The question was: Mom, when we stop on our trip to Pensacola, can we stay at a Best Western?
That was from Bones. I looked at him and said, “You saw that on a commercial didn’t you? Why do you want to stop at a Best Western?”
Now he’s looking at his feet, kicking his toes around, mumbling something about really good breakfasts.
I have rule when I stay at a hotel/motel… the doors must be on the INSIDE of the building. Call it paranoia, I do not care, but the fact is, I’m all about looking for safety. Old habits die hard from traveling as a woman alone on business. When I traveled alone I tried to have a room close to the front desk, on the first floor, and the doors were on the inside of the building.
I once worked with a guy who got mugged on a business trip. Scared the ever living crap out of me, so you can just imagine what it did to him. He was expecting someone, heard a rap on the door, opened it and two thugs came in, bound him in phone cord, duct taped his mouth shut, stole his wallet and anything else they could find, then hit the road. He was found a couple hours later. It was a Residence Inn… doors on the outside of the building.
So anyway, I know certain chains have doors inside... like the Marriott and so I tend to try to frequent them. Not familiar with Best Westerns I said to Bones, “I don’t know if we’re staying there or not.”
He looks at me desperately and says, “But Mom! We have to say there! They have all sorts of different kinds of jelly for breakfast!!!”
Jelly? This is where he is basing where we lay our heads at night? On the kinds of jelly they serve at breakfast for his toast? And does anyone out there think for a minute that when they were making this commercial for Best Western that the artistic director thought for even 1/10th of a millisecond, “Gotta get some damn good shots of jelly here. That could make someone want to stay…”
Well, sorry, Jellyboy, we aren’t staying at a place based on the array of jellies their commercial says they serve in the morning. I’ll stick with my paranoid parameters…
Hmmm. I just got a doctor’s bill from our ER visit in February. I don’t know if I blogged this or not, believe it or not I don’t blog 80% of my life, but Bones’ was having a hard time breathing and was retracting, so I took him to the ER back in Feb.
I received a website with my account and password so I thought, “Cool! I’ll pay this sucker on-line!” Benh! Wrong answer. Its only a site to edit your account information.
What a bummer.
And on a downer of a note, I just got a note from my health insurance company that they are in a fight with Tenet and are dropping all Tenet hospitals and that probably means some of the doctors I trust most will be dropped too… like my frickin’ cardiologist and ENT… which means… I will be looking for new health insurance. Love that. LOOOOVE that. There are very few hospitals I trust and the one big one I do, is about to be dropped… and so… in my spare time… we will be looking for new health insurance. Great.
We are getting ready for the trek to God’s Country… otherwise known as… Pensacola, Home of the whitest beaches, the Naval Aviation Museum… and my folks. We leave tomorrow evening, traveling for four hours, stopping over night in Lake City and then continuing onward the last 4 – 4 ½ hours the next morning.
The boys are so excited, I swear they’re reverberating. Our annual ceilidh is on the 4th at our family reunion and this is the year my eldest performs with a real instrument he has been studying to play, rather than singing with the other kids or beating on a drum. As I pack my suitcase, my home is filled with the sound of a trumpet and many wooden flutes, as The Great Omnipotent One also carves flutes and each of the boys owns one and in their excitement they have all picked up an instrument.
I don’t know if I’ve blogged on our ceilidh. It’s held at my folk’s home, right after we feast on ribs, corn on the cob, potato salad and TGOO’s homemade blueberry/peach cobbler, and right before we light off the fireworks. There is an assortment of drums, wooden flutes, and other noise making type instruments as well as one fiddle, one regular flute, one keyboard, sometimes a set of bagpipes, and this year the addition of a trumpet. This is where TGOO and I will play our fiddle and flute duet. There is A LOT of singing. It is ended by what has become a tradition of the women dancing in a circle to the beat of one drum.
All my cousins will be there from both sides as well as my aunts and uncles from both sides, some having traveled as far as California. It’s going to be fun… and I’m not sure who is more excited, me or the boys.
I am so glad I married a self sufficient guy. I hear about these women who have to pack for their spouses and I think, “No way.” It’s tough enough for me to pack for me and the three boys let alone have to worry about another adult.
I have a friend who married a Marine out of college. He’d been in for a number of years when he got sent to a civilian school. She had shopped for him, buying him some suits, ties and nice dress shirts. She went to check on his packing and he had packed his Marine Corps green t-shirts as his undershirts to his dress shirts.
He was so stressed about wearing his new clothes and all the combinations she’d put together for him, that she ended up making make-shift Garnanimal tags for him so he could remember what went with what… oh and she bought him some white t-shirts. She was horrified.
Anyway, when I pack the family, the only person I really have to struggle with is Bones as he wants to take everything he owns… every stuffed animal, his Spiderman umbrella, his toy shot gun from Disney, and of course the Fair Fiona. Fiona is staying. I figure if I clean her cage well and have plenty of food and water, she will be fine for a week without us. Bones… is… heartbroken.
We got that hamster in November and most thought it would be a phase; they would think she was cool and then forget about her. Not a day goes by where I don’t pass one of them sitting on the couch with her cuddled up on their chest. They always remember to check to see if she has food and water and they help me clean her cage.
So I’m hoping she will be fine until my husband gets home, because if she were to kick off while we were on vacation, where it wouldn’t be the WORST thing that ever happened to them, it sure as hell would be bad. Very bad.
... to live in Paradise... appears to be roughly $6000 a year.
Yeah. I just got my homeowner's insurance bill with our new Hurricane premium. Love that. LOOOOOOOVE that.
There's this packet on the back with hoops I can jump through for meeting the latest building code to bring down my insurance.
Guess I know what I'll be doing when I come back from vacation. In my spare time. Bah!
ArmyWifeToddlerMom had this scary 'day in the life of Mom story' about her sweet babies and a wasp and how she saved their lives. OK, so that’s not how she put it, but that is a phrase we use here a lot in the House of Bou. Something happens, I come to the rescue and I say, “Saved your life!” Or likewise I get from one of the boys, “Whew, Mom, you saved my life!”
Rescuing them from hornets, wasps, bees, and bugs that bite fall into the ‘Saved your life’ category among myriad other instances we have experienced, like catching someone when they're falling.
So this of course reminded me of a story.
Before I started blogging, I used to e-mail my family and friends stories that happened with my boys. My Mother encouraged me to save them, which I have, hence every now and then; you see them on my blog… like the 5 Part Rat Series.
Below is an e-mail I sent two years ago and below that, is a picture of my eldest boys, prepared to do battle with a mad wasp, trapped in our home. Take note of the weapon of choice. Those who know me know that my life truly is "My Big Fat Greek Wedding", in reverse.
And the reference to the frog at the end… you’ll have to wait for that e-mail to resurrect itself on my blog. Life is never dull in this home with three boys.
Consider this my Karnival of the Kids entry…
Sent: Wednesday, September 17, 2003 4:37 PM
Subject: Mom the Wasp Killer
Why did someone not inform me that when you sign up for Motherhood, you become the official wasp killer? When you have three boys, they play outside. When they play outside, they leave the slider door open. When the slider door is left open, wasps come in, inevitably. Of course this causes much shrieking and carrying on with the children ending up wherever Mom is, to come save them from the wasp which is flying around the ceiling, bouncing, trying to find a way out of its new prison. But to them, the wasp must surely be on the attack and they are all big targets.
Today, I am approached by my 4 year old, holding a yellow rain poncho from Disney World. “Here, Mom, put this on me.” I’m puzzled, but do as asked, since this is the child that owns four Halloween costumes and is bartering for a fifth, all in great anticipation of the great day, that is still 6 weeks away. And yes, we will wear all 5 costumes: Ninja Warrior, Hulk, Darth Vader, Yoda, and Spiderman all with their accessories ranging from weapons to web spraying gloves. We will alternate through the night between costumes. It will surely be a theatrical event.
Bones is now wearing his yellow plastic rain poncho and much to his chagrin it is too big and he continues to trip over the front that is catching under his feet and he starts having a meltdown of sorts. Between sobs I hear, “But now there is nothing to protect me from the wasp!” Still confused, I walk into the family room to find my two other sons standing there, dressed head to toe in yellow rain ponchos, staring at the ceiling. It was like a scene from some alien movie where if the kids wear some weird clothing they are protected. Our weird clothing comes in the form of bright yellow plastic Disney rain ponchos… adult size only thank you.
Being the super Mom I am, I effortlessly went to the laundry room, got the wasp spray and with amazing accuracy that comes from much practice, I believe this is my fifth kill, I took the wasp down with the light squeeze of the extermination trigger, thereby assuring my hero status among my boys. Dad can take care of the frogs. I’ll handle the wasps.
Click To Enlarge
I was cocooning tonight, per the usual... you do this when you have kids, and came up with the following linky stuff:
Blog Daughter Sissy has her new word of the week HERE. Check it out and if you blog, use it, trackback or comment and let her know.
Her Linky Lovin' for last week's Word 'O the Week is HERE.
And!!! The Karnival of the Kids is UP at Prochein Amy's! Go take a look, HERE!
How’s this for a combination of Star Wars and Vegie Tales? Holy crap… it’s so stupid it’s funny. My brother sent me the link. He and TGOO like Chewbroccoli, but I’m thinking the whole Alien bar scene pretty much had me cracking up…
I wonder where this is showing... and who had this job to create it? Funny stuff.
Dear Mr. Crook,
I saw your video from Fox News, where you had your backside handed to you by Hannity & Colmes. I have to say, I was at first speechless. I thought with the intro it surely had to be a joke. Nobody could really be that small minded and so public about it. I mean, really. But then I realized, I was watching THE NEWS and you were SERIOUS and the first thought that popped into my mind was, “Your Mom must be so proud…”
I pray every day that my sons don’t turn out to be inherently evil people, thinking society owes them something, hell bent on destroying themselves or society. I now add to that list… I pray they don’t turn out like you. Actually, I may put that at the top of my list. I pray they don’t turn out small minded, unappreciative, and stupid.
I find you and your views on the military and the men and women who fight for our country to be both despicable and revolting. You are not worthy to breathe the same air of any who have or continue to serve in uniform for this country.
I find it ironic that you seem to loathe those who fight for us… yet as they continue to sacrifice their lives for us, as did generations of men and women before them, you sit smugly with your freedom of speech, attempting to spout your derogatory drivel either not really comprehending or not caring that you are permitted to do so BECAUSE of these men and women.
If I were Queen, you would be banished from this land to live a life in the prisons of Cuba or the nastiest coldest dankest cells of the most hellish countries on this planet. But I am not Queen… as this is a democracy and you are free to speak your mind… thanks to the men and women you scorn.
You are disgusting. You are repugnant. You make my skin crawl. I will use your name in my household as the epitome of small minded, stupid, and unappreciative people in this country and I will use you as an example of the dregs of the Earth that my sons should shun and refrain from ever getting near.
I don’t know from where the rock came that you crawled out from under, but I wish you would return.
Michael Crook… a pox upon you and your ilk and may you rot. For eternity.
We try to expose our kids to different types of foods. Sometimes it works, sometimes it does not. We all have preferences… my husband hates Mexican. I’m not a fan of Thai or Indian food. Some spices, people just don’t like, but I want my kids to try it all and we started young by feeding them whatever I prepared for dinner.
Today we went for Japanese for lunch, something we do quarterly.
The three boys ordered Bento Boxes or what our place calls a Lunch Box. If you’ve not had one, you can specify a certain main course like chicken, steak or salmon teriyaki and it also comes with a Japanese spring roll, rice, fruit, etc. They vary from restaurant to restaurant, but the basics I believe, are the same. It comes on a cute little boxy tray.
I ordered a Garden roll, which was cooked salmon, with cream cheese, wrapped in rice. I have to have my fish cooked. I’ve done the Sushi thing and can’t. As I say, “I don’t do bait.”
My eldest tried my Garden roll and liked it. Off to the side was what appeared to be a lump of paper thin sliced Salmon and wasabi sauce. Now, for the record, I like hot. I like wasabi in very small doses and I love Chinese hot food, but I can’t do pepper hot… like jalapenos.
I finished my Garden roll and I asked him if he wanted the rest of this salmon, to which I received a hearty, “Yeah!!!” So I placed it on his plate.
He took one bite… and his eyes damn near bugged out; he opened his mouth as if to yell and mouthed “Hot! Hot! Hot!” I’m telling him, “Drink water! Eat rice” and he’s trying to bring himself to swallow.
I look down and think that perhaps this salmon was touching the Wasabi? But I specifically checked and I saw NO green on what I placed on his plate. So to see how bad it really was… I picked up a piece and put it in my mouth.
Holy crap! Every square millimeter of soft tissue in my mouth was screaming! I am unsure if *hot* is the word I would use. It was difficult to explain, but I know for sure that in my mouth, it did not belong. I forced myself to swallow, fighting the urge to spit it out… or rather spit it across the table… trying to set a good example for my sons, half way wondering if my throat would react in the same way as my mouth and just close off in the horror of it all.
I quickly grabbed my glass of water as my son was still shoveling rice into his mouth and in between bites muttering in a slight laugh, “Mom. I hate you!”
I said: Buddy, man I am so sorry. I have no clue what that was. I thought it was salmon! It’s the color of my salmon!
Bones: Geez, Mom, bubble gum is the color of salmon. Would you just assume a piece of bubble gum was your salmon?
Me, ignoring my pain in the neck 6 year old: Seriously, I had no clue. That was the most awful and horrible thing I have ever tasted. I’m really really sorry.
I left out the part about how I doubted it was as bad as he said because I swear to you, I birthed the three biggest drama Kings that walk the Earth. I actually didn’t believe him that whatever I fed him was that bad.
I picked up the remnants and smelled it. It smelled somewhat like Kimchi, but the Kimchi I’ve eaten didn’t give my mouth that reaction. (I don’t like Kimchi.) I saw the waitress and beckoned her to our table.
I asked her if she could tell us what it was and she replied, “Oh! That is pickled Ginger!”
