book easier to put down, and I wasn't as drawn into the fantasy of the book as the others. I remember feeling some of this with book 6 also, though not quite as intensely.

Don't get me wrong, it is still among some of the best reading I've done. It is a must read, and I did enjoy it. Just not maybe quite as much as some of the earlier 'years'.

And maybe, I'm just burning out on Harry - I also slept through the new movie (we were at the Drive-In and I had not slept well all week, so it was pretty easy to just lean the seat back and doze off).

If you reply, let's try to keep them non-spoilers, we can't possibly be the only big family trying to share one book, or people who are simply too busy to have already finished the book

This has entertained my children all week...

2007-08-02T10:48:00.000-06:00

My son has taken to calling people in traffic "caffeine spider" or "crack spider" or as you can well imagine... "crack spider's bitch" -- it's wrong, I shouldn't let them talk this way, drugs are NOT funny... but all I can do is laugh my ass off