Yeah. We are not a pickled ginger family. We have officially crossed that off the list of foods we eat in our home. Blech.
I've maintained this week. Actually, I've gained a 1/2 pound, but I'm sure it will be gone tomorrow.
I won't be losing any more in the next few weeks as I prepare for vacation. I'll be vacationing starting Thursday, for the next two weeks, going to my folks house for a week in Pensacola, then off to Atlanta for a week with a day trip to Chattanooga.
I've lost the 5 pounds I gained since my dojo closed. Now I just need to take off the 5 I gained during the Hurricanes.
Hellroebics has been going reasonably well in the fact I have yet to break my neck. There are certain combinations I flat out cannot get during her stupid step class, so I just step up and down over and over until they get past the combination. The regular floor aerobics class is easier.
Let's face it, I do not move as a dancer or aerobics person. I just do.not. She's up there doing mambo and cha cha, looking all 'dancerish' and I look clunky and... I decided I look stiff. It's the stereotype of how men joke they look like when they dance. That is me. I'm blaming it on my left brainness.
I can keep up with her aerobically, but I cannot dance. As I said, the goal is for me to NOT break my neck.
So that's my status. Status quo. No loss. No gain. I'm here for the next 3 weeks.
From blog daughter VW, I received info on participating in a blog survey for MIT. Interesting stuff. Seriously. Click on the box and give it a gander.
I was walking through the house today and I found my husband sitting on the couch with the boys… watching the Weather Channel. On a side note, consider it permanent emotional distress from last year’s hurricane season, but I still do not think that Jim Cantore is a hotty. For years I did, but after I saw him day in and day out last year, I’m over Jimbo. Blech. Call it over exposure. Or something akin to Pavlov’s dog. I see Jim and I think canned food, warm drinking water, and no a/c.
So there they sat watching the Weather Channel, because this is what you do sometimes in S. Fl from June through October. As I walk through, I hear my 2nd son say to my husband, “Dad, can the people at the end of the State see those other people in that other country?”
People at the end of the State?
He says this a couple times and finally I say, “Hon, is he talking about the people who live in Miami?”
“Yup,” says my spouse, “He wants to know if you live in Miami if you can look out and see Cuba.”
Interesting. The people at the end of the State. He makes it sound like they live on the edge of the Earth.
My husband is of the men where bigger is better and faster is better and more whistles and bells are better. I am not.
For instance, I buy a car and I say, ‘I need two things, air conditioning and a radio with cassette.’ Period. To me a car is a functional tool. It gets me from point A to point B and if it can get me there at 50 mpg, I’m even happier. I’m all about fuel efficiency. Oh and I’m all about reliability. I scour Consumer Reports before I get a new car; a trait learned from The Great Omnipotent One.
If you were to look at my new mini-van, however, you would see my husband written all over it. Yeah, it pisses me off to no end at times, but it’s not a battle I pick anymore. When we no longer have kids at home, I’ll get my little car that gets 100 mpg and tell him under no uncertain terms what he can do with his opinions. Until then, since my vehicle is the family vehicle, I have power doors, power locks, power windows… all of which are completely wasted on me as I just assume they all be manual. I have power steering and nice seats and trim. It is what it is.
So you can just imagine what Christmas is like. It cracks me up. His vision of what I need and my vision of what I need, are NEVER on the same plane. However, since it is the thought and I know he loves me, I am always appreciative and extremely touched that he even thought about me and I thank him profusely. I still have my first Christmas gift from our first married Christmas 14 years ago, of a cashmere sweater when all I really wanted were jumper cables. I wouldn’t have kept it if it didn’t mean so much to me that I got both jumper cables AND a beautiful cashmere sweater.
This Christmas, I think we weren’t supposed to exchange gifts. As a matter of fact, I know we weren’t supposed to as we were having a tough time financially with the hurricanes. But I did buy him something because I knew damn well he wouldn’t adhere to our ‘no gift exchange’ policy and he in turn… bought me what he thought I needed… a cordless keyboard and mouse… for my computer.
They sat next to my desk until yesterday. The thought of crawling under our computer desk and setting all this crap up was daunting to me… people don’t understand. I do computer maintenance because I HAVE to. I do blog maintenance because it MUST be done. But I hate all of it. I just want to write. That’s all.
So yesterday I had my computer tech support guy at the house as I was getting wireless set up. I said, “Hey, look, while you’re here, let’s set up this keyboard and mouse. We’re under there anyway…” And we did.
What a frickin’ disaster. I upgraded my anti-viral software last week to Norton 2005. That in itself was a complete jerk around and pissed me off. I don’t know what those bozos were thinking, but trust me, they didn’t make it easy. My computer guy confirmed that 2005 has been giving many of his customers a real problem. And of course when you go to Norton’s website, they tell you that it’ll take 3-4 days for them to e-mail you back and their phone lines are busy and only open from M-F, 9-5. Jerks.
I get it up and running after jerking around with it for a few hours. Flash forward to yesterday when we install my keyboard and mouse. The software for the keyboard and the mouse and my anti-viral software did NOT like each other at all… and we frickin’ crashed my system.
After an hour we got them to play nice with each other. Meanwhile, I’m kind of hating the mouse. It’s rechargeable and if the batteries go dead… you’re mouseless. I’m keeping my old mouse hooked in just in case.
Seriously, what a pain in the ass. I was completely content with the old fashioned piece of crap keyboard and mouse that came with my system. They worked. Fine.
But I’m saying nothing to him. I’m telling him I am appreciative because I know that he’s trying to think of things that make my life easier… as he knows… all I want to do is write.
And no, he does not read my blog.
My blog grandson, Spurs of Pull My Finger, went off this weekend and got himself hitched. And it wasn’t even a shotgun wedding, either. Just a “Hey! Why wait any longer?!” and off they went. To Vegas. I’m waiting to hear about Elvis sightings.
Anyway, while the boy is away, his Blog Mama will play, and Sissy has been over to his site doing some ‘redecorating’. A mighty fine shade of pink it is… and there is an awful lot about Bacon. She even gave him a ‘girl’ weather pixy. So stop on by and see what she’s done, and offer your congrats to Spurs and his bride, Napster.
Dana at Note It Posts has this week’s Carnival of the Recipes up. This is a big job, if you haven’t hosted in the last 6 months as the Carnival as grown. The upside to that are there are a lot of recipes to choose from.
And… To Army Wife Toddler Mom (funny lady if you have not read her): NO! There are no hummingbirds in my Hummingbird Cake! Can you imagine what a pain in the neck it would be to pluck all those little guys?
We went to see Batman last night and enjoyed it very much. I don’t spend my viewing time critiquing movies. It is black and white to me. Either I liked it or did not. Either I enjoyed the acting or I did not. There are certain things I do not like in films, such as gore. I’m not fond of horror flicks. I like happy endings. Every couple is happy; evil is overcome; all the children live a happy prosperous life; the guys in the white hats always win and their hats are white, and maybe just trimmed in gray, as we aren’t all perfect.
Life is too sad; I don’t need to watch it in the theater. I go to the movies as an escape… I don’t need to leave sad or to have been given a message. I want to have fun. So if I did not find the movie boring and I felt like I had a good time… then I like it. Very easy.
So here are some highlights and thoughts on trailers to upcoming movies and for Batman.
The movie Stealth looks like a combination of Independence Day and Top Gun and actually, does not look very good to me as much as y’all know I’m all about the aircraft. However, since it’s got that ‘kick ass’ element to it, I will probably see it as the ‘y chromosome holding half’ of my marriage will want to. It will have a happy ending… it’s one of those… guy gets the girl, guy saves the world, all is right in the end, type flicks. Or so it appears. I do have a feeling that some of it will be so far fetched to me, knowing what I know about aerospace, that I’ll have a tough time escaping. (I don’t think Josh Lucas is very hunky in the previews. He’s not ugly; he just does nothing for me. He looks like I could kick his ass and make him cry… )
Once again… let me harp on Willie Wonka. The trailer was longer and more detailed, making it appear more enticing… for a second. I’ll be pushed to see this flick by the three little boys in my home, but if it was just me? Nope. Johnny Depp just looks too creepy to me. I leaned over when he appeared on screen and said to my better half, “He’s so daggum creepy. He reminds me of a white Michael Jackson” at which point the following conversation ensued.
BH: So… do you think Johnny Depp is always creepy?
Me, looking at him like he’s nuts: Hell no! Johnny Depp is Day Pass material.
BH: Day Pass? What is a Day Pass?
Me: Oh you know, Day Pass. If there were Day Passes, it’s someone that you would say to your spouse, “Day Pass!” and you could have sex with them even though you’re married. Day Pass. Like Free Pass for sex.
BH, looking at me like I am nuts: Hmm. There are NO Day Passes…
Me: No, but if there were… Johnny Depp is Day Pass material!
Is Day Pass a blogging phrase or is this a common knowledge phrase of which he was just not familiar???
I still love Morgan Freeman and I think he’s probably one of my favorite actors.
Christian Bale has a nice bod.
But I liked Cillian Murphy who played the psycho doctor Scarecrow better.
I didn’t recognize Gary Oldman. At all. Was he always so thin?
I liked the first Batman with Michael Keaton also. You cannot really compare these two flicks… different perspectives. This one is darker. Whatever happened to Michael Keaton? I enjoyed watching him as an actor. He was fun.
I got a call on Monday from one of my best friends, calling to say she wanted to take my three boys Friday night to spend the night. This would be with my 4th Son.
I kept saying, "Are you sure?!" She was positive. I think she's insane. Trust me 3+1 is a lot easier than 1+3.
So I came in last night and said to my husband, "Donna's taking the boys..." and he said, "Oh. We have some gift certificates to some restaurants we can use."
Looking rather sad I replied, "Oh. I wanted to see a movie. I wanted to see Batman. I heard it was good."
He looked at me quizzically and said, "Hon, we can DO THEM BOTH!"
Holy crap. We can do both!
I replied excitedly, "OH! We can! I hadn't thought of that." and his answer was... "And we can even.see.a.late.movie."
Be still my heart. Not only dinner and a movie... but we can see a LATE movie! One that starts at like 10! Because... to do both... I'm not paying $100 worth of babysitting fees!
Yes, my kids are older, but sitters are expensive so we never do anything that is more than 2 or 3 hours. With every hour that passes I hear 'KaaaaCHING!" as I mentally add how much extra we are really paying to stop after a movie and have that leisurely cup of coffee.
Absent tomorrow night will be that KaaaaCHING!
And absent tomorow night will be... blogging. I have plans!
There are a few things politically that have really pissed me off this week. Two of them happened today and threatened to throw me over the edge.
Once again, as always, my opinions are not up for debate. It's my blog. You can feel free to state your own in my comments, but if you are ugly or rude, I will delete or alter them, my choosing and if you're nasty enough, I'll ban your ass. I'm a smart woman who has formed her opinions with great thought and life experience. Don't mess with me.
The State of Texas now ranks below the State of Mississippi for the State I would like to least live in and no, it's not because Mississippi finally convicted that 81 year old bigot who I hope rots in hell. For eternity. But because in Texas with that whole thing with the little girl with Lymphoma and the options her parents were investigating, but then an arrogant doctor who I also hope rots in hell. For eternity., stepped in JUST KNOWING that HE KNEW WHAT WAS RIGHT FOR THEM and got the State involved, who took away the kids. etc. Google it if you don't know what I'm talking about. The State judiciary had the opportunity to correct this error and did not.
As of now, she's no longer in remission, in custody of the state, and is having treatment, whether she and her family would want it or not, at MD Anderson. Being 12, she is fully aware of what the State has done to her and her family. I hope she lives through it all... and should she die... there are many to blame, EXCLUDING THE FAMILY. A pox upon all those to blame should this little girl die and may they rot, all rot. For eternity.
This whole altering the 1st amendment for flag burning, really burns me up. Leave the frickin' 1st amendment alone. Dammit. Oh and I love this one: Countries that already outlaw burning the national flag include China, North Korea, Iraq, Iran and Cuba.
Oh I LOVE being lumped into the same group as those countries. LOOOOOVVVE IT! Holy crap. And I also read that any Senator who votes against this is afraid his/her Patriotism is going to be questioned. What has gotten into this country this prevalent attitude of "If you don't vote MY way or think MY way, you must not be patriotic and not love your country." BULL SHIT. It's called... independent thinking. It is something I foster in my children. I'm so sick of this.
What in the hell has happened to this country. It comes down to free speech, folks. They pass this, they've knocked a big hole in the first amendment... and mark my words... it will just be the beginning. A precedence will be set.
Oh... and what in the HELL has gotten into our Supreme Court? The Supreme Court on Thursday ruled that local governments may seize people’s homes and businesses — even against their will — for private economic development.
If this doesn't scare the ever living crap out of you, you don't live in S. Florida where the builders OWN the counties. Every day when I drive along the roads of North Palm Beach County, I fight the urge to vomit as I see what the county and municipalities have allowed the builders to do to the north end. We look like Lauderdale. Our traffic is worse than Miami's.
The thought of someone losing their HOME for a frickin' strip mall or Wal-Mart, sickens me. Absolutely.Sickens.Me. It will happen. Oh yes it will. The meek are not going to inherit anything in S. Florida... they will only lose it.
And lastly, thank you to the good citizens of Mississippi for finally convicting that dirtbag. I'll try to overlook the fact that he was able to live a long life free of having to pay for his crime until he was about ready to kick off anyway. But... I can't seem to overlook the frickin' closed minded loser idiot who couldn't bring herself to convict him the first time because... oh I love this... she could never convict a preacher. I wonder if she could convict a priest or preacher convicted of crimes against a child? Oh wait. That would be... NO. Frickin' loser. A pox upon her and her ilk and may she rot in hell with this 81 year old loser when she dies. For eternity.
OH!!! and I forgot about the 81 year old loser's wife who said she thought they needed a retrial since he wasn't tried by a jury of his peers... since they were all dead. Any of his peers that would not have convicted him... I hope they're all rotting in hell too... For eternity.
Not that I have an opinion or anything...
First my humble apologies to the our hostess Dana of Note It Posts that she is receiving this recipe under the wire! GRR. I had every intention of getting it to her earlier, but I’m a slug.
With that, the cake I made for Father’s Day. I am evidently losing NO weight this week in our competition, as I’m all about eating vegetable soup all week so I can have cake. It’s all about the desserts…
3 cups flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
3 eggs, beaten
1 ½ cups vegetable oil
1 ½ teaspoons vanilla
1 8-ounce can crushed pineapple, undrained
1 cup chopped pecans
2 cups mashed bananas (this is about 6-8 bananas… very ripe is best)
Combine dry ingredients in a large bowl. Add eggs and oil until dry ingredients are moistened. DO NOT BEAT. Stir in vanilla, pineapple, pecans and bananas.
Pour into 3 greased and floured 9 inch round cake pans. Bake for 30-35 minutes in a preheated 350 deg oven. Cool and frost.
1 8-ounce package of cream cheese, softened
1/3 stick butter, softened
1 16 ounce box of confectioner’s sugar (equates to 3 ¾ cups)
1 cup chopped pecans (optional)
Mix first four ingredients. Stir in pecans. Frost cake.
My eldest was having problems changing batteries to a toy while he was sprawled on the floor, so I squatted down to help him.
Snap! Crackle! Pop!, both knees went simultaneously. My knees are loud.
Bones looked at me and said, “Mom, why do your leg knuckles crack so much?”
I stared back and hesitated and said, “Ummm… you mean my knees?”
Leg knuckles. I guess if anything makes noise, it’s a knuckle.
Here’s an explanation as to why I have never smoked or done drugs.
When I was 9, my Mom’s father died of lung cancer. It was a terrible thing and my first exposure to death and what can happen to a family when a loved one dies, especially young and unexpectedly. My grandmother never recovered, still mourning his death, when she died some 25 years later. He was all of maybe 52 when he passed. I was very very close with this grandmother, so this pain of hers, became my pain.
He was a heavy smoker at one point and so his death of lung cancer was of course attributed to his smoking past. As years went on, speculation arose that the smoking, while it did not help the situation, was more than likely not the root cause. He had worked in a glass plant and many of his co-workers died that year of lung cancer too. We now think they were exposed to something in the glass factory and that is what actually caused it.
Regardless of what caused it, he died of lung cancer, he was a smoker, my Nana was a mess for 25 years after, and it made enough of an impression upon me that I never smoked. As I said, a cigarette has never touched these lips. Nor will one.
I gather when most kids are experimenting with pot, is middle school. I lived in Taiwan during my middle school years and there were NO drugs in our school. None.
My freshman year in high school, we were back stateside and we were in Pensacola, where my folks bought a home in a school district whose high school was known to be the largest agricultural school that side of Jacksonville. We had cows, crops, and Vo Tech ruled. I went to high school with military kids, farm kids, and those whose parents worked in the local paper mill down the road.
For some reason, drugs were not big at my school. They were there, but most didn’t do them. My high school was the State 4A Football Champs. Our Marching Band was the Marching Bands of America Grand National Champions. Our baseball players, became pro’s. Our Valedictorians and Salutatorians become Radiologists and PhDs in Nuclear Engineering. We were busy kids, that had good fun, but drugs didn’t come into play for us. It just didn’t. We all knew who the potheads were and they were great guys… always friendly. Actually, they were always really sweet to me. But it was known in my family, that I could be nice to the potheads, but could not date them. No biggy… the potheads were not the ones making the grades and my pattern had already been set... I only dated smart boys.
So no drugs there.
I got to college and I think I lived my sophomore year either studying or drunk. I drank a lot and by the end of my sophomore year, I realized that drinking was poison to me. I could not drink like others and have just one. I would drink, until I threw up, then drink some more, until I passed out.
That’s a bad thing.
But by then, I had decided that I wanted to go into the NSA. They do drug testing and they ask you if you have ever done drugs when you interview. I needed to be able to say ‘no’ truthfully, so I never tried them. Once again, nobody I hung with did them, but I’m sure I could have found it if I wanted to.
I wasn’t smart enough for the NSA and when I got my flush letter, by then I was in the last half of my senior year in college. (It was a very cool test and I enjoyed taking it, but I evidently didn’t meet any of their requirements, speaking only one language, not being brilliant, and just flat out not being spook material. It all worked out.) The last two years of college, Sunday through Friday you could find me in the Computer lab programming or studying with the crew I hung with (that included VW) until 2AM. Saturdays I’d go out, but by then, I had tapered off the drinking to the point that I was typically the designated driver. I had too much studying to do to be perpetually hung over.
I graduated and went to work in the aerospace industry. No drugs there either, but for sure by then, I had no desire to lose control of myself like drugs can do and by the age of 23, I completely gave up alcohol too.
So that’s my story. It must sound like I have led a boring life, not partaking in what most American kids did, but trust me, I did not. I laugh readily and can find myself amused by most of what goes on around me.
I don't look down upon those who have not made my choices. These were MY choices for ME. If I looked down upon those whose paths were far different from mine... rest assured... I would not have married my husband! *grin*
Today is Harvey’s 2nd Blogoversary. That’s right. My blog Papa has been setting the Bad Example for two years now.
His request was for toys and hey, I promise you, NOBODY knows boy toys better than I. After all, I’m a 39 years and 10 month old woman. I’ve been around the block a few times. Don’t let that whole, “I’ve never smoked a cigarette or a joint before” crap fool you.
His toys are in the extended entry…
(Click to Enlarge)
I’ve been around the block pushing a damn stroller a few times. Sheesh! I know BOY TOYS! The boys insisted on getting out their biggest array of weapons for Harvey. Take a look… you have guns, swords, light sabers, the works.
And for y’all who don’t know, Blog Daughter Sissy came up with the Pimp Daddy Bad name; we're his linky whores and I stole it from THIS post. Doesn’t he look great in his purple fuzzy pimp hat? All he needs is some Bling Bling. I learned that from my Mom, you know. *grin*
I read this article today on MSN and was laughing my butt off.
I’m going to confess something that some of y’all are not going to believe. I have never in my life smoked pot. Nope. I’ve never even seen it up close and personal. Never seen it in a bag, rolled in a cigarette, lying out on a table, or baked in a brownie. I’ve smelled it, at various public venues like… concerts, but that’s the extent of my exposure. It's always been far far away and it always smelled like stinky armpits to me.
I’ve also never smoked a cigarette before, never even had one touch my lips.
That said, I thought for sure people smoked pot for the high it gives and not for the grassy taste. Pot lollipops? Wow. I’ve been so wrong for all these years. What was I thinking?
And for those of you in Boston and Boulder, the pot smoking capitals of the world, I’m sure you’ll be loving these as evidently it’s all about the taste and not the effect.
So are they going to make cigarette tasting lollipops next? I’m thinking I’ll pass on anything that tastes like an ashtray. Blech.
I haven’t blogged on work lately. Trust me, it isn’t for lack of funny stuff, I just sometimes forget and am overcome by the kids and the rest of my life.
Our chairs at work, suck wet socks (to use the phrase I have stolen from Tammi). Oh, they give the appearance of being great chairs, all ergonomic and cushy. The arms move up and down, you can make the chair tilt, they have four rollers, but they suck. I guess when you’re a subcontractor to a major Government contractor you’ve got to cut somewhere to keep overhead down. Evidently it was the chairs that drew the short straw.
When I first came to work at my new place, I COULD NOT BELIEVE how nice the chairs were. I came from a place that used the original standard government issue aluminum chairs from the 50s, like this (that may even be my old desk in the background...):
So when I came in and found these new fangled ergonomic chairs, hey, I was pretty much sold on that alone. Holy crap, forget the money folks, I was willing to work for the chair!
It happened the first week I was there. I sat in my chair and “Kathunk!”, I dropped an inch or three. I nearly had a heart attack. I might as well have dropped a foot. Here I was, scrolling through blueprints, fighting all the new systems, completely immersed in my head and my chair drops. It was like a mini-version of being on an airliner and it suddenly drops what feels like a couple thousand feet and your heart stops and your stomach threatens to come up your esophagus. Same feeling.
I was slowly slowly ratcheted down to the floor. The hydraulics in the chair gave way.
After talking to the secretary, I found this was a standard problem in our office and the solution was… to find a chair at a walk up computer that works, and switch it out. Well, that’s all good and well… until there are no more walk ups with chairs that work.
Sure enough, a month ago, I’m sitting at my desk and “Kathunk!” I drop two inches, followed by a Kathunk! Kathunk! Kathunk! Kathunk!, and I find myself, ONCE AGAIN, practically sitting on the floor.
I looked like Kilroy. OK, slight exaggeration. But not much.
I told the secretary, and there were no more walk up chairs or conference room chairs to be had. They were all broken. So with a long list of people with broken chairs, the chair fix it kid came in.
Except he came in… on my day off. So my chair didn’t get fixed.
They told me to go get one of the walk up chairs. I decided, “Screw it”. My chair worked. So I’m sitting kind of low and I look kinda dopey? Who cares?
It was still cushy. My place is still a great place to work.
There isn’t a mouse in my desk fighting me for my lunch (happened to a co-worker at my old job).
A giant overfed garbage diver raccoon hasn’t fallen out of the false ceiling onto my desk while I was working (happened to a co-worker at my old job).
I don’t get wet when it rains because there’s a leak above my desk (happened to a co-worker at my old job).
Nobody died in my chair (blog fodder for another time... from my old job).
It’s all about perspective. I was cool with my chair. Our secretary was not. She had the chair fix it guy come out and fix my chair today.
Life is very very good.
The Karnival of the Kids is UP at Science at Politics HERE. Just to let you know, viewing it is difficult. In Firefox it works best. If you view it from IE, just keep scrolling until you get to the bottom of the blogroll, then it appears.
The blog looks like an interesting take on things in general. Anyone who describes themselves as 'Red-State Serbian Jewish atheist liberal PhD student with Thesis-writing block and severe blogorrhea trying to understand US politics by making strange connections between science, religion, brain, language and sex.", definitely has my attention.
Don't run into many of those often.
Also, don't forget to go to Sissy's as she is still doing the 25 word competition, where Harvey has now saved a penguin from being blended by Evil Glenn and is now curious about some Twins. Oh, and there are clowns, a monkey, an organ grinder, odd appendages, an attempt of a hegira from noxious burrito gas and the like.
25 words, that's all it takes.
Seems that SarahK over at Mountaineer Musings has got herself a troll. A true troll, by Harvey’s definition. We only know this person as “Wealth is a Ghetto”. Lovely, eh?
So while SarahK is being SarahK, which is by nature her sweet inoffensive self, blogging on her current upcoming wedding, job, and life, said troll comes over and is nasty in her comments HERE. It’s actually a very funny post, because of how SarahK wrote it, about a scary guy who approached her in a gas station.
So this is where it gets funny on my end.
I get an e-mail from my Mom asking me if I’d been over at Moutaineer Musings and seen the jerk that was trying to take over Sarah’s comments. In the comments, The Troll, is talking about how her boss stole her money. Weird stuff… weird stuff.
With my Mom’s permission, this is what Mom sent me:
Some real weirdo started to take over her site, claiming her boss took all her hard earned money. I was about to comment and ask if the boss wore a large furry coat, slick hat, wore bling bling and leaned up against his Caddie as he collected her money, but decided not.
Folks, I could not quit laughing.
First, that my Mom wanted to come to Sarah’s defense… that to me was very cool.
Second, that my Mom immediately wanted to ask this woman facitiously if she was a whore, got me laughing, as it never occurred to me.
But Third, and the one that actually got me laughing the hardest was that my Mom… My Mom said, ‘Bling Bling’ and she knew how to use it… and I didn’t.
I can’t quit laughing.
My boys insisted last year that they HAD to own Monopoly… and not just any Monopoly, but Lord of the Rings Monopoly. They love this game. I play it and of course I’m the banker, and in the end… they end up being a bunch of frickin’ slum lords.
They have fun.
So when it comes time to pick the characters, my 2nd son always wants to be the wizard, Gandalf. Of course. My eldest like to be Legolas, the nimble Elf archer.
Tonight Bones came running up to me shouting, “Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, you get to pick your piece. Sorry, there are only boys left. Which do you want to be?”
Given my choice of Gimli (the troll), Frodo (the hobbit), or Aragorn (the soon to be King), I of course pick Aragorn. Hey, if I’m going to choose, I’d just as soon rule the world, be the best looking, and the smartest.
I look at my choices and I said, “Buddy… who are you? What character did you pick?”
He smiled real big and said, “OH! I’m the girl wizard!” and he bounced off.
I’m looking at his brothers who are doing the equivalent of whistling and looking away innocently and I say, “Reaaaallly? The girl wizard, huh? Let me see this ‘Girl Wizard’.”
I pick it up and it’s Arwen, the girl elf…. I look at my eldest and he says to me in a gruff voice undertone, “You see Mom. The GIRL WIZARD. The GIRL WIZARD!” So, being the bad mom that I am, I play along and say to Bones, “Ohhhh! The Giiiirrrlll Wizard.”
I find out later that he wanted to be Gandalf. So rather than fight him for it, my two eldest sons tell him that he doesn’t want to be Gandalf, he can be the other cooler, better, Wizard. The Girl Wizard.
Yeah, being the youngest has got to suck. That sounds EXACTLY like something TN and I would have done to Morrigan. Exactly.
Well, she's got it all going on this week.
First, there is her linky lovin' from last week's word of the week, cats-paw. I was woefully inadequate and failed in any attempt to use it. Perhaps this week will be better...
.... but this week's word is some Japanese sounding word hegira, which I could swear is what you did with a long sword if you had shamed yourself in Japanese culture. But I read the definition. Not so. Take a look, use it on your blog, hit the permalink and be a part of next week's Linky Lovin'!
And last but not least, Sissy is this week's hostess of Feisty's 25 word challenge. Here is the scoop:
Go HERE and read the rules, then go into the comments and read what has been posted so far... and continue the story. You gotta use 25 words. We're up to 10 comments and I expect an awful lot from the Frizzenspark/ BE Family/Friends/and readers.
So go over there and add what you got... let's see where this story takes us...
VW is beating herself up that she gained a few pounds this week. I'm not sweating it for her. Look, this is a long term goal here. We didn't gain it over night, we sure as heck aren't going to take it off overnight... although that would be nice. We'll have ups and downs... we'll all get there eventually.
This week, I weighed in at 127, saying I was down 1. Do I believe it? Well, maybe for that time, but not tomorrow morning. I ate too much today. It's Father's Day and I had the family over for a dinner of fresh corn, baked chicken, oven fried whole potatoes, salad, and... Hummingbird Cake, for which I will post the recipe.
That's a whole heaping lot of food... and I did not hold back.
So, I think I'll be up a pound this week. I'm tempted to say, "I maintained', but that would not be right. I did lose a pound.
I'm down 6. I expect to only maintain this week, but we shall see. Perhaps if I don't break my neck in Hellroebics, I might see some change.
Happy Father's Day to The Great Omnipotent One!
Hmm. Have I ever told y'all that I used to blot my lipstick on the top of his head? Yup. TGOO has what I call horseshoe hair and started to thin while I was in high school. So when I was in college and would go out on a date or out with my friends, he'd be sitting in his chair reading the book of the day (the man does some serious reading), and I'd lean over and kiss him on the top of his head... killing two birds with one stone. 1) I was kissing him goodnight as I left and 2) I was blotting my lipstick at the same time. (Old habits die hard... i still do this sometimes when I go out when I'm visiting home.)
Is that a helluva Dad, or what?
I'm taking this directly from last year's post... Last Father's Day is where TGOO got his name.
From June 2004:
The Great Omnipotent One
Blog Father Harvey suggested to me that I find some way to distinguish between my Blog Fathers and my Real Dad. This was a couple days ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.
From here on out, I will now refer to my biological Father and real Dad as The Great Omnipotent One. I know, it’s long, but if I refer to it that much, I’ll just abbreviate to TGOO. That’s Dad. I called him The Great Omnipotent One in High School and not as a smart ass either. We had these napkin rings and we all had our names on them. He jokingly put that on his napkin ring and it stuck. And it fit. One of his favorite lines in our house growing up was, “This is NOT a democracy… this is a dictatorship!”, and he MEANT it! I come from a tight knit family and am very close to both my parents. And allow me to add, that all my friends completely love both my parents. They are super cool and even in High School, everyone loved them and still do.
So, The Great Omnipotent One it is. That should distinguish them! BTW, Happy Father's Day! :-)
Per David at Third World County, if you haven't wished your blogfather a Happy Blog Father's Day... today would be the day. A special man in your life that got you started blogging... that would be him.
Today is two years of blogging for Matty of Blackfive. To not read Matty is to miss out on one of the real pleasures of the Blogosphere. To not read Matty is to miss out on a Blog that truly makes a difference in this world… and I mean the real world.
By a fluke, I happened to mention him in yesterday’s post when I talked about buying my t-shirt, but for the most part, I don’t talk about Matty because… everyone knows about him. He’s a big Blogger, a household name amongst other bloggers. I read him, I try to read him every day, but I don’t mention him much as I know everyone reads him.
But then I thought, perhaps there is a new reader out there, a new blogger, who doesn’t know… and should.
So to those of you who don’t know about Blackfive, let me tell you by starting to tell you what he is not...
I call myself a bullshit blog. I blog on the crap that comes into the crazy lady’s head. I blog on my life. I blog on my weird perceptions of what has happened around me. I blog on my kids. Period. I’m not striving for world peace or staving off world hunger here. I blog selfishly… I blog as a catharsis for me because I have to. It is a compulsion for me. I have to get the stuff out of my head or I go insane and I use blogging as a way to reflect upon my day every single day and to Thank the good Lord for what I have been given and how blessed that I am. And I blog because I have fallen in love with my fellow bloggers and readers.
But Matty… he is making a difference. Every day. Matty’s blog is the opposite of mine. Blackfive is a selfless blog. He blogs to show the other side of the war, the side the main stream media doesn’t show you. He blogs to show you the men and women behind the scenes, fighting to keep us safe and free. He blogs to get the word out. And he has succeeded.
There are men and women in the trenches that need to know we care, that need to know that we support them… there are men and women who have been injured while fighting for this country that need to know their sacrifices are not forgotten... and Matty does all this... and much more.
Blackfive… is what is good about the blogosphere. He is making a difference every day in people’s lives.
So if you have not gone over to Blackfive, start HERE and read his 2 year anniversary post and pay particular attention to what he views as his highlights... and what keeps him going… he is making a difference. And then maybe go HERE and read through some of his favorite posts “someone you should know”. Actually, just read. You will not be disappointed. Matty is the Man. He’s made the blogosphere a better place.
Congrats, Blackfive. May we all be so fortunate to have many more years reading you.
My eldest was 6. He had just lost his 3rd tooth and was obsessed with getting it clean. Over and over he would wash it in the bathroom sink.
Over and over I would yell from the kitchen, "Quit playing with that tooth! You're going to drop it down the drain!"
Then... Plink... there it went... down the drain.
He was horrified. I was pissed. I wasn't pissed because he dropped it, but because in his dropping it he was then upset and if he had listened to me... yeah yeah yeah.
So, I decide... to take the sink apart. I call The Great Omnipotent One and it went something like this:
Me: Dad, your grandson dropped his tooth down the drain of the bathroom sink.
Me: Yeah, I'm going to take apart the sink and retrieve it.
TGOO, rather lengthy pause: Hunh. You are?
Me: Yeah. I guess I'll get out the plumber's wrench, turn off the water to the house and take off that elbow. Is there something I should know?
TGOO: Yup. I have rewired a house, fixed roofs, hung drywall, laid down tile... but if it deals with water, I call a plumber. I don't do water.
Me: Uh oh. You don't?
TGOO: Nope. If you take that elbow off, I guaran-damn-tee you, that you won't ever get it on right and then you'll have a perpetual leak and a mess. I say, leave the tooth.
Now, I'm one of those kinds of people that seriously takes advice. I don't blow off my parents when they impart their wisdom, in particular if its from personal experience. I'm all about letting other people make the mistakes that I can learn from. Makes life easier, less complicated, and less stressful.
So with that, I thanked him and hung up the phone.
Taking a deep breath and steeling myself for the conversation with my son and the now obviously forever lost tooth, I walk into the bathroom.
Me: Buddy, I can't get that tooth. We'll have to wait for the tooth fairy. You know, she is the tooth fairy. She's really small, so she can just fly down that drain and get your tooth...
And now, in my nervousness, I'm starting to ramble about how agile the TF is and how this is no problem...
When my son interrupts: Mom, why doesn't she just use her magic wand? Why doesn't she just use it to get the tooth?
What was I thinking? So I quickly said, "Oh! You are right! She will just use her magic wand. Piece.of.cake."
And with that, he bounced out of the bathroom and it was never mentioned again. Problem solved.
Her magic wand. The kids know their stuff.
I took the boys shopping with my spouse for new clothes. They're growing out of everything. I took my spouse because... I hate shopping. But I hate shopping for them more. What a pain in the neck.
Anyway, Bones found a pair of camo cargo pants that he had to have. They come half way down his calves. These pants have no less than 8 pockets. Zippers, snaps, velcro, the boy is in heaven.
At dinner he shouts (as this is all he is capable of, shouting), while wearing his new pants, "Hey Mom! These are Suitcase pants! Look at all the pockets! I can fit a TON of stuff in these pants! Just like a suitcase!"
Sure enough, he was going on an outting with his father, and as I was tying his shoe, I found this little pocket near his calf... 3 inches long and 1 inch deep. That's right, shallow little pocket.
I feel it and it's full. I open it and I said "What in the heck is this?"
Bones: OH Mom. Those are pool tiles.
Me: Pool tiles?
Bones: Yeah, you know the pool we go to? Well some of the small tiles were coming off so I collected them.
Wha?!!! What is with boys and their treasures?! And why is it that when he saw this little pocket, the first thing he thought was, "Oh! I know something that will fit! Pool tiles!"
Every single pocket was full. Every one.
As he walked out of the room I hollered after him, "Don't you forget to empty those pockets before you put them in the wash!"
Yeah. Right. He'll forget, I'll forget, and next thing you know, my washer and dryer will be full of little boy treasure/crap. Great.
The Carnival of the Recipes is UP! Y'all must go take a look. We've been eating well this year in the house of Bou as I go to the Carnival every week and pick up new recipes.
Seriously. Go. Michele at Meanderings did a fine job. See it HERE. I know I'll be finding a recipe or two for next week...
I went shopping today. Internet shopping that is… Milblog style.
I stopped by Blackfive’s and bought one of his T-shirts. I’ve been meaning to do it, but you know what they say about the road to hell and good intentions. Anyway, profits go for Soldiers' Angels (an extraordinarily worthy cause) and although I saw recommended somewhere that we women buy a t-shirt one size too small, I didn’t. *grin* One size up for me. I like to feel like I’m swimming in my t-shirts.
So, go to Blackfive, one of the best milblogger’s out there, and buy a shirt for a good cause. You’ll see it on his right sidebar. If you do nothing else, go to Soldiers' Angels and look at what they do...
Then I went on over to John at Castle Argghhh!’s and bought myself a coffee mug. John was one of the original three blogs I started reading. I’ve been wanting a coffee mug that stood out from the ordinary at work, something that meant something to me and everyone would eventually know was MINE, so today I got a Castle Argghhh! mug.
I’m finished shopping now. The internet is too scary easy. The best part is... I didn't have to try anything on!
Here is Part II of my III part Tooth Fairy Series.
I was in the school clinic a couple years ago hanging out talking to the school nurse, who I know very well. The first grade teacher came in with a child who had just lost a tooth. A big deal was being made by the nurse and the teacher as they gave the child a little plastic tooth container necklace, in which to carry the tooth home.
I sat there watching this entire scene and quietly laughed to myself.
The teacher got the child back to class, but then came back in for something else. Let it be known this is one of my favorite teachers in the school, both my older sons have had her and I requested her for my 3rd son.
So I said to the teacher: How long have you been teaching?
Teacher: Hmm. I do believe it is 25 years this year.
Me: Well, by my calculations, if there are 25 kids in your class and since 1st grade is the grade where MOST of the kids lose most of their first 8 teeth, and knowing how kids are about loose teeth and how once they are loose, they sit there and ‘wiggle wiggle wiggle’, they can’t help it… I think it is safe to assume that every child in your class loses 1 tooth on your watch while in class… that is 625 teeth lost during class time over your career.
Teacher looking rather stunned: Well… I guess you are right.
Me: If we take it a step further, every child probably loses 6 teeth the year you have them as their teacher and every child probably shows you when they walk in class… so 25 years, 25 kids, 6 teeth… we’re now at roughly 3750 lost on your watch, that you get to “oooo” and “ahhhh” over.
Teacher now laughing and horrified that I have done this computation: I have NEVER thought of it that way.
The clinic nurse is now laughing.
Me: Oh I know. But I just wanted to say how impressed I am that after 3750 teeth, 625 of them having been lost during class, that you are still excited for the kids… because… I don’t think I could be.
I think I’d be pretty over it after the first school year.
Oh, and the next year I was asked to be the school treasurer. Coincidence? I think not.
I had hellrobics today.
As I walked in, my girlfriend, the instructor, said, “Oh! I have some new steps I’m teaching today.”
I replied, “Are YOU CRAZY? I’m probably going to break my damn neck as it is!”
She said in her happy voice, “Oh don’t say that! You’ll do fine.”
Here I am, stepping up, stepping to the side, stepping down, watching her, watching my feet, when suddenly, the woman to the right of me, and I do believe it is the woman from last time who said, “Left foot. We’re on the left foot”, fell OFF her step and crashed into the wall.
That’s right. There she sat, in a heap. On the floor. From the corner of my eye, it was as if a poltergeist had just picked her up and hurled her to the wall and ground. Ok, so maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but it was frightening.
My friend stopped and raced over to her, the woman was laughing and said, “No biggy. I just missed the step.”
Yeah. Just what I needed to hear. I must’ve looked shaken as I could see my friend looking at me to see if I was going to throw up my hands and declare, “Truce! I give up to the step! I am out of here!”
I did not.
So here I am, stepping up, stepping to the side, stepping down, watching her and watching my feet as she has now introduced this new really complicated step… when suddenly… my friend, the instructor, falls OFF her step and lands on a heap on the ground. She’s never fallen off her step before in her life. I just stood there. Mouth agape. In horror.
She got up and the class continued and I made a conscious decision, anytime she got to something I thought would injure me, twist a knee, or break my neck, I just stood at the back of step, stepping up, stepping down, over and over until they got to a part I knew I could do.
She told me later she was so worried about me, she was watching me and missed her step. I told her not to worry anymore… I had made peace with the step and I wasn’t going to get hurt.
Tomorrow I try her high impact aerobics class. I anticipate not seeing any woman hurled into the walls by aerobic poltergeists.
Scary stuff that step aerobics. It made Karate look tame.
This is a question to my male readers.
This is from Katie Holmes with regard to her new fiancée, the eccentric and creepy Tom Cruise, for whom she is embracing his incredibly whacked out religion of the Church of Scientology.
Pay attention carefully, gentlemen, before you answer this question. I have read that the lovely young, impressionable and weak minded Katie has been heard to say that… she grew up wanting to marry him.
Heh. I wish I could say it was because they were the same age and grew up as playmates and she just always thought she wanted to marry him. But, alas, ‘tis not the case as he is 20 years older than she.
OK… this is what I want to know man-friends. Could you see yourself wanting to marry someone who said she grew up wanting to marry you?
Blech. There is something so very wrong with that. Makes me want to vomit. The girl needs a lobotomy.
Wow, you bloggers who are registered with The Bear need to go take a look at his redecor of his digs. And don’t forget to check your ecosystem status as it is now listing ALL the links again. He outdid himself again.
Looks good, very very good. That’s a whole lotta work. And he has his new banner. Looks sweet.
YES! No screen shot, as this is strictly FYI, but I WAS #1 in Yahoo search for… Cartoon Giant Robots Boob Rockets! Yahoo! This did NOT take long at all. Ahhh… life is good.
And, when I looked at my sitemeter, this search was #69! Coincidence? I think not!
Teeth are popping out of mouths in this house like popcorn pops in a microwave. Bones a couple days ago and Son#1 today.
Son#1 has started his 2nd phase of tooth loss today. For those not in the know, kids lose teeth in kindergarten-1st/2nd grade, 8 of them, and then it starts again in about 4th grade. Typically there is a one or two year pause. So while Bones is starting phase one, Son#1 is in phase two and Son#2 is in the waiting phase.
With the first two boys, we had special little containers to put their teeth in for under the pillow. No more of the old fashioned way like when I was a kid, the adult coming in, kid asleep, adult quietly and gently moving their hand under the kid’s pillow, fervently searching for a baby tooth the size of a… a… baby tooth. You know… small. Nope, my boys are doin’ it in style. The elder two each have their own little ‘tooth container’. In a mad panic rush, after realizing Bones had in fact lost his first tooth, my husband took him to Hallmark and bought him a heart shaped pill box that is now a heart shaped tooth box. Sometimes the incredibly idiotic things we do as parents simply amaze me.
Anyway, I have to remember to put the money under Son#1’s pillow. Bones waited 2 days because the tooth fairy is a slug and kept forgetting. The first excuse was, ‘You lost it too late at night! She already had her route planned!” The second excuse was, “She knew you were buying a little cup to hold it in under your pillow, so she thought she’d wait.” He bought it.
The tooth fairy has forgotten before. The tooth fairy sucks at her job.
I have a couple more tooth fairy stories… kinda funny too. So consider this Part I of a 3 part Series on The Tooth Fairy. Hey, gimme a break, it gives me definite blog fodder for two more days. No reason to use up all my stories in one post. Sheesh!
Son#4 is spending the night. That’s right. I have four sons. OK, not really.
There is a little boy whose mother and I were pregnant at the same time and he is two months older than my eldest. They’ve been best friends since my eldest was born. That’s 10 ½ years. He’s a great kid and an only child for many reasons one being… his Dad being the age of The Great Omnipotent One. His Dad is a wonderful man, I love him dearly, he is a very proper New England man. His Mom is a dear friend of mine and the Godmother to my youngest.
I refer to Son#4 as my other son and his mom refers to my boys as her ‘other sons’.
So Son#4 is spending the night and as I’m putting dinner on the table, we realize the kid’s toilet is clogged… again. Bones is vehemently denying that he was the culprit in putting too much paper into the commode, again. None of us believe him. Of course my husband came home and immediately started teasing Son#4 that it was his fault, but we would overlook it.
We were at dinner and the commode incident conversation happens again and there is now talk of big poops at the table. Nice dinner conversation, right? Normally I would actually reel it in and say, “Yo, not at the table”, but the talk was really funny and Son#4 was laughing so hard I thought he’d cry. In between gasps of air in between his fits of laughter he looked at me and said, “Man. This is the BEST sleep over ever!”
I think that made my week.
I love having him over as he sees what it’s like to hang with brothers and he is one of them. He can cut loose and be a brother and be gross with the boys. He is always ready to go home, however, as he does like his solitude and living in my house is like living with the circus. Perpetual motion and noise. You never really know what’s going to happen next. And... you can really only take it in small doses.
Blog Father Harvey suggested I enter my Hurricane Part III post into the Carnival of the Vanities. It’s where bloggers get to display their writing to a bigger audience of people who have more than likely not read them before.
And thank you to Harvey for prompting me to submit something as I would not ever have done so on my own...
Holy cow, sometimes I read things and I just can’t quit laughing.
First, go HERE and read the infamous post on Squirrel Sex by Eric of Straight White Guy.
Then, go HERE to my bloggrandson, Spur’s, click the link and tell me that’s just not the perfect frickin’ gift for Eric!
Man. If he were related to me, he’d SOOOO be getting one of those for Christmas. I’m kinda known in my family for finding the ‘perfect’ gift.
OK, folks, I’m getting googled for some odd stuff lately and not for the sexual kind… yet… given my whole mammary missile posts as of late. So here is my assessment for what I have been searched for:
I don’t know if it’s safe to eat old jello.
I know that chocolate can expire, I saw it on some chocolate I bought, but I know for a fact that eating a Harry and David chocolate Easter Bunny 18 months after the fact tastes damn good and you’ll have no ill effects.
I have no clue about Barbies nor Barbie Stomach Aches. Is this something that occurs after you eat a Barbie? That’s gotta be hard to digest. Cellulose is hard to digest. I had a kid pass part of a Southern Living magazine once and I recognized the pages in his poop. Lovely, eh? I had a kid eat a 8 dot lego once (a lego 2x4)… that was interesting… oh that is blog fodder. Must remember to post on that one…
Yes, my readers, Tupperware will melt in your oven. No clue how I ended up googled for that one. Google Melted Tupperware Oven and I am #1. And it’s not even anything *I* did. It was my loyal reader George, the perpetual bachelor, posting a comment!
On an AOL search, I got #7 for making Jello… that would come from my ‘Please Don’t Pee in my Jello” post. They had to be horrified by that little treasure.
I’m getting A WHOLE HEAPIN’ LOT of google hits for ‘haircuts for boys’. Yup. We get those. Haircuts for boys, I mean. I’m NOT #1 for it, HOWEVER, I am #1 for Yahoo search for little girl haircuts. Go figure. Nope. We ain’t got none of those. Haircuts for little girls, I mean.
Heh. Go figure. I got googled for pretty foot. Trust me folks, there are pretty feet and there are pretty feet… and none of them are mine. I couldn’t find the page they got me from, but it must’ve been pretty low on the pretty foot google food chain. Deservedly so.
Of course I got my usual plethora of google/yahoo/’insert name of search engine here’ seaches for Boudicca.
That rounds out my sitemeter searches for today. Yes… those were just for today…
Leave it to MY damn blog children. Or rather one of them. And then the other joined in heartily. And blogsisters said 'Yay!' and one asked if she could blog nekkid. And then I had a blogfather agree... And my other blogfather would, but he's not seen it yet, I am sure. And my other blogson hasn't said anything because I'm sure he hasn't seen it.
Leave it to Contagion to decide to organize a Blog Crawl. You know... a cyber version of Pub Crawling. Blogging/Commenting Drunk. Great.
Go HERE to see what he's got on his mind, the lunatic. And don't forget to look at the comments!
I'm hereby declaring myself the Designated Driver! Well, Little Joe and I are the co-drivers. On the designated night, I will also be trolling the comments, but will be leaving my sober comments in hopes that the crawlers won't get too out of control.
Yeah. Right. Like I could control the lunatic fringe... *shaking my head*
My brother and I are pathetic, really. We’re still obsessing over Chinese commercials and the what not in the comments for my shooting boobs post. Actually it’s become somewhat of a sibling war of ‘Oh yeah! Do you remember…???” I think it’s the military life. We’re constantly doing a ‘do you remember’, kind of like reaffirming things really did happen, as well as the perpetual quizzing of past phone numbers and addresses, although we don’t do that as much anymore. We get in these modes where we HAVE TO seek information on someone from our past or where we lived. We don’t want to go back, we just feel compelled to find out what has happened since.
In my brother’s continuing search for yet more information, after Brian shed light on our favorite projectile casaba cartoon, he finds some dude who can evidently tell us what the real Chinese title was. I know, y’all are probably wondering why we would care, but the three of us, Morrigan included, have the title running through our heads… it was the main line of the theme song.
Did we hear it right? Was it a conglomeration of Chinese words we knew, but misunderstood? Now I was wondering if Mazinger was part of this title, yet what I heard as a kid and what WE remember was completely different. (No, we did not speak Chinese fluently. In school I studied it and knew enough to be able to: order food, ask for directions, buy from a street market, and cuss. Basically, the usual crap kids learn in a foreign country.)
And what the guy told TN, was phonetically the same exact of what we remembered, except his Chinese phonetic spelling was “Wu Dee Tieh Jing Gahn” and he said, roughly translated it means, “Un-defeatable Iron Robot”. Yes, that was the NAME of their cartoon. We name ours things like Bugs Bunny or Pink Panther… they name theirs things like, ‘Un-defeatable Iron Robot”. Hey, at least you know what you’re in for.
Speaking of which, you have to understand our enthrallment. We came from America watching Bugs Bunny, Pink Panther, Donald Duck, Speed Racer, Tweetie, Porky Pig and the lot… and we end up in a foreign country where we don’t understand a damn thing, but their cartoons are big robots and the female versions have mammary missiles.
Yeah, it was a lot different over there. Good memories. Good memories. Wouldn’t trade ‘em for the world.
My workout partner informed me if I was going to do her aerobics class, I needed new shoes.
I looked at her and said defensively, “New shoes? These are perfectly good shoes!”
She rolled her eyes, grabbed my foot, looked at the tread and said, “Bou, these are running shoes. You need cross trainers. Plus, look at the tread. Have you thought about the fact you may NEED new running shoes?”
Oh. Yeah. You’re supposed to get new running shoes after so many miles. Mine are kinda sorta run in. I needed new shoes.
I hate buying running shoes. I have big feet. I wish to hell there was some good thing that could be attributed to women with big feet, but there is not. They are big for my size and they are wide. If they were fat, they’d be Flintstone feet. Thank God for the small favors of thinnish feet. Oh… and my feet are flat…. Very very flat. My arches fell a couple years ago.
There are times my big feet are more readily apparent to me than others. For instance, one time I walked into VW’s house, she being the same height as I, and I saw these teeny tiny little tennis shoes by her door. I thought, “Wow, whose little girl’s shoes?’ then I realized, “Wait! Those are VWs!”
Or how about the fact I have this bad habit of just walking out of my shoes and leaving them wherever. It makes my husband nuts. So one day I found his running shoes in the middle of the floor and I was about to tease him about it… when I realized they were MY running shoes.
OK, so off I go to Sports Authority to buy a pair of cross trainers. I saw this cute pair of 7 ½ B, which I guess is just wider than normal. They looked so tiny. And I thought, “I could fit in those. I bet the problem is that I just need the wider width. I bet I don’t really wear an 8 ½” Wait, did I say that? I’m 5’2” and my running shoes are currently an 8 ½?! Yes.
So I pulled said cute shoes out of box and put them on. They were a bit snug. Oh, they were so small and cute! And my feet looked small! And I loved them! And I walked and they pinched a little and I thought, “Oh! I can make these work!”
But… in the back of my head I could hear The Great Omnipotent One saying, “Who cares what in the hell they look like. You need a good pair of running shoes that fit PROPERLY!”
And I looked back to the shoes in boxes and there was a pair of New Balance, on sale, a size 8 WIDE and I thought, “OK, well, they aren’t 8 ½.”
I tried them on… and the toe box was big… and they were cushy… and… and… THERE WAS ROOM FOR MY ORTHOTICS! (Yes, I wear orthotics for my arches. I’m sounding like quite a catch now, aren’t I?) And my feet just seemed so… happy!
And they were on sale for fifty bucks and really that’s what it’s all about. I got good shoes for not a lot of money. And… they’re kinda girly looking so I won’t mistake them for my husband’s.
Blogdaughter VW has this week's Karnival of the Kids at her place! She made up poems to go with the entries... far far more creative than I, for sure.
I am so frickin' excited... I can hardly contain myself. Seriously. It's amazing news and I'm beside myself!
I know... you're wondering... what could get me into such a frenzy other than stumbling upon an 18 month old chocolate bunny I had stashed away in my pantry...
Heh. I love the blogosphere. Whilst y'all were working, blogging, or going about your general life, I was receiving comments on THIS post... my childhood Meme post, from a blogger named Brian.
Brian... has found... the name... of that Japanese cartoon my brother and I used to watch when we lived in Taiwan in 1977-1978! The one with the female robot who shot her tits off! Yes! It was shown here in America in the mid 80's as Tranzor-Z. The main robot was Mazinger-Z and the female boob shooting side kick was Aphrodite-A.
He even got us links for pictures which I have linked to their names above!
And Brian's quote cracked me up
Since the series ran in the mid-80s in the US, it stuck in my memory....giant exploding robot boobs can do that to a young boy.
So... Thank you Brian. Now I am trying to figure out how this name Mazinger-Z fits into the Chinese name I have in my head.
And to think how many hours I tried googling that cartoon... typing in things like:
'robots shoot boobs' 'breast rockets' 'tit missiles' 'pink robot shoots boobs' 'japanese anime 70s pink robot boob missiles'.
Yeah. Nothing. And my brother was searching too... The Blogosphere came through. Life is good!
*Can't wait to see what I get googled for on this post. Great.
I’ve had the same work out partner for 3 years. We meet twice a week at my gym, where she also works as an aerobics instructor, and we lift.
OK, so picture this, she is 5’4, lean, curvy, blonde and beautiful. All men fall over all themselves to be around her. She truly has the most beautiful body of any woman I have ever met in all my 40 years. We are the same age, she has 3 kids… she is just blessed with damn good genes… and the fact she works out 17 hours a week. It’s her job as well as her hobby.
So over the last 3 years she has watched me nearly attain my goal weight, just 4 lbs off, but I assure you, I NEVER looked like she did. She’s watched my weight creep back on, my work out time diminish as I’ve struggled to carve it into my schedule as well as deal with sports injuries. She never says anything, just occasionally will say, “So, how much cardio are you doing this week?”
We meet every Saturday morning. This past Saturday she said, “It is time for you to start doing my aerobics class. We need to get different cardio for you. Your body is too used to the bike and the elliptical machine. We need to break it up.”
Me? Do aerobics. Holy crap, say it isn’t so. I don’t dance. I don’t do aerobics.
She was insistent. So we compromised. Her class was an hour, the first ½ being floor aerobics, the 2nd half being step. I said I’d do the 2nd half, while I did the bike for a half hour.
What a mistake. I got so lost. I’m a complete klutz. I was worried I was going to break my damn neck on the step. They’re stepping, kicking, grape-vining, and half the time I’m thinking “Wait. I’m on the wrong foot.” Some woman next to me is whispering, “left foot, start with the left foot”. I’m looking at my feet feeling like my sister who notoriously does not know her left from her right.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell, ‘You think I suck, but I can run further than any of you, bike faster than you, and in frickin’ February I was training for my damn black belt until my dojo closed!!!’ GRRR. None of that mattered anymore. Not in that class. None of it.
Finally realizing I was barely getting my heart rate up enough to make the class worth it for me, my friend started doing some easy stuff I could for sure follow, so I would break a sweat.
I’m doing Friday morning’s class. I will beat this damn aerobics problem. I will learn these steps. I will be better than these other women in this aerobics class.
I saw my work out partner this morning and she says to me, with great animation and excitement, “And when the kids get back in school, you can do my 7:30 step class on Tuesdays and Thursdays before you go to work!!”
Great. I don’t know if I’m her source of entertainment or she’s just excited to have her work out partner in her class…
I just don’t want to break my neck in the process. Oh and the bonus of aerobics… unlike Karate… you don’t have to be flexible. I’m not bendy, dammit.
I stayed the same. No loss. No gain. The same. Down 5. That’s not bad considering there was an enormous amount of cake and ice cream consumed this week. I need to be serious the next few weeks or I’m in a whole heap ‘O trouble. July 4th is coming and I’m going to my folk's house. Yeah, that’s not good for the weight issue. Luckily, The Great Omnipotent One gets me passes to his gym so I can still work out.
VW feels she’s going to gain on me and beat me. She’s even starting her mental list of excuses as to why she should lose… I can name two: Tater and Tot. Heh!
However, just to give myself a bit of an edge this week… a personal message to my blogdaughter, VW:
You can find the dark chocolate M&Ms at Toys ‘R Us!!! They have TONS of them and they’re all screaming your name as well as, “Buy me! Eat me!” Oh. OK, maybe not that last bit. I’m channeling the Bad Example Family there. Maybe they’re just screaming your name.
My Karnival of the Kids entry comes from my old blog, December 27, for you new readers. It’s obvious the problems I am having with Son#3’s language is an on going problem, as evidenced by THIS post.
Along the lines of what is bad to say and what is not and how my 3rd son continues to push the edge…
Sons 2 and 3 had Fiona (our hamster) out while I cleaned her cage. Son#2 had her sitting on his lap and she started to nipple on his pants.
Son#2: Mom! Fiona is trying to eat my nuts!
This actually doesn’t phase me as stuff like this is standard fare… talking about body parts.
Son#2 continues: Mom! You know she likes nuts, right?
Me stopping, looking blankly, trying to figure out what to say, “Yeah, but not those kind of nuts. She just likes the texture of your pants.” And I keep on cleaning, not skipping a beat.
Son#2: She is going to eat my balls! (The kid is wearing blue jeans.)
Bones: Ummmmm! You aren’t allowed to say that word! It’s a bad word!
Son#2: No it’s not. Balls isn’t a bad word. It’s the OTHER stuff you can’t say with it that makes it bad.
Bones: Oh yeah. You can’t say eat my balls. Or suck my balls.
He had to say it. He just had to find some way to say it.
It’s not that we can’t deal. We can. We’re just not ready to, although I think the folks of Pensacola have now been forced to be ready.
Living without power in Fl in September, sucks wet socks. September is our 2nd hottest month… August being the 1st. But even that became manageable. People got generators to try to run at least their refrigerators. TGOO just bought a window unit for one of the bedrooms in their house so next time they’re without power for that long, they can shut up the room and run the unit off the generator. Sleeping in the hot and humid… it feels impossible.
We get canned food, bottled water, and ice. We freeze our bottles of water so during the days without power, we can still drink cool water. We develop schedules on when to open the freezer and refrigerator… so we don’t lose the cool air inside. Frozen meat we can keep for a few days… eating it when we can.
But eventually, you eat through your stash. Your bread, if not eaten, is moldy. Milk is gone. Frozen meat has been eaten. Fresh fruits and veggies… gone. And you’re left with the canned crap and MREs. It doesn’t take but a few days to get to that point.
It sucks. Bad.
Walking through our grocery store, looking for bread… nothing. Milk… nothing. Eggs… nothing. They’re throwing out food as fast as they can; it’s all spoiled or didn’t stay as cold as it needed to for them to be able to sell it. Produce has gone bad and nothing is coming in. Getting stuff trucked to us is a major hassle, roads and bridges are down, gas is scarce.
Gas lines… an hour long. It’s like the 70s all over again. You don’t drive unless you have to for numerous reasons, one being the lack of gas, the other being the damaged road ways and complete lack of traffic lights. Every intersection becomes a 4 way stop.
You start getting nervous when your gas gauge gets to ½ tank. You don’t know if gas will be plentiful or not in the ensuing days, so you fill up at ½ tank, careful not to let it drop below. Radio stations announce 24/7 who has gas. People follow gas tanker trucks to see where they’re stopping.
Food comes in here and there… there is bread. Although you only need 1 loaf, you pick up 2… because… there may not be any in a couple days and you *may* need it. That goes for every item. You pick up more than you need… hoarding, because it could all go away. It’s a frantic feeling.
I was sitting in line for gas. I drive a mini van with car seats visible in the back. A woman stopped her car, rolled down the window and yelled to me, “Publix just got milk!!!” That makes your day.
They don’t sell alcohol for the weeks after a hurricane… big blue strips of painters tape close off the beer… you can look at the menu, you just can’t touch. People dependent on alcohol, who didn’t know this freeze on sales would occur, start to lose it. I witnessed it first hand in Publix.
Domestic abuse is on the rise.
It was all no big deal, really. None of us starved. Nobody got diseases. We didn’t die of heat stroke. But, it was the not knowing; it was all mental. When would fresh meat be available again? Is milk going to be delivered every day? Is the gas shortage ever going to let up and if so, when? When can you buy beer?
How much longer do we not have running water? How much longer will we be on boil water alerts or will sewage continue to run into our streets?
And this doesn’t even go into the psychological toll of the storm itself. The hours of waiting through it… for the sound of hell knocking on your door to go away. Checking your house as the winds blow, slowly walking from room to room, flashlight in hand looking at windows, walls and ceilings for signs of leakage.
Towels being changed out ever ½ hour as water leaks through windows or through doors that you thought were water tight.
Emptying out buckets collecting water for water leaks dripping from light fixtures.
Listening to roof tiles being peeled from your roof, skipping across the rest of your roof like pebbles being thrown across a pond… and sounding so loud. Everything sounds louder in a storm.
Watching storm shutters get pulled off your house.
Realizing during the eye that a tree may fall on your house if it doesn’t let up soon. Propping the tree during the eye in hopes of saving your home.
The horror of realizing the damage you’ve mentally documented in your head during the eye… is only half…as the rest of the storm is on its way.
Listening to the rescues during the hurricane via radio, hoping you never find yourself in that situation.
Huddling with your children and spouse in a safe room, fervently praying that the worst does not happen. The worst… the worst is not the wind and rain, my friends… the worst is tornadoes that are spawned. You pray the big tornadoes don’t touch your home. Nothing can save you against those.
So as my loyal reader George, who is blogless, but lives down this way, and I have said repeatedly to each other the last few weeks via e-mail, we’re not ready to wrap our minds around this hurricane season. We’re not ready for the hurricanes. We’re not ready for the aftermath.
‘Tis the price we pay to live in paradise, as TGOO says.
I CANNOT believe how much work she put into this! Not only did she read through the recipes, but she included little tidbits about the blog!
Folks, seriously, go over and take a look. And not just because she did such a great job, but because at EVERY Carnival I find a recipe that has expanded my cooking repetoire with my family and I had an extensive one already.
Great Stuff. Good Eats. Go Look.
I can’t believe it’s been a year. I’ve been blogging for one year.
That’s right. Today. I’ve been blogging. One year. Holy crap, Lions tours (turn up the sound if you've not seen this link). Say it isn’t so.
For those of you who don’t know, my exposure to the blogosphere started on March 7, 2004. Our Sunday paper had an article on the Retrosexual Male and it published my Blog Father Grau’s Retrosexual Code, that if you have not seen, is funny as hell. Anyway, the newspaper listed the URL for his blog and I took a look. Of course the first thing that was readily apparent was that the newspaper had cleaned up his code… you know… the whole ‘family paper’ thing. *Big Grin*
I started to read him daily. It was more than just what he wrote, which is some great stuff, but it was also the repartee he had with his commenters… his buddies, who are too numerous to mention! These guys ragged on each other unmercifully. They completely cracked me up. After reading them for a couple weeks, I started to comment. He’d sometimes hit on something I knew a lot about and felt compelled to share my view. I commented as –D, if you were reading him then. I even participated in the Kilt for the Corps. Grau headed up an effort to get a Marine who played the pipes, a good camo kilt.
On May 8th Grau posted a blog move for this guy at Bad Example. I went over and thought he was funny… and stayed. I never commented. Then on 21 May, he wrote something that I felt the need to comment upon, so I e-mailed him. He asked if he could post it in his comments. It’s HERE, overlook the spam. It’s funny, I looked for it today and I know the commenters now… Tammi being one. It cracks me up to know the players now… not knowing them before.
I eventually started feeling comfortable enough to comment. And… Harv felt comfortable enough to start prodding me to blog. He said I was wasting writing abilities lurking in people’s comments. I didn’t think anything of it. I was comfortable in other’s comments. I had by then expanded my personal blogosphere to John of Castle Argghhh! and his wife Beth at She Who Will Be Obeyed.
It was Memorial Day, when I was sitting at the big service in West Palm Beach, watching the Marines, the ‘nam Knights, the wreath laying, the widow and the men who closed ranks around her, that started me thinking… “I think I’d blog this…”
Slowly I would see things I would blog about. I started thinking more like a Blogger, I guess. That’s what I do now. Something happens and I think, “I am SOOO blogging THIS!”
Since then I’ve met a good number of Bad Example family members, I’ve grown fond of a number of bloggers… and I love reading through my blogroll... it is now a sense of familiarity. I like to know what these folks are thinking. I like to hear them laugh in their words. They transport me elsewhere and I feel like I'm sharing with them their lives, their views... their minds.
It’s been a fun ride.
One year. Harvey didn’t think it would ever happen; I know I made him nuts, but he was ever so patient. And to think it all started over at Grau’s Retrosexual Code… printed in my local paper.
Yesterday was Part I. This is the 2nd part.
I think from the outside it just appears that a hurricane hits, everyone shuts down their store fronts, and then after a week or two of clean-up, we’re all back to normal.
It doesn’t work that way.
Nobody spends any money on anything except necessities after a hurricane. The only folks with more work than they know what to do with are: roofers, screeners, deck builders, pool builders, carpenters, electricians, etc. That’s it. Everyone else suffers until people are ready to spend again. It can take a long while as roofs and house repairs are damned expensive.
Sure homes and cars are destroyed, but everyone waits for insurance money. So cars aren’t sold, furniture is not bought, all surgeries except life threatening ones are put off, clothes are not bought, vacations are not taken, restaurants do not run to capacity. Everyone hunkers down and spending is minimal... if it's not a necessity, it isn't bought. Businesses, overall, come to a grinding halt.
Add multiple hurricanes in one season. What a damn mess.
My husband’s place of business took in just enough money to keep the place afloat… pay employees and overhead… through December. That’s right. No paycheck from September through December. And we were lucky. Our place of business wasn’t destroyed… just damaged.
And trust me if we didn't both look at each other and feel like it was divine intervention when in the midst of our business struggles that I got a call from my buddy asking me if I was ready to work in my field again after having been out of it for 4 years. My answer wasn't "Yeah!" but, "Hell Yeah!"
In South Florida, the average business makes the MOST of its money from October through April. We are pretty seasonal. So if you’re taking in no money from Oct-Dec, and now its summertime… where are your reserves? There aren’t any.
So all small business owners will eek it through the summer and all of us are praying that we can make it through this season unscathed because another season like the last one is going to see a lot of places closing up.
I was speaking to someone who works for Emergency Management for Palm Beach County. The statistics he rattled off on the number of businesses that go out of business due to hurricanes was staggering. We cannot afford to have a repeat of last season.
Pensacola, Punta Gorda, Vero Beach… places like that have it even worse.
Tomorrow is Part III- The Psychological Toll
TGOO says that everything is fine and they never lost power. I wonder more of what happened to the beach. All the crap from Ivan… all the trash, roof materials, insulation, siding… all the stuff that got wiped out of the beach houses, as well as THE beach houses that washed away, has been washing ashore. They’ve been piling it up on the beach… and now a Tropical Storm came through. What a mess.
I also have a comment from Dixie Darlin' in THIS post saying all is well, except for the usual idiots. (By the way, Welcome, Dixie!)
My folks live in Pensacola. For those of you geographically challenged when it comes to Florida and Alabama, that's where Ivan hit and that big dot that Arlene seems to be aiming for.
One word folks. Fuck. I don't say it much on my blog, I can be far more descriptive than to have to resort to a 4 letter word, but sit tight if it offends you because I have a feeling you'll be hearing it a lot this hurricane season.
See the Tracking HERE.
There are some things that people outside of Florida may not realize.
First, we aren't back up to speed 100% after all the hits we took last hurricane season. I know, you're thinking, 'That was frickin' September!' Hey, it takes a long damn time to rebuild cities and homes. It's not done.
I know people not in their homes. I live West, so damage wasn't as bad where I am, but those who are East in Palm Beach County, still find a plethora of 'Blue Roofs' in their neighborhoods.
A blue roof is what we were given if we had roof damage. It's a piece of blue plastic that the Army Corps of Engineers would put up for you if you called them in need.
Those blue roofs were never meant to be permanent roofing, but that is what they have become in MANY PARTS of Florida, in particular, Ft. Pierce, Vero Beach and Pensacola. Whereas we see many blue roofs in Palm Beach County, blue roofs in places like Pensacola are STILL THE NORM and NOT the exception.
Many people are still 'homeless' in the fact they are living in FEMA trailers or motels. That is NOT uncommon in Pensacola.
Many people, who feel fortunate to not have to live in a damn FEMA trailor or motel, but are still at home, are living in homes, not only with blue roofs, but are not completely sound. They may not be condemned, but they've got 'issues'.
We're in a heap 'O hurt down here, folks and nobody seems to understand. The people of coastal Alabama and Pensacola don't need 40 MPH winds... it is more than just a bad damn weekend for them... it is hell in a handbag. They sure as hell don't need 70 MPH winds and rain, which is bearing down on them tomorrow. There are homes that can't handle it... but are being lived in.
Part II is tomorrow... we'll talk... economics.
Part III is Sunday... we'll talk... the psychological aspect and what really screws you up.
I got tagged, like four times, for a meme. I didn’t answer it when David tagged me as I’d not been in a good frame of mind, and I did tell him we needed to wait. I seem to be coming out of it. It’s easy for me to hide what is really going on in my life with funny stories about my kids and absurdities I see around me… but every now and then I realize that there is potential for me to divulge more about me than I really want… and this particular Meme kind of fit that billet at first.
See, I don’t miss anything from my childhood. I had the perfect childhood, the perfect parents, the perfect siblings, went to great schools, made great friends, had a dog and a hamster, played in band, had dates in college. Don’t get me wrong, there were some really crappy times… I live a life on Earth, not on fantasy land… BUT, I have GREAT memories, and I have a wonderful family now and if there was something I seriously missed doing as a child, I would just do it with my kids.
What I miss from my childhood… are certain people. Five exactly. All dead. And this Meme asked for 5 things we missed and boy, how easy was that to count up those five people? And it made me sick, especially since I’m not really at peace with some of their deaths. If you don’t think about it, you can fool yourself into thinking they’re just on vacation.
Anyway, I couldn’t bring myself to post on them… the five people… on vacation… so I’ve been dragging my feet. And I have divulged too much of ME in this post, but it is what it is.
First I was tagged by my loyal reader and music enthusiast, David of Third World County, whose post is HERE. Next I was tagged by Pammy of Lollygaggin’… a woman who frickin’ cracks me up. Her post is HERE. Then I was tagged by blog daughter Sissy HERE whose little words, “Memories of a Military Child are Always Good”, seemed to snap me out of my funk of pity over missing those on vacation. And last, I was tagged by Little Joe… who I think we all know now is not so little and should I meet this dear man face to face one day… I will look like a hobbit next to his 6’6” big manly frame. His post is HERE. Oh and he said if I didn’t do this, I’d get a boil on my butt… and I don’t want one of those because… I actually like my butt. I may not like my abs, but I like my butt.
Wow. I feel better already!
OK… Now that they’ve opened the flood gates, they get the five things I miss from my childhood, in the extended entry:
I miss aircraft carriers.
I have good memories. When TGOO was on the Saratoga, we would see Santa on the carrier. They had a magician and I think a sword swallower. There is a distinct smell to carriers and I know it when I smell it. I guess it’s a mix of JP and oil. I don’t know. I do know that my old place of work smelled like that on the shop floor and when I was stressed, I used to like to walk the shop. And every carrier smells like it. I remember every detail from the ladders to the sounds of the bells, to the stepping through the passageways, stepping over the knee knockers. Seeing a carrier returning to port, with sailors standing on board, makes me very emotional… even if it is but a picture in my newspaper. I remember all of it. The sounds, the smells, the emotions… I miss that.
I miss Swinging on Christmas Trees
When I was in 7th and 8th grade TGOO was stationed in Taiwan. We lived on top of a mountain called Yang Ming Shan. I’m trying to figure out how to describe it, but the ‘neighborhoods’ were carved into the mountain, kind of in large steps. For instance, I could walk in the neighbor’s backyard, and walk literally to the edge, and I would be at the edge of thair backyard, but also on top of a wall, that overlooked another neighbor’s yard and home. I could walk to that neighbor’s front yard, cross the street, and then be at the edge again, the edge of a wall, looking down into another street or group of homes.
Anyway, we would make our way down all these steps of neighbor’s homes and end up at an edge, that had a big drop off, down into what I believe may have been a Temple. But you could not see the temple or school or whatever it was from the road, we only knew it was there, as we’d walked down the steep road to get there. The temple was surrounded by what we called Christmas trees. Hundreds and thousands. So if we walked to this ‘edge’, where we were once again at the top of a wall, but looking way way down, we were level with the tops of these trees.
We used to grab the tops of the trees and swing to the ground. We used to call it ‘Swinging on the Christmas Trees’. I miss that. I can’t believe we didn’t break out necks.
I miss collecting Frogs in rained out Bomb Shelters
The same neighborhood was filled with bomb shelters. They would fill with water and frogs. We’re talking 16 feet of water… at least. Sometimes, we would see farmers, bare foot, with their Coolie hats, carrying a long stick across their shoulders, a bucket on each end, and they would collect the water for hand irrigating their farms. Anyway, as I said, frogs would collect there which means... we collected frogs. One of the neighbor kids collected a box of frogs, I mean a BOX of frogs, and gave it to one of the other kids as a birthday gift at his party. There were frogs everywhere. Over 50. Frogs of all sizes. Sometimes, we would take the frogs and put them between the door and the screen door and ring the doorbell and run so when the homeowner opened their door, frogs would jump in their homes.
I miss collecting frogs in rained out bomb shelters. I miss putting them in doors and running.
I miss listening to the Armed Forces Radio Network with my family
Same duty station, there was no American television. My Mom would have baked chocolate chip cookies and we would sit around as a family, play dominos and listen to The Shadow and The Time Machine. Good times. Very good times.
I miss WooZeZenZingKong
That’s not the spelling. I tasked my bro to find reference to it on google today, after I had already spent TOO MUCH time, and he couldn’t find it either.
There was no American TV, but we did have a TV. We’d come home from school and turn on the one cartoon… now I know it was Japanese anime with robots. This would be in 1977-78. It was in Chinese with Japanese subtitles. The male robot was black and white and the female was pink and white. The kicker was… the female shot off her tits as missiles.
We loved that show. I can still sing the theme song in Chinese. Actually, push come to shove, there are a few Chinese commercials I’m sure we could still sing.
But that show, with the robots was great. I miss that.
I’m not tagging anyone, because by not answering it at first, I screwed up the whole linky thing. HOWEVER, if you have a blog and do this, getting the idea from this post, send me the link and I’ll do some linky lovin’.
Today The Great Omnipotent One and Mom celebrated their 43rd Wedding Anniversary. Honestly, I don’t know how she did it.
I think it was those deployments that saved her sanity. Really.
If you ask TGOO, as I’ve posted earlier, how long he and Mom have been married, he subtracts one year from my age. Remember at Easter how he kept telling Bones over and over how I was 40, but he and Mom have been married 39 years?
Yeah, well, this is the note that my siblings and I received today from TGOO. He was gracious enough to at least get the birth after their marriage. Usually I’m not even born until a year after they were married… kind of an afterthought.
“Well, younglings, today we're celebrating our 40th anniversary. It's been a long road, but we've decided to go for 50.”
So to TGOO and Mom, Happy FORTY THIRD (TGOO, that’s the big 4-3!) Anniversary! May Mom have the patience to persevere to the 50th!
GRR. I'm answering a MEME and just when I thought I was close to finishing, my son comes for me to pick him up from a sleep over... that he doesn't want to be a part of anymore. So....
Meme answered tomorrow. I'm still doing blog maintenance. I've got a bunch of blogs to add to my blogroll and some links to change.
I'm also adding frickin' weather links as Pensacola, last I heard was about to be slammed by it's first Tropical Storm.... this weekend I think. I asked VW if it would offend my readers too much if I entitled a Post FUCK ME! and just had a picture of the weather in the Gulf. We decided against it.
I'm not ready for hurricane season. I mean... I am. I have all my stuff. But I'm not. I'm not mentally there...
Going to get my son...
I'm going to be doing blog maintenance tonight and possibly tomorrow night. I'm going to attempt to change some fonts and update my blogroll.
There have been a whole grunch of bloggers that have moved to MUNU that I need to update. My munuvian links are out of date, which is really bugging me.
And... I have some folks to add to my blogroll. If you are a blogger and you have me linked PLEASE let me know if you are not on my blogroll. I promise you, it is because I do not know. The Bear has changed the way he does things and now only lists the top 25 links for each blog (I'm not bitching!) and Technorati is not catching all my stuff. Some of you come to me via some sort of RSS feed or something, so your referral doesn't show up on my sitemeter.
So, if you are a blogger and I do not have you linked, but you have me linked, I would very much like to reciprocate, so send me an e-mail at boudicah at hotmail dot com. Or throw it in the comments here. Your choice.
And the only requirement is that you're not more pervy than Harv and the rest of the Bad Example Family on a daily basis! (That's said with Love, Harvey!) My Mom reads through my blogroll at times and whereas she is super cool and wouldn't care what I read, I'm not putting any sex blogs on my blogroll. Sorry. (Besides... that's what bookmarks are for!!!)
OH! And you can't be a mean blogger. Yes, I have delinked in the past. Twice to be exact. If I find someone to be really offensive and mean spirited, BINK!, they're gone. Life is too short for mean people and my blog is my happy place. Usually. Mostly. Anyway, Mean people Suck.
I hate this crap. I hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
"Oh, what do you hate, Bou", I can hear you all asking.
I hate it when I do things like... oh... I don't know... like... DELETE MY WHOLE FRICKIN' BLOGROLL... AND DON'T KNOW HOW I DID IT!!!
Yes, it is back. But GRRR, I can't get it to do what I want. CAN YOU FEEL ME WANTING TO SCREAM OVER HERE???!!!
*Deep Breath* GRRR.
I cannot believe I forgot about... The Karnival of the Kids! It is up at Iowa Geek's with Jody as the hostess. Good stuff, go see...
A personal note about Jody, I love going over there to watch her sweet pea, Brenna, grow. I remember when Jody was pregnant, blogging on the pending arrival of their baby. I remember checking back hourly to see when Brenna was born while Jody was in labor.
So it's cool to now watch as she grows. She's a real sweetie! Of course... she isn't two yet.... *Grin*
Oh and if you scroll down to the bottom of the Karnival there is a story called Pooing for Distance... and I oh so could have written that!
Other than something really serious, like a child being sick, the hardest part of motherhood is the whole lack of sleep thing. It’s bad. It’s really bad. After I had my 3rd child, I went back to work part-time. I could hardly stay awake come 3:00 PM. My house was chaotic, I had three children under 4, I was averaging about an hour continuous sleep and my 2 year old, he was up at 5AM… every morning. Forget the fact my baby didn’t sleep, my 2 year old was an early riser.
I think I blogged this once, but I remember driving down the street one afternoon, three kids in the back, I’m beat to hell, and I looked over and there was a homeless person sleeping under the overpass. Normally my mind wanders to how the person ended up in that predicament. Are they mentally ill? Bad luck? Veteran combined with bad luck? I just wonder. Not that time. That time, I distinctly remember looking over and thinking, “Wow. He’s sleeping. That looks comfortable.”
The guy was frickin’ sleeping under a cement overpass… in S. Florida. It was probably 80 degrees in the shade. Blech.
So anyway, I had this little man who was and still is a morning person. And I… am not. As I am apt to say, “Mornings are good for only two things… and both involve a bed.” Every time daylight savings time would occur, the whole ‘fall back thing’, I would quietly panic. 5:00 was nearly killing me… 4:00 was a sure death sentence.
I taught this kid how to get a snack and turn on the TV early on… I just needed to get to 6:30; 7:00 was a damn bonus.
So go see this post at Army Wife Toddler Mom. She’s seeking employment for her 3 year old early riser. Cracked me up. I never thought about farming mine out...
For his birthday, from my parents, Bones received a Pirates of the Caribbean Slip ‘N Slide. My best friend and I were commenting on how things have changed. When we were kids, it was just a piece of plastic. Then her husband commented, “Yeah, and the whole thing wasn’t always wet!”
So this first picture is of the actual Slip N’ Slide and you can’t see it, but behind the Pirates face is a tube so the Pirate squirts water out his teeth.
This next picture is of them playing on it. You’ll see Son#2 is wearing socks as he’s allergic to grass. He breaks out in eczema which we have learn to deal with; it’s a non-event. Son#1 is watching as he was debating whether he wanted to play in the ‘dirty water’. Son#3, Bones, had a great time.
And lastly, Mr. Smoochy Pants, who won the hearts of all…even if he hated sprinkler water. This was the first time he’d ever played outside with water spraying at him. This is the photo where he was more intrigued than anything. He ended up hating it and opted to find a pile of dirt to play in, instead.
Mr. Smoochy pants has been here the last two days and Bones is in love with this little man. My boys loved playing with him, although it is a toss up if they loved playing with the baby or playing baseball with his Daddy more.
Anyway, when they left, Bones was his normal Drama King self, crying and carrying on about how he wanted the baby to stay. Did I say that Bones wants us to have another baby? Yeah. Factory’s closed. Thank.you.very.much.
So, to help Bones feel better, we did the following:
Son#2, Bones, and I, spooned on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eating chips, while watching…. Mickey Mouse’s Twice Upon A Christmas. That’s right. We watched a frickin’ Christmas video. In June.
Six. Bones turned six today.
I’ve been thinking today about what I would post. The surprise of realizing the rabbit died… yet again? The scary birth? The six years following?
Of all of my children, you probably know him the best. He’s the extrovert, the one that has been home the most with me since I started blogging, so the stories tend to somehow include him or involve him in some way.
He’s my crazy man. As I said in a post long ago, my eldest would conceptualize aircraft, my middle one would design it and see it to fruition, and my youngest would fly it. He has no fear, he is a whirlwind of energy, he is the one who acts and then… never thinks.
I wonder what will become of him. He has the capability of being the most successful of my children, but also the biggest failure. It will all depend on his attitude and where he chooses it to take him.
Most of the time, I am at a loss when dealing with him. His personality and mine are like night and day. There are times that the sight of him in the morning is enough for me to dread the rest of the day, he takes that much energy from me. Then again there are times, when I reflect upon my day, that I laugh to myself and it is all the stuff he did that day, his antics, his sayings, his view on life.
With Bones, there is rarely any middle ground.
I remember when he was three; he had floppy blond hair that hung straight. With his impish smile, he was truly a sweet cherub. I took him to the barber shop for a trim and he was insistent he wanted it short, buzzed short, on the sides. It’s hair. It grows back. And… this was not a battle I was going to pick. So I said sure. He looked like a boy suddenly with his new big boy haircut, not my sweet pre-schooler. We got home and my husband said to me, “He cannot wear his hair like that. He doesn’t look cute. He, of all our children, MUST look cute.” And what he was saying was, that this child gave us so much grief, it was a necessity that he was cute, not only to us, but to the general public. It was the only thing saving him.
He is a sweet boy. He has a good heart. He is a busy guy.
And to lastly describe how it is in our home currently, a month ago, we were on the soccer field and Bones was doing who in the hell knows what. I looked at my husband exasperated and he said, ‘Babe, he marches to the beat of his own drummer.’ I replied testily, “I don’t hear it!” Now when Bones does something that is so far out of 'my' ordinary, something that makes me want to scream, I’ll look at my husband and say curtly, “I DON'T HEAR IT!!!!” Nothing else need be said.
Happy Birthday to Bones.
Pictures of Bones, Click to Enlarge:
I don’t typically comment on societal crap as I could not care less. However, here are some random thoughts about stuff I’ve heard about, as well as just stuff that’s in my head.
Kelly Osborne… is anyone surprised she has a drug problem? Please. She looks like the poster child for issues and drug problems. Good for her that she’s seeking rehab, but while she’s at it, maybe she can think about getting in shape as she’s so young, think about getting rid of the black goth look or whatever it is she’s got going on, and maybe figure out if she’s got a brain she can use instead of mooching off of Dad’s reputation and cashola. What a screwed up crew that is… Geez.
I’ve never found Tom Cruise attractive. I find him repugnant now.
Rod Stewart was a skank when he came out with ‘If you think I’m Sexy’ and he’s a skank now. I never liked his voice.
I miss my Monday ritual with my sister. Oh. Y’all didn’t know about that. I’m a 24 addict. Or was. It’s over. We watch the show at the same time and then call each other during commercials. It is pathetic really, but very funny. It’s the only show I watch. She laments season after season, ‘I cannot believe I have, yet agggaaaain, wasted 24 hours of my life watching this show.’ And I reply, “This is only 24 hours you’re AWARE of! Think of all the other hours you waste on other tripe on TV!”
No, I don’t think Kiefer Sutherland is hot, but I do like the manliness of the character he plays. I think the guy who played Tony is eye candy, but not his character. The character ‘Mike’ the assistant to the VP, made my skin crawl. The VP was a milquetoast and I kept hoping he’d die. He didn’t.
I have no idea what any of the guys/gals look like that sing any of the music I listen to… nor do I care. I do think Sting is hot though… I’d take a day pass for him. He could sing in my ear all he wanted.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who has never watched American Idol.
Hurricane Season is here. I think I’m still scarred from last September. Actually, I know I am. I’m prepared and have been since April when everyone got together for my son’s 1st Holy Communion and I jumped up to show them my new ‘finds’. I found battery run lanterns for each of my boys’ bedrooms. And I think I may now have 100 D sized batteries in my house. No kidding. It’s been raining every day for the last two days and with it has come this nearly irresistible urge to buy bread and milk for fear that Publix will run out. I have to tell myself, “It’s JUST rain.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect in this morning’s weigh in. You see, I feel certain that Weight Watchers point system didn’t mean that you could use all your points in Darth Vader Dark Side Dark Chocolate M&M’s offset by a plethora of vegetables… which carry NO POINTS. I think I’m supposed to eat protein in there…somewhere… occasionally. (No, I’m not PMSing… I just hit a bad mental patch.)
Anyway, I’m at 128, down 1 for this week for a total of 5 lbs. I have 5 more for the competition and MAYBE 10 more for me just to see… I’m not sure yet.
When in the gym today doing dips (today was biceps and triceps), I noticed I’ve lost weight in my collar area. Great. It’s not exactly where I thought I needed to lose it. I never once looked in the mirror and thought, “OOOO, Babeee, I sure could stand to lose some fat over my collar bones and my neck. Gotta see those collar bones more!”
Yeah, I’m well aware there is no such thing as spot reduction, but damn if I don’t wish every day there was. I know, all of those medical types out there are yelling, “But Bou! There is! It’s called lip-o-suct-ion.” No.thank.you.
I realize that no matter how much ab work I do, my body is always going to look like a crumpled up old paper bag. It would take a very talented man with a very sharp knife to make it otherwise. I think I'm finally OK with where I am.
So I’ll keep watching what I eat, keep sweating it at the gym, keep drinking water…while fully aware that I’ll going to see marked improvement in areas I didn’t give two shakes about, while my abs still look like… I’m a Mom with three kids. Go figure.
The Carnival is up at Conservative Friends. See it HERE!
This week's Karnival of the Kid's Entry is HERE.
Just how much influence do you have upon your kids? You would be ever so amazed. And I have to wonder, when will they 'get it'? All the things they say that they do not currently have a reference point to associate with it. Will it come together? Time will tell.
My eldest has never had a problem pulling his own teeth. He will wiggle them until they fall out. One night, he obsessed over one 'semi' loose tooth for two hours, when he should have been sleeping, and got it pulled out. It took 8 months for the new tooth to come in. It wasn't ready.
When my 2nd son needs his tooth pulled, he goes to my eldest. Yes, my eldest pulls my 2nd son's teeth.
So it seems fitting that when Bones lost his first tooth today, that his eldest brother is the first person he went to. I think my husband ended up finishing the job, but my eldest did start it.
Bones came running into me, gobs of kleenex poking out of his mouth, as if to stave off a hemorrhage. In his hand he held a tiny little tooth. Under that half a box of tissue shoved in his mouth was one tiny little hole.
The Fairy comes tonight. No, I am not taking this opportunity to tell my eldest there is not Santa.
My husband was playing the pupil game with the boys today. My younger two have the bluest eyes. They waver between a deep blue and a light blue… pale.
To play the pupil game, one of my blue eyed children puts their head in their father’s lap and looks up at a light. My husband shelters their eyes from the light so their pupils get really big. The other two kids watch. Then he quickly moves his hand and their pupils go “PLINK!” and snap to pin hole size. Or near pin hole size. They get small!
They wanted to watch with Son#1’s eyes… but you can’t. His eyes… he has the most beautiful dark brown eyes. His father’s are the color of sweet tea. His eyes… they are the color of a dark semi-sweet chocolate. So dark, you can barely make out the hint of his pupils.
When he was a baby and I would go into his bedroom and peer over the railings of his crib to check on him, two black eyes would stare at me sometimes. It would startle me. On long weeks without sleep, I would nearly jump out of my skin.
So he can’t play the game. The two other boys can’t see his pupils change. It’s kind of funny.
I’ve been working on the school’s budget. I was up until midnight last night. We had our budget meeting and something just did not seem right. No matter what I did, we came out in the red. I kept thinking, “How can it be we will be in the red, but this year, with almost the same numbers, we were in the black?” It bugged the stew out of me.
So last night, after the meeting, I sat here with both budgets doing a full blown analysis.
I found the error… in the budget I inherited. They had an equation error in one of their cells and I found it. It was big. The reason we didn’t run in the red because they padded their budget and so we ran in the black. I’m fixing that. Our budget will be in the black.
Anyway… this ties in with my sons.
We were at dinner tonight and I was explaining this to my husband and my eldest looks at me and says, “Do you think numbers are easy? Do you like them?”
(VW is going to appreciate this exchange.)
I replied, “Yes. I find them easy and… I think they are easier than people.”
He stared at me for a moment and then said, “Me too. I never know what to say to people. Do you ever feel that way?
I smiled and said, “All the time, little buddy, but it gets easier.”
He seemed to like the answer.
He’s such a smart boy and he is so sweet. He loves little children and babies, he has a hearty laugh, he has an excellent sense of humor, but he is not quick to show it. He has a few very close friends, who I fortunately really like. He can be himself around them.
His teacher’s biggest peeve this year has been that they’ll be in Social Studies, my son will be bored, and the teacher will walk over, look over my son’s shoulder, and my son will have a book open INSIDE his Social Studies book. While pretending to be interested in Social Studies, he’ll be reading instead. His escape.
He lives in his head like his Mom.
I wonder sometimes what to blog on. I think, “My day has been so quiet” and then… something incredibly ridiculous occurs as if a prompt from the Gods of Blogging.
We were stopped at the video store, my spouse and two of my boys had gone inside. I was sitting in the car with my 2nd son when he informs me he has to go to the bathroom. I ask him to wait.
Ten minutes later, we are on our way home when from the backseat I hear, “I sure hope we’re going to get home soon. I think my nuts are going to explode.”
Me: Your nuts are going to explode? Holy cow! That’s bad. Why in the world would that happen?
Son#2: Because I have to pee so badly. You know, your nuts are where all your pee is held.
My husband and I exchange glances.
Husband: No. Your nuts don’t hold your pee. There is a little ‘sack’ inside your body, in the lower end of your torso called a bladder.
Son#2: Are you sure?
Son#2: OK, well if they don’t hold pee… then what DO they do?
Quiet fills the car.
Husband: They just are. They just hang there.
Son#2 (who by the way is 8): That’s not right.
Husband: Yes it is. You have elbows, knees, knuckles, fingers… they just are.
Son#2: NO DAD! They all have a REASON!!! What is the REASON for NUTS?!
Great. I asked him to wait until we got home. He seems to have forgotten. There just is no reason for my 5 year old to have to hear this. I had THE talk with the other at 9. So I guess it’s just about time.
I don’t think Son#2 will be as nonchalant about it as his brother was. I think he’s going to be some kind of grossed out drama King. Blech.
I know, y’all have got to be wondering what happened.
First, I want to thank you for your comments and e-mail. It reaffirmed my thinking.
Defining moments… I have wondered at what point boys start ‘hiding’ things from their Mothers. There are certain things they would never say or admit to doing in front of “Mom”. You can have open communication all you want, but boys eventually don’t want their Moms to know or hear certain things.
It has already started to happen and I guess I’m OK with it, since it is my expectations that have brought it around.
There are certain things I demand of my boys. When we go out for dinner, no skuzzy shorts or t-shirts. They have to look presentable. I overheard my eldest say to my husband the other day, when he didn’t know I could hear, “No way! That’s going to make her really angry!” It was in reference to something he wanted to wear, but knew he couldn’t.
At my dinner table, hats off and shirts on. Period.
I give my boys a lot of leeway as to what they want to wear around the house. They have to wear shorts, but they can go shoeless and shirtless all they want… but not at my dinner table. They know these are my rules and although they sometimes forget, they don’t give me any garbage.
They know my expectations, what I will tolerate and what I will not.
Ack. And then the other day. Blech.
I was walking by the bathroom and the three of them were washing hands or getting ready for us to go somewhere and there was some bickering. Out of the mouth of my 10 year old I heard: “Oh Yeah?! Well suck my balls.”
I stopped in my tracks. Big Gasp.
My 8 year old, not to be outdone, replies, “Oh yeah?! Well, suck my weenie!”
I was... mortified. I swear to you, if one of them had yelled, “Oh yeah?! Well suck my dick!” I would have dropped dead right then and there. Dead on the spot.
I didn’t know what to say. I was.completely.stunned. Then they saw me. And they know it’s bad when I *don’t* yell, when my voice has dropped to an even calm. That’ll turn them three shades of white.
I just said, “Where.did.you.hear.*that*?”
To their credit, they were completely honest and good about the whole thing. I found out who the kid was and that the kid had heard it on South Park. I don’t like his mother much, anyway. I know for a fact they’ll call to have my eldest come over and play this summer. We will be conveniently busy. The only thing that will prevent me from saying to her, “My son repeated something ugly your son taught him from South Park” is… Bones.
I have this book for Mothers that I believe my Mother gave me and in it is this quote:
A mother is neither cocky, nor proud, because she knows the school principal may call at any minute to report that her child has just driven a motorcycle through the gymnasium.
That child would be Bones.
So I know I have to talk to my children more on what is appropriate conversation and behavior, it is an ongoing conversation, and say nothing to that Mother. I spoke to my 10 year old already and he understands. I told him that I didn’t want things like that said in my home, in particular not around his little brothers, and it wasn’t really appropriate anyway.
I know he understood, when yesterday, Son#2 and Bones were fighting in the back of my car, when out of the mouth of my 5 year old came, “Oh yeah?! Well suck my balls!”
My 10 year old looked at me and mouthed through the rearview mirror, “Sorry.” GRR. I am going to die if I get a phone call from a mother at school saying that their kindergartner learned it from mine. I am going to melt into the floor with embarrassment.
You can talk to your kids all you want… you can tell them the consequences of bad actions… but, when they are away from you, you can only hope that you have instilled it in them enough that they use good judgment, because… they’re on their own.
I have not that faith in my youngest that he will use good judgment. Ever.
And I know now, that it has occurred. The defining moment has occurred where there are certain things they just will not say around Mom. As much as I try to shelter them, the time is quickly approaching where they will view that they are sheltering me.